#it shouldn’t have taken me this long to make a drawing for an ask plea /lh

[im-a-wonderling]

Eyes, Part 4 ~ Darth Vader

Again, not edited, but that’s whatcha get I guess 😂

Warnings: none?

Word count: 3k

Eyes masterlist

Vader had never been in the cafeteria. 

He didn’t enjoy public spaces much anymore, not when they were full of people. 

With eyes. 

That stared. 

Even though all the various workers dutifully avoided looking at him when he could see them, he knew that as soon as his back was turned, they were ogling him. The hum of chatter in the air was just a cover, a front to make it seem like they were all behaving normally. Being here, where they could all see him and talk about him, it made him beyond uncomfortable. 

But it was worth it if Y/N would just eat. 

“Something wrong…with the food?”

“Do you really think I’m going to eat anything you give me?” Y/N’s arms remained firmly crossed. 

Vader’s eyes flicked to the cafeteria tray in front of her. “I didn’t give you that…the cafeteria worker did.”

A scoff fell from her lips. “The cafeteria worker works for you.” She gestured at the people around them. “Everyone here works for you.”

Vader withheld his sigh. Cynicism saved lives every day, and after all she’d been through in the past few months, Y/N more than earned her share of it. But he was unused to her being this way with him, this…cold. 

“Just take a bite,” Vader tried to coax. For all her stubbornness, she’d never been able to resist his pleas for long. “You need to eat.” Her only response was to raise an eyebrow at him. 

This time, his sigh couldn’t be contained. “Please eat.” The word felt strange coming out of his mouth. Even before being encased in this suit, he hadn’t often used that word. 

Please. 

By saying it, the sayer placed themselves in only the good graces of others. And Vader never much liked relying on others. 

If Y/N was surprised to hear him say it, it didn’t show on her face. She lifted her fork with a bite of food on it, extending it towards him. “You first.” 

He almost leaned forward, instinctively opening his mouth to accept the challenge. And then the reminder of his circumstances landed like a blow to his gut. 

He couldn’t. 

Not anymore. 

Frustration crawling over his skin, he turned to the stormtrooper eating closest to them and read the number on the helmet placed beside his meal. 

“DA-4509!” he barked. 

The cafeteria went instantly silent, all eyes turning towards their table. 

The stormtrooper leapt to his feet. “Yes, Darth Vader, sir!”

“Eat a bite of this food.”

Y/N instantly recoiled the fork. “Don’t,” she said sharply, and Vader wasn’t sure if she spoke to him or to DA-4509. 

The stormtrooper hovered, uncertainty written all over his face. “Well?” Vader asked, and DA-4509 stumbled forward, like he’d been pushed. 

Y/N shielded her food. “Stop it,” she hissed, clearly talking to Vader this time. “I’ll eat it, just stop.”

Vader surveyed her for a moment, trying to discern if she was telling the truth. He finally waved his hand at the stormtrooper. “Dismissed.” 

DA-4509 looked relieved as he went back to his own meal. 

The chatter in the cafeteria didn’t resume, but Vader pushed the discomfort away. “Well?” he said again, quieter. 

For a good while, Y/N didn’t move. She just sat there, watching him, her eyes traveling the mask like she’d never seen it before. Then, she slowly raised the fork to her mouth and ate the first bite. 

Sharp relief shot through Vader, so sweet it almost ached. The feeling surprised him. It shouldn’t have. Y/N was the most important person in his life. To see her being taken care of was to draw in a breath after nearly drowning.

Y/N’s eyes remained on Vader the whole meal, which she ate surprisingly slow, given how hungry she must’ve been. Vader didn’t want to think about what could be tainting her appetite, but he was pretty sure he already knew. 

Seeing him like this, it had to be quite the shock for her. 

He swallowed hard, trying to push against the disgust. The emperor saved him. Vader owed him everything for this cold, synthetic body. 

But seeing through Y/N’s eyes made him feel decrepit. And heavy. So, so heavy.

Y/N finally pushed her empty plate away. “What happens now?” she asked.

“Now,” Vader said, “we resume our conversation.”

Y/N glanced around them, and Vader couldn’t tell if she was nervous about the amount of people around them or if she was avoiding looking at him. 

“If you–”

“My lord?”

Vader wanted to rip out the vocal cords that had just interrupted him. “What?” he growled without looking away from Y/N. Y/N worked hard to conceal her flinch, but Vader knew her too well to be fooled. 

“My lord, pardon the interruption, but the emperor wants to speak with you. Immediately.” 

Vader closed his eyes, letting out an aggravated breath. 

He couldn’t keep the emperor waiting. 

Vader rose to his feet to face the man in a dark suit. “You will escort the lady to her chambers and ensure that the door is guarded by two stormtroopers.” 

The man nodded, and Vader took off towards his chambers. 

When he reached the doorway to the cafeteria, he almost looked back. 

But instead, he stood straighter and continued walking.

-

“Anakin,” you laughed, “what are you doing?”

The Jedi Knight glanced over his shoulder at you, balancing precariously on the fallen tree that crossed the river. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

��It looks like you’re training to join the Coruscant circus.”

Anakin’s warm laughter joined yours as he carefully turned to face you. “You think I’d do something like that without you doing it with me?”

“I don’t think Master Windu would appreciate losing either of us to something so frivolous.” 

“If anything, he should be grateful. He needs a laugh.”

You pursed your lips, trying to keep from smiling. “Anakin–”

He held out his hand towards you. “Come on, we’re just crossing the river.”

You didn’t even think about it before putting your hand in his. It was automatic. 

Grinning, he helped you onto the log, bringing you to stand so close beside him, your arms brushed. Your heart sped up for reasons other than how far away the surface of frigid water looked. He guided you forward, in front of him. Together, you walked across the log, nearing the other side of the river. 

A sudden rush of heat hit you, and with wide eyes, you glanced down to see the water of the river had turned to lava and the tree had morphed into a metal bridge. “Ani?” you asked, your voice trembling. 

But when you looked back, it wasn’t Anakin standing behind you. 

It was the suit. 

You pulled your hand away, holding it tight to your chest. 

“Join me,” Vader said, his voice echoing. 

You drew away from him. “No.”

“Together, we’ll rule the galaxy!”

“No!”

The bridge underneath your feet started to shudder, throwing you off your feet. Behind you, the end of the bridge crumbled, and you started to slide towards the lava.

Vader’s hand was still within reach. “Join me!”

You glanced behind you. The lava was creeping ever closer, the violent heat growing exponentially by the second. 

“Join me!” The bridge rattled with the power of Vader’s words, and you cried out in fear. 

-

You leapt to your feet, sweat adorning your brow. 

The bitter air around you was freezing, a striking contrast to where you’d been a second ago. You blinked at your surroundings, trying to orient yourself. 

This wasn’t the Jedi temple, and it wasn’t the cave on Geonosis. 

It took a moment for reality to set in. 

Remembering the truth of Vader’s identity was as soul-crushing as it was the first time. Moments ago, you’d just seen that same trouble-making smile and felt the skin of his hand against yours. 

Distantly, you registered your arm stinging. 

You lifted it up to see scratch marks on the surface of the bacta patch. 

You needed to get out of this room. You stepped to the doors, and they slid open. The two stormtroopers standing guard stood at attention, but they didn’t make any move to block you. Cautiously, you stepped out, waiting for any movement. 

None.

You dared another step. 

Still no response. 

Vader must’ve given them some sort of order not to block you. 

Walking cautiously, you walked down the hallway. The longer you went without hearing their footsteps, the more your hopes started to rise. Could it really be this easy? Would they just let you wander and look for an escape route? 

Then as you almost turned the corner, you heard their footsteps start behind you. 

Darn it. 

You continued strolling, as if your intentions were innocent and casual. All the while, your brain turned every possibility over and over. 

If you hadn’t escaped by the time the star destroyer reached Coruscant, you knew Vader’s actions wouldn’t mean much. The emperor wouldn’t hesitate before killing you. Your existence might’ve been a miserable one for months, but you weren’t ready for death. 

With that knowledge nipping at your heels, you wandered a little faster. 

At first, there was nothing of note. You passed the cafeteria you’d eaten in earlier. Yesterday? You didn’t know. There was no night and day in space, and you had no clue how long you’d slept. 

As you wandered, you passed many officials and stormtroopers, all of whom curiously watched you. 

Their stares would’ve been intimidating…if you hadn’t been on the hunt for a way out. 

You’d just walked past a door when something in you twisted like the needle of a compass. You stopped, feeling the tug towards that door. 

The force.

Trying to seem relaxed, you walked up to the door. Surprisingly, the doors slid open, revealing…

The escape pod bay. 

You’d found what you were looking for.

Tempering your excitement, you stood in front of the window, peering out into space. If only you could identify the planet the star destroyer was passing, you could determine where you were and how long it would take to get to Coruscant. 

Where the emperor would surely execute you. 

You closed your eyes, allowing the force to sweep through you, granting you its strength and patience. 

You’d found the way off the ship. Now you just needed to think of a way to shake your stormtrooper detail long enough to get inside and blast off. 

Was there any way you could duck in there now? 

No, there would be no point. The stormtroopers would raise the alarm immediately, and you’d likely be brought right back to the ship. Or even killed. 

The sound of footsteps reached your ears, and you didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to. 

Vader seemed to have a knack for finding you.

“What is she…doing in here?”

You startled, realizing Vader was addressing the stormtroopers. Would Vader boss them around like he had DA-4509? Would he punish them for not keeping you in your room?

You couldn’t have that.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, opening your eyes and turning towards Vader. Seeing that suit still sent a wave of emotion through you, and you worked to keep your expression neutral. 

“I know,” Vader replied. “You two are dismissed.” The stormtroopers inclined their heads and marched off, leaving a distinct feeling of disbelief in their wake. Clearly, they were as confused as you were. 

You wrinkled your nose. “How do you know I couldn’t sleep? Were you watching me?”

Out of all the conceivable things that could’ve happened, you’d sooner have guessed that the star destroyer would’ve imploded before Vader chuckled. 

But he did, the sound ringing strangely hollow through his mask. “No, I felt your…distress.” 

Not wanting to talk about your nightmares, you shifted back to look out the window. The planet looked only barely smaller than it had before. How slowly was the star destroyer moving, and why hadn’t it jumped into light speed already? Maybe they were low on fuel. 

The heavy, unhurried footsteps sounded again, coming to a stop right next to you. Wistfully, you remembered your dream and how your heart had raced when your arm brushed his. If the rate of your heart now qualified as racing, it was for an entirely different reason. 

“Did you see my dream?” you asked quietly, surprising even yourself by the invitation into conversation. 

Vader was quiet. “No,” he said finally, but his hesitation spoke for itself. 

“But you have before, haven’t you?” The lack of a response was all the response you needed. “What did you see?” The longer he stayed quiet, the more your imagination spun out of control. “Tell me,” you ordered. 

“I saw the night…we first kissed.”

The dream played itself out in front of your eyes. It was one of the dreams that had repeated itself often.

At first, the dream imitated the past perfectly. 

There’d only been one sleeping pallet, and Anakin had insisted you take it. In turn, you’d told him that the two of you would take turns on the pallet while the other kept watch. Anakin agreed, on the condition that you slept first. 

When you’d woken, unsure of how much time had passed, Anakin was sitting with his eyes closed. You’d assumed he was sleeping, until his eyes had fluttered open, meeting yours. 

The spark that’d traveled in the air was undeniable. 

You should’ve turned over. You should’ve gone back to sleep. At the very least, you should’ve stayed on the pallet. 

But no.

You’d gotten up, your lips tingling with the need to kiss him. 

That was where the dream deviated from reality. In real life, you had kissed him, and he’d kissed you back. In the dream, Anakin pulled out his lightsaber. Defenseless without your own saber, you screamed, frozen in place while Anakin…

“You sliced my head off, didn’t you?”

 A strange, muffled noise came from Vader. If you had to guess, you’d say he was clearing his throat. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the edge of the window. You wondered if somehow your words had knocked him off balance, but you quickly dismissed the thought, grappling at anything else to think about. “On Mustafar, you said you were having nightmares about me dying.” You focused on a distant star. “Do you still have them?”

No response. Just when you thought Vader had decided he wasn’t going to answer you, his warbled voice filled the air. “I don’t.”

Before you could fully digest that, your mouth was moving again. “Do you have any nightmares at all?”

“No.”

That threw you off guard. “After everything that happened…after the war and Order 66 and…” You gestured at the suit, unsure of how to refer to the transformation he’d undergone. “You don’t have any nightmares?”

Vader’s fingers tightened on the edge of the window. “I don’t sleep.”

That caught your attention. “What, ever?”

“The pain…doesn’t allow it.”

The words weaseled their way through your skin, your muscles, and your ribs on their way to pierce your heart. “If you can’t sleep…how are you alive?”

Vader let out a long breath, the sound reminiscent of a death rattle. “My body is mostly machinery…therefore it does not need to rest.”

“And your mind?” 

“I meditate.”

You cocked your head at him. “You used to hate meditating.”

“I still do.”

You faced the stars again, fighting a smile.

Then horror rocketed through you. What were you doing? Where was your head? This wasn’t Anakin. This was Darth Vader, loyal servant to the emperor. The man who’d taken part in Order 66.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you did the only thing you knew with absolute certainty would bring you back to real life. 

You pictured the youngling, spreadeagled on the ground with three blaster burns on his tiny chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

The anger and disgust were ugly, and yet you clung to them. 

A sensation brushed your injured forearm. Your eyes snapped open to see Vader’s fingers tracing the scratch marks. “Where…did this burn...come from?”

You stepped away from him, wrenching your arm out of his grasp and wrapping it around your torso. “If you want someone to blame for that, look in the mirror.”

Vader didn’t reply for a while. 

You glared so hard at the stars that your vision started to blur. 

“The worst part of that day…” Vader finally said, “was losing you.”

Your heart squeezed as a flare of anger burned, and you allowed the anger to sweep through you, taking over everything. “You almost killed me.” 

“Y/N–”

“You tried to kill me!” you said louder, taking a step forward. “You talk of losing me, when you were the one responsible for all of this?” You took another step forward, jabbing your finger into his chest. “You were the one who changed. You were the one who took part in Order 66, and you were the one that told me to go to Mustafar. Nothing had to change! If you hadn’t done any of that, you wouldn’t be in that suit!”

“And you’d…be dead.” 

You could keenly feel his conviction, and it only made you angrier. “Oh, wake up! Dreams aren’t always true! If my dreams were true, I’d be dead at your hands a hundred times over!”

“You don’t understand.” Was it your imagination or was Vader’s breathing growing shallower and more hasty? “You were going…to die. If I didn’t do anything–”

“The galaxy would’ve been better off for it,” you said, cursing yourself as tears welled up in your eyes. “I would’ve been better off for it, and you’d be better off for it, and we would still be together!”

“We can be together now.”

“No we can’t, Anakin!”

His name seemed to echo through the chamber. 

Vader didn’t move.

Even the ragged, warped sounds of his breathing seemed to cut out. 

You’d decided before you didn’t want to see those yellow eyes, but in that moment, as the silence extended in between the two of you like miles of uninhabited space, you would’ve given anything to see his face. To know what he was thinking. To read him the way you used to be able to do easily. 

The distorted breathing resumed. 

“My name…is Darth Vader.” 

And with that, Vader stormed towards the doors, which slid open. He left you behind, all alone save for the stormtroopers at the entrance and the stars outside the bay windows.

-

Part 5

Overall tag list: 

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Eyes tag list:

@idiotreblogger @inpraizeof @katsukiswrld @queenofnigthdarkness @stxrrielle @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @lollaa-puff @xferalblog @violetstyless

[ask-human-pvz]

How are the Lost City plants doing?

Red Stinger: “We’re doing okay! Nothing much has happened honestly.”

The Lost City Plants are now available for asks.

[luxaofhesperides]

stealing clothes

college au ft. domestic joongdok. i am so predictable.

also on ao3.

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Kim Dokja is extremely lucky to have Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate. Not just because Yoo Joonghyuk is the campus heartthrob and Kim Dokja is the one who gets to see him everyday, and not because Yoo Joonghyuk is the perfect house husband, cleaning and cooking because he banned Kim Dokja from doing both. 

While both those things are nice, the best part about having Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate is stealing his shirts. 

Not to do anything weird! They’re just… comfortable.

He even got permission! For the first few, at least. 

It all starts because Yoo Joonghyuk was going to throw out perfectly good shirts that have been worn and washed enough to become soft, the type of softness that even the most high quality shirts can’t capture. They weren’t dirty, or torn, just old. So Kim Dokja protests this and tries to get Yoo Joonghyuk to keep them, only for him to scowl and throw the shirts at him.

“You keep them then,” he said, then left. And Kim Dokja did. 

He’s well aware that wearing his hot roommate’s shirts might be (is) weird, so he only wears them on long nights when he needs some extra comfort to get him through his last assignments, or when Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t home. He never wears them when Yoo Joonghyuk might see. He’d rather die. 

And because his wonderful roommate is out for the night, no doubt at a party celebrating his latest gaming tournament win, Kim Dokja is settled in for a long night of reading, curled up on the couch in one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s old shirts. It’s long enough to reach down past his thighs, so he doesn’t bother wearing pants, and a blanket over his shoulders helps with the chill his exposed collarbones bring. 

The apartment is quiet, most people out or sleeping, and the latest update of his favorite web novel is a long one. And should he get hungry, there’s dinner in the fridge, courtesy of Yoo Joonghyuk who is very determined to get Kim Dokja eating more regularly. 

It’s been too long since he was able to be so relaxed and comfortable. No urgent deadlines, no projects to stress about, no tests in the near future hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

He’s so comfortable that halfway through the chapter he’s reading, Kim Dokja begins nodding off. The living room is gradually getting darker as the sun begins to set, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t take a nap; his sleep schedule is fucked anyways, a little rest won’t hurt him at all.

The sound of the door opening rouses him. 

Distantly, Kim Dokja hears a lock click and a heavy sigh, but half-awake, he can’t be sure if it’s real or part of a dream. 

He opens sleep-heavy eyes to a dark living room; he must have been sleeping for a few hours, long enough for the sun to fully set and the moon to shine brightly. His entire body feels heavy and slow. 

Slowly, Kim Dokja sits up, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his hips. He stretches his arms up above his head, arching his spine a bit, drawing out the stretch as he shakes off the last of his nap. 

Behind him, someone chokes. 

Startled, Kim Dokja drops his arms and turns to see Yoo Joonghyuk standing in front of the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s… shirtless. Kim Dokja quickly looks away. 

“When did you get back?” he asks, trying to break the strange tension that suddenly fills the apartment.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent for a few moments before Kim Dokja hears him step closer. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is it late?”

The light turns on suddenly and Kim Dokja winces, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. 

“It’s only nine.” 

Huh. He wasn’t asleep for too long then. He feels the couch dip and looks up to see Yoo Joonghyuk sitting right next to him instead of anywhere else on their rather large couch. He’s staring at Kim Dokja’s chest, which makes him shift uncomfortably. 

He glances down to see what has Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. There’s no stains or anything…

Then his heart stops for a solid minute. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. And Yoo Joonghyuk knows it’s his old shirt because it’s way too big for Kim Dokja! 

Please don’t bring it up, Kim Dokja mentally begs, trying to send the plea into Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. 

“Isn’t that one of my old shirts?” he asks. Telepathy has failed. Kim Dokja changes to Plan B which is Fake His Death And Start A New Life. 

“Uh. Yeah. You gave it to me,” Kim Dokja answers, hoping Yoo Joonghyuk won’t think he’s weird and kick him out. He’s not willing to give up the best roommate he’s ever had! He just can’t go back to living with the worst people in existence, who treat him horribly and steal his things. He just can’t. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them,” Yoo Joonghyuk says instead of demanding that Kim Dokja move out. 

“I don’t wear them often.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dart farther down. “You’re also not wearing pants.”

Kim Dokja pulls the blanket over his legs and tries to pretend Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t just say that. “Well, you’re not wearing a shirt! You’re only wearing…” he trails off, finally letting himself look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Those sweatpants look familiar. They look just like the ones he thought he lost months ago. “...Isn’t that mine?”

“...Our laundry must have gotten mixed up.”

That’s a lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is not one to mix up their laundry. They’ve never accidentally taken each other’s clothes. 

Kim Dokja smiles and Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, his ears turning red. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he says sweetly in a way that Yoo Joonghyuk knows is a threat.

“I don’t see why I can’t have some of your clothes if you have mine.”

“My clothes don’t fit you! And besides, isn’t it strange for us to be sharing clothes?”

