#like it’s not normal to feel so tense and filled with endless thoughts about Work Situations right

[literaphobe]

hey adhders who r employed what jobs are good to do for people who suffer really badly with rsd and cannot stand to be under constant scrutiny and criticism

[yandere-vale]

Yandere Blue Pearl Headcanons. Part 2.

Warning: Normal Yandere stuff and I don't condone anything that I write about. Some stuff I'm okay with but that's sort of a personal thing and up to the person themselves to decide.

"Even a Masterpiece as tear-soaked as you..is still just so beautiful.."

Blue Pearl has a number of ways to express her love for you. She's done so through her countless drawings and paintings of you. Her hands working tirelessly due to her exciting and swelling heart for you as she sculpted statues and busts of your stunning form. Blue Pearl has written and performed songs, ballads, love songs, sonnets, and poems. All in a grand show of her love for you.

She's done alot of work into showing you just how much she adores you. The problem is that you don't seem to take it very well. Maybe she was a bit..forward when she appeared on your doorstep one night. To you she was just one of those Gem-People you'd recently heard about, and that maybe you remembered her and saw her around. But that was it. You didn't know how to react when a large group of Rubies entered your house past her and further into the home even with several of them sticking around the two of you. Blue Pearl was speaking to you, saying something but it was all too fast and it was all too soft for your ears. One of the Rubies moved to knock you out(Since she was not aware of 'how' Blue Pearl wanted to acquire you) you swore that Blue was saying that she loved you and that she was sorry. That was before everything went dark.

You awoke to her gentle apologetic words, having tended to the welt on your head while you were out. She began to speak quickly having trouble getting all the words out that she had carefully planned to tell you once you two were finally together. In the messy jumble of words you found out a few things.

1: You were no longer on Earth but a place called 'Gem Homeworld'. 2: That you had been taken in the middle of the night by someone who is really and by god earnestly confessing her love for you. 3: That she had taken most of the items from your home while you were out and brought them here. As by her words 'it's better for you to be here then down there.

You..didn't take this well. You were upset and started to get upset. However, the moment you raised your voice did you feel her cold hand wrap around your wrist with a snap. It surprised you just how strong she was when you tried to break her grip and found only uncaring steel keeping you there.

She explained, in a voice that was so empty, so far from herself that it sounded like she was speaking from inside a well of void-less emotion that you are not to raise your voice at her. You are not to get angry with her, and you are to not fight her. "Never change from the Masterpiece I know you are." Were her only words on the subject.

Blue Pearl has had to deal with more then five thousand years of Blue Diamond's grief. The endless and ever over-taking crushing sadness that would wreck her small body. Countless cycles where all she felt was sadness and the slowly encroaching dread of future bouts of uncontrollable misery. It was enough to dull her emotional output for those many, many long years.

That's why the petite Pearl finally worked out what would generally make her happy. Ever since Blue Diamond has had her closure, her powers have changed to express that. Flooding the room with pleasure clouds that Blue Pearl could curl up her small body in and slip into the endless joy.

It took a long time to ease the tenseness she's been holding. Finally allowing herself time to let it go, accepting her emotions as true and for once..good. She had forgotten the warmth she can find from other people and the warmth she feels from you fills this lowly Pearl with such enthusiasm that she can barely contain it. And it's that emotional reaction that quickly becomes the reason why she takes you.

Blue Pearl knows from the reports on the organics from the Human Zoo that humans are beings prone to paranoid thoughts and anxiety that both clouds their minds and puts their emotional side on a spinning roulette wheel of anxiousness. She's aware that humans can spiral into sadness all by themselves and don't need an outside source for their depression. So she counter balances this by having Blue Diamond's pleasure clouds pumped into your room. Her Diamond is understanding of her underling and allows the gem to do as she wishes. After all, nothing should stand in the way of love. That's what Steven taught her at least.

She refuses to see you sad or withdrawn. Even if she's forcing these feelings on you, she just wants you to see that it's better to be with her and that you'll truly only be happy with her. It will come naturally, she had witnessed Blue Diamond disposition change once she found her happiness. So it will be the same for you, she's sure of it.

Being kept by Blue Pearl isn't bad. You aren't subjected to torment or pain of any kind. Anything that you might need she has either the Quartz build or the Peridots create. Getting stuff from Earth is harder and normally requires you to spend time with Blue Pearl, letting her hold you or just having you hold her. She's at her peak joy when you ask to cuddle with her as the big spoon, her slotted against you that makes her look so fragile...even if you know she isn't.

She likes it when you express yourself through art. She's had many drawing utensils, paints, and gem-made musical instruments of a varied type gathered for you. And of course she keeps anything that you create with her. They are all treasures that she'll keep forever.

The worst she'll do to you is lock you in a room that's flooded by Blue Diamond's pleasure clouds for days at a time. Forcing your emotional state to shift to one she can tolerate. You know you are being manipulated and you fought against it once you'd come down(An act that gets you put right the hell back in that room). In a way it's nice, not having to worry or stress too much since Blue Pearl(Or Bluejay she's asked you to call her, and the way she blushed when she did was almost enough to make your capture bearable) takes care of anything else.

Gems have access to many different star systems and planets as well as their resources. Blue Pearl will have many different and strange foods brought to you after they had been tested to make sure you will like them. Fruits, veggies, and even meat from unknown beasts is brought and made just for you. All because she loves you.

Blue Pearl is a love-starved puppy of a gem who can't get enough of you. She wants to drown in the feelings you give her and never return to the surface. Other then being taken by force, Blue Pearl is one of the kinder Yandere Gems that one can end up being the target of their love. A gentle gem that's full of love for her organic, even if she doesn't really understand that her love was as twisted as the events of 'Pink Diamond's Shattering' all those years ago.

Humans don't live long, Blue Pearl is aware of this. Painfully aware of this fact. So much so that she's nearly lost herself in finding a way to keep you alive, to keep you with her. She's scoured the archives of Gem-History and she thinks she's found something..but she can't bring herself to do it. The old reports speak of a process to turn organics into Gem-Hybrids through something called 'Pearlfection'. Where a Gem is forcefully implanted on an organic being. The practice had been in disuse due to how horrid a process it is..but the Hybrids do gain the lifespan of Pearls. So it's not out of the question. But it leaves her with one problem, can she bring herself to hurt you..to keep you?

[raggaraddy]

Mouthy

Prompt: You say to Yandere BTS "Oh my god! Just shut up!"

A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I wrote this laying in bed. I hope it's not some sleep-deprived nonsense ^-^

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, emotional manipulation, choking, non-con, D/s themes, examples of a bad D/s dynamic.

Alpha! Namjoon

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You scream it through your bedroom doorway. Storming to the railing of the stairs, you lean over and scream again. "Shut up!"

The sea of people on the ground floor go quiet. Only the music dares to keep making a sound in the background. You skulk back to your room, slamming the door loudly behind you. You had had a long, disappointing day. You were tired and grumpy, and moody and sad. But the dozens of uninvited pack members couldn't care less as their party raged on into the night.

Not allowing you enough time to even climb back into bed, Namjoon storms after you to address your outburst.

"Y/n, go downstairs right now and apologize." He orders.

"No." you mope. Feeling it's a wildly unfair request. All these people are in your house making so much noise when you're trying to sleep. How is it you that's in the wrong?

"Do you think I am asking you? I'm telling you. Get downstairs now." He says sternly. His strict tone making you even more emotional. You just wanted him to be on your side for this.

"But- But I," you sniffle, with tears in your eyes.

"No," Namjoon cuts you off. "I've asked you all afternoon what's wrong. And you wouldn't tell me. So right at this moment, I don't want to hear it. You have been disrespectful to me and my people. So you are going to put some more clothes on and cover-up, and you will go out there and apologize to every single person." He growls, leaving no room to argue. "And you will do it sincerely, or I will give you something to cry about."

King! Seokjin

You didn't say it to his face. You would never be that stupid. But still, you clearly weren't smart enough. While gossiping to a friend, someone you thought was a confidant, you're complaining about a seemingly endless, boring meeting you had to serve today.

"And I just wanted to tell all of them; Oh my god! Just shut up!" You laugh. 

But hours later it's no longer a laughing matter.

"How did you enjoy serving me today, Princess?" Jin asks his tone giving nothing away of what he already knows.

"I enjoyed it. Thank you, your Majesty" You politely smile, thinking his question to be a kindness.

"I often find these meetings so dull. Many of the Lords do like to ramble on. Sometimes I would enjoy telling all of them to just shut up." He speaks the words so purposefully that you know at once you've been exposed.

"My Lord, I-"

"If you are smart you will not say another word." He speaks softly, with a grin on his face. "I want to thank you, Y/n.  I have an endless supply of other people I can hurt. Each one of them is freely at my disposal, but you are my favourite toy." He fills the space in front of you. "However, I am a man of my word. I swore to you that you will be unharmed if you are obedient, and I would not dare to break this vow. Of course, I have sorely missed playing with my beloved little dol, though."