“No. You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”

Kim Dokja has no response to that. He freezes, then ducks his head, trying to hide his quickly warming cheeks. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard that he is, doesn’t let Kim Dokja hide. He wraps an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist and pulls him closer, hard enough to send him falling against his side. “Stop being so shy and wear my shirts while I’m around.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I got bored and left early. I prefer being here with you.”

“Don’t think sweet talking is going to make me forget about you stealing my sweatpants.”

“Oh?” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a large hand down Kim Dokja’s spine, making him shiver. “What should I do then?”

“Nothing!” Kim Dokja hits his chest, but makes no moves to put any space between them. He is not going to be thinking about why. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should go to sleep since you spent hours at that tournament. Congratulations on another win, by the way.”

Smiling, Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, forcing Kim Dokja to bend back a bit, putting more of his weight on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “You were watching?”

“I always watch when you compete. What’s the point of having a popular gamer for a roommate if I can’t brag about him?”

Without another word, Yoo Joonghyuk collapses on top of him, crushing him against the couch.

“Hey!” Kim Dokja flails, then smacks Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “What’s that for!”

“You’re right, I am tired.”

“Then go to bed!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk tightens his grip on Kim Dokja’s waist, then nuzzles into his neck. The feeling of his hair brushing against his neck makes Kim Dokja shiver, not quite tickling him but just enough to have the sensation send sparks down his spine. 

He sighs softly, and feeling it against his skin brings a deep blush to Kim Dokja’s cheeks. “I’d prefer to stay here for the night,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja grumbles about being squished beneath the heavy weight of his body, but ultimately decides to indulge himself and stay. 

They stay like that, sleeping on the couch, all through the night. They both wake with stiff necks in the morning, but Kim Dokja doesn’t mind at all when it lets him stay in Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace a little longer.

Things change after that. 

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call them friends, per se. Not before That Night. Roommates, yes. Acquaintances who get along well, yes. Friends? No. 

But now, he’s not too sure what to call their relationship. They live together so they have to spend some time together, but school keeps them both busy and Kim Dokja often spends his time at the library with Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah while Yoo Joonghyuk streams and goes to tournaments. 

It’s more accurate to say they exist in the same space, than to say that they spend time together. 

They get along well enough, which is why they’ve renewed their lease together for another year, but somehow, after That Night Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly… sticky.

He’s constantly making food for them. More so than before. He asks for Kim Dokja’s preferences instead of just silently handing him a plate?

Kim Dokja stares at the box of pasta in his hands. He doesn’t understand why he’s grocery shopping with Yoo Joonghyuk, but he’s gone with it for too long and can’t ask any questions now.

“Did you want pasta?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, appearing behind him without warning. Kim Dokja jumps a little, then glares at him, annoyed by how amused he looks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can just buy instant noodles.”

Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the box of pasta from his hands and adds it to the cart. “Absolutely not. I’ll make noodles for you later.”

“You can make noodles from scratch?”

“It’s not hard.”

Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk right that very second if asked. He also doesn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly spoiling him, but he’s not going to question a good thing. He’s going to get as much as he can out of this, because who knows when it will end?

So he bumps his hip against Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a smile as they walk down the aisle, and asks, “Can we get ice cream?”

Yoo Joonghyuk does not answer for a long minute, then glances at Kim Dokja’s hopeful expression and sighs. “Fine.”

He really is getting spoiled.

Kim Dokja fully intends to use this knowledge for evil.

Another thing that’s changed: clothes. 

Since Kim Dokja didn’t complain enough about his sweatpants being stolen before he fell asleep, Yoo Joonghyuk decided he could just take Kim Dokja’s most comfortable sweatpants and wear them whenever he wants. So what if he looks really good! They’re still Kim Dokja’s and he will hold this grudge for as long as he needs to. 

He intends to steal more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts as revenge, except he doesn’t need to steal anything. Because Yoo Joonghyuk just leaves his shirts in Kim Dokja’s room. So he wears them and tries not to get flustered when Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him each time he walks out of his room wearing something Yoo Joonghyuk left him. 

It’s a losing battle.

On the bright side, he no longer has to hide it. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s getting more and more used to lounging in the living room in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts. 

The hungry look Yoo Joonghyuk gives him is also nice to see. 

Kim Dokja may be the king of denial, but even he can’t lie to himself with how obvious Yoo Joonghyuk is being. Nor can he pretend that he isn’t doing this for that exact reason, or spending more time at the apartment to be with him. 

They’re both pushing in little ways, but it’s not enough for him to be willing to push their relationship out of the cloud of ambiguity its currently in. 

Before he knows it, half his closet is Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothes, and he has to go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants to study in because all of them got stolen. The rude bastard really has no shame. 

“Why don’t we just keep our clothes in the same room?” Yoo Joonghyuk suggests after Kim Dokja complains to him about this. 

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Just take all your things into my room. I’ll make space for you.”

And so Kim Dokja suddenly finds himself sharing a room with Yoo Joonghyuk. And then sharing a bed. And then waking up with him to his absurdly early alarm. 

They’re not dating, and he says as much to Han Sooyoung when talking about this; she just rolls her eyes and calls him and idiot for not realizing what’s going on. 

She has absolutely no room to talk, being in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Yoo Sangah instead of just asking her out on a date like normal people would. 

They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja leans into him when they watch a movie together after rejecting a party invite. They’re not dating, but Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his cheek each morning before he gets up to make breakfast. They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja will settle into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap while wearing nothing but one of his shirts to finish a reading for one of his classes. 

They’re not dating, but he certainly wants to. 

However, Kim Dokja would sooner pass away then actually talk about his feelings, so he bottles it up, greedily hoards all the affection he gets from Yoo Joonghyuk, and hopes he makes his move soon because Kim Dokja is starting to get impatient.

In the meantime, he’ll steal another shirt and pretend he didn’t do it on purpose just to get Yoo Joonghyuk to look at him. 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

make me be true, make me be blue // Anthony Bridgerton

A/N: As much as I love Benedict, I also love Anthony. The last part of this is extremely inspired by a scene from The Crown - let’s see if you can guess which one! Title: Harry Connick jr - It Had To Be You

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: arguing, an argument, lots of love and fluff, caring, established relationship, married couple, suggestiveness, female pronouns, use of word ‘wife’. 

Word count: 2.8k

As the season in London drew to a close, it could be seen on every face that they were tired of the dancing and the music and the lukewarm lemonade. It was never a comment on the talent of the musicians unless, perhaps, it was a Smythe-Smith musical. Their seasonal musical was never welcomed with much excitement, but very few could say no to the quartet of young women.

Nevertheless, whomever the artist may be, many were glad for the season to draw to a close. Sighing tiredly, you bid your goodbyes to the latest lady to draw you into conversation. Your lavender skirts swish gently under foot as you wander around the lavishly decorated ballroom, in search for your dear husband.

You spy his hair first; the dark brown hair standing a head taller than the rest of the men he currently spoke with. Repressing another tired sigh, you note that the elderly white-haired men Anthony was standing with were of large importance in society.

“The Revolution was over two decades ago, and it seems France traded in one monarch for another,” is what you hear as you sidle up to Anthony. He smiles down at you, hooking his arm through yours, before turning his attention back to the conversation.

Anthony nods along; his interest piqued but not to the point where he would happily contribute to the debate. Instead, he simply offers, “True, a king for an emperor.”

“Surely Napoleon is still in exile,” You comment lightly, eyebrows furrowing at the topic of conversation between the men. They would never see a day of war between them; having enough money between them meaning they would not have dress in a uniform. As such, there was no need for the conversation.

“Dear girl, Napoleon left Elba and landed back in Paris last week. Do you read the papers?” Lord Hugo states, a dismissive look on his face as if questioning your very presence in the conversation. He frowns at your comfortable stance next to your husband, wondering why you aren’t socialising with the other wives.

A flush heats your body; rising anger. Turning to Anthony, you squeeze the hand that rests on his forearm, a silent plea for help but your husband remains silent.

Ducking your head, you state through clenched teeth, “Pardon me, Lord Hugo. I must be making a round of the room; I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was neglecting my womanly duties.”

“As you should,” The Lord replies as you turn your back to him. You bristle from the comment, back straightening despite the corset designed to do such an action. It wouldn’t be long now until Anthony wrapped up the conversation; seeking you out through the crowd. For you however, the ball was over – nothing left to be said.

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

Stalking through the large house, you ignore the increasing calls of your husband. Having left the carriage in a hurry of skirts, silks and ribbons, Anthony had begun immediately calling your name – wanting you to stop and wait, to stop and listen.

Even the Butler remains silent as he catches a glimpse of your face and the thunderous expression it currently holds. Silently, the Butler offers a prayer for the wellbeing of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.

“You’re really going to remain silent?” Anthony calls from the bottom of the staircase, one foot poised on the bottom step, ready to launch himself upstairs at a moment’s call.

Pausing in your retreat, you throw a glare at your husband. A look that definitely shows you were not up for talking on the stairs.

Anthony nods, seemingly understanding this. “So it’s the silent treatment until we’re in our room,” He pauses, beginning the ascent to the bedroom he has shared with you since the first night of your marriage, “Understandable.”

You roll your eyes, walking away from the man that had managed to vex you so thoroughly.

Shoving open the door to your shared bedroom does little to siphon off some of the anger you feel. In fact, it only increases when you try to work the laces of your dress free by yourself, frustrated tears brewing in the corner of your eyes as you manoeuvre yourself into every position possible to try and free yourself.

Slumping at your dressing table, you come to realise that it was more humiliation that you felt.

Your husband was a marvellous man; intelligent, funny, respectful and incredibly handsome. Yet, he had moments where he could so fantastically obtuse.

The moment played in your mind on a constant loop; the words of disdain from the Lord, Anthony’s silence. A constant loop in your mind; it would be a while before your mind rested enough to let you have some peace.

Brushing your hands through your hair, you loosen the pins that keep in place, beginning the painstaking process of removing them. All the while thinking that if the night had gone better, Anthony would be the one removing them, offering you a kiss for each pin removed.

--------

Anthony had taken his time walking to the bedroom, running through the events of the evening, thinking where he might have gone wrong – said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing. He found the moment; realised what he had said or rather, what he hadn’t said, and how it had come across. Lord Hugo was an incredibly influential man, and whilst Anthony outranked him in his peerage, his youth made him all but an inexperienced whelp in Hugo’s eyes.

Hindsight was truly an excellent gift to possess. He should have said something; Hugo’s influence be damned. He should have spoken up; should have defended you.

Gently, he rests his forehead against the closed door of the bedroom. He takes a deep breath and places a hand on the wooden panel; desperate to reach through to you, but he knows that there is far more on your mind than comfort at this point.

Anthony enters the bedroom slowly, closing the door softly behind him. “Are you ready to talk me now, darling?” Anthony asks, voice soft but tone wary as he takes in your defeated state.

“You humiliated me in front of that odious man by staying silent.”

His eyes widen; truly unaware of such a misdeed taking place. “I didn’t know, truly.”

“That’s what hurts most, Anthony. This is not a marriage of equals, darling. I know you love me as much as I love you, but I have brought nothing to this marriage. I did not get the pleasure to go to university despite doing so well in my studies. I cannot travel freely, and I cannot speak my mind whenever I damn well please. There are going to be some topics that I am not going to be an expert on, but you can try your best not to defend me when I get things wrong.”

“Darling, I didn’t mean any harm.”

You sniffle, wiping away the few tears that have dared to fall. “I know you didn’t, yet it still happened.”

Anthony opens and closes his mouth, searching for something – anything – to say that could make this better, but nothing comes to mind, so nothing leaves his mouth.

A pained noise leaves your lips as you turn away from your husband, reaching for your face cream, your hairbrush – anything to keep your hands busy and the tears at bay.

Finally, a sigh is all you hear, and you figure that the conversation is done for the evening. A lingering kiss is placed to the top of your head before Anthony leaves the bedroom, presumably retiring to his study.

Once free of the confines your dress, you dress for bed, crawling under the covers. Running a hand down your face, you couldn’t help but hope Anthony would join you soon. Despite the anger you felt at the man, you couldn’t fall asleep without him next to you.

---------

You wake alone. Anthony’s side of the bed is ruffled; he had joined you an hour after you had slide under the covers. He hadn’t said anything; he had simply gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly, pressing apologetic kiss after apologetic kiss to whatever piece of bare skin he could reach.

Stretching a hand to his side of the bed, the sheets are cold. Reaching for his pillow, you hold it to your face, inhaling the spiciness of whatever cologne he used last night. Keeping the pillow close, you turn onto your back, thinking over the events of last night.

You had every right to be annoyed; you had every right to feel the way you did. If this was a different society, you would not rely on Anthony to defend you – you would have spoken your mind to Lord Hugo. But this was not a different society, and its trappings were stifling. For the hope of future generations, you couldn’t help but pray things would soon change.

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

The day moves slowly. Tea with Anthony’s mother and sisters followed by a visit to the modiste. No sign of Anthony with every visit home and your mood drops with every shake of the Butler’s head.

Eventually, you find refuge in the library, searching through the books and the papers there. It had been so long since you had read something that was not a romance. Pride and Prejudice had been published just two years ago and you had read it countless times; enjoying the author’s way with words and her creation of Mr. Darcy. However, instead of picking up the latest romance, you chose to return to the books you had so adored in your education – historical accounts of past monarchs and their reigns, accounts of wars.

It was not for the sake of Lord Hugo who sneered at you with such derision; it was for your benefit. Knowledge was free and you owned the library through marriage, why shouldn’t you take a look?

-----------

The Butler clearing his throat is what brings your attention back to the present. Having lost yourself so freely in an account of the witch hunts that had plagued the north of England; the book had caught your eye, tucked away and gathering dust. The subject had immediately caught your interest, and you soon found yourself searching for all the books you could on the subject.

Smiling sheepishly at the Butler, you ask, “Have some guests arrived? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He shakes his head, smiling fondly at you, “I thought you would like to know that the Viscount has returned home. He is currently in his study.”

Standing from your chair, you deposit your book on a table before thanking the Butler and rushing up the stairs to Anthony’s study. You pause just outside the door, gathering yourself, tidying your appearance and slowing your breathing to an acceptable rate.

Knocking on the door, your heart begins to pound in your chest as you hear his warm voice giving you permission to enter.

Anthony freezes in his chair when he sees you enter his study. Your eyes are bright and there’s a faint flush to your skin that has Anthony’s eyes raking over your body, curious to know what’s caused such a reaction in you.

“Darling,” He greets, voice kind and warm.

“Darling,” You reply, watching the smile grow across his face when he hears the fondness in your voice.

“How has your day been?” Anthony asks, drawing out the inevitable conversation.

You smile widely, “I spent most of it in the library, reading.”

“A new romance novel?”

You shake your head, smoothing down the skirts of your sage green dress, “The trials of the Berwick and Pendle witches.”

Anthony’s eyes widen almost comically. “I didn’t even know we had books on the topic.”

“Neither did I, but I’ve been reading through the accounts all day. It truly is fascinating. Did you know History was my strongest subject when I was in education?”

Again, Anthony shakes his head. He didn’t know; he hadn’t asked. You shrug, “Arithmetic, Geography, Latin… They never grasped me as much as History did. I would read for hours about whatever I could find: the Tudors, the Saxons, military strategy…” At the further widening of Anthony’s eyes, you continue, “I suppose as I grew older and I was then out as a debutante, I lost the habit.”

“Perhaps,” Anthony murmurs before saying, “You can always find the habit again.”

You smile widely; the grin brightening your face as it stretches to your eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that darling,” You begin, “I want to be more involved, Anthony. I don’t want to be a silent partner; I want to be there; I want to comment. I want to know what is happening with foreign affairs whether it is Napoleon or the price of tea. I want to know because I want to be on a more equal footing with you. I refuse to be humiliated that way again; it was awful, to be dismissed in that manner by that loathsome man.”

You stand before your husband, chest heaving in your restrictive dress. The words lay loud in the room; your plea for Anthony to speak up for you, your demand for further equality in your marriage.

“I called on Lord Hugo this afternoon,” Anthony states rather plainly after you fall silent, as if the meeting had been in his date book for months.

“You did?” You frown at him; wondering whether he had heard a single word that you had flung into the great expanse.

He nods. “He was rather surprised to see me. I’ll admit I didn’t plan on calling on him, but I kept thinking of last night and how destroyed you looked. I don’t ever want to see that look on your face again for as long as I shall live. So,” He shrugs, “I paid the Lord a visit.”

“How did it go?”

Anthony holds his right up and it is then that you see the dark purple now beginning to bruise his knuckles. “I may have lost my temper when I remembered how he spoke to you and how you felt afterwards,” Anthony pauses and then laughs loudly, “And I may have punched him in the face.”

“Anthony!” You berate, repressing the urge to roll your eyes at your ever vexing husband. “Is anything broken?”

He shakes his head, smiling widely, “Only Hugo’s nose.”

“My hero,” You drawl, heart racing as you take in the man that you married. The smart, brilliant and hot-headed man that you promised your forever to who had defended your honour against the man who had rudely spoken to you last night. He grins cheekily at your words, wiggling his fingers to show you that there was nothing broken – he was fine.

“You can read whatever you’d like,” He states firmly, “You can study whatever you like. Humiliate the man if there’s a next time.”

“Thank you,” You reply, holding your head high as you smile gratefully at the love of your life.

Anthony stands from his chair, having now recovered from the shock of your speech and the ease of which he can accept your demands. He had never been the easiest man to get along with; stubborn and set in his ways long before he ought to have been, but you had taken him in your stride, loving him just as fiercely as he loved you.

He rounds the desk. All the while his gaze does not leave yours. A sensual smile spreads across his face as he watches you wring your hands together – a nervous tic if there ever was any.

Leaning against the desk, Anthony crosses his ankles, resting hands upon the lip of his desk. He remains happy in the knowledge that even after the honeymoon period of your marriage was over, you would still track his every move. Your eyes dancing over his figure as he rests his weight upon the desk.

“There’s something different about you,” He finally says, breaking the silence of the room.

“Oh?” You whisper, your shoulders rolling back as you try to think about what could have changed – a new dress? A new attitude?

“You’re surer of yourself. It makes you look taller.”

“I don’t particularly think I’ve gained any height.”

“Perhaps not,” Anthony allows; a seductive smile on his face as he tilts his head to one side, regarding you. “But it presents me with two options.”

“And they are?”

“Well,” He begins, running a hand through his thick hair, “I could go and find a ladder to reach the new height of my tall wife or…”

Anthony trails off, leaving you in suspense as you find yourself taking those first few steps closer to him. Desperate to be in his arms, to be touched by the man you love - body and soul.

“Or…” You breathe; voice raspy with growing need.

“Or” Anthony beams, “She can get on her knees.”

***********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​

[malloryslourd]

Saturday Nights

Pairing: Madison Montgomery x GoodedayDaughter!Reader

Warnings: Some Strong Language, Hickeys

Words: 1,446

—————

"If you make me hit my head again Madi-"

"-Shut up."

Y/N's words were muffled as Madi pulled her back in to kiss her, hand placed next to Madison's head on the car seat in order to hold herself up. This had became a Saturday night ritual at this point. Leave the house at separate times, have one pick up the other, drive around the city for an hour, and end up making out in the back seat of their cars in some random spot or sparking lot. So far there was no suspicion, or at least they were aware of, and this was enough to set them straight for the weekend before they got time to themselves when Y/N's mother's were actually working.

Y/N had pulled away from Madison to return attention to her neck and chest. Earlier she had only been leaving soft kisses up and down in trails, but now her skin was already turning purple in some areas. Madison's hand snaked around the back of Y/N's neck. She let out a shaky breath as Y/N went back to what she was doing, forgetting of the empty threat that was pointed at the blonde about making her hurt herself again. Her other hand was placed firmly on Y/N's hip in order to follow her slight rocking motion.

Madison had even let out a faint moan while she threw her head back. Y/N had smirked and said something against her neck. She wasn't too sure what it was, but she knew "Shut up" was the right answer. Y/N laughed, but she didn't stutter in the pace she had taken.

Madison had begun to pull Y/N up to kiss her when she saw the glow of headlights coming towards them. Y/N hadn't noticed as quick as she did, only noticing that Madison's hands had stop squeezing her body. When she looked up to ask what was wrong, she noticed the lights too. "Shit." "Fuck." They both froze, too scared to even ask each other what they should do. Both of their heads had turned to look out the window. Y/N could feel her heart start to race, even faster than it was mere moments ago, as the lights came closer and closer towards her car.

In what could have been the final moments before a cop, or worse Cordelia and Misty, pulled up next to the car, the girls watched as the headlights coming towards the car slowly disappeared from their vision. They both let out a sigh, foreheads coming to rest against one another as their breathing started to slow and tension dissipated. Madison murmured something, just the slightest bit too quiet for Y/N to hear. Y/N intertwined their fingers as she further relaxed her body, trying to shake off the fear of getting caught as soon as possible. She was sure Madison was calming a lot faster than she was.

Even though she had been slightly more scared than her girlfriend Y/N was the first to laugh. Madison joined seconds later, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N's lips. Y/N pulled away from Madison, taking in her features. Her slightly swollen lips, mascara gathering on her eyelids and under her eyes slightly, the way her chest still heaved up and down even though they weren't even making out anymore. She let go of Madi's hand, it falling to her other hip, to trace the marks that she had left behind. With a slight smirk, just barely visible from the little light they had available, Y/N said, "Well I think they look good."

"I can't see them," Madison shot back, Y/N sucking her teeth in response. Her voice was barely over a whisper, as if she was scared of someone hearing her. She stretched her neck upwards to let Y/N graze her fingers over the red marks that seemed to darken in every passing second.

Y/N brought her hand up to the side of Madi's face. "Look down, you can see some," she smirked as her other hand came up to rest on the hickeys that laid on top of Madison's breasts. Her eyes met Madison's and she couldn't help but smile. The faint look of exhaustion creeping onto her features and the satisfied smile she tried to hold back was the most rewarding part of any of this. She always found herself appreciating how relaxed and happy Madison seemed in these moments. It always left something to be fond of after.

"I don't even wanna know how big the ones on my neck are." Madison's words took Y/N out of her state of admiration. Madi guided the witch off her lap, hands on her hips to help the Supreme's daughter sit next to her, legs draping over her lap. Madi sighed as she rested her head on the seat. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. "I'll look like I did the first time they brought me back," she turned to Y/N who was situating herself as she rested against the car door.

Y/N shook her head. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at how dramatic Madison was being. "Whatever," she laughed, "I gave you a few hickeys, I didn't fucking murder you." She reached for Madi's hand while she sat more comfortably, twisting the rings on her fingers.

"Close enough in our house." Madison had no shame- many that knew her could admit that. That didn't mean the constant berating of "making herself presentable" and "trying to act a bit more responsible" was easy to dismiss. Cordelia would be sure to say something as soon as she saw the condition her body was in. First it would be a disappointed shake of her head, then signaling to someone else in the room to take in what she just did, and finally the start of a big long speech on what Madison should and shouldn't be doing.

Y/N could notice the change in Madison's attitude as she went silent. She moved closer, legs still across Madison's lap and hand still in hers. "I'll ice them when we get home if you want," she spoke softly now that she was closer. "Coco taught me this ice and pressure thing when I needed to get rid of that one on my thigh," her head fell to rest on Madi's shoulder, her head falling on top of hers. "By the way, never do that again please. Oh my God, It hurt like Hell."

The couple laughed together at the memory of Y/N wincing every time her thighs would graze one another when walking or if she would stretch in just the wrong way. In the moment it had seemed like a great idea, but in reality it was more discomfort than it had ever been pleasure. That particular spot had been banned until further notice- or technically until Madison learned what was a little too much for her to handle.

"I don't want them iced."

"I know you don't, freak," Y/N smiled, throwing Madison's hand down into her lap.

Madison turned towards her. She thought her smile had the ability to light up the night sky if so needed, and that was one of the reasons she had fell in love with her. "Yeah, I'm the freak! Sure. This is always your idea!"

"I said I wanted to hang out, we ended up in the backseat because of you!"

They laughed again, louder this time. But still cautious of drawing too much attention to the random car in the parking lot. Y/N went back to resting her head on Madi's shoulder, letting out a content breath as she got comfortable. Her and Madi sat like that for what could've been hours, enjoying each other's presence in the silence.

Madison cleared her throat, a twisted smile of her face. Y/N looked up at her, eyebrow raised as she waited for the question. "So?..."

"No!" Y/N didn't need anything else to know that Madison wanted them to continue. She ignored the blonde's protest and pleas as she sat straight, reaching down to the floor to grab the very few articles of clothing that were discarded. "Weirdo with the headlights ruined it," Madison groaned at the explanation. "And besides, we gotta start thinking about a window of time for you to come in after me."

"Let's walk in together tonight. Really scare all of them, huh?"

"Then you'll really look like the first time you got brought back, and neither of us want that. Now get dressed!"

[yanderenightmare]

Ok hi again, I may be over doing it......idgaf I like ur shit! Good shit grade A writing. Aha

Aftercare, does it happen? What do they do?

Also....are these guys aware of their s/o limit if so do they stop😈

Pressing X for doubt

yandere ! BNHA thirsty headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncom/dubcon, abuse, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He’ll at least ask. He’s always careful to ask. The actual response isn’t too important. Protest that are drowned out in a moan can’t be seen as an actual protest anyway, and he always makes sure that her words are chocked in her throat. Bakugo knows his worth, he knows that each and every thing he does to her in that bed, it’s guarantied she likes it. Her pride makes her a liar, she can’t be trusted with her own pleasure, not when he knows and has proven time and time again that he knows her body and her limits better than what she does. When he has her bent over his lap, that cute little ass that he knows belongs to him, aiming to make sure that she knows it too, each time his hand comes in harsh contact with the soft flesh, feeling it up like putty in his hand as she winces and cries for him to stop. Her protests can’t be taken seriously, not when two fingers gliding up her pussy tells him all he needs to know, feeling how soaked she already is for him, all warm and velvety and ready. That’s all the answer he needs to keep going.

As far as aftercare goes… it can vary. Sometimes he’ll draw a bath with bubbles and lavender oil and light scented candles. Other times he’ll make food, where he’ll bake desserts more than anything. But there are days he won’t do much more than keep a painfully suffocating grip on her as he drifts rather quickly off to sleep. Exchanging no words except for those growls of good night and I love you. Leaving the rest for after they wake up, having an early morning where he’ll never let her sleep in, dragging her with him to shower before he has to leave, where afterwards he’ll treat her to more tender care on the bed with his face buried between her thighs in a way of apologizing for having to leave her alone all day.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

She shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about anything. Dabi might look like your worst nightmare, but you’d be surprised how soft the darkness really is. He can be persuasive and disarming if and when he wants to be, or he can be foul… He likes finding a mix between the two though, they work better together anyway. Make her feel safe, but only if she obeys, and make her feel fear if she doesn’t. He won’t bite… at least not for any longer than to make her cry for him, for those precious little water-works to bubble up to the surface. Making a chew toy out of that pretty swan-neck of hers, paint it with purple, resembling what hue of mulberry-wine found on his marred skin. Nibbling on that cute button between her legs, feel her tremble in his hold and hear her gasp out his name. Or grinding those perfect little nipples between the rows of his teeth, watching her blubber out her pleas when the pressure he applies threatens to bite the flimsy nib off, feel her pussy clench around his shaft upon the anticipation and fear. Fear does such peculiar things to people, especially in the form of threats, especially when walking hand in hand with pleasure. His darling doesn’t know what to make of herself, left completely like putty in his hands, all for him to toy with and tamper and tease. Where she doesn’t dare try and make him stop, she doesn’t dare allow herself to enjoy what he’s doing either, because only mad people run into things they already know to be a trap.

He’ll hush and coo at her to stop crying afterwards, her little mind on the verge of breaking and her pitter patter heart standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump with nothing but Dabi to hold onto, the knot in her lower abdomen already having exploded time and time again because of him. She’s such a mess, such a cross-eyed wet hot mess, his little mess and that always manages to bring a smile to his face.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

If Tomura’s in a mood, as in a childish fit, she can expect no rest, because the wicked as we know get no rest, and the unfortunate sweet thing kidnapped by the wicked get no rest either. Tomura’s mood, quite like his morals, change like tidewater. Sometimes he’ll behold her precious beautiful body as though she’s made up of fine porcelain, meant to be touched and worshipped softly, where the fact of her wanting the worship or not is irrelevant. He’ll still touch and touch and let himself get carried away by how insanely soft her skin is as opposed to him. He’ll fuck her slowly, each hump meaningful and hauled out to the max as so to feel every single inch of him filling her up… Then there’s his other mood… The feeling of opposition is no less there, how unfairly gorgeous she is in contrast to how appalling he is, however… instead of it evoking worship… it evokes humorous triumph. Gut-wrenching nasty despicable satisfaction, where it brings him such inane pleasure to think that someone as disgusting as him has the power and the will to corrupt something so pure, something so pretty, and how there is quite literally nothing she can do to stop him, nothing at all… it gets his blood rushing in sadistic glee when he pushes her down on her stomach, fisting her hair while jutting into her from behind, every little salacious depraved thought growled into her ear, with no regard to her choked screams except for a wild grin, spiked to go even faster.

Not much tender aftercare here I’m afraid, he thinks it’s best to leave her alone, getting in his chair to game, taking one long last look at his cum seeping from her hole, his handprint red across her ass, still looking so pretty even with all those bruises… maybe even inspired to go for another round.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Aww. Little kitty is at her breaking point? The collar is too tight for Master’s precious pretty pet? Pussy-cat wants a break? But good kittens deserve good toe-curling eye-crossing world-shattering rewards, and bad kittens will be punished however Master chooses, won’t they? If she screams no, he’ll hear yes. If she screams stop, he’ll hear more. If she screams please, well… he’ll still hear please… It’s so unbearably cute to see her stutter and frustrate over how her words come out all wrong, as if someone’s picked her brain, pulled on her strings as though she were a puppet, changed what she wants to say, to what he wants to hear. What’s even cuter is when those large eyes of hers go all ditzy, crossing paths, that crinkle between her brows furrowing, with her tongue falling over her lips. But, the cutest thing is when her tail wraps around his thigh and leg, holding onto him in such a soft embrace when her bliss strides over her body, reaching all the way to the tip of her plushy soft tail, when her wrists and ankles are too busy being kept tied snug and firm together, as he continues to slam himself fast-forwardly into her.

He’ll erase his mind-tricks afterwards, careful to restore anything he might have disturbed or broken during their playtime. Her fluffy tail still slithered around his thigh as he pets her over her soft ears, telling her what a good little kitten she is and how proud she’s made him, feeling her shiver and jolt against him, small little spasms followed by short acute hiccups, proof of how bendable those so-called limits are when Hitoshi takes control. Proof of how good he can make her feel, so good she loses track of where she is, so good she loses contact with her mind, so good the only thing she’s still able to do is purr.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Oh… She can’t blame him when his rut rolls around the corner. He can’t control those urges. Not when she’s there, so plain and defenseless and a perfect fit for him to take all that cooped up frustration out on. He just needs to fill her each and every crevice up with his seed, make sure she’s well bred, pump her full of his cum until his balls no longer have anything left to give. He’ll hump like a frenzied pup, hands gripping her hips so tight her feet don’t even touch the ground. He’ll pound until he’s exhausted, until she’s left a swollen sweat-slicked mess, no longer able to stand straight without her weak and wobbly knees giving out beneath her. She wishes his rut and her heat could line up, so she doesn’t have to go through the same thing twice, but she isn’t that lucky, and Keigo is. He’ll be counting down the days until finally picking up those sweet tones in the air, that aroma that makes him go feral. She does him a favor by acting so shy, so ashamed, it makes it that much more fun when she’s struggling against both him and herself. All it takes is for him to put his thumb in her mouth… how she’ll begin to drool at the very first taste, her eyes losing that feral fight and falling prey to the feeling of her nerves being set on fire. He gladly indulges her needs, his heart fluttering at how clingy she becomes, how sweet, blubbering out gibberish, shapeless words that are such a good replacement for what vile things she’ll yell at him most other times.

He’ll be so hungry in the mornings after, disappointed for the lack of food in the house, but he can’t blame his darling for not cooking, not when he’s rendered her lame, she can’t very well cook if she can’t stand. He’ll order so much take-out the smell of sweat and juices soon gets coated and overwhelmed by the smell of spice and broth. Eating, regaining all his strength… that was only day one of two weeks… the rut is only just beginning.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Don’t worry, Izuku knows how much to give and how much to take, just as he knows when to give it and when to take it, and how to give and how to take. He knows what punishment is due for what crime as well as he knows when rewards are in order. And if he so happens to need to punish her… he’ll make sure she does something in need of punishment. It’s not often he needs to act on those sadistic carnal vulgar yearnings, but a bad day gets a whole lot better if he can come home and take it out on someone, especially when he gets to play with her beforehand, poke and prod until she slips up, allowing him to pounce on her the second she fucks up like a fox finally done playing with his food, his little bunny. The ends justify the means after all. He knows that it’s unfair to take his frustration out on his little darling… but… it being wrong… somehow makes it feel better. Having her blubbering on choked sobs and quaking beneath him, under his blood-soaked scarred hands, her little hole serving as such a snug and no doubt painful fit for his cock to abuse. Hearing her apologize for doing absolutely nothing at all, just to satiate his craze, all because he decided he wanted to exercise his dominance.

One thing that’s good about Izuku is that once is enough, and though that one time might feel like a million times stretching over a million days, where she’s left unable to walk properly… once he’s done, she can be sure he’s done… at least until the next day. If she hasn’t passed-out, he’ll let her cry it off when he’s done, offering no words but still comforting her by stroking her back or fiddling with her hair, twirling it about his fingers as she rests on his chest, her tears making his bicep itch with irritation, but he’ll allow her that much.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He tries being sweet, he tries being gentle, he tries mimicking the same type of softness as his darling bestows upon him, yet… although she’s sweet, she’s also so aggravatingly reluctant, and Kai doesn’t have the time nor the patience to second-guess every single little thing he wants to do. It’s impractical, it’s wasteful, it’s stupid, and stupidity as we know is a disease he can’t risk being infected with. No, better then, for him to just take the lead, for him to make the decisions for her, for him to decide her limits, up to him to decide when she’s ready to take his cock, how fast and hard he can thrust into her, how tight he can grip her wrists when she starts pushing at him, how many bruises are too many, how many times she can cum. Besides, if things go too far… he knows how to piece her together again. He hasn’t studied every single detail of her just to let all that valuable information go to waste. He’ll see to it that she’s as good as new once their done, if not, maybe even better, maybe even less reluctant to give into what he wants next time, maybe a bit more respectful of the rules, maybe a bit more understanding of who there is the boss and who there is the brittle brainless little toy.

Pain is a good cleanser anyway, despite it being bloody and gory and mixed in with tears and drool and snot and whatever else may occur once the need for his quirk arrives after his aggression causes something to bruise or break. She might think that it’s cruel that healing her has to hurt more than the wound itself, but what she needs to learn is that prosperity always comes at a price, a price that he’s all too willing to pay when she fails to live up to her potential.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Limits are made to be broken, to be conquered, in order for us to prosper. She should be grateful she at least gets the liberty to be with the one she loves, the one who loves her. She should at least be grateful that it’s not just anyone who’s breaking her limits, but him. Him and his hands and his tongue and his cock and his frostbite and his flames and his smile and his biting laughter. She knows by now that there is no stopping him when he starts, she knows that her only hope is to wait for herself to achieve that opium-blown ecstasy and ride that insanity where her skin feels like fire and her insides like ice and every touch, no matter how feather-light or how brutish and bruising, is god’s touch.

Shoto is unprecedentedly thorough and dreadfully talented at aftercare. While his darling is lying all limp and numbed-down, holding onto the prickling feeling dancing like fire-ants on her skin, she can barely even capture the feeling of Shoto wrapping her up in a fuzzy robe. His cold lips pressing onto her forehead and by the time she comes to, when she finally and woefully breaches the surface and gets reeled back into reality, right when she’s at the verge of collapsing from having all her hormones crash, her adrenaline fizzing out into nothing and she’s left feeling all cold and so dreadfully sad, Shoto’s right there, making her feel warm and appreciated and safe. He’ll light candles, scented with rosehip, he’ll already have picked out a movie, he’ll have the chocolate ready, the tea brewing in their matching cups, swiftly braiding her hair into a neat loose setup to keep it from falling into her face as he knows she’s much too drained to lift her hand, resting between his legs, her head using his chest as a headrest. If he’s being honest, he isn’t quite sure what he loves more, the play-session or the aftercare, all he knows is that one is impossible without the other… yet again proving the importance of balance.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[lavendersb]

Provider

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din wants to give you the universe. Making you see stars seems like a good place to start.

Warnings: Smut, this is str8 up sin, fingering, soft!dom Din, service!dom Din, overstimulation, so much praise, i wrote this at 3am so if this is hardly literate im so sorry :)

@maybege​ i have you to blame for encouraging my sinful behaviour 

Din doesn’t know how he survived before you.

Of coursed he coped, he hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in the parsec without a certain level of diligence. His structured Mandalorian upbringing had taught him the importance of being capable and organized, of always being one step ahead.

But the child had brought with him its own unique set of challenges. Din could deal with the bounty hunters and imperial forces, they where nothing new to him. The joys of parenthood however had taken some getting used to.

He was an angel most of the time. Din could spend hours with the little womp rat and not encounter the slightest hitch, but when the fancy struck him, the child could turn into a little terror of angry gargles and twitching ears. The fact that he could also throw items around the crest with his strange magic powers didn’t make these tantrums any easier for Din to handle.

That’s when you had arrived. Offering your services as caretaker and claiming to be a half -decent mechanic as well, Din had hired you almost instantly. The child was almost as taken with you as he was, and from that moment on, Din never looked back.

He learns quickly that you had been very modest about your skills. Not only where you capable of handling whatever the child threw your way, you could also help with just about any problem the crest came up with. Din also learns that you’re not bad in a fight, and on the odd occasion he invites you out on a hunt with him. You work together like a well-oiled machine, united by a common goal of protecting the child. Protecting each other.

Perhaps it was your caring and capable nature that drew Din closer to you than he ever expected he would. Regardless of what it had been, Din has never felt as happy as when he comes home to see the love of his life waiting for him with his strange little son.

This is where his mind has wondered as he trudges through the swampy mud back to his ship. The bounty was on planet thankfully, so Din never had to worry about bringing the quarry near to his safe haven. The safe haven in question, the metallic body of the razor crest, peeks out at him through the trees and Din’s feet just can’t move fast enough.

Din lowers the ramp, and as he reaches the warmly lit interior of the hull he can’t help but pause a moment in shock.

The hull when Din had left it was a state. On the previous planet you had returned to the crest just as a team of Jawas had started to tear it apart. Thankfully Din had managed to scare them off before they could cause any real damage, but a fair few interior wall panels had already been unscrewed and tossed aside. This morning Din had left the hull in that same state. Now it was as if there had never been any damage at all.

But there, in the centre of the hull is the thing that makes Din’s heart clench beneath the beskar. You’ve set a small metal container on the ground, filled it with some warm water which gently steams, and placed the little green child inside for a bath. He watches where you kneel beside the tub, grinning at the child as he holds one of your fingers in one tiny hand, and splashes the water with the other.

“Hi,” you say through a slight laugh, snapping Din out of his reverent staring “we’re almost done here”

Din walks forward, coming to stand beside you and bending to press his forehead to yours softly.

“Did you fix the ship?” he asks softly, though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, pulling away from him reluctantly. The child, now wholly interested in the return of his father, reaches out to Din and begins to babble uncontrollably.

“We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we? But you’ve been such a good helper,” You say to the child, and Din watches you fish the wriggling child out of his bath and wrap him up in a soft towel. He notes that the task of fixing the crest must have taken almost all of the day, and having to keep the child entertained at the same time wouldn’t have made it easy for you.

“Mesh’la, have you eaten today?”

Din takes your silence as an answer and his happiness falters just a little. Of course you would prioritise your task and the child before yourself. Sometimes he wonders how you would survive without him.

“I wanted to wait” you reassure him weakly “enjoy my break when the work is done”

“I’ll take him from here, you should rest” Din says, leaving no room for argument.

He takes the child from you, now dressed in a freshly cleaned robe (another task you’ve completed that he wants to thank you for). Din sees a moment of doubt pass over your face as you try to argue with him, but the feeling of tiredness creeping into your bones wins you over. With an acknowledging smile, you kiss the child on the head and disappear towards the nearest bunk.

Din takes care of the last few jobs of the day, content in the knowledge that his love is resting nearby. He makes the jump to hyperspace first, cradling the child in his arms. The little bundle is still warm from the bath, and Din watches his big glossy eyes blink slowly at him, trying to savour the last moment seeing his Buir’s shiny helmet before he falls asleep.