Towering over you he sets off your instinct to get to your knees and grovel, begging his forgiveness for your carelessness. But that would only be a wasted effort.

"So thank you, Princess, for giving me the possibility to hear your pretty cries of pain again. I will make sure to use this opportunity to its fullest."

Assassin! Yoongi

He had been in a hyper mood for 2 days straight. His energy and enthusiastic interaction was something you always craved, but you had never dealt with it this long before and you were losing your sanity and your composure.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You shout at him as your last nerve snaps.

"Okay, Y/n." He gives little to no reaction. "Remember you said this in a month from now when you're begging me to speak to you."

But it didn't take a month. In two weeks you were in tears apologizing. He left you free to roam the house, but he revoked all communication from you. The only times he gave you any attention, was when he forcibly made you stop doing something he didn't like. Or when he wanted you for sex. But still, he wouldn't utter a single word, only bending you over to take what he wanted.

After 5 weeks, just as you thought you'd never hear his voice again, he finally broke his silence. Only to break your heart.

"Listening to you these past few weeks, I realise how much you talk. It's time you take your own advice and shut up. Y/n, I don't want to hear a sound out of you until I say. 5 weeks was easy enough for me. So let's start with that, and then I'll see if I want to hear from you yet."

Vampire! Hoseok

Hoseok was always so animated. Normally it didn't bother you, but he was talking and reacting through yet another movie and you were sick of it. It might have been because you were PMSing or maybe because Hoseok had forgotten to feed you all day, but when he yelled at the TV, you yelled at him.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" And right away you were teeming with regret.

"I'm sorry baby. Am I being too loud?" He laughs with an unexpectedly harmless reply. Playfully but roughly slapping his hand on your thigh. "I'll keep it down."

You're not dumb enough to think that your eruption would go unanswered. So you sit tensely, anxiously waiting to see how he will repay you.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear, after sitting in silence for 20 minutes. "You know I have very strong hearing right?" You nod nervously. Chewing your lip. "Well, your breathing is too loud and very distracting. I can hardly hear the movie. Can you please fix that?"

You know this is going to lead to something horrible, but you have no choice but to do as he says. For the next 10 minutes, you're completely distracted trying to inhale and exhale as softly and shallowly as possible.

"Hmm baby, it's really too much. I can't concentrate on the film." He stands, pulling his belt off. "Here let me help you."

He wraps his belt around your neck, pulling and setting it so tight that it's biting into your skin. Your throat constricting, barely letting you breathe.

As you wheeze and splutter and cough, he holds the end like a leash. Sitting back on the couch, he turns his focus back to the movie without letting you loosen the strap or get away. Your whole body is shaking, your eyes starting to roll back as you struggle to inhale. The belt is cruelly not tight enough to have you pass out though. Only allowing you to sit in your suffering. The sound of your gasping filling the room.

"Ahh, there you go baby. That's much better. Don't worry, it's just while we're watching movies. And there's only two more left in the trilogy."

Playboy! Jimin

He was telling you over and over how sorry he was. How he didn't mean to kiss that girl. That he was drinking. And that she kissed him. It was every excuse and lie he had spouted 100 times before.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You yelled at him. And for a moment it worked. He sat in stunned silence. But as you got off the bed to leave, taking your car keys with you, he chased after you.

"Where are you going?"

"Out Jimin. I need some time alone to think." You scowl.

But he refuses, blocking the door. Holding his arms to either side to barricade you in.

"No, you can't leave! I said I'm sorry."

"Fuck off Jimin, your apologies mean nothing." You say shoving him.

He doesn't accept that. With a roar, he grabs your shoulders throwing you down onto the bed. Quickly straddling you, using far too much force to keep you pinned beneath him. Tearing off the pillowcases, he makes some shoddy but effective restraints. Tying you to the bars on the headboard.

Ignoring your screams and how you struggle he starts to kiss down your neck, pulling at your clothes, rubbing his hands down your body.

"I'm gonna make you feel good Y/n. I'll show you that I only want you, then you'll have to forgive me." He says sounding desperate and unhinged.

You cry and yell for him to stop, trying to buck him off you, but his hand covers your mouth, his other successfully tearing down your panties from under your dress.

"Don't fight me, Angel. Just let me in. And I'll prove I love you the most."

Dom! Taehyung

Finally, Taehyung had agreed to spend some time with you in a social environment. He and you went out to a movie and dinner with some of your friends. They were vanilla friends though, so as an exception, for the day he loosened a lot of the restrictions and formalities you normally had in place.

You, however, you were getting a little too relaxed. While you joked with you're friends, you started to speak to him the same manner. As you and he were playfully arguing about trivia facts you realized you were losing the debate.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You joke. But in the company of your friends or not, Taehyung was not about to let you disrespect him. Even in jest.

"Is that how you should talk to me girl?" He asks loudly and in front of everyone, bringing the group conversation to a grinding halt.

His change in tone and his use of the possessive pet name, right away have you back in your place.

"No," you whisper. The sting of embarrassment hot upon your cheeks.

"No, what?" He pushes it.

You can't stand to look up. All of the attention is on the two of you. And even in your peripheral, you can see your friends looking at you judgementally, wide-eyed and in shock.

And he was making it worse by having you use his title around them.

"No, Sir." you surrender, your head hung low.

"Shouldn't you also apologise to the other people at the table? For interrupting our night with your rudeness." He keeps piling on one shame after the other. Stretching out the ordeal.

"No, it's fine." One of your friends tries to laugh off the awkwardness and speed the discussion away from this point. "She doesn't have to."

"Y/n," He prompts you, disregarding what your friend had said.

Thoroughly humiliated, you can't imagine how you are going to repair these relationships or explain this treatment away.

"I'm sorry for interrupting the night with my rudeness." you swallow heavily, hands shaking.

"Good girl. Now mind your mouth. Before you make me embarrass you further."

Mafia! Jungkook

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" you say in a hushed voice. More of a prayer said to yourself than an actual demand you expected Jungkook to hear.

"What did you just say to me?" he lowers the phone, gawking at you.

You really didn't mean to, it just slipped out. He was talking on the phone, going into too graphic detail about how he and his men dealt with a threat recently. You couldn't handle the gruesome details he was recanting anymore and the words just fell out.

"What did you just say? Did you just tell me to shut up?" He repeats again through your nonreply. His tongue running through the inside of his cheek, his jaw and muscles tensing. His voice jumping rapidly from stunned to aggressive.

You're at home alone with him, so you weren't paying much mind to what you were saying. But this afternoon he's been dealing with work. And right now he isn't Kookie, no the person in front of you is Jeon Jungkook. The temperamental Mafia head, who would as likely hit you as he would speak to you.

"I'm sorry," you squeak.

"You're sorry?" He scoffs, slamming the phone down. "If you had said it and meant it, that would be one thing. I could respect that. But you really just can't control your stupid little mouth can you."

"I-" you start a defence, or more a plea for mercy.

"Shut the fuck up!" He growls leaning forward in his seat making you flinch back. Darting his hand out he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back to where you were. "Don't flinch. I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help you." He smiles.

You wriggle in his clutches, mewling the same trifle apologies under your breath.

"Shhh, my brainless little Kitten. I'm gonna give you a gift." He smirks. "For your own safety, you don't need to talk for the rest of the day. I just need you to come when I call. Sit on my lap when I tell you. And purr for me like a good little pussy." Grabbing your arm harshly, he yanks you off your chair and onto the ground. "There you go, where you belong." He laughs. "You think you can remember to do all that? I know you can. Otherwise, I'll buy you a kat collar to remind you how my Kitten should behave."

[bratkook]

not yet. jjk

not yet, almost, right now pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, some angst, pg-13 word count. 4.1k warnings. mentions of infidelity, some feelings come to light, unrequited pining, spur of the moment kissing, light grinding on the dance floor, jungkook pops a boner and wants to cry</3 summary. jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship note. this is based off a request sent a while back for numbers #43 and #67 from this prompt list! (i think this might turn into a small drabble series...mayhaps)

Jungkook can spot your discomfort easily, the occasional colorful light bouncing off your face showing him the flash of anger in your eyes. The only reason he’s not currently running for the hills, knowing very well how mean you can get when angry, is because your glare isn’t being sent at him. Not yet at least. 

Because of this, he allows himself to enjoy the cute way your nose scrunches up, lips twisting in displeasure as you stare at the crowd of people, eyes locked onto an unlucky bystander. Honestly, he wishes he could hear your thoughts, wanting to know exactly what has your panties in a bunch, ruining your mood instead of letting you enjoy the expensive fruity drink he had just bought you as payment for allowing him to drag you out of the house. Jungkook isn’t a mind reader though, so he decides on his next best option. 

“Who’s got you looking all sour?” he sighs, resting his elbow on the counter of the bar as he inches closer to you, head at your level in an attempt to match your line of sight. 

“Him,” you seethe, brows pinching together, showing those light wrinkles in between them, a product of how expressive you were and definitely something Jungkook always teases you about. 