Once the child is safely asleep in his cot, Din goes to fish through his bag, producing one of the fresh bread rolls and a selection of berry’s he bought before he returned. He plates them with the last of the soup that’s left, and once he’s finished his own portion and secured his helmet back in place, he calls out to you to join him.

Woozy and half asleep, Din watches fondly as you float towards the little kitchen set-up. The sleep in your eyes is replaced with excitement as you catch a glimpse of the fresh food on the table.

“Din,” you breathe “you shouldn’t have”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done today”

Din watches as you happily devour the food. He listens intently as you tell him all of the things you and the child got up to that day. How long it took to fix the panels, how the two of you played out in the muddy swamp for a while before you brought the child in for a well needed bath. This domesticity is something so new to him, but you make it feel easy. Just like you made it easy for him to fall in love with you. He would give you the galaxy, Din thinks, if only he knew where to start.

When the food is finished, Din clears the plates away but there’s a feeling deep down in his soul that he can do more for you. There’s still something else he can provide. As he sees you walk away towards the refresher, he knows he must act fast.

Din crowds you against the wall, pressing you against the panels you’ve just diligently fixed. A hand that rests at the back of your head prevents you from hurting your skull, and Din lets his fingers wind through the strands beneath them. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at his visor, surprised by his sudden movements and hopeful, Din can tell, that he might be about to pull unspeakable pleasures from you.

“Have I taken care of you? He asks quietly.

“Y-yes”

“No,” Din chastises “I haven’t. Not yet. Tell me what you need”

Your lips flutter as the words Din seeks dance around your mouth. He encourages your response by fisting your hair a little harder, not to be cruel, but to ease you into his instruction.

“You, Din” he finally hears you gasp “I need you”

Pride swells in him at your words, and he moves the hand in your hair to wrap around the small of your back and fasten on your waist, pulling you close to him whilst he presses you to the wall.

“Then you’ll have me”

Din uses his free hand to pull at the obstructing fabric that keeps him from the apex of your thighs. Softly, but without preamble his hand dips to your heat and makes a gentle swipe through your folds, groaning when he finds it warm and soft and so very wet already.

His fingers find your clit and with tiny, firm little circles he plays with it to his hearts content. Din feels you tremble and sag against him, enjoying how accepting you become to his touch.

“My sweet girl,” Din breathes, and it’s said so reverently it makes you tremble and mewl just that bit more.

“My sweet girl, you’ve worked so hard today” The movements against your clit slow and you whine in complaint. Din chuckles and shushes you “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine desperately, moving to grip the arm that reaches between your legs, hoping to encourage it to move again.

Din smiles beneath his helmet, satisfied with your compliance as he returns to your clit with vigour, plucking from you tiny gasps that draw his hungry eyes to the way your pretty chest rises and falls.

“Then cum mesh’la. Come so I can fuck your pretty cunt with my fingers”

And oh how that filthy promise pushes you off the edge. He feels you stiffen in his arms and pulls you closer to him until you feel crushed by his solid presence. You can hardly register it though, too lost in the waves of pleasure that don’t seem to ease at all. Din doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your pretty moans turn to gasps and pleas to stop.

He doesn’t remove his hand from you, simply sliding his fingers down to trace that little fluttering hole he loves so dearly. He watches your face the whole time, enjoying how slack it goes when the first finger makes a teasing press against you.

“Pretty girl you take such good care of us, but you neglect yourself” he teasingly scolds, pressing into you a little further with his finger and watching you keen at his tone.

“Would you like to be taken care of? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Din, yes” you nod frantically, squirming in his firm grasp.

He squeezes your hip in warning, before sliding his finger deep inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling of your soft heat welcoming his finger. He starts to pump into you, his pace direct and precise, hitting against that soft spongy spot with each push. Din wanted to give you the galaxy, making you see stars seemed like a good place to start.

“I knew from the first minute I saw you that you’d be so warm and soft everywhere” Din says as you cry out for him “and I was right, wasn’t I mesh’la? Your cunt might be the warmest, softest thing in the whole galaxy”

As he adds another finger, Din swears he’s never felt more whole then when he’s breaking you apart like this. Letting you be tender and vulnerable. You break apart for him so well he muses.

“Won’t you cum for me?” he says, and stars you’ve never wanted to come so bad in all your life. Not just because you think you might explode at the way his fingers are aiming for that spot that makes you cry out in pleasure, but also because you want- no need him to know how much you love him. How grateful you are that he treats you so well.

When you do cum its electric. You reach for Din’s pauldron for support, gripping the metal as you rock against his hand. He feels you soak his palm and groans, shamelessly grinding himself against whatever part if you he can.

He doesn’t pull his fingers from you, instead he massages your walls gently watching you twitch when he rubs that special place inside you. He waits until you meet his eye through the visor, expectantly waiting for him to withdraw his fingers.

Instead he presses his thumb back against your thoroughly abused clit and holds you tighter as you give a startled jolt against him.

“Din,” you whine, and he smirks at how wrecked and helpless you sound “I can’t-“

“You can” he insists, picking up the pace of the fingers inside you “You’ll cum again because I’m telling you to. Because I’m taking care of you, right?”

You can barely nod in response, your body to busy trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. Din gazes at your face, taken by the way your brows pinch and fat tears fill your waterline and weigh down your eyelashes. 

The sight of you has him desperate, and he removes the hand from around your waist, using his torso to pin you to the wall so you don’t collapse. He tugs the cowl away from his neck to expose the tanned skin of his neck. You don’t need his instruction to know what to do next, and with what little energy left in your body, you lean forward to press messy, fluttering kisses to the skin over his pulse.

Din grunts, truly blissed out by the feeling of you on him doubles his assault on your sensitive heat. He barely hears your gasping warning before he feels you come utterly undone against him. Your cunt squeezes his fingers so tightly, and he makes sure to tell you that, though he’s not sure you can hear him. Your face is still pressed against his neck, breathing against him, and he swears he feels a wet tear drop against his skin.

“I love you, sweet girl” he says, pulling his fingers from you softly.

The hum that comes from your heavy, satisfied, and sleepy body tells him he’s done his job well. He lets himself feel proud. Upstairs, his child sleeps soundly in his crib. Well protected and well loved. Here, in his arms, lays his love. Soon she’ll be asleep in their shared bed, and Din will find himself wondering how he was blessed with such a wonderful and loving partner.

[obae-me]

Hi I love your blog and your writing. I don't know if your doing request or not, so if you aren't just ignore me. But could you possibly have a hc where MC breaks a body part and had to be in a cast how would the brothers (+undateables if you have time) would react?

Oh but this is soft tho, I love writing fluff, thank you so much for the request! 💜

Lucifer

MC had been with him when it happened, and it’s something he’ll never forgive himself for. He forgets how fragile humans are and how anything can hurt them. Anything! He had prepared for monsters, demons, curses, spells, poisons, but he never thought he needed to protect them from stairs!

He was walking beside them as they both started to walk home from RAD, talking to them about an upcoming project. It was dark and rainy, and it bothered him none as he started to descend the slick stone steps. He was just about to warn them about their step when they stumbled down the stairs, hands extended to try to catch themselves, hitting each step with an awful sound before resting on even flooring with a groan.

He freaked out so badly, he called MC by five different wrong names before he finally got it right just as he reached their side. They were alive. Great. They were breathing. Fantastic. They...they had their right wrist bent in the wrong direction.

MC was fairly certain he didn’t even breathe or blink at all as he flew them towards the Devildom’s version of a hospital. He kicked the doors open, demanding MC got looked at, ignoring all of MC’s pleas to wait like everyone else. The poor doctor was not prepared for all of Lucifer’s commands and questions.

MC is not allowed to walk, not allowed to go to class, not even allowed to leave their room for a while. He’s so worried something will happen. He doesn’t even want them to sleep without him there first. His brothers are only allowed to come see MC one by one, following a strict schedule he posted outside MC’s door. Anyone found breaking the schedule will be severely punished. 

Is he overreacting severely? Yes. But does MC appreciate his affection? Yes. He’ll hold them close whenever their wrist hurts, petting their head and shushing them if they ever cry. He’ll do all his work for Diavolo in their bedroom, making sure to glance up in frequent intervals and check how they’re doing. He’ll watch over them so intently he’ll end up accidentally falling asleep in the chair by their bed, head resting on his folded arms.

Even after it’s healed, he insists on holding MC’s hand whenever they walk to make sure it won’t happen again. He’ll also pick them up now whenever it rains. He can’t afford anymore unnecessary risks. 

Mammon

He brought MC along on another one of his poor-planned money making schemes. He wanted to show off and impress them, and MC only agreed to go along to try to make sure he didn’t get himself in too much trouble. Try being the key word here. 

It ended up being super sketchy, causing both MC and Mammon to run away from angry demons. Since Mammon is impossibly fast, he held onto MC’s hand to try to keep them together. However, even if MC ended up being an Olympic runner, they still wouldn’t have been able to keep up with his speed. So, they lost their footing and fell hard against the ground. There was a rough popping noise, but Mammon got them right back on their feet. It wasn’t until they finally got home before Mammon realized that not only were they scratched up, but their shoulder...didn’t look right.

He thought maybe he could fix it himself, which was the opposite of what he should’ve done. Now, not only did it look even worse, but MC’s expression of pain caused Mammon to panic like he never had before. He held onto them tight, much too tight, and MC was almost certain he’d end up passing out before they did.

He got a doctor right away, and while they were getting checked, Lucifer and Mammon were fighting worse than they had in a long time. Mammon had hardly fought this much for anything-or anyone-before. The only reason why Lucifer let him off the hook for something this severe is because it’s been too long since he’s seen Mammon so serious.

Mammon won't leave their side, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be near them either, so he’ll spend time pacing by their door for hours before MC tells him to quit. They tell him he doesn’t need to feel so guilty, it was an accident, stupid stuff like this happens to humans all the time. He’ll kneel on the floor by their bed, head against their leg, looking like a scolded puppy. It’s the first time they’ve seen him cry.

It’s not everyday Mammon will do whatever they want. Even if it’s not perfect, even if he messes up, he wants to get MC whatever they want or need.

After they’re fully healed, Mammon will still check their shoulder every day, and Lucifer doesn’t complain when Mammon tones down some of his schemes for the sake of MC’s safety.

Levi

He signed both himself and MC up for this awesome parkour class. He had seen an ad for it and wanted to go, only because he wanted to learn some cool moves that he had seen in an anime. Of course, this was a demon class, so already they had the students doing crazy things like jumping roof to roof and doing flips that would take years for MC to do properly. Unfortunately, they tried it out anyway, not wanting to wimp out of it.

Next thing they knew, they heard Levi scream as one of their legs gave out on them, unable to support their landing. He was by their side, already in tears, shouting incomprehensible words as he called for help on his D.D.D. Not only did one of the brothers have to carry MC home, they had to carry out Levi as well, his brain fried at the sight of their broken leg.

He blames himself hard, having to catch his breath anytime he sees MC in their cast. He had no idea human’s bodies were so brittle, they never seemed so weak in anime. They were always fighting, overcoming impossible feats. He was so lost in the world of fantasy he didn’t know real life was so...frightening. It was a reality check he really needed, he appears to treat MC more authentically now.

He’ll make sure MC is fully entertained while they’re on the mend, it's the least he can do. Most of his setup is now in their room so they can play games with him and watch shows together. He’ll talk their ear off about his favorite plots, and promise to MC that they’d get better and he would protect them, just like his precious characters. 

MC now has little drawings on their cast thanks to him, to liven it up a bit. Covered in chibis and little hearts.

He’s used to not getting much sleep, so he’ll watch MC as they rest, watching their chest rise and fall, making sure he keeps an eye on their leg. They’re not allowed to move it much, so he keeps tabs on how much they toss and turn, sometimes holding MC in his arms while they sleep to make sure they don’t move.

Even when they’re better he is always wary about them leaving the house. He should’ve never broken his rule, home is always safe, and now he can’t relax until he knows MC is safely home.

Satan

He was always afraid of hurting MC due to his wrath, but he never knew that they could so easily be broken. He hadn’t even intended to hurt them, he didn’t! He just...he was angry, he didn’t want them to come into his room, but they insisted, they wouldn’t listen! Now look what he had done to them...

He had slammed the door on them while their finger still lingered in the door-frame, he had no idea...he didn’t know something as simple as shutting a door would hurt them so. They both heard a sharp crack, Satan originally believed it had been part of the door, the wood breaking. Until he heard MC’s shriek of pain. He opened the door back up to see their finger bent backwards where the door had shut on it.

After he had tore the door off its hinges and resolved it to splinters, he ushered MC quickly out of the house to get their finger checked. His other brothers had to quickly come at MC’s request to keep Satan from harming the medical staff when told they had to wait to get checked. It took him far too long to calm down, having to be physically restrained by Lucifer and Mammon until he cooled off. 

MC’s broken finger had been on their dominant hand, so Satan did all the writing for them. MC never asked him to, he did it anyway. He felt like it was the bare minimum of redemption. He made sure to read up more on the skeletal structure humans possessed, and MC is pleased to find that they had never seen Satan be so gentle with them. He softly strokes their hand, has a hard time now raising his voice above a whisper around them, and MC swears he now has painkillers in his pocket at all times for whenever they need it. 

Satan takes after Lucifer in being much too prideful for simple apologies, he’s hardly wrong in the first place, but he said it to them once they drifted off to sleep, head in his lap. He didn’t move from his spot all night.

Healed wounds meant nothing, Satan refused to treat MC any differently from his delicate and precious books.

Asmo

Trust him, he would have never given MC those ridiculously high heeled shoes had he known that humans were so clumsy and fragile. The heel of the shoe was so tall, whoever wore them might as well be walking on the very tips of their toes. They were a new fashion, and since he adored his adorable MC so much, he got them a pair.

The last thing he expected was to have them fall so dramatically after a single step. At first he planned on giving them props for their fall, it was like a movie scene, but then he saw how their ankle looked. Twisted and limp, MC started to hyperventilate.

He had seen some pretty disgusting positions the human body could get into, but this was wrong, it shouldn’t be like that. He had never been so serious or flown so fast before. He didn’t even say a word until they were in bed, getting some medication for the pain. He grasped onto MC’s hand and apologized repeatedly until MC was convinced he had lost his voice.

After they’ve been taken care of, he refuses to let go of them, cuddling them pampering them. He didn’t know just a simple misstep in the wrong shoes and they could just hurt themselves like that! He thought himself a master of the body, but he still had much to learn about humans, it seemed.

He calls himself Nurse Asmo for weeks, not leaving MC’s side, carting them around in a wheelchair even if they insist on using crutches or moving around themselves. He’ll have none of it. He feels responsible and so MC is under his constant care until their body is just as beautiful and whole as he remembers. He’ll want to make sure he takes care of them so well, their body will have no choice but to heal faster.

He’ll not forgive himself for allowing MC’s perfect body to get like that again. He’ll never let MC even look at high heel shoes, he knows plenty of adorable flats that would look great on them.

Beel

He’s always extra careful around MC, he knows they’re fragile, he’s well aware of the difference between strengths. Anytime he’s around them, he does whatever is necessary to make sure they’re safe at all times. Unfortunately, no matter how protective he is, sometimes accidents happen, especially when humans and demons mix.

He and Mammon were fighting over food, special food, limited edition flavor chips, and Mammon had stolen it. He didn’t even eat it, he sold it. It was an insult. They both were in demon form, battling it out, Lucifer trying to stop it, by force it would seem. They were all so consumed in combat, power flinging, furniture flying, they had no idea MC had walked in the room to check on the chaos, only to get caught up in it. A large cabinet headed in their direction, and if they hadn’t stepped back, they might have gotten fully crushed. Unfortunately, their foot ended up being crushed in their place.

Beel felt sick to his stomach, hearing the sound of the bone crack made his insides feel all twisted in a way he and his iron stomach hadn’t felt in centuries. The fighting immediately came to a close, the food they were fighting over seemed worthless to him now, for once he couldn’t care less. He refused to let any of his other brothers touch MC. In fact he almost didn’t want to touch them himself. He had such a hard time holding them, he ended up physically shaking, worried that he’d hurt MC even further. He doesn’t want to let them go, though, he holds onto them for an entire day, acting like MC’s personal shield. 

Beel skips classes, workouts, even his team practices to be with MC. MC is absolutely not allowed to move by themselves, he’s going to carry them wherever they need to go if they must go somewhere. Until they’re fully healed, all the meals are going to be MC’s favorite foods. None of the brothers get a say otherwise, but no one is going to defy Beel over this anyway.

MC never sees him fight with any of his brothers again, not with them around anyway, and if they thought Beel was already super protective, they weren’t ready for their new unofficial bodyguard.

Belphie

Honestly, he was bewildered how MC hadn’t died yet--well, other than that--in the Devildom. Lilith had loved humans, and, he in the past, had loved them too, so he knew how weak they could be. However, MC had just...tripped...on their own feet, falling right onto their own face. He laughed at first, he will admit, he had no idea how hurt MC was. When they stumbled back onto their own feet, their face and chest was covered in blood.

He was frozen for a good few minutes, his mind buzzing, his heart pounding out of his chest. He kept getting flashbacks of that terrible moment in the attic, and it was only until MC grabbed his arm, disoriented and in pain, that he was able to move again. They gasped his name to snap him out of it. They weren’t flinching away from him, they didn’t look afraid of him, in fact they were leaning into him, looking for his comfort. 

He got them home as quick as he could, making sure MC didn’t have any more fumbles on the way. Obviously once they saw the state MC was in, all the other brothers were freaking out as well. Mammon accused Belphie of doing something to them again--it was taking Mammon the longest to forgive him-- which didn’t make Belphie feel better about it. Normally he would’ve just fought Mammon then and there for such an accusation, after all the things his older brother had dragged MC into, but he didn’t have the energy. MC needed to be taken care of now. 

He did feel guilty, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Once the doctor came, he left the room, getting some air. He would wait until after MC was asleep to come check on them and make sure they were okay. He would make sure that MC’s pillow was fluffed, that they were comfortable, and then he’d fall asleep at MC’s feet at the end of their bed. He’d wake up at the slightest movement, checking over their body and face for who knows how many times now. 

While they were deep in a dream, he took a permanent marker and drew little cow spots on their bandage. It was a silly gesture, he was well aware, but even having a small piece of matching patterns made his heart happy. 

He won’t say it but he’s so glad when they’re finally healed. MC notices a sharp increase in his energy levels as he asks them to do plenty of activities together. He hardly ever wants to do something with them besides nap. 

He’ll be prepared to catch MC if they ever trip again. He won’t let them be hurt ever again. Period. 

Diavolo

He wasn’t there when it happened to MC, but Lucifer relayed the information to him as soon as possible. He didn’t freak out, at least, not in the way people would expect. It is rather unlike the Lord of the Devildom, however, to drop all his work, cancel all his meetings, and quickly make his way over to the House of Lamentation.

He excuses MC from classes immediately, making sure staying safe and healthy was their first and only priority. Not just for the sake of the program, but something in him stirred violently at the sight of seeing them pale, in pain, their forearm in a cast. He asked Lucifer for details. 

Upon hearing that it was due to some lesser demon, he laughed, but it was a terrible laugh. He calmly stated that he would handle it, but every member of the household could feel the house rumble. Not even Diavolo could stay completely tranquil, it seemed.

He knew the consequences of having a human in the Devildom, he knew the risks. He knew about the dirt in his kingdom that called themselves demons. He just didn’t realize how it would make him feel . Not only did MC have classes off, he allowed all the brothers to stay home for a while as well to make sure they were well taken care of. He had Lucifer give him daily updates on their progress.

MC is now curious why there are new changes to not only RAD but the House of Lamentation, Purgatory Hall, and even Diavolo’s castle. Simple things like ramps, elevators, railings, anything as a means of injury prevention. None of the demons need to use it, it’s all for MC, but everyone acts like it’s completely normal. All due to Diavolo’s ‘modern design’.

None of the brothers dare say anything about the Demon Lord’s frequent visits to their home, or to MC’s room. Not even Lucifer had him come over this often.

MC is thankful they never have to see the demon that resulted in their arm breaking again, but they didn’t know where they possibly could've gone. 

Barbatos

It’s safe to assume he knew about this. Except, there were plenty of timelines where something like this had happened, so he didn’t know the details of which unfortunate accident would come about. Whatever the case, he was prepared to assist and serve MC in whatever way he could.