Jungkook can only hum in question, eyes squinting in the low light as he attempts to find the him you’re talking about. With a slight turn of your head, you’re inches from Jungkook’s cheek, the obvious look of confusion etched onto his soft features letting you know he was absolutely lost. With a soft huff your fingers are gripping his cheeks and moving his face in the right direction, free hand pointing as discreetly as you could to the man in question. 

You know he spots him, you can feel his jaw tense underneath your grip. What you don’t feel is the sudden guilt that fills him up, sloshing in his stomach and mixing with the liquor he just drank until he feels a little queasy. Jungkook instantly regrets coaxing you out of your little dungeon with the promise of cheering you up. If he had known the spawn of satan–dubbed your ex boyfriend and also the reason why you were in a downward spiral–would be here, he would have just let you rot in your bed like you originally wanted. 

“Do you wanna go?” he mutters out, cheeks still squished by your slowly tightening grip, and he begins to accept the fact that you might just break his jaw right now. It’s fine, he thinks, he deserves it. 

“No,” you grunt stubbornly, fingers finally releasing him as you turn back around and choose to face the endless amount of bottles behind the bar. He may be the reason you were currently on a never ending cycle of watching sad, heartbreaking chick-flicks from the early 2000’s, dumping you with the lame excuse that you two were on different paths and he just wasn’t ready for commitment. It’s something you accepted, albeit jaw tense and eye twitching as you did so, but you figured you would eventually find your way back to each other. 

Your mind was warped, believing you were meant to be, that this was just a mere bump in the road that you would laugh at together in the future. 

That is, until he blocked you on all social media, and you had to hear from your best friend that he had moved on days later and was now with some blonde-haired, fresh faced, supermodel-esque woman that you could not get yourself to hate. Instead you took to endlessly scrolling through her instagram while you stuffed your face with milk chocolate and questioned why you had ever convinced yourself that you had a future with him. 

“Good, he’s a dick and you shouldn’t let him ruin your night.” Jungkook grumbles, slinging his arm around you as you hold your forgotten drink by your lips. He had seen your relationship with Hajoon play out from the very beginning, knowing slightly more intimate details than he would like considering you were next door neighbors and happened to share a wall between your bedrooms. 

The friendship you had with Jungkook blossomed right after you moved in four years ago, friendly neighborly talks morphing into actual conversations, and eventually inviting each other into your apartments where you would attempt to beat him at any game you had in your Nintendo switch. It was a great dynamic, providing the two of you with a sense of relief after your busy days at work. 

Unfortunately, the second you got with Hajoon was the end of any of those playful matches, your ex’s jealousy making you distance yourself in an attempt to keep your relationship at bay. 

Jungkook can’t say he didn’t see it coming, having heard the way you’d cry anytime you had an argument and your ex would leave, slamming the door behind him so hard Jungkook’s walls would rattle. It had become such a common occurence it was a shock he hadn’t marched out of his house, met Hajoon in the hall, and gave him a clean right hook in your honor. 

He was secretly hoping you’d break up with the jerk for your own good–and maybe for his own personal reasons too. Your ex was right in being wary of Jungkook, knowing the way a boy's mind worked, sensing Jungkook’s feelings for you in a way you were too blind to see. Jungkook wasn’t a dick though, he could tell you wanted your relationship to work so he kept his distance. 

When weeks went by without the sight of him he began to think you finally did it, a call for celebration that made him want to go over to your place to challenge you for a friendly match of Mario Kart like you used to. 

Until he ran into you in the hall and took note of what a mess you were, his smile falling from his face when he saw how defeated you looked. 

Your shameful confirmation that you had been royally dumped made his heart twist for you, his selfless tendencies urging him to help you feel better in any way he could. You were thankful for it, grateful that he was keeping you company while you moped around, providing you with just the right amount of distraction to allow you to breathe and slowly heal. 

Honestly, today would have been just another day if it wasn’t what was supposed to be your two year anniversary. The second Jungkook heard the telltale sounds of The Notebook starting up in your bedroom—something he hadn’t heard through the drywall separating your rooms in weeks—is when he knew something was up. 

Jump to: now. 

With Jungkook looking sheepish and wishing he had chosen another bar, and you gripping the cup so hard it was a shock it hadn’t shattered in your grasp. 

“He’s with her,” you whisper out harshly, head downcast, swirling the liquid around in your glass as you force yourself not to look back at them. The vision of them coddled up in the corner, her arms wrapped around his while she laughed at whatever he whispered in her ear had stung enough the first time, you weren’t jealous but the pain still lingered inside of you.. 

“Just try to ignore him. Don’t let it bother you,” he attempts to reassure you, the bass of the music muffling the way you try to deny the fact that you’re clearly upset, his attention now elsewhere. 

Jungkook takes a chance and looks back once more, eyes narrowed as he searches for Hajoon in the crowd. He spots him with more ease the second time, seeing the way he lazily drinks from his glass while the blonde rests her head on his shoulder, lips moving as she tells him something that makes him smile. 

“Oh shit,” Jungkook chokes, eyes widening slightly in shock when Hajoon meets his gaze. He’s been caught, too late for him to avert his eyes and pretend he wasn’t blatantly staring. He can only give him a tight-lipped smile that he hopes doesn’t come across as an invitation to come say hello. 

“What?” you question, turning to stare at Jungkook and seeing the look on his face, doe eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. 

“He saw me,” he speaks through clenched teeth, lips barely moving as he does so, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

“What?” you repeat harshly, setting the drink back down as your palms grow clammy, finger tugging at your shirt’s neckline when the air becomes thick and stuffy. 

“Oh fuck, he’s coming.” Jungkook throws back the remainder of his drink, grimacing at the burn lingering in the back of his throat before placing the cup down. “Just follow along,” he whispers into your ear, standing tall as Hajoon approaches the two of you. 

He’s ballsy, Jungkook will give him that, more so when he completely ignores Jungkook in favor of calling out your name. 

“Y/N, oh my god is that you?”

Jungkook can’t stop the way he glares at the bastard, not even the small jab to his side that you deliver with your elbow is enough to wipe the look off his face. Still, you pause to breathe, shutting your eyes briefly before plastering a look of surprise on your features as you turn around to face him. 

“Hajoon, what are you doing here?” Your voice has risen a few octaves, pitch surpassing the normal customer service voice and entering unhinged and borderline crazed territory. Hajoon doesn’t notice though, and neither does the girl strapped to his side, the two of them smiling at you and not giving Jungkook a glance. 

“Oh, we’re just celebrating our four month anniversary.” The girl finally speaks up, giving Hajoon a kiss to the cheek and completely missing the way your face instantly falls. Her innocent statement has you coming to the sudden realization that this son of a bitch had been cheating on you for the last two months of your relationship. 

Jungkoon spots it easily though, can sense the way your body tenses up beside him, no doubt will the rage flare up in the form of hot tears spilling over and onto your cheeks soon. One look at Hajoon’s pleased face is enough to not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the way he affects you. 

“Young love,” Jungkook sighs, long arm pulling you into his side obnoxiously, seeing the way Hajoon eyes the two of you carefully. “I can relate. We’ve been together for...what is it again babe, five months?”

Hajoon doesn’t even attempt to be discreet, eyes bulging out and fist curling at his side. He had hated Jungkook the second he met him, intimidated by his physique and the way he made you laugh with ease, threatened by him in every sense. It was the reason he told you to cut ties with him, his fragile ego not trusting your neighbor, fully convinced all Jungkook would have to do was beckon you over for you to leave him. 

Any man would feel threatened by him, just looking at him now with his long hair framing his face, the challenging glimmer in his eyes as he gauges the other’s reaction. Hajoon follows Jungkook’s arm, seeing how it snakes around your body and settles with his palms curling around your waist, fingers gently squeezing your skin. 

Jungkook chuckles when Hajoon meets his gaze once more, free hand adjusting the yellow tinted sunglasses perched on his head—something that should make him look like an A class douchebag, because who the hell brings shades to a fucking club. But like all things, Jungkook makes it work. 

All of this tied in with that small, white lie, makes Hajoon’s head spin in a jealous whirlwind. It was fine and dandy if he cheated on you but how dare you give him the same treatment, with your neighbor of all people. 

“Five months?” He bites first, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of you. 

The insecurity is written all over his face, it almost makes him shrink in size and for some reason it fills you with confidence. You stand taller now, sliding your own arm around Jungkook’s side as you nuzzle into him. 

“Almost six.” Those two words are the nails into his coffin of insecurity, probably increasing his trust issues for years to come, but considering it was no longer your problem, you don’t care. 

“Wow, almost half a year. That’s so cute, isn’t it?” His girlfriend coos, perfectly manicured hand placed over her chest, totally missing the way Hajoon looks like a kicked puppy. 

Now that he doesn’t have the one up, he’s no longer interested in sticking around, the gross green monster perched on his shoulder laughing at his misfortune. 

“Adorable,” he grunts out. “We should get back to our table. It was nice seeing you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking away, his girlfriend giving you a small wave before following behind him. The growing distance between you makes your muscles relax, sagging in relief as you release Jungkook’s side and hunch over the sticky bar. 

“I think I'm gonna puke,” you groan out, eyes going crossed when you feel Jungkook rest two fingers against your lips, sending him a questionable stare. 

“Please don’t, that drink was expensive. You’re only allowed to hurl as the grand finale of the night, and we’re just getting started.”

Jungkook smiles when you shut your eyes and groan, your mood was already down in the dumps, and despite the small rush you got from putting Hajoon in his place, you were still craving the comfort of your bed. “Can we go?”

The bartender proceeds to place a glass of water in front of you, assuming your slumped state was due to intoxication and not the gross remnants of running into an ex-boyfriend. You grab the glass regardless, taking a big gulp of the cool liquid and sighing when it helps calm you down. 

“If you really want to go we can, but at least try to loosen up.” His smile is genuine, cheeks pushed out as he looks down at you with kind eyes. “We’ll stay on the opposite side, and if you’d still rather watch the Notebook for the millionth time, we can do that.”

With a half-hearted groan you nod, allowing Jungkook to order another round of drinks for you to enjoy before eventually dragging you out onto the dance floor. He knows how to keep the atmosphere up, goofy smile on his lips as he bobs his head along to the loud beat, hands clasped with yours and wiggling in time to the music. 

“You love this song,” he manages to say through the noise, pulling you closer as he settles into a spot on the decently packed floor. You couldn’t even deny it, he heard just how often you played it through the paper thin walls. That playlist full of hit 2000’s songs was your guilty pleasure, and it was the main reason he had decided to bring you to this club on their themed night. 

Jungkook was attentive, he knew so much about you and played it off casually, always listening to things you say you enjoy, storing them into a folder labeled under your name and shoved into a very important part of his brain. 

You knew he was trying his best to get you to enjoy yourself, so you give in, beginning to sing along to the lyrics of an old song that brought back a flood of memories that made you smile back at him. Jungkook feels the first burst of success bloom inside him, joining in with your singing, raising up your clasped hands as you begin dancing. 

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he stares down at you, the few drinks you’ve had loosening you up and allowing you to push the earlier thoughts away. He feels mesmerized, eyes locked onto you, the flash of colors painting your skin, illuminating you in alternating shades of purple and blue. His heart does that annoying thing where it skips and stutters in his chest, mouth drying up as you drop your head back and sway your hips, slowly loosening the grip in your hands and turning around until your back is dangerously close to his chest.

Jungkook’s hands hover in the air for a moment, panic over taking his brain as he tries to remain calm. He could do this—he has done this before—the two of you would go clubbing before you got with your ex, and dancing definitely played a big part of it. So why was his brain short circuiting?

Sure your ass was brushing up against his crotch with each sway of your hips, but you were dancing, so his mind and his dick could fuck right off. He shakes his head to clear any dirty thoughts as his hands loosely grip your hips, testing the water, and when you smile and look back at him he feels less wary and sways his hips in time with yours. 

You can feel his chest brush against your back, breath fanning along your skin from his close proximity, only getting closer when you lift an arm back and hold his shoulder to pull him tighter against you. The heat sticks to your skin, thin shirt dampening with sweat from the warmth of the bodies around you, everyone in their own state of drunkenness as the bass flowed through their chests. 

Going out like this had been something you missed, used to frequenting the bars and clubs by your apartment with your friends and Jungkook, something that came to a halt because your ex claimed he hated that kind of scene. Something that was clearly a lie considering he was here now, enjoying himself as him and his new girlfriend danced along. 

You didn’t realize when he made his way onto the dance floor, enough distance separating you, but now that you had spotted him you feel like he’s way too close for comfort. In a similar position to you and Jungkook, Hajoon is free to look around while his girlfriend dances on him, eyes locked onto you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl. 

Jungkook is too lost in the music to notice where your attention has gone, earlier effects of the alcohol settling into his bloodstream, warming him up in that familiar way he welcomes. When the song changes, flowing into the next bass heavy anthem, you turn around in his grasp, giving him a brief glance before your hands are gripping his cheeks and bringing him down into a messy kiss. 

This is definitely something he’s never done with you before.

A muffled sound of confusion is swallowed by you as he quickly falls into the motion, large palms gripping your hips, slowly sliding up your back before lightly tangling into your hair to deepen the kiss. Jungkook can taste the liquor on your tongue, mixing with his own as your tongue slips between his lips. He has no idea what came over you but his racing heart and buried crush don’t let him question it, soft lips smacking with yours, not heard between the thrumming music. 

Your fingers feel the warmth of his cheeks, how he blushes into the kiss but you attribute it to the alcohol pumping through him. Harsh breaths fan across your face as he groans, lightly pulling back for a gasp of air but you don’t allow it. “No, don’t pull away. Not yet.”

And who is he to argue with that, blindly letting you bring your lips back together in a messy kiss. Your small pleas for him to continue has all the blood rushing to his cock, the ache felt in his jeans when it starts to harden, pressing into the denim uncomfortably and only getting worse when you gently bite down onto his lip before inching back. 

“Is he still looking?” you question, breath jagged as you peer up at Jungkook’s dazed expression. 

“What?” he dumbly replies, lips swollen and shiny, eyes still focused on your own as he makes an attempt to reconnect your lips. But then your question dawns on him, like a bucket of ice cold water, it sobers him up instantly. Is he still looking?

This was all for show. 

“He’s on the far right.” You motion your head in the direction and observe his face when his eyes move over to check if Hajoon was in fact still there. He does spot him heading out in a hurry though, girlfriend trailing behind him as he exits the club entirely

“No, just saw him leave.” Jungkook clears his throat, fingers slipping out of your hair and settling down over your back just like before. He hopes his solemn expression isn’t amplified by the lights flashing across his face, trying his best to act unaffected, as if he didn’t just pop a boner on the dance floor over a revenge make-out session. 

Luckily you don’t spot his fallen expression, a wide smile spreading across your face in victory, happy that you had successfully put him in his place. 

“I’m so sorry for kissing you.” You gasp in realization, unknowingly pouring salt in the wound when you act as if kissing him was something you would never do if it wasn’t in an attempt to piss off your ex. 

“No, it’s okay,” he waves off and smiles, eyes glancing over to the bar once more. Jungkook needed a drink, maybe five—actually he wouldn’t mind going home and watching The Notebook now, that would surely give him a reason to cry with no questions asked. 

He starts to walk back to the bar with you by his side, the sad look you had earlier entirely gone, replaced with a giddy smile and a pep in your step, so he can’t say he's too upset. 

“God, you should’ve seen how mad he looked when he saw us dancing together,” you giggle, standing inches from him as he orders another drink. Before he can respond, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him in for a hug. 

A hug, really?

Still, Jungkook sighs and wraps his own arms around your waist, a defeated smile on his face that he hides as he lets his chin rest over your head. The dip in his head makes the yellow tinted frames fall over his eyes and when he pulls back you snort at the visual, finger gently poking the bridge of them. 

“You look good in those.”

His drink gets placed in front of him then, giving him a good excuse to avoid stumbling over his words from your compliment, choosing to take a gulp of the hard liquor, wincing when it burns his throat. “Thank you,” he rasps out, grimacing at the taste and it just makes you giggle. 

“I should be thanking you. You need to be my fake boyfriend more often.”

Even more salt poured into his wound, topped with a dash of lemon juice in the form of your playful smile and nudge to his ribs, it stings. His heart ache in his chest, more so when he realizes his stupid boner was still going strong. Thankfully the dark lights prevent you from seeing it, the last thing he needed was further embarrassment. 

The yellow frames are placed back over his head as he takes another sip, nodding along to your statement with what he hopes comes across as a genuine smile on his lips once he sets his cup down. “Anytime you want Y/N.”

“I know this night didn’t end with the grand finale of me puking, but do you wanna go home and watch movies? No sappy romance ones, I'm not in the mood for crying anymore.”

He finishes his drink with ease, quickly closing his tab as he agrees. “Yeah, just let me go to the bathroom real quick.” 

You might not be in the mood for crying but he definitely was; he also needed to handle the situation in his jeans, and what better night to stoop this low than tonight. His own version of a grand finale coming in the form of jerking off in the dirty bar bathroom while maybe shedding a tear or two. 

“Okay! I’ll call an uber,” you announce cheerfully, allowing him to walk away as you settle onto one of the sticky bar stools. 

Jungkook’s chest feels heavy as he walks to the bathroom, slipping into the small room and locking the door behind him. His forehead rests against the dirty door, eyes falling shut with a groan. He wishes he had the guts to confess to his crush, needing to push the fear of ruining the friendship away from his mind, wanting to gather possible clues that could indicate that you might feel the same. 

One day, but not yet. 

[burnedbyshoto]

hawks_littledove.mp3

— You’re an avid listener to NSFW ASMR artist Hawks. It’s just your luck that he’s offered to have phone sex with you.