He always thinks he’s seen everything and is well prepared for it, but it still doesn’t prevent him from having his chest hurt and his nerves shudder at seeing MC like this. On the outside, he’ll always appear neutral, so no one knows just how much he’s feeling for this human. He’s so much softer with them than anyone else.

MC doesn’t know how this demon keeps getting into their room without coming through the door, it freaks them out a bit, to be honest. They don’t complain about their room being so pristine you could brush over it with a white glove, though. 

MC thought that maybe, maybe, just once they could get away with getting up and doing things on their own. The brothers kept on fussing over them non-stop, but at one point they got called away to a meeting, leaving MC alone at home.

They got up out of bed, ready to stretch their legs and get some fresh air, trying to get some sort of normalcy back. They did all this not knowing that Barbatos was keeping a close eye on them from the shadows the entire time. 

Whether it was by Diavolo’s orders or Barbatos’ own volition, MC will never know, but they did find their little excursion to the outside quickly brought to a halt by some form of magic that transported them back to their room. Barbatos had them back in bed before MC could even reach the front gates. 

No matter how they tried, they were forced to stay safe, now even unable to get out from their bed. No matter how much they struggled, their own sheets betrayed them. The silent butler only showed up once MC gave up. He strutted over putting a soft but surprisingly stern hand over their shoulder as he went about taking care of them. Any words of protest fell on deaf ears. It was his duty to protect him, and not even MC could stop him. 

Simeon

He had no idea till he noticed that MC hadn’t been to school for a few days now. When he brought it up to the brothers, they explained how MC had staggered back home one night, hand completely busted, and they wouldn’t tell anyone why. For MC’s safety, and just for the brother’s peace of mind, MC was to stay home until further notice.

Simeon’s an angel, so peaceful, anger isn’t something he fully understands, but he felt a burning pain in his chest. Why didn’t anyone tell him immediately? Was he just supposed to figure this out himself? It had been quite a long time since Lucifer had seen Simeon frown so deeply before, eyes cloudy with distress.

Simeon had never missed classes ever. He was always much too early, much too eager to stick to regulations. So when he ended up skipping class, it shocked Luke to his core and caused Diavolo to make a note that an angel had broken the rules to go check on a human. This program was turning up all sorts of surprises.

MC was pleasantly surprised to hear the soft knocks on their door, vastly different than any of the ways the demons announced themselves. Simeon strode in, radiating warmth, carefully grasping their hand in his, and gave it a gentle kiss. The pain MC had felt no longer existed. Simeon explained that it was still best if they heal on their own, but at the very least, they wouldn’t feel pain. He would be there to make it all go away. 

He’s around MC now much more frequently, guarding them, keeping them from harm. From that point on he urges MC to let him know when things happen.

Solomon

He had been teaching MC more about magic. Not only did he think it would be beneficial for his human companion, but it would sate some of his curiosity. He wanted to learn more about MC, about their capabilities, testing to see in what ways their previous angel ancestor had changed them.

He knew they had a hard time driving out their power, so he tried different methods to assist them, methods they could use on their own. Magic rings, chants, wands. Unfortunately, once something worked, all their built up power flooded out of them at once, their temporary wand exploding into shards, and the bones in their hand following suit.

He used some of his magic to heal up what he could, being careful not to go too far or he’d overwhelm MC’s already weakened body. MC couldn't tell what was running through his head as he had them supported and cradled with one of his arms, the other one hovered over their hand. Magical circles and sigils running over their skin as it rushed to heal them. While his face seemed calm, his eyes looked a bit darker, missing the mischievous glint in them. They were tighter, laser focused, serious.

After he did what he could, both of them promised not to mention it to anyone, for fear both of them would never hear the end of it, or worse. While MC walked themselves home, Simeon used magic to keep an eye on them from his room, taking note what happened with him today. His mouth tight, arms folded across his chest, watching as the remnants from MC’s faulty makeshift wand burned rapidly in the fireplace. 

Luke

He has absolutely no idea how humans work or how weak they are. So when he heard MC had a broken bone, he didn’t even fully understand what that meant. Broke...a bone? He knew the word broke didn’t sound pleasant, and when he finally went to go see MC, his little head almost exploded.

Their body broke?? Human’s bodies could break like that?? And they couldn't just have it healed immediately??

He blamed the demons most definitely, but MC had never ever been so entertained when the little angel pointed at each and every one of the brothers--Lucifer included--and chewed them out. Each of them had different expressions. Belphie looked exhausted, Beel looked downtrodden, Asmo didn’t even seem to be paying attention. Satan looked like he was only focusing on not destroying Luke right then and there, Levi looked mortified, Mammon was the only one arguing back, and Lucifer was stunned speechless that a creature barely higher than his waist was giving him a lecture.

Until MC is fully healed, Luke makes sure to bring plenty of freshly baked sweets right to their door, not noticing seven pairs of glowing glares while he lingers in the house of demons.

[chicksung]

Can’t You See Me? || Choi Chanhee

part of @ficscafe fic exchange event!

Genre: angst, little bit of fluff, ghost!au

Pairing: ghost!chanhee x reader (ft. younghoon)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: death, depictions of depression, dealing with death, mentions of a car accident

Synopsis: You loved Chanhee, with your whole being. You didn’t what you would do without him. However, it seems like life intended for you to be without him for the rest of your days

A/N: this fic is for rani @letteredwings please enjoy lovely. sorry that it’s a little late :/ this is unedited. please ignore any mistakes

any and all feedback is appreciated

Choi Chanhee promised you that he would love you until the day he would inevitably stop breathing and cease to exist. You always laughed off the comment, thinking it was just a stupid saying he would be saying into old age. You wished you had taken it as a sign, maybe you would’ve been more cautious, maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided. What you didn’t know is that he had died a liar when he said those ridiculous words. He loved you after he passed too.

Chanhee stood helplessly in the kitchen, watching you stand there with an aching heart. You were wide eyed, shocked and frozen from the news.

“I’m…sorry?” You stammered, hoping, praying, that your ears were deceiving you with mean elementary school tricks.

“Is your partner Choi Chanhee?” The man’s voice seemed down, like he was scared to tell you again.

“Yes, he is. We’ve been together since high school,” You informed him, trying to push down the sickening churning in your stomach.

“I regret to inform you that your partner has passed away. We received a call this morning of an accident. A truck had collided with a car. The truck driver seemed to be okay, but your partner’s injuries seemed to be more serious.” Every word pricked your heart, which was as fragile as a balloon being poked with a needle, “We tried everything, but he eventually passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss.” You nodded, your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes. 

“Alright, thank you for letting me know. Have a good afternoon, sir,” You signed off, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“You too, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” The line went dead and you placed the phone on the kitchen counter. Chanhee? Dead? No, he can’t be. He had specifically said he would be careful on the road. Tears slipped down your cheeks like sweet raindrops, your knees pathetically giving out as you wailed, yelling out obscenities and curses. Chanhee ran behind you.

“No, I’m right here! Can’t you see-” He went to place his hand on your shoulder when he realised how pale, almost transparent, he was. He sat beside you on the floor, a million thoughts passing through his mind. He couldn’t comfort you, only able to listen to you cry his name in a desperate plea to bring him back to you. Chanhee’s heartstrings tugged harshly, but he was helpless. He was nothing but a memory now, a missing part of your shared apartment, a ghost. 

You stood amongst crowds of familiar faces, his friends, family, distant relatives, colleagues, the list goes on. Who they were didn’t really matter to you, what mattered was the casket being carried away from the church doors and out into the miserable weather. Fitting, you supposed, that it was pouring with rain on the day of his funeral. Attendees moved outside, umbrellas creating a dismal cloud of sorrow above them. It had been two weeks since Chanhee had passed away now, but for some reason you could not bring yourself to cry. No matter how many times you felt his absence, not even after looking in his open casket, no tear stung your eye. You watched emotionlessly as his coffin was slowly dropped into the rectangular hole just beneath his headstone. 

                    Here lies Choi Chanhee

                Loving son, brother and friend

                 April 26 1998 - August 17 2021

                   Until we meet again, my love

You felt a hand slide across your shoulder comfortingly, Chanhee’s best friend, Younghoon’s. You didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You remained stone cold and kept your face void of expression. A different feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Irritation? Anxiety? Frustration? It was hard to describe, which typically meant it was complicated, and you didn’t really like complicated feelings. You could sense a storm coming, and judging from the storm clouds of emotion in your mind, it didn’t look like it would be clearing up any time soon.

A distance away from the gathering of mourners, a pale figure stood solemnly. Sure, watching his own funeral felt weird, but Chanhee could only think of you, and how you stood there, in a similar way to him, unable to display your emotions. He wished for one second, just one, that he could understand what you were thinking, feeling, praying. Maybe there would be a way to ease the pain you felt in your heart? He was technically responsible for said pain, so shouldn’t he try and fix it?

Younghoon had been coming over more, Chanhee would notice when he would be sitting on the foot of your bed, which you had not made the effort to get out of. Everyday, the time you would eventually get up would be pushed back. Before, it was only an hour later, then it was two, then three, then four, until one day, he noticed that you only got up to go to the toilet. He would listen to you cry, sniffle, send the occasional text to someone. Younghoon had seemed to notice, so had made it routine that he would come over at exactly 1:09pm every day to help you get out of bed and try to create a productive day together. Chanhee had memorised the sound of Younghoon’s footsteps, the sound of his keys jingling in the door’s lock, the way he would hum as he made his way to the bedroom. Younghoon had become the life inside of the dead quiet house. Chanhee noticed the way that his best friend would look at you, the sad sigh that would escape his lips when he saw you, sprawled out and weeping. 

“Come on. You can’t keep moping in here,” Younghoon sauntered over to your bedside, crouching down to get a better view of your face.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Go away,” you hissed, pulling the covers over your head, childishly pretending that if you couldn’t see him, he would simply fade from existence. 

“Bubba,” he called out sweetly, tugging the covers out of your grasps, “you’re running low on food. I don’t want you going hungry, and besides, it’s a nice day outside. Whaddya say?” With a low groan, you slowly rose from the safety of your sheets, loose hairs sticking up in wild directions. Chanhee rushed to your side, his cold touch to your cheek sending a cold shiver down your spine. He sighed somewhat sadly as he watched Younghoon help you out of bed. It should be him helping you out of bed every morning, it should be him trying to motivate you with small activities. However, deep down he knew that if it were him, you wouldn’t even be struggling to get out of bed in the morning. He was the cause of your lack of motivation, he was the cause of your pain, your suffering. Every emotion you were feeling right now was because of him, and somehow, in some way, he wished he was still there. He wished he was Younghoon.

“Where’s Uncle Chanhee?” Your young nephew looked up at you with big eyes, confusedly looking around to find his favourite uncle. You sighed softly. You knew you would have to have this discussion with him sooner or later. 

“Uncle Chanhee...isn’t going to be coming today,” you explained, kneeling down to the four year old’s level. Chanwoo’s bottom lip quivered slightly, “Why not?” He asked with glossy eyes. He had been really looking forward to playing with Uncle Chanhee, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t wanna play with him. You knew Chanwoo was too young to understand death, but he had seemingly noticed Chanhee’s absence. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to think of some sort of acceptable lie to tell a child. 

“He’s not well today. He says he really wish he could play today, but he had to stay home,” You pet the boy’s head softly, hoping he would understand. The little boy nodded, seeming to understand.

“Can I make Uncle Chanhee a get well soon card?” He asked with wonder in his eyes, and you would have to be a monster to have said no.

“Of course, Woo. Go get your craft things.”

You helped your nephew decorate his ‘card’ which was really just a folded sheet of printer paper, but you weren’t about to rain on his innocent parade. 

“I’m still sad that I can’t play with Uncle Chanhee. I wish he was here,” Chanwoo admitted, writing a sweet message in lopsided messy handwriting. 

“Just because he’s not here in person, doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit,” you explained, drawing a sun in the corner of the card for the youngster to colour in. 

“What do you mean?”

“It's kind of like magic,” you pondered aloud, “like a hug you can feel from someone who is not there.” The child nodded.

“Yeah! Like it still feels like mommy is hugging me even when she’s not there,” it was your turn to nod. 

“Exactly, Woo! You’re such a clever boy,” you ruffled his soft hair, making him giggle uncontrollably.

You were right, in a way. Chanhee was there, as a literal spirit. He felt a warm surge crash over his pale body, knowing that Chanwoo wanted to make him a card without fully understanding what was going on. A child too sweet for this world. However, it wasn’t Chanwoo he was focusing on. It was you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t wailing his name in agony. You seemed peaceful, collected, like you were watching the sunset over the sea. You were starting to come to terms with no longer having your boyfriend there. Sure, it pained you every morning to roll over and say good morning to someone who never even got into bed that night, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was unsure how long you would stay in this peaceful mindframe, but only the best storyteller will tell, time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Younghoon asked softly, eyes just as gentle as his words. You nodded, confident in your decision. You were a little unsure when you first brought up the idea to him, but it had to be done. The both of you walked up the hill in the cemetery, hands intertwined. You two had been dating for some time now, but you always had this lingering feeling that Chanhee wouldn’t like what you were doing. You loved Chanhee dearly, but you felt the same about Younghoon. It had been almost seven months since you received that phone call, but slowly everything in your life was piecing itself back together, formerly shattered after the tsunami of emotions that wiped out everything that made you feel human. You stood at the face of his gravestone, his name etched prettily into the cool rock. 

“Hey,” you greeted, your hand slipping out of your boyfriend’s. Chanhee displayed an invisible smile.

Hey.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence felt awkward and heavy on your tongue. 

It has. How have you been?

“I’ve been doing well. Just trying to get by, you get it.”

Yeah, I get it. Is that Younghoon?

“I was getting to that. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. He helped me a lot after you passed. I owe him a lot. Mainly ice cream,” You laughed at yourself, partially because of your bad joke, and partially because of how ridiculous you must sound to anyone passing by.

You’re dating now?

“Yeah. I just...I wanted to say thank you,” you blurted, playing with the tips of your fingers.

Why are you thanking me?

“You taught me a lot, Chanhee. How to cook ramen properly, how to make the best oven baked pizza anyone has ever had, but most of all, you taught me how to love. And while I love you so much, my god, you can’t even believe to comprehend it, I’ve found someone else that I love,” You felt tears spring to your eyes. You were the only one talking, so why did it sound like you were saying goodbye? You glanced at Younghoon, who only smiled weakly. 

“Can I say a few words?” Younghoon stepped forward, placing his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done the dismal day of Chanhee’s funeral. You nodded wordlessly, watching your boyfriend stride towards the grave of his best friend. Younghoon traced the etched marks of his friend’s name before giving a small smile.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he started, giving a sad chuckle, “and a lot has happened during that time.” Chanhee laughed silently at his friend’s words, slumping against the cold headboard of his resting place.

“But I will promise you this. I will look after them for you. I will care for, and nurture and love them for you. It’s what best friends are for, right?”

Chanhee nodded, a friendly smile finally adorning his features. He felt something new, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace. His body felt as light as a feather, as if it was drifting through the breeze. He dropped his gaze to his hands, only to see that the aforementioned body part wasn’t there. He was fading, an experience he had thought about many times before, but somehow, it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. Chanhee looked to you, and he could’ve sworn that for a moment, just one moment, you could see him, slowly dematerialising out of existence. He wasn’t scared anymore, scared of how you would cope without him. You had Younghoon, the only person other than you that he trusted his life with. 

“Until we meet again, my love,” Chanhee bade his final farewell to this world, taking a small bow and with a slight change in the wind’s direction, he was gone. 

You felt light, like the weight of an entire urbanised city had been lifted off your shoulders. Younghoon took his place by your side once more.

“Should we go home?” He suggested, earning a relaxed smile from you.

“Yeah. Besides, it’ll be dark soon,” you squeezed his hand, your eyes glowing in the reddened flare of the sunset. Hand in hand, you walked down the stone path and out of the overly large rusted gate. It was never easy letting go, not by any stretch of the imagination. You would always carry a piece of Chanhee with you, and even without him by your side, you felt closer to him than ever.

[mxflo]

I’m not fine after Kihyun’s cover of Bad ... so imagine this scenario of Kihyun being in a band /vocalist obviously/ and there is the new female drummer aka y/n and guess what ahem ahem

Hi dear, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write this. I had it almost finished and I had technical difficulties and lost everything I had written. It took me a while to feel like coming back to it since I was so bummed about losing all I had written. I hope to do this justice with a fresh mind now. Hope you enjoy it!

Warning: NSFW

“Great job today.” Kihyun smiled.

“Thanks.” You grin shyly back.

You had just finished running through the songs with the new band you just joined. Their original drummer left for personal reasons. Just two weeks ago you made the decision to join after your brother gave them your name and contact info as he used to go to school with Kihyun, the lead singer.

“I was worried about finding a replacement, but all my worries are gone. You’re not allowed to leave us now.” Kihyun winks.

“It helps that I’ve listened to the songs before, and good, I don’t want to leave. It’s been fun, and your songs are great.”

“I have been told you compose songs too?”

“Ummm...if you could a couple of songs, but not really.” 

“I need help with new songs, if your interest?” 

“I can try.” You agree.

You both agree to meet at his house tomorrow evening. On the drive home you call your brother and fill him in on everything. Once you’re off the phone with him and back to your apartment alone, you can’t stop thinking about Kihyun and find yourself feeling nervous about going to his house. You try to ignore the feelings, and going to bed early. 

The next day crawls by. Each hour seemingly taking longer and longer. When you finally pull up in front of Kihyun’s house you take a deep breath and chuckle to yourself about how silly it is to feel this nervous. It’s just working on a few songs with Kihyun. Though this is the first time you’re spending time with him alone. With one more deep breath you get out of your car and head to the door, and ring the door bell. 

“Hey.” Kihyun answers the door as he steps back, inviting you inside. “My studio is this way.” 

Following him to the back room of his house you walk into a room that he made into a little home studio. There’s a couch against the wall opposite from the desk with the computer and keyboard. In the corner next to the computer with foam padding on the walls, there’s a mic on a stand. The desk has papers scattered around the computer and another mic. There’s an untitled track paused on the screen. He pulls up a second chair to the desk and hits play. The track he’s been working on starts and you listen silently. 

“Well?” Kihyun looks to you once it stops. 

“It’s good, but I do have a thought for your bridge.” You admit.

“Let’s hear it.” Kihyun rolls his chair to the side more and pulls your chair more center of the keyboard.

You mess with the keys a bit to get used to the keyboard and soon hit record as you play the idea you had. When your done you stop the recording and hit play again to listen to it all together. “If you don’t like it, I can change it back.” 

“We are keeping it! That’s so much better. Actually gives me another idea...” Kihyun grabs his notebook and starts to scribble a note down. 

You watch him, unaware that you are staring for to long. His hair is slightly falling forward into his eyes as he writes. Your eyes wonder down, his plain white t-shirt is just a loose enough fit to look comfortable.

You realize it’s been silent for a little while and look back to Kihyun’s face, and when your eyes meet his you quickly look away, down at your hands in your lap. Embarrassed to be caught staring at him. 

“Everything okay?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes, sorry.” You sigh. You look back to him. His eyes lock onto yours and your heart races. The corner of his mouth curls up in a slight grin as he tucks your hair behind your ear. 

“Nothing to be sorry over. Shall we work on the next song?”

“Yeah.” You nod, turning your attention back to the computer screen.

“So this song...” He clicks on another he had been working on, “I don’t have much of anything.” 

You listen to the small part he has and when it stops your mind continues it, almost naturally you hear what it should be. Quickly leaning to the keyboard to you start recording as you play what is in your mind. When you done you hit play and look to Kihyun, and he listens to it all together he smiles widely, approving. 

“How did you do that so fast?” He asks.

“It just popped into my mind.” You shrug. “So what about the lyrics?” 

“I don’t have any yet.” He lifts his notebook and gently tosses it back on the desk. “I have a lot of ideas in this, but not sure anything will fit for this.”

You grab the notebook and look at Kihyun, when he nods you start to look through it. Kihyun goes to grab a glass of water. He offers you some, but you turn it down. When he returns he leans over you, looking to see what page your reading. One hand on the desk beside you, you feel his warmth behind you.

“This song, the lyrics are great. It looks done though?” You ask looking back over your shoulder at him. He’s just inches away from you and your breath catches.

He starts to softly sing the melody, once he gets the feel of it again he sings more confidently. Hearing him sing to you makes your stomach flip. Your arms get covered in goosebumps. It’s beautiful and when he finishes it you just stare at him.

“What?” He asks.

“Kihyun, it’s perfect.”

“It’s not a great sound for the band though.” He shrugs. 

“You should still record this.” You argue.

“Maybe.”

You playfully smack his arm. “You better.” Without missing a beat he spins your chair around so your facing him. 

“I better?” He lifts one eyebrow. 

“I won’t leave until you do.” You sit back more in your chair, to further the point that you would sit there until he records it.

“That isn’t motivation if I don’t want you to leave.” Kihyun says as he places his hands on either side of you on the desk that is now behind you. Leaning down to you, there isn’t much space between you two.

Shocked by his words your speechless, but you see his eyes fall to your lips. He takes one hand, cupping your cheek as he uses his thumb to pull your lower lip from your teeth. You hadn’t realized you had been biting your lip. He looks back to your eyes, searching your expression. 

“Kihyun...” you whisper. 

“Hmm?” He guides your face towards him slightly. His lips now hovering over yours. 

You press your lips to his in a quick, soft kiss. The tension between you two breaks as he pulls you back to him. Your hand grabs onto the side of his shirt as he kisses you deeply. His second hand guides you to stand with him and you throw your arms around his neck as his hands pull you against his body. He breaks the kiss only to move to your neck. Letting your head fall back to give him easier access you let out a soft moan. His grip on you strengthens hearing you react to him.

“Come on.” Kihyun almost growls as he starts to lead to out of the room.

Guiding you to his bedroom he continues to shower you with kisses as you start to pull at his clothes. After you both are rid of your clothes and inside of his room he lays you on the bed. His hands on your knees as leans down to kiss your thighs. You gasp as you feel his teeth gently rake against the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. He slowly runs a finger to your center.

“Fuck baby.” He sighs as he feels how ready you are for him. He slips two fingers inside and your walls clinch around them as he draws a whimper from you. You grip the bed sheets as he continues to work his fingers to bring you closer and closer to your release. 

“Kihyun...” You moan. So close to the edge, but he stops and withdraws his fingers. 

You cry out in protest, but he smiles in return. “Not yet.” He smirks as he licks you off of his fingers. 

“Please.” You plea. 

“Don’t worry, you will cum, but only when I let you.” He grins as he centers himself between your legs. He grinds against you, his hard length pressing where you want him most. Pressing gently he guides himself inside of you. Slowly sinking all the way into you, you both moan. He lets you adjust to him before he moves again. When you go to rock your hips, needing to feel him, he takes the hint and draws his hips back slowly. Your walls clinching down around him he drops his head to your neck, biting it as he groans. 

Without warning he slams all the way back inside of you and you cry out as the sudden fullness from him. Now finding his rhythm he thrusts repeatedly deep into you hitting that spot just right. You feel yourself getting closer and closer again. He claims your mouth with his in a deep kiss again as he feels you nearing your climax. 

Your walls tighten even more around him. “Fuck.” He hisses. His thrusts become faster. “Cum for me.” He whispers in your ear.

Seconds later you do just that, as he pushes you over the edge and waves of pleasure shake through your entire body. He follows behind you, as you push him over the edge. 

He slows with each thrust until he stops, still inside of you. Kissing you deeply, he rolls, keeping you with him so you are now on top of him. His hands roaming your body. You break the kiss and sigh as his mouth trails soft, gentle kisses down your neck, to your collarbone. 

“Kihyun...” You pant.

He continues to leave kisses on your heated skin.

“Kihyun...We...Shouldn’t....” You try to form the words to express how bad this could be for the band and that this needs to be a one time thing, but he starts to rock his hips into you again and you loose your train of thought. Feeling him side of you getting harder once again you close your eyes.

“Shouldn’t? No. I’ve felt this since the first day I saw you play. I want this, you.” He grips your hips, guiding you to move, matching his movements just right. He groans. 

“...But....” You try to protest. 

“Do you want this?” He asks as he bucks his hips into you with a single powerful thrust. 

“....Yes...” You admit. 

“Then let it be.” Kihyun stills and waits for you to look at him. “Lets just see how things go. Don’t overthink it.”

You nod and he pulls you down into another kiss before rolling you back under him. 

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

As Long as the Forest Stands Tall, I’ll Be With You

Title: As Long As The Forest Stands Tall, I’ll Be With You

Summary: Humans come to Logan’s tree in all sorts of shapes and sizes. They ask for good crops, to find true love and to strike riches beyond their wildest dreams. Rarely, however, does a child stand beneath his tree, shivering and hiccuping in the bitter cold of winter.

Pairings: Familial Analogical, Background Platonic Logicality and Familial Intruroyality

Word-Count: 2.6-k

Warnings: Human Sacrifice, Death Mention, Body Horror, Morally Gray Logan, Angst with a Happy Ending

This fic is inspired by an anon ask sent to me awhile back that I just now finished. It’s also the Cryptid Logan fic that won the poll of next published wip, so hope y’all all enjoy :)

-

A human child stands at the base of his tree, shivering and hiccuping in the bitter cold of winter. Indeed, the child’s stick arms hugs its frame in a poor attempt to stay warm. The child does not have a coat, and its threadbare stockings could hardly count as shoes. 

Logan finds himself mystified by the sight.

 Humans came to his tree, in all sorts of shapes and sizes. They asked for good crops, to find true love and to strike riches beyond their wildest dreams. He granted them all, as long as they left an appropriate gift in its place. Things like books and knowledge he favored most of all, but he often did not turn away a cow or two if it was all they had to offer.

However a child? Rarely do children come seeking his help. Adolescents do not have the same worries as their often self-absorbed older counterparts. The few children that have come his way in decades past asked for things for others. The appearance of the child is enough to wake him fully from his winter rest.

“Hello.” He speaks, the wind carrying his message, through the dead tree branches and over the mounds of snow below. 

He forms at the base of his tree, in a shape familiar yet alien to a human’s eye. Centuries of practicing shapeshifting and he still has not perfected a form that does not send a human’s flight-or-fight’s reflexes into overdrive. Humans are innately good picking up on minuscule anomalies. If it is not the nose this time, then it is the ears he has gotten wrong. Too pointy, too many. He’s certain this time he has the right amount of body parts.

The child leaps in the air at his greeting. They turn to face him, trembling even more. He does not think it is from the cold.

“H-hello.” The child returns the greeting, dipping their head in reverence.

“What is your name, child?” He asks, “and what do you seek?”

The child makes a weird, muffled noise. Their head is still lowered, facing away from Logan’s searching gaze.

“My name is Virgil, I--I’ve come to seek an end to this harsh winter. That you--you bring about a prosperous out-pour of crops this Spring.” The child speaks, slow and stilted. Like words firmly pressed into their mouth by someone else and not a genuine request from the child himself.

A flash of anger passes through Logan. If humans think by sending out a sapling their chances will double, they are wrong. Logan values knowledge and wisdom, not emotional manipulation.

 Logan hums in acknowledgement of Virgil’s words, “I see. And what shall you offer in payment?”

“Myself.”

“What?” Logan asks, for he is sure he misunderstood the child.

“I--it’s--Chief Habrok said as an orphan I’m not good for much else and that this is the highest honor I could bring to the village. So I offer myself as a sacrifice.” Virgil looks up at him, glistening tears half-frozen to his cheeks. So much of both fear and determination radiates from the small being. 

Logan’s ire has kindled to a raging forest-fire. This is worse than simply thinking Logan would be softer to a child’s pleas than an adult’s. Humans have bargained with him using livestock but one of their own young? A child that has lost so much already? It is revolting. All around them, the forest creaks, branches shifting not from the blizzard’s winds but of their own volition. Virgil flinches. 

He reaches down, softly cusping Virgil’s chin with a hand to direct the child’s attention towards himself.

“I will take you far away from here. Somewhere you’ll be safe and loved for as long as this tree stands tall. Okay?” 

“And my village--you’ll take care of them?” Virgil asks, confusion and doubt swirling around him. Much like the fierce snowfall sweeping through the forest.

Logan’s lips twitches. “You have my word that they’ll be taken care of.” 

“O-okay.” Virgil agrees, voice soft and small.

Logan drops his hand away, holding it out by his side. “Take my hand.”

Most would hesitate touching the hand of a spirit. They’d fear to be swept away, to never see the light of day again. The fear is very much present within the child. But again so is that firm, resolute determination. Virgil’s tiny hand shoots forward, latching onto Logan’s larger one with a startlingly strong grip. The wind picks up as the trees shake themselves from their foundations, their roots. They stretch, relishing the freedom of movement.  

“Close your eyes.” Logan murmurs. It’s his only warning before he calls forth to the forest. Logan is not this one tree like the humans believe. He is all of them. He is the whole forest. Each of them are perfectly formed clones connected by the same root system. 

He integrates Virgil’s soul into the system, careful to keep the child’s individuality intact. Somewhere in the bidding snowstorm, a young three-foot sapling sprouts bright green leaves much like the tree the two stand under. Certain of his work, he withdraws. He underestimates the drain of his powers, because he nearly collapses to the ground.

“You!” Virgil gasps, staring at Logan with bulging eyes. Logan looks at himself, no longer ambiguously human in appearance. Ah, yes. He’s quite forgotten how frightening his true form can be for humans. It is a shimmery indigo blue that is almost translucent. He has a multitude of eyes and just as many limbs. His hair is mossy, with bits of berries and flowers poking out of it. His eyes are a pupiless navy blue with whirling black rings.

“You look different as well,” Logan says, pointing out that the child’s form has taken on a glowing purple hue. Hmm, purple. Unusual color for a spirit. He still looks much like a human aside from the color. Give it enough time, however, and the child’s appearance will shift to reflect his newfound nature.

“Am I dead?” The child blurts out.

“Not in the slightest.” Logan reassures. The child does not look reassured despite this, “Now come, I know someone who will take good care of you.”

“B-but I thought, you’d--” The child stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Oh no, I’m terrible with children. I promise that you will be quite safe with him.” Logan says, blinking out the dizzying nausea. He frowns in distaste. Maintaining a physical presence is annoying and draining. This is why he seldoms ventures out to the physical realm if he can help it. 

“Now shall we?” Logan asks, shouting over the blizzard at this point. Virgil huddles closer, burying his head into Logan’s robes, away from the roaring blizzard. Logan’s robes become wet with tears. Logan places a tentative hand on the child’s back. \

Then he pulls both of them away--their physical forms dissolving completely. They reappear in a dwelling in the depths of the astral realm. A calamity of voices greets them. A kind, older one overlaid by two energetic young ones. 

“--you two shouldn’t go off without permiss--”

“Logey, Logey!” The two young voices say in unison, as a set of green and red blurs come dashing towards Logan’s direction. The green one looks human enough except for their bottom half made up of swishing, swirling tentacles. The red one sports shimmery see-through wings and insectoid eyes. 

The child presses closer to Logan, his heart rate accelerating by a substantial amount. In response, Logan draws his limbs around to shield Virgil while holding one hand out in warning. He supposes new faces, especially inhuman ones, is frightening for the young child.

“Remus, Roman,” He says, breathing labored, “I ask we forgo the usual hug-tackle just this once.”

The saplings stop short, their faces flashing with confusion. One of them opens his mouth to protest, but a blue pair of hands with talon-like nails rest on each of their shoulders.  

“Logan, what’s going on?” Patton asks, “shouldn’t you be slumbering still?”

Logan doesn’t answer him at first. He glances down, craning his neck towards Virgil. “Would you like to meet my friend?” He whispers lowly. Virgil tightens his grip on Logan’s robes but nods. Satisfied, Logan draws his limbs back, revealing the child to Patton and the saplings. Twin gasps erupt from Remus and Roman.

“This is Virgil.” Logan informs them, “Virgil, this is Patton and his sons--”

“I’m Remus and this is Stinky!” Remus says, thrusting his thumb towards his brother.

“No I’m NOT! My name’s Roman!” Roman shrieks, his indignation however is quickly forgotten as he holds out a hand towards Virgil, “Hey you want to play knights and dragons? You and I can be the knights!”

“No fair! I want him to be a dragon with me!” Remus stomps his foot. Roman glares back and it seemed like the two were on the verge of a wrestling match when a tentative voice speaks up.

“Can I...can I be a dragon knight?” 

Remus and Roman stare at Virgil, who mostly hidden himself behind Logan at this point. Just a purple tuft of hair and eyes are visible.

“That’s...that’d be cool!” The twins say in unison. It’s times like then that Logan is reminded they were once one; Romulus. Once a highly respected river spirit until humans’ actions caused him to split and reform anew.

“Why don’t you three go along and play in the fort? Logan and I have some things to discuss.” Patton suggests, smiling brightly. Too bright. Logan withholds a shudder. 

Remus and Roman don’t protest, too excited at the prospect of a new playmate. Roman extends a hand towards Virgil, who looks up at Logan in askance. 

“Well, go on.” Logan raises an eyebrow, “it is alright.”

Virgil takes Roman’s hand and the three are gone in a blink of an eye. So has Patton’s smile. 

“Logan--what have you done?” 

“What do you mean?” Logan deflects, gritting his teeth. He extends a few limbs, looking for something to steady himself with. A warm pair of arms steady him, guiding him to a chair. Trust Patton to help even in the midst of being upset.

“Don’t. Not right now. Virgil--he is a part of you, I can sense it. But he isn’t--”

“The human village near my forest sent him as a sacrifice.”

Patton almost lets go of him, “You didn’t!”

“Of course not,” Logan rolls his eyes as he sits down in the chair with a grunt, “but I couldn’t send him back there or leave him completely alone to die. Humans can’t survive our realm, you know this. Integrating his soul as a part of me was the only option.”

“And the village?” 

“I’ve taken care to make sure they get what they justifiably deserve.” Logan answers, closing his eyes as he shares a vision with Patton. 

For a fleeting second, he sees flashes of the forest marching among the white visage of a raging blizzard. Flickers of drab buildings caught in gnarled branches being torn apart. A hundred voices screaming in terror. 

He opens his eyes and sees Patton again. The air spirit regards him with raised eyebrows and a small frown tugging at his lips. Not quite approval, nor disapproval.

“You plan to look after Virgil, then?” 

“No, of course not,” Logan says, “I thought that was rather obvious. You are good with saplings--I am not. Besides you are always saying how it’d be nice to have around a peer Roman’s and Remus’ age for their benefits.”

As to prove his point, several delighted laughter echoes from the children in the distance. Logan smirks, satisfied. He rises from his chair, desperate to return to his winter slumber, when Patton pushes him back into it. He is embarrassed that it was more of a gentle shove than anything else.

“Logan, you can’t just--you have a responsibility to Virgil! He is of you now, if you leave--it’ll be detrimental to both of you. Remember when Romul--when Remus and Roman first came into being, if separated it caused them--”

“This is different. I made sure to account for that,” Logan snaps, “Please Patton, could you at least watch over him until--”

 Logan stops abruptly as a pain burrows into him. After centuries of existence, Logan has experienced pain, both great and minimal. But he was not prepared for this type of pain. The aching, spluttering kind. He could not breathe. It was like he was drowning and being burned alive at the same time. But it isn’t oxygen he needs. It’s something else. And every second he isn’t reunited with this something, the pain only continues to worsen. 

“Dad! Dad!”

“Something’s wrong--”

“I didn’t hit him!”

“--hurt--”

Something is deposited onto his lap. A shaking, quivering Virgil. Who Logan had promised would be safe here. Not writhing in pain. Logan gathers his limbs around the child tightly. A low rumble like trees creaking in the wind emanates from Logan. A lullaby that forest spirits know well. A human might find it frightening. It does not frighten Virgil. He can feel the child relaxing in his hold, cries quietening. Virgil is not human anymore, after all. The pain ebbs away but still Logan’s focus remains on Virgil.

“Are you alright now?” Logan asks.

Virgil nods, hesitating.  “I’m sorry.”

Logan’s many eyes blink in confusion. He looks over to Patton and the twins, who he’d almost forgotten. Patton’s lips are pressed firmly together in a signature “I told you so” move. He is missing his usual gleam in his eyes, however. His gaze darts between Logan and Virgil before landing solidly on Logan. It doesn’t take him long to decipher what that means.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Logan asks Virgil. 

“I did something bad--didn’t I? And you punished me so that’s why I--”

“No,” Logan cuts in, causing the child to jolt, “you did not do anything wrong. I should be apologizing to you. I inadvertently caused harm to you when I promised safety.”

“You mean it?” Virgil asks, his little eyes squinting up at Logan. There’s so much wariness and mistrust in those eyes. Too much for a child as young as Virgil.

“I do. I apologize for causing further harm to befall you. While it hadn’t been my intention, it still hurt you and so I take responsibility for it.” Logan tells him, bowing his head. It is a serious matter when spirits break a promise. He cannot blame the young sapling if he chooses to not to accept his apology. Especially after the hurt Virgil has already endured in his short lifespan. 

Logan is as old as the forest. He has seen many things and knows twice that of things in the world. Still, nothing quite prepares him for Virgil’s response.

“Okay,” The child says, and then, “promise you won’t leave me?”

He raises his head to look at Virgil. Doubt still dances in those little eyes, but so does hope. Logan wants to laugh. What a stubborn, brave thing to have. He’s still willing to trust Logan even though he’d broken his promise not even a hour after making it. It’s illogical, foolish yet heartwarming all the same.

“As long as the forest stands tall, I will be with you.” Logan promises, a much more serious oath than the first.

Then a small smile graces Virgil’s face and oh! Oh, for all his infinite wisdom, Logan does not know how to raise a sapling. How could he, when he had no mother tree? No one to nurture and nourish him as a young, vulnerable sapling? But he knows Virgil already has him wrapped around his roots. That upon sensing the child at his tree, his fate at once had been sealed.

For once not knowing something does not agitate him. In fact, as he wraps a limb over the child in a loose embrace, he thinks he does not mind it.

[goodluckbabe2024]

i can not live without my life! | 1.4k | ao3

Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

A continuation of “Do not leave me in this abyss.” Done with prayers, Dean turns to action and ventures into the Empty, confronted with Cas’ worst memories.

(You do not need to read "Do not leave me in this abyss" to understand it but there are references to it)

He thought making it into the Empty had been the hard part. Over a month of effort, no sleep, and an embarrassing amount of tears in front of Rowena, and Dean’s here, where angels and demons go to die. But Winchesters don’t stay dead and damn Dean if he’s going to let Cas be the exception.  

The Empty, for lack of a better word, though he’s sure Sam would tease him for this, is extremely empty. It reminds him of those victims of an angel’s smiting, their eyes burned out with only empty sockets left. This is what they’d see, this is what Pamela did see: nothing. An absence. The void incarnate.  

Before he started the mission, he had sat in his room with a blade and cut the handprint out of the jacket, choosing to ruin the item for the sake of the handprint rather than lug the whole jacket in and risk being bogged down by it. Now, Dean stands in the middle of the Empty clutching it, praying the blood will work as the promised lifeline to Cas. 

He doesn’t know how much time he passes just walking forward, feeling like a fool. Sam and Rowena had warned him that he didn’t have an infinite amount of time in the Empty, so he had to work fast. He just wishes they’d warned him about how it was impossible to tell time at all in this place.  

The human mind isn’t meant to withstand a prison for demons and angels, and Dean can almost hear his brain break when he sees a shape in the not-darkness. The handprint curled up in his hand heats briefly, as if the blood is freshly spilled. Dean runs and runs as the shape melts into a trench-coated one, an angel whose normally electric blue eyes have dimmed with the weight of the Empty.  

“Cas,” he calls out, voice rough. He sprints forward, hand reaching out to—  

Colors. There are colors again. He’s back in the bunker, back in his room and Dean kicks the chair in frustration, sick satisfaction coursing through him at the bang that resonates. If only he had been faster, adjusted to the Empty sooner. He starts to turn towards the door to find Sam when his bedside table catches his eye.  

It’s too clean, like before Cas’ confession, before everything, when living life was more than just going through the motions. More than that: there are two of them. The last time he had had the hope to have two bedside tables was that fleeting moment when Cas was human and Dean didn’t know what to do with himself, before Gadreel let the weight come crashing down.  

Sprinting out of the room, Dean makes his way towards the map table, cursing his lack of exercise these past few weeks. Cas, he needs to make it to Cas. He rounds the corner just in time to hear his own voice say you can’t stay and watch Cas’ shattered face as his home is taken from him once more. Dean opens his mouth to call out, to tell him not to listen, when Cas’ gaze shifts to him and the world shifts around him.  

It’s hot and everything is shaking and despite the ring of fire around Cas and the way Dean knows he’s the one that put it there he can’t help but admire the way it lights Cas up, casting shadows across his face. Dean watches himself, Bobby, and Sam run out of the room and the way that, despite all the betrayals, he still turned around. Then the building shakes and his past self flees and it's just Dean and Cas.  