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pairing: takami keigo (hawks) x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, slight abuse of power/influence, phone sex, masturbation, degradation, praise, nsfw asmr artist!hawks

word count: 5,018

a/n: my keyboard is broken and i could actually cry. but hey, hawks do be sexy even tho I would never trust him with my life. also LOL this might be a call out to a lot of us, do not be offended or I will cry.

kinktober day 14 main kink: phone sex | kinktober masterlist

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Fantasizing about being in relationships with fictional characters was entirely healthy and normal.

That was something you believed to the core. It was fictional; thus, no one but you were to be hurt at the end of the day. The character, being fake, could never have an opinion because you must be real in order to have an opinion. So when you were between boyfriends, you discovered a new anime, and before you could stop yourself, you fell hard for a character.

It started as a mild obsession.

You had looked up fanart via google images, your heart warming when you saw the plethora of different fanart. The anime itself had been in circulation for a few years now, the manga for much longer, so the content was endless. Then google images wasn’t enough, and you began crossing into Twitter and Tumblr.

The fanart became better, more engrossing, and definitely much more NSFW. And then, one night during your endless rabbit hole down Tumblr after your daily search on Twitter, you stilled when seeing a new type of content.

⇒ grey fullbuster x reader

The obsession grew worse.

So much so that you had followed nearly five hundred self insert writers and artists on Tumblr, and maybe seven hundred artists, meta writers, and thread makers on twitter. But three months into consuming all the content you could find, you came across a new name that made you tilt your head.

Hawks Fierce Wings

It was a name that was being repeated and heavily talked about on both sites. It was an ASMR artist, apparently, and you frowned at the thought. You didn’t have anything against ASMR videos, but you weren’t exactly sure how to handle an anime ASMR artist. Were they cosplaying while making all those weird ASMR sounds? You really didn’t have any idea, but due to the immense boredom of your lazy day in, you decided to hell with it and tried out his most popular video.

It was simply entitled: Hawks is Jealous.

Did you have any idea as to who Hawks was? God, no, you didn’t. But if it was just some random cosplay he was going to do, you didn’t think it was going to matter. So as the only slightly educated ASMR listener, you never truly became invested when it was a thing; you slipped on your earbuds and pressed play.

The introduction screen faded into an illustrated picture of a slightly handsome man, and some calming yet tense music played in the background. You shifted, eyebrows drew as you waited for the ASMR session to begin, and when it did, you were not ready.

“I saw you walking around with that asshole today,” a voice practically growled in your ear, and you froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, no!

For almost an entire hour, you sat glued to your sofa, your fingers digging into your lap as the jealous, spiteful words of this man named Hawks poured bitterly in your ear. His words were a near aggravated assault on you and definitely something you were beyond uncomfortable hearing from a stranger, but there was something about his voice that kept you there. Maybe it was the tenor of his tone or the way there was this sly, cunning scent to his words that he seemed to hide deep within his throat, but there was something that kept you there.

The second the passionate, heated kissing noises and heavy moans began to spill from his lips, you screeched, slamming your laptop closed as your cheeks pounded heavily.

Oh my god?!

It took a bit, but eventually, you were able to finish the audio and quickly figured out why he was an NSFW artist. You had never, ever heard a man eat a pussy fake or real as eagerly or vigorously as he did. Your hands were gripping the pants of your leggings, and your chest heaved.

Oh, motherfucking shit.

Finding out there were almost seventy other videos for you to still experience sent you scrambling for more, and eventually, you had to confess you were obsessed. Despite the anime fandoms you had discovered him for, Hawks seemed to be more famous for the content he created as himself. His real name was unknown by the looks of it, and he was only addressed as Hawks by his audience, something you caught on to quickly. So only after creating a new profile for his Youtube account, you made quick work of liking and commenting on every single of his already published seventy-eight nearly one hour and thirty-minute videos. 

Each one was different.

Each one filled with various roadmaps on how Hawks' scenarios would play out for you — the listener. When he used his own persona, he called the listener his little dove or his chicken nugget, sometimes his KFC thigh, or his shish kabob. 

You were glad at the very least he didn’t call you by any of those nicknames when pretending to fuck you at a speed only a “porn-is-my-only-education-on-porn” virgin teenage boy. You knew it wasn’t ideal, usually, but for some reason, it just worked. You commented on everything, read his summaries and thoughts on each video. Eventually, when you found yourself on his final, most recent video, you were ready to go a step further.

The Patreon app on your phone seemed jarringly out of place as you opened the app and subscribed yourself to Hawks' highest tiered option for the price of twenty USD.

And when you got your access to his page, you were immersed in more heavier, better content.

It was a goldmine in a sea of fools gold, and you absolutely went insane.

You weren’t sure if you were insane, needy, or just straight-up idiotic for scrolling to the very first Patreon post and indulging in the content Hawks created. 

There was a stark difference between the warnings alone between the Youtube videos and the Patreon posts. While the porn was readily accessible on Youtube, the kinkiest thing that ever happened in a video was a slight implication that Hawks had left the listener on a vibrator and fuckmachine as he went to go talk to the visiting neighbors.

It was a slight, tiny zone out and miss a detail, but one you had clung onto like an obsessed psycho and even commented on in your comment on the post. Of course, Hawks hadn’t responded, not that you had ever expected him to because all things considered, a video that was eight months old and hadn’t done that well, to begin with, didn’t seem like anything he would remember: notifications and all. 

But Patreon? Oh good, sweet, ravishing Patreon.

The very first video was of the following:

Stepbrother!Hawks fucks Stepsister!Listener in the stairwell during Christmas Dinner.

After praying and swearing to all the deities of the world that you were merely a person with a voice kink for this man and not, in fact, a perverted pseudo-incest worshiper, you clicked on it and began. It was downright sinful.

There were active voices whispered in the background as Hawks laughed about how fucking slutty you were for letting your brother fuck you like this. In the hallway, like a dog, where anyone in your joint family could walk out into. He laughed that you probably wanted it, how your wet ass pussy was greedily sucking him in, so how could you even begin to deny your lust for your brother.

You had to take a break five times during that audio.

Eventually, you do end up catching up.

Each video he had ever posted to your disposal, and most likely due to the different tier levels, you always commented on the videos. Even if it made you feel awkward for lusting over things months old, even if there were no other comments on the videos, which was much more common than you thought, you always commented and liked. It wasn’t anything ever crazy, you had seen the rarest comments bring a whole essay of analysis on why they loved it or the hating words, but you kept it simple.

Just something to keep Hawks spirits high without draining you even further of energy.

A simple: holy shit, that was hot as fucking hell!!!! you never disappoint me!!!

You never expected anything out of it; as a matter of fact, you had merely thought that you were doing the least by merely appreciating his creations when, one night, a few hours after you had gotten home. Your phone chimed with an alert.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise; you hadn’t realized there was going to be a new release after he had just updated four days ago. Still, you popped in your earbuds and began the audio with a simple title.

i fuk ur stupid lil pus until u cri

He wasn’t precisely putting much effort into his titles these days, but his tags were definitely accurate and entirely explicit in what was to come. And in this newest video, the prominent tag was degradation.

You weren’t entirely into degradation, but still, you did what you had to do because you weren’t turned off by it. With the beginning sounds of the music playing in the background, you warped into the situation Hawks carefully carved.

But, oh?

Your face simmered with heat as Hawks dirty words dripped from the earbuds, the wet, squelching noise of your cunt and throat being fucked like some inanimate object made you soak through your panties as his disparaging words burned against your spine like a hot brand. After the thirty-minute audio was finished. Your body trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm that had come despite the lack of actual stimulation of your clit, and you panted on your bed.

Opening your phone once again, you quickly liked the new audio and typed out your comment.

listen, i know i always comment about how fucking hot this shit is, but i have /never/ fucking soaked through my panties… you just did that and i expect a full refund for these panties 💦

You pressed send and, without so much of a second thought, continued your night. You had dinner, talked with friends, and ended the night curled back on the couch with a wine glass in your hand and a simple sit-com playing on the TV. The familiar sound of the Patreon alert rang in your ear, and you frowned, confused.

Grabbing your phone, you opened up the device and nearly shrieked at the sight of the information the notification that said:

Hawks F.W.: lets see those panties before i refund anything

A chill ran down your spine as you quickly put together the indications of this message, and you smirked, despite your quivering hands. 

Me: I have a seven inch dick requirement before seeing any of the goods — yes, that includes my panties

And from that very moment, you began a strange arrangement between you and the NSFW ASMR artist Hawks.

.

..

.

Working was the worst part of your life, you would say.

At work, you would sit in your small 4x4 cubicle, your shelves stacked with plenty of papers and items you needed, not to mention the computer that took up the majority of your desk. You weren’t quite sure what your job here was, you sort of sat at your desk and did meaningless assignments when assigned, but you did nothing for the most part. 

Before becoming an active Hawks stan, you would spend your time doing nothing playing video games. You had somehow managed to install a VPN onto your hard drive so that your employers wouldn’t be able to see what was on your screen outside of the home screen. They couldn’t trace what you did all day, but they could care less, given you got all your work completed on time and done in an over exceptional way.

But lately, since you had dropped into this… engrossed whore like relationship with Hawks, things changed. 