“Cas you’ve got to listen to me,” Dean roars over the shaking, knowing what’s coming for them. He never actually asked how Cas escaped the holy fire, the memory too tender to ever touch. “Cas this isn’t real, you’re trapped in the Empty. I’m here to save you.”  

It’s as if there’s a hurricane centered above them. He watches Cas glance anxiously around the room, still trapped. His eyes land on Dean and Dean starts forward, blocked by the holy fire he laid out so long ago.  

“Cas, I—” Dean tries to say. The memory changes again.  

And Dean’s screaming, screaming at the light and the pressure and the way his head is too fragile for this place, a tin can crushed on the highway.  

He hears the name Naomi and then a startled Dean before the scene moves on again.  

This isn’t like flipping through channels, this is Dean’s mind trying to process the worst memories of an angel. He gasps, clutching his head and doubling over. His left hand still clutching the bloody fabric brushes against a familiar material. The trench coat. Colors and shapes and objects that he has no language to describe flicker past his sight but over and over again Dean is confronted with his own face.  

“Cas please,” Dean begs, hand tight around both the handprint and the trench coat. He doesn’t have it in himself to get up off of what passes for a floor, nervous system too shocked for higher functioning.  

He draws in a ragged breath, eyes squeezed shut against the assault. “You don’t have to do this to yourself. You don’t have to let anyone do this to you. You shouldn’t—you’re worth more. To Jack, to Sam, to Claire. To me, Cas. You’re worth more than all of this to me. I’m sorry I ever made you feel different.  

“I don’t know if you’ve been hearing my prayers, but I’ve been thinking about what you said, why you left me and Cas, I hate it when you leave me. Even when I’m so angry at you I could scream I never want you to leave me. But you did and you didn’t give me a choice otherwise.”  

He doesn’t know if humans have to breathe in the Empty but if they did, Dean would be in danger. He pushes on, forcing himself to speak.  

“I forgive you, Cas,” Dean says. “And I hope you can forgive me too."  

Silence. Blissful silence.  

The void is back, an undarkness so thick and heavy that it’s the belly of a beast. Not an absence of light, but that any light at all was an absence of this. And there, above him, making it safe and right and good is Cas.  

Dean knows that they’re fucked up. That even he’s rewritten his own memories to survive, a fiction created so he wouldn’t have to cope with the fact that Cas didn’t want him enough to stay. But Cas’ memories? What Dean just saw? That wasn’t coping, that was putting your neck on the chopping block with an X to mark the spot. The one-way street of prayer wasn’t enough—they need to talk. But that’s for the future, when time isn’t a noose hanging above them.  

Cas looks down at him and blinks, the darkness seeping from his eyes to be replaced by their natural blue. Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he rises to his feet, words fleeing his mind. Every prayer from these last few weeks, every dream and desperate plea that he could do this and now he’s in front of Cas and—  

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” Cas rasps, looking Dean up and down.  

Despite it all, Dean laughs sharp and bright, a noise unlike any the Empty has ever heard.  

“Skip ahead, Cas,” Dean says, taking a step forward. “What you’re trying to say is ‘I love you.’”  

Cas stops, his gaze heavy on Dean’s. “What?”  

His eyes are blue, blue, blue against the backdrop and Dean doesn’t know how he ever confused those false memories for life when life was right in front of him waiting for an answer.  

“I said,” Dean begins. “I love you.”  

“I love you too.”  

“You’re supposed to say ‘I kn—”  

The press of lips against his cuts him off, warmth and the scent of lightning, not unlike when he was electrocuted all those years ago the first time he nearly died and his faith was called into question. But this is no false god or preacher. It’s his arms around the man he loves and believes in and, ditching his inhibitions, Dean kisses Cas back.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Ticking Photobomb, T, 1.6k

Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley & TK Strand

TK loves Carlos, and wants their relationship to work out. Before they can recapture even a semblance of the bliss they shared, Carlos needs to fix his mistake and properly introduce TK to his family. Until then... Carlos deserves at least some punishment. He only hopes Buck will forgive him, for involving him in his and Carlos's first big fight as a couple.

Only it's not Buck's forgiveness he'll need.

ao3 link

based off of this post

           He’s wary. He and TK are supposed to be enjoying a delicious meal outside at a nearby park, sun high in the sky, bright but not too cruel, as they sit together on a thin, yellow blanket, and Carlos cannot enjoy any of this beautiful date because a tiny voice in the back of his mind warns him that TK’s silence is a cover for something more sinister. His boyfriend’s smile, aimed at his phone as it has been since they arrived, means trouble. The small, continuous giggles that eke free sound like alarms. Giggles offered with every bite, where he’d type a short message and then set his phone down; only to grab it halfway through its jingling ringtone – TK never usually keeps that on. Carlos remembered him complaining how he hates ringtones, prefers having his phone vibrate. Why is it on now? And why is he texting while they’re on a date? And why does his laughter make Carlos cringe?

           “Who are you texting?” he asks, finally, Carlos pushing the plastic container with his half-finished sandwich to the side.

           TK glances up from his phone. “No one.”

           “No one?”

           “Just a friend,” TK says, pinning Carlos with a strange expression that squeezes his heart. It makes the sweat pricking his temples relocate and journey down, rolling towards his chin. Carlos wipes at his face as TK adds, “seriously, you don’t have to worry.”

           It’s the way he said ‘you’ that does Carlos in. That has him dredging up what he already considered resolved since before they sat down. Discussed, at length, over the phone, with Carlos apologizing repeatedly. TK assured him they were good. “I thought we were good?”

           TK sighs, “We are good.” Then, he mumbles, “As good as any two friends can be.”

           Carlos’s frown deepens, mouth resembling a severe gash carved into his face. “I knew it!” Carlos cries, pointing at him. “You’re still mad at me.”

           “I never said I wasn’t!”

           “You said it was settled –“

           “Because it is,” TK insists, a heavy glare drawing all breath out of Carlos’s chest. The façade he wore for their date has been pulled away, and Carlos sees exactly how distressed TK remained after he introduced him to his parents as his ‘friend’. Even with Carlos promising that he would remedy the situation soon, gather his boyfriend and family together and explain the truth of his romantic life, TK clings tight to the pain Carlos caused by letting fear sway his choice, both at the farmer’s market and when he let TK walk out of his home, relationship dangling from a fraying cord. It frays ever closer to breaking. “It’s settled until you work up the nerve to have that dinner you were talking about.”

           Carlos splutters, “That’s not – you know, with the pandemic how hard it’s…”

           His excuses further irritate TK, who retreats into his phone. He texts someone else. Perhaps the same person he’s been texting this entire time. “Then it’s settled.”

           “If it’s so settled,” Carlos asks, “why even bother agreeing to our date today?” He gestures at their unfinished meals, probably cold and stale. If they weren’t, it’s not like Carlos feels like eating anymore.

           TK stops texting, smirking at Carlos. Usually, it riles Carlos up in that he wants to kiss it off of him. Right now, Carlos swallows the urge to shove his boyfriend onto his ass.  “A date?” TK asks, words languid and breezy, spaced out by palpable sarcasm. “Why would you think this was a date,” he continues, phone tapping against his chin, “we are just friends after all…”

           Anger and disappointment converge violently inside Carlos, fighting for release. Neither can, as his vibrating phone pulls his focus from TK. He opens the message on autopilot, confused since it’s from TK. Confusion then drops into the cesspool of his emotions, like Mentos in Coke, and Carlos explodes.

           “Why did you send me this?” he demands, showing TK a picture he sent to Carlos of himself. A picture they took, together, when visiting a lake one weekend long ago during the summer. A picture taken after they spent the entire afternoon swimming, bathing suits forgotten on the pier. A picture where TK’s chiseled physique was on display, skin dazzling as fading sunlight turned water droplets into diamonds, and TK’s sunglasses rested low on his nose as he smiled to the side where Carlos was. Was. As in not anymore. Only his arm, slung around his boyfriend’s shoulder, remained. Saved by being impossible to crop out. “Well?” Carlos asks again.

           TK sighs, “Oh, I must have sent that by mistake.”

           “You wanted to send me something else?”

           “No,” TK clarifies, “I sent that to you by mistake. It was supposed to go to Buck, see?” TK shows Carlos his message thread, with the picture he sent Carlos, timestamped, showing he forwarded it to Buck first, then Carlos.

           “…Buck.”

           “Yeah, Buck,” TK continues, leaving his texts and diving into his photo album. He selects a group shot of the 126, plus a few extra members. He zooms closer on one face, Buck’s, enough that Carlos can distinguish the two birthmark spots above his eyebrows. “I’m sure I told you about him.”

           “You did,” Carlos nods. He tears his gaze from Buck’s smile, fuming. “The firefighter who flirted with you.”

           “I mean, he also helped me save my dad,” TK says, “but, yeah… he also flirted with me.” TK lowers his phone, chuckling, “We’ve just been chatting back and forth – as friends do – when I realized… y’know, I told him I wasn’t interested, because I had this really awesome boyfriend who I love, but since that’s not the case anymore, we’re only friends apparetly, I figured I might as well shoot my shot. Find out if he’s still interested. Maybe once quarantine is done, I can take some time off and… see what Los Angeles has to offer.” The eyebrow wiggle was completely unnecessary. TK communicated exactly what of Los Angeles he intends to see, regardless of how his eyebrows moved.

           He’s better than this. Carlos knows what TK is doing. What the picture, and its delivery, was supposed to accomplish. What it’s succeeding at. He can win this, simply by ignoring TK’s teasing.

           Except.

           “You are not going to Los Angeles.” Carlos scowls, “Not without me. And especially not if Buck is gonna be there.”

           TK scoffs, “What are you, my boyfriend?”

           “…Yes!”

           “Says who?” he asks, “Your parents?”

           They’re outside. In public, surrounded by people who keep their distance. Unfortunately, their voices carry wide enough they draw a sizeable crowd. Carlos doesn’t notice until TK storms off and leaves him with the blanket, the abandoned food, and their audience.

           Carlos blushes, hiding behind his hands. He wishes he never fumbled back then, in the farmer’s market. He also, briefly, wishes he and Buck switched places. At least then TK would be treating him to risqué pictures. At least Carlos would be having a good time, if he were Buck. He’d be receiving sexy photos from a certified dreamboat instead of suffering because of his own mistakes.

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

           Buck stumbles over his words, stuttering, rushing out his explanation to a stone-faced Eddie. “Seriously,” he says, “I don’t – I don’t know why TK sent me that picture of him! It’s not like I asked! One second we’re talking about movies and the next thing I know – shirtless TK!”

           “Yeah, I know,” Eddie huffs, arms folded across his chest, “I saw.”

           He shouldn’t have. If Buck hadn’t left his phone on the table to help Bobby in the kitchen. If he didn’t hear his phone beep with an arriving message, almost vibrating off the table from it. If Eddie, along with Hen and Chim, weren’t climbing the stairs at the moment, and if he ignored Buck’s plea to hand him his phone. To punch in the code – which he knew, of course Eddie knew – since Buck was wrist deep in a turkey’s hole.

           Buck washed his hands immediately, drying them on his pants as he chased Eddie the few feet towards the couch.

           “So,” Eddie continues, “you and TK…”

           He and TK? “We’re friends,” he says, repeating himself after Eddie’s disbelieving stare. “Okay, I mean – he did turn me down once, when we were leaving Texas. But he said he had a boyfriend –“

           “He turned you down?” Eddie asks, “You flirted with him?”

           “No!” Buck shrugs, running his hand over his forehead, frowning at the sweat that pooled there. “Well, I didn’t think I was. But he did? And – and he left before I could say anything, but I didn’t think it mattered since he, y’know, had a boyfriend!” He stomps his foot, irritation bubbling from the pit of his stomach and out his mouth. “Besides! Why does it matter if he sends me pictures?” Nice pictures. Distracting pictures that made Buck question exactly why TK misunderstanding his friendliness was a problem. “Why are you so angry?”

           “Because… because…” Eddie looks past Buck, at the peanut gallery assembled by the kitchen. Hen and Chimney watching with interest while Bobby pretends cooking a turkey involves his whole focus. None of the seem keen to jump in and help. “Because… you…” Suddenly, Eddie stands. Buck recoils, stepping backwards. “You know what,” Eddie says, digging into his pocket, “I’m telling Marjan to unfollow you on Instagram.”

           “What?”

           “And!” he yells, phone free and on, “I’m telling her to block you!”

           “What? No – Eddie, no! Don’t!” Buck follows his friend, pleading, “C’mon, she hasn’t even liked any of my photos yet… Eddie… Eddie!”

           Eddie ignores him, furiously typing the end of Buck’s most famous connection online. In his haste, Buck forgets his phone on the counter. Eddie takes precedence over his phone.

           Later, Buck will return to it. He will respond to TK’s picture, sending a tidal wave of texts at the Texan firefighter ranging between the immense trouble that picture landed him in and how TK can repay him by convincing Marjan to follow him again.

           But that’s later. Now Buck slams his fist against the firetruck, yelling for Eddie to unlock the door.

           Eddie doesn’t.

[sylvain-writes]

Doors Will Open (Donatello x Reader)

Rated: G

Gender Neutral Reader, pre-relationship, movie night, tenderness, cuddling, supportive brothers

You surprise Donnie with lembas bread for your Lord of the Rings movie night.

for @blancoluna

Donatello is holed up in his laboratory of mischief and oddities when you arrive at the lair bearing treats. But Mikey is there to greet you, jumping out of the Pit to graciously unload the deep tupperware of cookies from your hands. 

His eyes twinkle as he leans in to stage whisper, “You’re my favorite, know that?”

April walks up behind him with a gasp of indignation. “I’m gone five minutes!”

“But, but...” He lifts the box in his defense, “Cookies!”

“Ooh.” April’s eyes go wide and warmth floods your cheeks at their enthusiasm. She rubs her hands together with delight. “Can I grab one for the road?” You nod, of course, encouraging her to take as many as she likes. “You’re my favorite too,” she says with a giddy bounce.

Your laughter draws Raphael and Leonardo from the tunnels, and your excitement for the evening mounts. Rising to your toes hopefully, you try to capture a glimpse of Donatello behind them. The tunnel, however, is otherwise empty. Your heart sinks just a little.

Everyone gathers in the kitchen, welcoming you and trying to convince April to stay, but with each passing minute, the absence of your best friend grows harder to ignore. 

“Wheel of Time is in my bag,” you mention to Leo half-heartedly. It’s a book series he’s been begging to borrow for ages. You’re proud of yourself for remembering to bring it, and you don’t want to get distracted and forget. 

“Thanks!” Leo unlatches your messenger bag immediately, diving into a confession that only serves to prove what a nerd he is. Apparently, he sped through the Lord of the Rings this week in his excitement for the weekend movie marathon. You nod along with an amused smile. You're usually overjoyed to have the fellow bookworm to talk to, but your attention keeps drifting to the empty tunnels. 

A lull in his rambling gives you an opportunity to ask, “Is Donnie coming?” You have trouble meeting Leo's eyes, but you try your best to keep the question sounding casual and light. You don’t want Leo, Raph, Mikey, or April to feel like you don’t value their company, but you brought down supplies for Movie Night under the impression Donatello would be joining in; you don’t want to start without him.

“Oh, I’ll get that knucklehead,” Leo says, stacking the books to carry. “He probably just lost track of time.” 

Turning from Mikey's final, futile plea for April to stay, Leo heads toward his room to drop off the books, then to the workshop to gather their missing brother.

The muted sounds of tools and machinery come through the heavy door in clanks and whirrs. But Leo knows Donnie won't mind the intrusion.  He raps a knuckle against the small frosted window and gives his brother a shout. 

Donatello raises his voice over the buzz of a circular saw to ask, “Emergency?” But the sound of the blade cutting through metal continues without pause.

“No.” Leo won’t lie. He won’t test Donnie’s nerves with trickery, not even when the reveal is something his brother has been looking forward to all week. 

“Password?” Donnie counters next.

Leo screws up his face, searching his memories for the right answer. “I don’t know, dude. There’s cookies? And, like, ten hours of movies, so-”

The saw goes silent before the 'shop door opens with a snap. Leo takes a step back to give his brother room. 

Donnie’s face pops through the gap, his eyes looking unnaturally large through the magnifying lenses perched atop his beak. “What day is it?”

“Uh, Friday.”

“Y/N is here?”

Leo's exasperated answer hisses through the tunnel. "Yes." 

Donatello lets the door swing wide as he pulls off his goggles and hangs them on their hook. “Why didn’t you start with that?” he asks as he tidies up his station. His hands fly over the tables, reorganizing the space for his return. He fumbles his wrenches into their case in his rush. "How long have they been here? Why didn't anyone get me sooner?"

Leo doesn’t hide his grin, so happy to see Donnie this close to admitting his crush. “Oh, so they’re the password, huh?”

Donatello’s blush starts at his neck and rises up to his ears. “That’s not…” He gives a little huff as he rolls his tool cart to its place against the wall. “Shut up, Leo.”

Slinging an arm around Donnie's neck, Leo drags him into the hall. He grinds his knuckles over his little brother's head with a light chuckle.  Though Donnie easily squirms free, Leo knocks him with a shoulder, a tease and a mark of support. 

At first, Leo had been reticent to encourage his brother's feelings for you, but over time it's become obvious that Donnie’s affections are far from one-sided. Being what they are, that came as somewhat of a shock to him, but it was the best kind of surprise.

Donnie's lucky to have you in his life. And Leo hopes that one day soon, the two of you will get your acts together. It's about time you two admit just how happy the other makes you.

*

You're picking at the edge of the countertop, stomach in knots, when you hear the echo of footsteps draw near. Leo and Donnie enter the main living space pushing and shoving, but there's not a hint of anger on their squabble. Laughter stretches their smiles wide. 

You bite your lips together, anticipating the moment when Donatello finds you. There's become a shared second of pause when you meet, though you don't know when that began. You try to prepare yourself for it each time, but it always leaves you breathless. 

When Donatello’s eyes fall on you, his laughter peters out and his smile goes soft. Your lungs ache with the breath you've forgotten to release until Donatello breaks the spell. "I was told there would be cookies?"

You gesture to the box, hoping the slight tremor in your hand isn't obvious. "Lembas, actually." It's silly, your newly developed nervousness around him. Donnie is the person with whom you feel safest, most free to be yourself. He's your best friend in the world. 

Your crush on him shouldn't change that. But it does. It could change everything.

Donatello's eyes slide to the box and his jaw drops comically. "Are you kidding me? How did you-? Why did-?" His long strides bring him to the table before he has a chance to form a full sentence.

"It's our weekend," you say. A blush colors your cheeks as you catch your choice of phrase. "I mean, Lord of the Rings weekend. Remember?" You fiddle with the ring hanging from your neck, your fingers running back and forth over the elvish script. 

"I didn't. I do now! I didn't realize it was Friday until Leo… But Lembas!" He's probably the biggest nerd of you all.

"Go ahead." The mess of crumbs on the counter is evidence Raph and Mikey have grabbed their share. Thankfully, they left some for the rest of you. 

Leo skirts around you to take a cookie for himself while Donatello inspects his square of pastry with care. Turning it over in his hands, Donnie hums. "It smells like citrus and almond."

"There's lavender too," you supply gently. It took a few tries and a few tweaks of the recipe you found to get it just right, but you're quite proud of the end result.

"Yeah," he gives a slow nod. "And lavender. I was getting to that." He looks at you in awe. "This is really… it's so cool."

"You didn't even try it." Your racing heart switches gears from nervousness to anticipation for Donnie to have a taste.

"Oh, right." Donatello takes his first bite, follows it quickly with a second, and the cookie is gone. "Wow." Crumbs fall from his lips and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.

"I can make more," you offer as he reaches for another, "if you guys like them so much."

Donnie nods and drops his gaze as he seems to consider it. "...maybe you can make them here," he says finally. "With me, y'know? Show me how it's done."

Your blush returns at the suggestion and you find yourself hesitant to agree to the plan. 

Donatello's eyes blink wide and his almost pout is irresistible as always. You can't fathom why you'd give up the chance to be the one teaching Donatello something for once. 

With a leap of your heart, you give in. "Yeah, of course. We can swing by my place later and grab the stuff. Could be fun."

"Could be," he agrees quietly.

Donnie meets your eyes again and the moment of stillness between you stretches long--

Until Raphael speaks up from the couch with an exaggerated groan. "Can ya please get over here already? There's a whole mess of movies waitin' for us and you're busy yappin'."