To be honest, it still shocks you to no end when he tells you that he had always been aware of you. Well, with your consistent, ever appearing comments on his posts and overall enthusiasm for everything he posted, it was hard to not be aware. The mental image of your soaked through panties after a long day at his own work had sent him over the edge, and he finally messaged you.

Through the DM’s in Patreon, the two of you grew to become quite the friends with benefits. He would send you countless personalized audio files because you had quickly confessed to your voice kink and how his voice sent your stomach into hormonal knots. In return, you’d send the picture of an occasional soaked panty, and if he was lucky, an audio clip of your pathetic whines back to his audios.

You couldn’t complain about this arrangement.

But as the number of his patrons doubled, and he wanted to entice his subscribers with paying him even more money, Hawks began to offer a bimonthly personalized five minute audios for his $20 tier. The fans poured into that spot, and Hawks and proudly sent you the new number of adoring fans he was getting. On account of growing platforms such as Tiktok, the number of new listeners he got was nearly exponential, as he currently passed one million followers last week. 

The cheeky bastard was also making enough money to stop working his regular work hours anymore. Choosing to transition slowly into his Patreon career while recording.

Hawks, however, seemed to have other ideas for your eventual personalized voice audio.

Hawks had simply asked if, by any chance, you were going to be working tomorrow the night before. Groaning loudly in recognition of your work schedule, you had texted him back that you were going to be working. Snidely including the fact that you weren’t rich like him, you needed the tedious old nine to five job.

Hawks: how utterly boring anyway u can b free around 2?

Me: Eh… probably not. Busy girl w busy schedule, ill be back from lunch so no break Why?

Hawks: well, u knw tht uve been amzing & th bst follower so i wanted 2 give u smthing better then the personalized audio

Me: Oh? Well, what is it?’

Hawks: pick up tmrw n find out

He had changed the subject immediately afterward by dodging all of your questions with ease. So you dropped it, and the two of you resumed a night of flirting. But now, sitting in your small cubicle, your eyes flashing to the clock that read 1:57 p.m., sweat began to build on your palm.

You peered down to your phone as you waited for something, anything from Hawks to show up. The fucker was too cheeky, evasive, and quick for his own good. You felt like pouting as you glared at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up.

And you stilled when finally, at precisely 1:59 p.m., your phone gleamed with light. You couldn’t abandon your computer mouse quicker than you did as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and reading the message from Hawks.

Hawks: do u have earbuds?

Me: Yes?

Hawks: good put them on n pick up

The moment you had read the first message, you were already pulling out your earbuds, synching them up to your phone, and placing them into your ear. But your jaw dropped when, for the first time, the call feature highlighted onto the screen, the time immediately changing to that of 2:00 p.m. The decline or accept button had never looked as daunting as it did right now.

Despite the call trying to go through, you still saw his follow up.

Hawks: if u dont pick up u wont get shit

[Accept]

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as both fear, apprehension, and excitement boiled through your veins, the hammering blood pounding in your ears as you waited for some sort of noise on the opposite side of the line.

“Little dove?” Hawks' voices filled your ears, and despite yourself, you smiled softly. The naturalness of his voice sends warm thumps down your spine.

“Hi, Hawks,” you whisper breathlessly, your head already checking to make sure your neighboring cubicle mates didn’t try to look over the divisions to stare at you. For the most part, the office building was quiet except for the phone calls, the clanking of computer keys, and the monotonous music playing softly on the speaker's head. 

“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, and you felt your skin heat up when you heard the all too familiar sound of his shoes hitting the top of his desk, the soft whine of his chair as he leaned back onto it. “Are you really at work?”

“What do you mean, am I really at work?” you squeaked, half horrified at the way the lazy, warm heat of lust was infiltrating your body at the sound of his voice, and the annoyance that he thought you had been lying? “Of course I am; it’s two p.m. on a Wednesday!”

“Ah, so little dove-chan is a raging pervert who engages in phone sex to bypass her long hours at work?” Hawks sighed his tone that of understanding and dismissal. You splutter. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“I do not do… that!” you stammer, your face feeling like hot cinders, your fingers and eyes double-checking to make sure that the audio was going to your earbuds and your earbuds only. You also couldn’t help the way your eyes swept around you, trying to make sure you hadn’t accidentally invited unwanted attention. “I said I was busy!”

“But, you picked up my call?”

“You said, or else!”

“Mmm, okay, I think I see,” Hawks tutted, and although you had never seen what you supposed to be his handsome face, you could imagine a lazy, toothy smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind using your little cubicle to talk you into fucking yourself good for me.”

Your jaw drops.

It hits the desk, and the muffled shriek of utter humiliation is only silenced because you bit onto your tongue like a rabid animal.

“Aw, you sound so excited for me already, little dove. I bet you want to know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? I just know that I’m going to make you feel so... good…”

“Hawks!” you plea in a hushed whisper, your heart hammering where you sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Sure, you had definitely played his audios before to pass the time, but never before in your existence had you had actual phone sex. This was riskier than just listening to his audios; his audios always had a pattern, a way to escape from the madness of his voice when people were closer than you’d like. But this? No, there was no escape. “I’m at work! I c-can’t!”

“But, fuck, I want you so bad,” Hawks' voice dipped into a gravely tone, his voice just perfectly scratchy enough that your shoulders trembled in unspoken, untouched want. “I want to feel your cunt around my cock, baby, your pussy is so hot and I want to be the fucking lucky bastard that gets to fuck you through your bed.”

“O-Oh my god…”

“I’ve been thinking of what your tits look like,” Hawks continues on, his voice continuing in the style you liked the most. It was raw, heavy, and deep. No character impersonations, just him, pure Hawks. “I hope they bounce the way they do when I imagine you riding me. I want to see you moan when I kiss the underside of your tit, I want to see your face when you realize that you’re my girl, nobody's else's, but mine.”

Heat floods your panties at his words, your shallow breaths making him chuckle on the other end. 

“You’d be so lucky to be just mine, wouldn’t you, little dove?” Hawks snaps, his voice demanding a response, and you heave.

You look around, no one is near, and you croak out: “I’d be so lucky.”

“Louder.”

“I’d be so lucky.”

“Mm, there we go,” Hawks laughs, and your ears prickle for any noise that may indicate that someone was listening in. “What? Are you getting nervous that your needy ass will be heard by your coworkers right now? Answer me.”

“Mhmm,” you hum loudly, your cunt pulsing with more incredible heat and your hands shaking with a slight fear of being caught.

“Aww, don’t worry, little dove. I’m sure your boss will understand that you’re my newest fucktoy and will let me continue. Maybe they’ll want to join in?”

You whimper softly, shifting in your seat at that thought. You didn’t really want your boss coming anywhere near you, he was old and gross for one, and nothing could take the place of this beautiful man's voice in your ear right now.

“Oh, was that a no? You don’t want other people fucking you, do you, y/n? I bet you only want to have my cock in your tight little pussy, bet you want to watch the way that greedy little thing sucks me in, begging for my seed. Would you want me to cum deep inside you? You would like that little dove; you’d like to be full of my cum.”

“H-Hawks,” you keen as quietly as you can, your hips shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your heart hammering in your throat. The pressing heat in your cunt is growing, your panties growing with wet slick as Hawks' voice whispers down your ear, filling every empty and void space in your brain until you were having trouble focusing on the very much public spot you were in.

Hawks let out a soft, guttural moan, and you froze, face entirely combusting into an inferno as the familiar slick slapping of his fapping cock filled your ear. Immediately, you forgot everything.

“A-Are you—?!” you splutter, unable to find the words or the energy to come up with a way to ask if he was masturbating right now. Your eyes spun, your mind in a complete haze as soft, raunchy moans spilled from his lips, striking against your nerves and soul with each successive sound.

“I’m only trying to help you out here, dove,” Hawks growled, undoubtedly in effect to a rather loud smack of his fist colliding with his thrusting hip. “You’re the little office slut who picked up a phone call to entice in phone sex. I bet you knew exactly what I was going to do, and your pathetic, needy whore self caved to my instructions.”

Your fingers curled into the armrest of your chair.

“I bet this makes your boring ass job tolerable, the perfect distraction to a shit job, then imagining a few minutes of fucking yourself against my hard cock.”

“That’s not true!”

“No?” Hawks laughed, not believing you any more than you did. “So you wouldn’t hate it if I showed up and fucked you into the wall of your cubicle? You wouldn’t mind if I claimed your sweet-smelling pussy against your desk for everyone to hear? I know you can scream like a bitch in heat. I know that pretty little cunt of yours would milk my cock dry. Oh, I just know you would look so fucking sexy with your back arched, eyes closed, and you begging for hours just to cum. You wouldn’t cum without my permission, right?”

You gasped, heart fluttering, hammering in your chest as you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I need a verbal answer, little dove.”

The heat in your core was blistering, your thighs shaking with your unadulterated lust and need as you ground into the cushion of your chair. All logic and moral long gone as he snarled and moaned your name in your ear, the slick of his fapping cock echoing like a great bell in your ear. You wanted to hear him cum, wanted to listen to the pithering sound of his echoing moans as he spilled the contents of his balls onto his hand — and how you wished it was your womb.

“I won’t cum w-without your permission!” you whispered, your skin shivering with your fear of being caught. 

“God, you sound like such a dirty fucking bitch. I bet your pussy is fucking soaked already. Bet you really want to run that slutty embarrassed finger against your clit but don’t want to be caught by your perverted coworkers,” Hawks hissed, his breaths turning into steady, heavy hot pants. You mewl softly, confirming his spoken thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. “How many fingers do you normally shove up that pretty cunt of yours, little dove?”

“T-Three!” you gasp, your forehead pressing to the cool of your desk, your eyes glazed over and looking at the entrance of your cubicle, fervently wishing that no one tries to check on you as you grind against your stable chair. “O-Only three fit.”

“Fuck, you really do have a tight cunt, don’t you,” Hawks snaps, the wet sounds of his fisting hand around his cock a beautiful melody in your ear that makes you whine at the back of your throat. “Bet you can’t even fit cocks up your cunt without lube, huh. You gotta stay on top, or else you’ll get hurt with how thick and long my cock will be up that baby pussy of yours.”

“H-Hawks!” you grit out, the friction of grinding on the seat no longer working.

“Go to the bathroom, now,” Hawks commands, the small gasps on his voice from his approaching orgasm more than enough ammo for you to do as told.

You sprint to the bathroom, the slick of your cunt hot, and evident to you as you sped to the bathroom. Your phone clenched in your hand as you locked the door behind you, glad the room was empty. Barely managing to get yourself into the stall, the toilet paper placed on the seat as you raised your legs up, already prepared. The skirt you wore was bunched above your ass, and the panties you wore, stretching out around your knees.

“Sounds like you’re ready to start fucking that pussy for me,” Hawks laughs, but there's no humor, just bite. “Put in three fingers, now.”

Without even arguing or caring, three fingers slip into your cunt, and you cry at the feeling of your fingers completely stretching you out. The smell of sex and slick filling your nose as your fingers slick up, fucking your tight cunt as you moan louder and louder for Hawks. 

“God, your fucking pussy is so fucking wet, I can hear it from here!” Hawks moans, the frantic sound of his drilling hips gaining speed and momentum. 

“I want it to be you!” you moan, your face burning in your humiliation. “I want it to be you fucking my pussy, claiming me in this bathroom. I need you, Hawks, I want your cock so badly!”

“Fuck,” Hawks gasps, something tumbling in the background. “Such sweet words for a fucking dirty ass cumslut,” he growls, and your legs shake, your clit and cunt thrumming with your increasing arousal and pit of tightness in your core. 

“HAWKS, FUCK!” you sob as your hips try to start a merciless speed against your fingers, your body trying to match the speed in which Hawks was fucking his own hand.

“Keep screaming my name, whore.” Hawks gasps, his noises of pleasure beginning to grow louder and louder, your eyes crossing in satisfaction. “Screaming my name like the fucking slutty mess you are. All this shit just to get me to fuck you? God, you’re so fucking pathetic y/n. Begging for me, begging for more? I think you’re my favorite little dove ever, gonna make you mine whenever I get to fuck that pussy.”

“Hawks!” you wail his name again, your arms and pussy throbbing with the energy it takes to keep up with his inhumane speeds. Your vision seeing stars as you tremble more and more, your legs slipping from the toilet seat, yet. “I am your whore, your little dove. Please let me come, please! You fuck me so well, fucking hell, please, I needa cum, I needa cum!”

“Cum with me,” he snaps, his voice so deep, so dangerously smooth. It was precisely what you needed, the voice kink you had for his tenor exactly fulfilled entirely with that simple, last command. And just like that, your jaw slackens, head slamming backward, and pleasurable waves crash through you.

Your fingers still rock at your clit, and your vice gripped walls, your toes curling within your shoes as you soundlessly scream. Hawks, on the other end, is practically snarling, voice deep and altogether dangerous as grunt after grunt leaves him, and you can imagine the milk-white cum splattered all over his chest and hand. A beautiful, perfect sight that you wish you could see for yourself.

Exhaustion settles in your bones as you sit on the toilet, still entirely exhausted as you heave for air. 

���I think that was the best fucking orgasm I ever had,” you mumble, your eyes closed, not ready to stand up and move. “Thank you.”

“I’m good at what I… at what I do,” Hawks stumbles, husky exhaustion ringing in his own voice. “Now, little dove, finish up work, and I promise there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you’re done.”

Not entirely agreeing, but not disagreeing with his command to go finish you last… two and a half hours at work, you begrudgingly said goodbye to Hawks before washing your hands and exiting the bathroom.

When five o’clock came, you watched as your phone screen lit up, and your face flushed as you read the DM from Hawks.

Hawks: this is my fav audio now ↳ hawks_littledove.mp3 but you surprised me today, so in case u ever want to have more fun sometime  call me 03-9183-2495 ;)

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

Lifeguard on Duty

Summary: Warren was supposed to be looking for a summer job but when he sees you on the beach he decides to become a lifeguard. And hopefully confess his feelings for you

Word count: 2,376

Warren and Spencer were sitting at the lifeguard station spending lunch together. Warren had his legs kicked up in the small desk and Spencer leaned against the back wall, taking a deep breath of the shared joint. He was messing with the life preservers that lined the wall, he exhaled the smoke before passing it to Warren, moving to lean on the desk, staring out at the crowded beach. “Warren, why did you even take this job?”

“Cause I like the ocean.” Warren hummed, inhaling deeply and letting his eyes flutter shut. He wasn’t really supposed to be smoking up here but he was the only lifeguard on duty today. So goody two shoes Lance Norris, the posterboy for lifeguards couldnt rat him out. He flicked the rolled up stub out the window, watching as it sizzled out in the sand below. He stood up, exiting the booth and Spencer followed him. “Plus the view isn't bad.” Warren looked out on the women sunbathing in skimpy bikinis and the men swimming in insanely tight speedos

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Pervert.” Warren winked at him, turning back to face the beach crowd.

Warren wouldn't admit it but there was another reason he had taken the job. You. His dad had been hounding him to take a summer job so he had been out on the boardwalk picking up applications. He was planning on lying and saying he had gotten a job and then blowing all summer with Spencer but then he had seen you. He had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you, he watched as you took the ramp down to the beach and made a beeline for the lifeguard station.

You greeted them with a wide smile and passed up a basket filled with lunch for the two lifeguards on duty. He felt himself smile as he took you in, watching as you made polite conversation with your friend before sitting down on the beach, a book in hand. Warren came to the boardwalk for a week after that to see if you’d return. And sure enough you came everyday to sit in the same spot and read. Watching the waves roll in before leaving a couple hours later. And every friday you brought lunch up to the lifeguard station, there were other days when you bought snacks for them. He figured out that you brought lunch on Fridays because your friend Mary had a shift that day, so you would bring something for her and her coworker.

So Warren applied and got in after passing the entrance exam and acing the physical. It wasn't too hard considering he used to do sports and much to the disapy of Lance, the head lifeguard, he made the force. He even had the dumb luck of working on the friday shift with your friend Mary. He was really nervous to talk to you and spend his first few shifts hiding away when you came to see your friend. But after a while Mary had had enough of his endless questions about you and introduced you both. He had nearly died when you said his hair looked pretty in the afternoon sun.

After that he tried to talk to you when he could. Making small conversation here and there and asking a million questions, but you didn’t mind. Answering every one and asking some of your own. After a few weeks he developed a friendship with you, though he wanted more. He had wanted more since the moment he had seen you if he was being honest.

He loved your beautiful (y/s/c) skin that soaked up the sun and the way your (y/h/c) shinned and blew in the wind. He loved listening to you talk about your latest book and even tried reading some of them so he could talk to you about them. Though he preferred to hear you talk about them instead.

But he was too much of a coward to voice his feelings so instead he hoped you would catch on, maybe take note of his flirting and longing looks for more. But it seemed you thought of him as just a friend. So he let the summer slip away, there were only a couple weeks left and still he was too nervous to confess. Wondering what would happen when summer ended.

Unknown to him you had developed quite a crush on the curly haired lifeguard. Even bringing him lunch when Mary wasn't there and slipping in little treats here and there. You walked down the beach, your wicker basket in hand, Warren saw you coming and leaned over the rail to the point where you thought he was going to fall over. His loose Hawaiian shirt fluttering around him, open exposing his suntanned chest to you. He whistled at you, making you laugh. “Hey, pretty thing.” He called out, as you got closer you could see him smirking at you from his perch.

“Hey you.”

He lowered his sunglasses giving you a coy wink. “What’s for lunch today?” He asked, reaching down to take the basket from your outstretched hands.

“Turkey club with a side of chips and a slice of cake for dessert.”

He licked his lips, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “You’re too good to me honey.”