Donatello grabs the box of cookies and rummages through the cabinet for Pop-Tarts while you make your way over to the TV. Of course, not even lembas can fill his appetite for sweet pastry. 

In the Pit, the lighting is dim. Title screen music rises and falls, drawing you into the fantasy world of Middle Earth.

Leo has taken a seat atop the back of the couch to give Raph and Mikey room on the cushions below. At the sight of your approach, Mikey scoots toward his brothers to make you a place by the armrest.

It's a comfortable fit, even for your favorite position, sitting with your legs pulled up, criss cross. But when Donnie comes in, there's no real room for him. He doesn't seem to mind. He places the plate of lembas and box of Pop-Tarts on the coffee table. Then, without hesitation, he takes a seat on the floor in front of you.

Mikey starts up the movie and the epilogue scenes cast the room in shadows and flashes of light. Donatello settles in against your legs and everyone's eyes focus on the screen.

The film plays and the temptation to reach toward Donatello increases with his every shift. Though he hasn't complained, you think he must be uncomfortable down on the floor. If nothing else, the way he rolls his shoulders probably means he's feeling stiff. 

It's dark enough, you could lay your hands on his shoulders, work the knots out of his muscles and neck, without attracting the attention of his brothers. But you don't. As you indulge yourself in fantasy, Donatello shifts once more.  He slides into position between your knees and the tails of his bandana catch on the hem of your jeans. 

You stare for a moment, unsure if you're allowed to touch. Then, Donnie leans back and smiles up at you and you could swear your heart stops. It only lasts a second before his eyes return to the screen, but it fills you with comfort, confidence, and calm.

Careful not to tug, you take the tails of his mask in hand and lay the long strips of cloth over your lap. With steady passes, the fabric runs through your fingers. It's soft and worn. Stained and fraying on the ends. The movie plays on, but as far as you're concerned there's only this. 

You twist the tails of Donnie's mask around your fingers. You tie them into loose knots, losing yourself in the quiet intimacy of having Donatello so close. 

Donnie tips his head to the side as you play, turning his body just enough that he can rest his head on your knee. 

You bend at the waist and drop your voice as quiet as it can go to avoid being overheard by the others. "You OK?"

Donatello nods, nuzzling his cheek against your knee just enough for you to notice. "It's nice," he says, and you drag the tails of his bandana through your fingers again. 

As you sit up, you spare a glance at his brothers. Raph and Leo are sitting forward, elbows on their knees, enraptured by Arwen's race on horseback. But Mikey's watching you through the corner of his eye. He gives you a small, knowing smile before turning his attention back to the screen.

When it's time to switch DVDs, everyone agrees it's time for a stretch. 

Donnie's the first one back to the Pit. And he takes it upon himself to lie across all three cushions of the couch with a lazy grin. Mikey doesn't even bother with him, ducking out to meet up with April and leaving his older brothers to fend for spots on the broken recliner and floor.

Donatello makes grabby hands as you return from the kitchen with a pair of sodas. You think he'll sit up, make some room. But to your surprise, Donatello exaggerates his sprawl. He takes the drinks and places them on the floor, then extends his hands toward you again.

You only have a second to register his request before he takes your hand in his and gently pulls you onto the couch with him. 

Cuddled up between the couch and your back, Donatello gives a little shimmy and a wistful sigh. 

Your heart is racing and you're tingling from your hands to your toes, but fitting against the curves of Donatello's bent knees and soft embrace takes no thought at all. And once you're there, you can't imagine ever wanting to leave.

*

The second Fellowship DVD comes to an end, and Donatello's breath tickles your neck, "One more?"

You shrug into the feeling of his words ghosting over your skin. "I'll fall asleep," you admit regretfully. You're so comfortable in his arms, you don't want to go home. But it's precisely that warmth and safety that are making it so hard to stay awake.

"I won't make fun of you if you snore," Donnie teases. There's soft pressure on your scalp and you're sure that's the feeling of him snuggling into your hair.

"I make no promises," Raph chimes in from the recliner. You'd long since forgotten you had company. The sound of his voice should come as a shock, should have you scrambling out of Donnie's arms. But it's only Raph, and he's picking on you the same as always. And there's a kind of approval in that -- the kind you never dreamed of receiving.

You try to shoot him a scowl, but you're grinning because you can't help it. 

*

You were right about having difficulty staying awake. The film isn't on for five minutes before your eyes drift closed.

"Are you asleep?"

"Still listening," you mumble dreamily. Donatello's arms tighten around you and his chin tucks over your head. It's enough to send you adrift into a deep and peaceful sleep.

You wake up in the morning alone but wrapped in a purple knitted blanket you recognize from Donnie's room. You pull it snug around your shoulders as you sit up to check your phone.  There's a text from your roommate and emails that can be ignored, but one notification stands out. You touch the media message from Raphael. 

Though you roll your eyes at the blurry thumbnail, your curiosity has you pressing play. The video is only 20 seconds, anyway. 

It loads immediately and the image clears. You smile at the closeup of Donatello asleep on the couch. The audio is low but you can clearly make out the snuffling rise and fall of his snores. You allow yourself a little laugh as you watch the video play through again. And you don't miss the way Raphael panned to show you and Donnie together dozing comfortably -- your limbs entangled and your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

You're unsure where you two stand and where your relationship will go, but your stomach is full of butterflies and your heart is content.

"Did you sleep OK?" Donnie asks as he comes in from the kitchen. He's brought tea and toast -- a simple but sweet gesture. 

You take a moment to enjoy the sight of him bringing you breakfast 'in bed' and tuck your phone away with a smile. "I slept great."

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at  you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head,  every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so,  against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his  silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a  fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He  thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the  very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset.  He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment  many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N:  I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At  least after AfO is taken.

Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 13 / Chapter 14

Grief divided is made lighter.

You are surprisingly warm and comfortable.

Ah…

Tomura sleepy form hugs you from behind, his arms interlocked with yours, but the ball of his fist safely locked away under a pillow, preventing them from touching you by accident.

You look for your phone between the blankets. It’s already 6 am, so you better go and check up on Compress.

“Where are you going?” He whispers against your ear, holding you even closer, and you realize that he must have waken up when you moved the covers searching for the phone.

“I should go and check up on Compress. He probably needs a change of bandages.”

“Atsuhiro is fine. Twice took care of him like an hour ago.”

“Oh…You think he changed the bandages?”

“Probably.” He fondles his nose between your hair in sleepy motion “Hey, we know how to take care of a wound, doc. You should sleep.”

You turn and he opens his hug a little to allow you to move between his arms.

“Hey.” You smile brushing your lips with his, inviting you to kiss you, but Tomura doesn’t open his mouth, keeping his eyes closed he just nuzzles against you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep, tensing his hold in an attempt of weld your bones to his.

“Magne is dead.” His voice sounds deadpan, muffled by the pillow and your hair.  

“What?”

“…The bastard that wounded Compress. He killed her with his quirk. He made her explode in front of us with just a touch. My coat is covered in her blood.”

You can’t help the knot in your throat, tears burning behind your eyelids. Death is nothing new for someone like you. Your work would require facing it every day and your parents left you early in life, so you’ve lost people before, and yet you feel sad and scared.

Sad for Magne, for everything she wanted and everything she struggle with, sad because she had to fight nail and tooth to be herself in a world that will never know how hard she tried.

And you feel scared. It was Magne and Atsuhiro, but it could have been Himiko or Jin.

It could have been Tomura and you would have never known. The notion of him dying forgotten in some dirty alleyway, away from any comfort, mourned by no one breaks your heart.  

“Are you going to fight him?” a question you shouldn’t ask. Some kisses and a shared night are no promise of anything, you know his temper to be a fickle raging thing, but you don’t care. He has the right to tell you to mind your own busyness, but you have the right to prepare your heart.

He looks at you serious, opting for ignore what you just asked and the tears that stain your face; and since you won’t obtain anything else about this, you decide to just tell him what’s on your mind.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”

He kisses you hard, turning you over your back to press your body against the mattress, keeping you still under his dead weight and you feel your need growing wild, something warm and tight burning on the pit of your stomach, tensing your muscles because there is too much clothing and too little skin between you two.

You kiss him back, opening your mouth for him, letting his tongue invade you viciously as his mouth breathes from you. A mild pull of your hair sends shivers of pleasure to your spine, and you register his other hand keeping your jaw open for him, his thumb so close to your mouth that it begins to smear spit on the corner of your lips, something wicked and twistingly obscene about it.

The bed creaks as the wight of your bodies shift. You wonder vaguely if the rest of the party can hear your ragged breath or the fumbling of blankets as Tomura gets hard against your thigh and your legs open to let him rest against your hip.

He draws a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck and your shoulder, biting and nibbing the wet skin and you venture your hands carefully under his shirt, touching the skin of his narrow waist, the protruding ribs and his lean back, marveling in the motion of his cage when he begins to pant at the dragging of your hip against his.

Tomura goes back at your mouth, but he doesn’t kiss you. He leans over and push two fingers against your tongue as his lips brush against yours, making you suck his digits.

“Look at you” he sneers with a wicked grin plastered across his face. “I want to tear you apart and you’d let me.”

He whispers kissing you with his eyes open, nailed to yours because he wants you to know. He wants you to feel the terrifying want that fills him, push this feeling back to you so he can watch you shiver and starve like he does.

“You want to kill me, Tomura?” you ask drunk in his touch. There is no fear behind your question. Like him, you just want to know if you haunt him too, if he is as mad as you are.

He bucks his hips against yours, his hard line rubbing the clothes that covers your core making you pant on his grinning mouth.

“I want to fuck you until you pass out.” He grunts laughing, moving his hand under your pants, his fingers gliding over the dampness, his thumb safely tucked against his palm. “So wet for me. The good little doctor all wet for me.”

You kiss him and he responds by reaching deep inside of you, pushing and hooking the places that makes you shiver and moan, enchanted with your warmth, your ragged breathing and the soft creak of the mattress under your body.  

“Say it again…” he commands more like a plea, sucking at your neck, leaving a red bruise over your pulse. “Say it…”

“I missed you.” You breathe on his neck. “I missed you, Tomura. I missed you.”

“You haunted me.” He whispers kissing your cheeks gently. He withdraws his hand from your core, opening your mouth with it, making you suck his wet fingers, completely fascinated by the lewdness of it, before tasting you with a kiss.

Sounds on the other room catches your attention. Tomura sighs, looking boringly to the door and before you know he turns over his back, pulling you against his chest, a fist tightly close on your waist.

You look at your phone. It’s only 6:27 in the morning.

Resting your head on his shoulder you give him a pleading look and he rolls his eyes falsely annoyed by your concern.

“I’ll be fine.” He adds just for the sake of making you feel better.

“Make him pay.”

“He will.” Tomura rasps, holding you tight against his chest, mentally adding making you cry to Overhaul’s long list of mistakes.

 Chapter 15

[wanderinginksplot]

Loved your Hondo and Aurra one, can you write something with cad bane being enamored by a new bounty Hunter or something of the like?

Okay, so this ended up almost a thousand words longer than I meant it to be! Still, I hope you enjoy!

The Bounty

Bane hated Coruscant. The whole cursed planet was a city and the teeming life made the reptile in him want to get as far away as he could and just curl up in the sun. But bounty hunters - even the best ones in the galaxy - had to work sometimes, and the Triple Zero had more prime targets than any other planet.

He was walking down a side street on one of the mid-levels in search of his current bounty. Despite Todo’s fretting, he and the droid were safer here than anywhere above or below. He had to give his target credit: they knew how to hide. The level was high enough that there was no need to watch your back just so no one would stab it, but disreputable enough that someone hiding from the authorities wouldn’t stand out.

Still, Bane was in a foul mood, and it was only getting worse as he continued to be unable to find his target. After he circled the same filthy block for the fourth time, Bane let out a blistering curse.

“Are you Cad Bane?” 

He whirled, hands resting on the butts of his blaster pistols as he cursed himself. How long had it been since someone had managed to sneak up on him? Too long to start making stupid mistakes now. 

“Who’s askin’?” he growled, scanning the dark alleyway. His red, slit-pupiled eyes adjusted better to the gloom than those of most other species, but even he had trouble picking out the speaker until they moved.

As the shadowed form stepped closer, Bane noted with some distaste that it was a human female. Duros had invented hyperdrives and had settled all across the galaxy, but it was the humans who were the most prevalent species. Nothing in the universe was fair.

This particular human looked to be nothing special. Her hair hung in limp strands - probably due to the humidity from the steam vents several buildings away - and her clothes looked like they had seen days in levels a lot lower than this one.

“I have some information for you,” she said, her voice pleasantly low and pitched to avoid being overheard.

“I’m sure,” Bane snorted.

“It’s good information,” she assured. “Worth a credit or two?”

“Dat’s not how dis works, girlie,” he said with a menacing chuckle, drawing one of the blasters and aiming in less time than it took to breathe. “Tell me da information an’ I’ll decide what it’s worth.”

She looked frightened, but nodded. “Th- There’s another bounty hunter after your target. I was sent to warn you that the guild gave out t-two biometric fobs.”

“Who sent ya tah warn me?” Bane demanded, absolutely livid. First, he was ousted as the Fett brat's godfather, and now the guild had issued another fob for his target? Ridiculous and insulting. Maybe that's why he was pressing the human female so hard, and why he hadn't put his blaster away yet. 

“I don’t know, I swear!” she answered quickly. “He just pointed you out to me, gave me some credits, and told me what to tell you. Please don’t kill me!” She fell to her knees with the plea. Her actual skragging knees. 

Bane shot her a disgusted look and holstered his blaster. In a few steps, he was at her side and tugged her roughly to her feet. She was heavier than she looked, but he had no problem getting her to stand - or keeping her close, even when she had started to struggle in an effort to get away from him. 

"Are ya lyin' tah me, girl?" She shook her head frantically, but he noted with a spike of deep-buried interest that she had glanced at his mouth. It wasn't uncommon for people to mix up fear and interest, especially on a lower level of Coruscant. 

Bane knew he had nothing to fear from this small human. He could read her every thought in her wide eyes and the expressions on her honest face. There was no reason not to have a little fun.

He pulled her closer, so close that the brim of his hat brushed her forehead as he continued, "So ya just thought to trick some extra credits outta me?"

"Uh, Master?" Todo chirped irritatingly.

"Shut up, droid," Bane snapped irritably as her gaze slid over to the techno-service droid instead of being fixed on Bane's own red eyes. He missed their weight, their heat. "D'ya know what I do tah people who try tah trick me?"

And there it was, her gaze flirted to his mouth again and lingered, just for a moment. 

"How ‘bout ya earn those credits a different way?" 

Offense crossed her face. "I'm not a-"

He lunged in for a kiss before she could tell him what she wasn't. 

Duros didn't put much stock in kissing as an expression of anything, but it was the best way Bane knew of getting humans in the right headspace for more… inter-species recreation. 

"Master," Todo said urgently and Bane fought a sigh. He hated the droid sometimes, but it was right. He had a target to find and now, there was a deadline.

He nipped at the human's lower lip with his sharp teeth and pulled away. "I've gotta go take care-a dis. See ya around."

She blinked up at him, looking rumpled and more than a bit confused. "But-"

"Master!" 

"Shut up, droid," Bane snapped. "Can't ya see I'm goin'?"

When he turned back, the female was leaving. Bane spared a single thought for her, wishing momentarily that he had gotten her name, but he had bigger things to focus on. He had to find his bounty, cause some pain to the guild member who had issued a second fob, and figure out why he couldn't feel the vibroblade in his boot.

Wait…

Bane patted himself down and found that he was missing the pouch with his credits, the vibroblade from his boot, and the tracking fob. 

"Master," Todo said again. "I've been trying to tell you: that girl was stealing from you!"

Bane hissed, whipping around to fix his gaze on the female. She was just rounding the corner of a building and saw him looking her way. Rather than the fearful look she had worn through their interaction, she grinned and sent a triumphant wink his way.

"Next time, just tell me!" Bane snapped, running after her. "Now I gotta track an unknown through da planet!"

"I traced the water from her hair while you were… occupied," Todo volunteered. "I believe she came from the steam vents three blocks west."

Bane changed directions and picked up speed, Todo soaring through the air beside him giving directions. At a certain point, he slowed, “I cannot go further. The steam will short out my circuits.”

“Fine, just wait dere,” Bane ordered over his shoulder. “Dis won’t take long.”

When Bane got to the steam vents, he immediately recognized the female's silhouette standing next to a nondescript, illegally parked ship. She was facing the opposite direction, speaking into a comlink hidden under her grimy sleeve. 

"Well, keep me updated," she said, clearly disappointed with the person on the other end of the line.

Bane was on her before she could lower her arm, twisting her around. However, her reflexes were better than he had expected, and she turned and kicked him away in the same moment. Still, Bane hadn’t lived this long being taken by surprise. He grabbed her shoulders as he was pushed back, and levered her along with him. In the end, his balance was caught by a wall, and his grip pulled her against him until there was not an inch of space between their bodies. 

"Gimme one good reason I shouldn't blast ya to pieces right now," he snarled in her face, one blaster already drawn and pressed to her temple.

Though this was a lot less friendly than the last time they had been so close, she wore a crooked little smile. “Because I can give back everything I took?”

“Yeah? An’ how is dat gonna make up fer da fact dat ya thought it’d be smart tah steal from me?”

The smile widened and took on a saucy look. “I think I more than made up for it back there. And there’s more where that came from. But first! Credits, fob…”

She hesitated before handing over the vibroblade. “I really like the knife. Any chance I could keep it?”

“I could shoot ya right now an’ no one would blink - least of all, me,” Bane hissed.

She pouted a bit, but passed the blade back. “Now, where were we?” she purred, moving as if to slide her hands up Bane’s arms.

Bane knocked her hands away and her comlink went off. She hit the button that allowed it to transmit, and Bane was less than thrilled, “I didn’t tell ya tah answer that.”

“We’re clear,” the comlink said.

“Who’s clear-a what?” he asked suspiciously, the end of the question muffled by the human female’s lips meeting his mouth once more. He obliged her, taking control of the kiss with a hand in her hair, holstering his blaster so he could use the other to angle her jaw.

“Bane,” she moaned at the contact.

Bane broke the kiss and tried not to pant as he said, “Ya got me at a disadvantage, darlin’. Ya know my name, but I never caught yers.”

“Oche,” she told him, giving a mischievous little smirk. “And that’s not the only thing you didn’t catch, bounty hunter.”

He was already furious by the time he tried to reach for her and found his wrists caught in magnetic binders, attached to the wall behind him. 

“Well, that was lovely,” Oche said chipperly. “I do wish I could stay longer. I would love to see if all the rumors about you are true.”

Her gaze drifted downward and Bane growled at her, knowing full well what she would find if she looked too closely.

“Anyway, looks like we’re both done here.” 

As she began to root through his jacket, Bane glowered. “So, ya were tryin’ tah steal my bounty all along.”

“Not really,” Oche said after a thoughtful pause. “It’s more like… a partnership. You found the guy, I got the fob, and Embo got the bounty.”

Embo. Bane should have guessed that the Kyuzo would be one to steal a bounty. He had already tried to steal Bane’s signature wide-hat style. Aloud, he just said, “And when am I gonna get my share-a da payment fer this little partnership?”

“Well, your portion was done on more of a volunteer basis,” she hedged.

Before Bane could tell her how little he cared about volunteering anything, she said, “I’m taking some of your credits, the fob, and the vibroknife. I really did like it.”

As she stepped away, Oche added, “Embo said to tell you thanks for the bounty. He didn’t know if he could find them alone, but you were a big help. And don’t worry, those cuffs will come off as soon as my ship leaves the atmosphere.

With that, she scampered off, climbed into her ship, and blew him a kiss goodbye through the viewport. Bane bared his pointed teeth at her in return.

Oche was right, though: the binders fell off only minutes after her ship had risen through the air. Bane spent only a moment glaring at the sky before he walked back in the direction of his own ship, lost in thought. 

Fett had Wesell, Embo had Oche, even Ohnaka had Sing. Was he the only bounty hunter left in the galaxy who still worked solo? Where was his apprentice?

“Master!” Todo cried, hovering beside the Duros’s face. “Did you find her? Did you get the target?”

“Oh, I gotta target, all right,” Bane said darkly. “An’ I’m not gonna stop ‘til I get ‘er.”

He would find Embo and Oche, he would get his money for the target he had found, and then… Bane and Oche would finish what they had started. 

Whether it would be finished with blasters or something more primal, he wasn’t certain, but it would be finished either way.