You giggled, flushing at his pet name. “I know.” You both smiled at one another, so invested in your own little world you didn't even notice someone else was there until Spencer cleared his throat. You turned to look at him, breaking away from Warren who let out a groan at the loss of attention. “I’m sorry, I didn't see you there. I’m (y/n).”

“I’m Spencer.” He gave you a small wave and you returned it.

“It’s nice to meet you Spencer.” You both exchanged polite smiles. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you were going to be visiting Warren for lunch. If I had I would have brought lunch for you too.”

Spencer opened his mouth to reply but Warren cut him off. “Don’t worry about him babe he was just leaving.”

“I wasn’t-”

Warren shot him a pointed look with a tight smile. “Just leaving.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I get it.” Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets and pushed past Warren to go down the steps to the beach.

“I’ll see you later man.” Warren called out to Spencer's retreating form.

“Whatever.” He replied.

“He seems nice.” You said, shielding the sun from your face with your hand as you watched Spencer walk away. “Kinda cute too.”

Warren scoffed “Not cuter than me I hope.”

You smiled, crinkling your face up at him. “Maybe.”

Warren held his hand up to his chest faking hurt, as if your words had physically wounded him. “You’ve wounded me babe.”

You just laughed. “Well anyway I better let you eat lunch, I’ll see you around Warren.” You moved to leave.

“Wait!” Warren’s voice made you turn back around. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice back to its normal level. “Would you maybe wanna eat lunch with me?”

“But I only packed lunch for you.”

“I’m not that hungry ,anyway, I had a big breakfast. Maybe we could split it.” He gave you a nervous smile.

You pursed your lips, pretending to think over his offer. Warren was watching your every movement, waiting for your answer. “Alright.”

Warren’s face split open in a wide smile, he helped you up the steps and made a big show of pulling out his only chair for you. As you turned away from him he quickly shoved his trash out of view, kicking discarded candy wrappers into the corner and covering them with a bucket. “Wow, you really do have the best seat in the house.” You mused, taking in the waves and the way the sun bounced off the water.

Warren leaned against the counter, his back to the ocean, his eyes trained on you alone. “I really do.”

Talking with Warren was alway made time fly. He was so passionate about his interests that you could listen to him talk for hours on end. And he could say the same, he loved watching the way you talked with your hands and the way you talked faster when you were excited about something. Lunch had been finished long ago and the sun was already starting to set on the horizon.

“I’ve noticed you’ve never gone swimming.” Warren blurted suddenly. His eyes widened when he realized his statement could come off as rude and he quickly tried to take it back.

“No it’s okay.” You laughed. “I just never learned how.” Warren started at you with his mouth hanging open. “What?”

“You never learned how to swim.” He asked, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

“I know I know.” You looked out at the ocean. “I always wanted to though.”

“Why don’t you let me teach you?” Warren proposed. “I’m a pretty good swimmer if I do say so myself.”

“Is that so?”

“I mean that’s what my lifeguard certification says.” He pointed at the hanging frame. A picture of warren hanging next to a sign that said certified lifeguard, and underneath in black sharpie, and an excellent swimmer.

You giggled. “Very impressive.”

“Seriously let’s go for a swim.”

“Aren’t you on duty Mr. Certified lifeguard?”

“Yeah but there no one here.” You looked out at the beach and Warren was right. The beach was basically empty, everybody leaving for home as soon as the sun had begun to set. “Come on, you know you want to.” Warren poked at your side playfully. “Come on, come on…” Warren poked you with every come on until you swatted his hand away with a laugh

“Alright fine!”

“Yes!” Warren took your hand and dragged you down the steps, tossing his Hawaiian shift over his shoulder to hand on the wooden handle of the lifeguard station. You both got to the edge of the water, the waves tickling your feet.

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“You don’t need one.” Warren wiggled his eyebrows suggestively making you rolled your eyes and hit his chest. You blushed as you undressed, nervous at how he would perceive you. But when you turned to face him his eyes were wide with wonder taking all of you in. “You’re beautiful.” He whispered, more to himself than to you.

You blushed, pulling him into the water. “Let’s swim already.” He laughed taking hold of your hand. He squeezed it as he felt you tense, the water now up to your waist. He tried to lead you further but you stopped, feet digging into the sand. He moved closer to you, putting your arms around his shoulders. “I got you.” You let him pull you further out, your feet leaving the ground as you both ventured deeper.

Warren tread through the water, his arms moving you both as you clinged onto him for dear life. Your eyes were squeezed shut, afraid that if you opened them you’d panic and struggle against his hold. Your legs were tangled with his, trying to imitate his movements. After a while you opened your eyes, Warren starring at you with a soft smile. You returned it, letting your head fall onto his shoulder, completely at peace in his arms,

“(Y/n)?” Warren asked, wetting his chapped lips. You hummed against his shoulder in response, encouraging him to continue. His heart was thumping in his chest but he knew if he didn’t say anything now he’d let the rest of the summer slip away. He took a deep breath,“I like you.” He blurted it out all at once, almost too jumbled for you to make out. But you heard it, head snapping up to meet his gaze. He watched your face for a reaction, but you just tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him close. Warren’s eyes widened as his lips collided with yours, melting into your touch. Your lips still tasted like the chocolate cake from lunch, and it made the kiss that much sweeter.

When you pulled away you rested your forehead against his, breathing in his summery scent. “Does that mean you like me too?” Warren asked in an unsure voice.

“Of course I do you idiot.” You leaned your lead back to look at him clearly. “I’ve liked you since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Ditto.”

You rolled your eyes. “How romantic of you Warren.”

“Come on.” Warren mused, his lips brushing yours. “You know you love it.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” You pulled him close again, your lips molding perfectly into his. Your fear of swimming melting away as you floated in the water with him, knowing that the rest of the summer would be spent like this. In his arms under the soft glow of the summer sun.

Taglist: @xxspqcebunsxx @coffeeandteaintheevening @kitwalkerangel @xmaximoffic @livingmybestfictionallife @evanmybeloved @shlutnutt @rottenstyx @cursedandromedablack @nightlockcornucopia @usuck @tatesimper dm to be added to Taglist

[ejzah]

Hi, I'm new to the show and just finished watching S08, and I'm both enjoying watching it and reading fanfiction stories. and I wanted to ask you if could write one about S08 if rules were reversed between Kensi & Deeks how she is gonna handle the situation? And would Deeks push her away as she did?

A/N: Hi Anon, sorry this took so long. I’m assuming you were referring to Deeks being injured instead of Kensi. Quite angsty. Apologies in advance for the title.

***

In Her Shoes

Kensi hesitates outside the hospital room door, bracing herself before she crosses the threshold. She has a paper takeout bag clenched so tightly in one hand, she’s surprised it hasn’t ripped in half.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to see Deeks. Every moment she spends apart from him at work or supposedly sleeping at home is maddening. She would spend every minute of every day with him if she didn’t have other responsibilities.

No, it’s that initial moment of seeing him that always catches her off-guard. It’s disconcerting to see her normally vibrant, active boyfriend so pensive, confined to a wheelchair or his hospital bed most days. Even six weeks in, it’s still jarring. It’s infuriating and heartbreaking.

Her mind flashes back to that day, those endless moments when their helicopter was shot down and crashed into the Iraqi desert. Waking to find Deeks crushed beneath its weight.

It haunts her every day. The what ifs. What if they’d gotten to him faster, or hadn’t moved. What if she’d agreed to leave the agency like Deeks wanted before they even thought about leaving US soil. Even though she knows it’s futile, Kensi blames herself in part.

Realizing she’s crying in the middle of the rehab hallway, Kensi quickly wipes away the moisture while checking to see no one had seen her moment of weakness. She takes another breath to make certain Deeks doesn’t see any of her distress and walks in.

She finds Deeks’ room empty, his wheelchair gone, and no note on the board across from his bed to indicate where he’s gone. Running back out, Kensi makes a beeline to the nurse’s stations, tamping down the increasingly fatalistic explanations for Deeks’ absence.

He’s fine, she tells herself. It’s way past the time when he’d have any life threatening complications. His numbers and oxygen have all been good since he woke up from his coma. He’s fine.

“Uh, Ahnu, do you know where Marty is?” Kensi asks, resting her hands, palm down, on the desk. A nurse in dark blue scrubs, her dark brown hair down her back in a long braid, looks up with a smile.

“Kensi, how’re you doing today. I believe Detective Deeks is outside in the courtyard,” she answers, checking her clipboard. “His doctor thought it might be nice for him to get some sun.”

“Oh, he’s probably enjoying it.” Kensi nods, feeling a little silly now.

“Yeah, he mentioned that he used to surf.” Something about Anhu’s use of the past tense makes Kensi’s stomach clench, but she brushes it off.

“Thank you, Ahnu.”

It’s a nice day, so the hospital courtyard is filled with a combination of medical staff and patients, enjoying the warm weather. She walks past a table with a older patient who appears to be eating lunch with his daughter. Another patient about her age slowly walks with the assistance of a walker, a physical therapist monitoring her progress from a few steps behind.

She spots Deeks a few more tables away; his back is to her, but his hair is instantly recognizable. That is one of blessed few things that hasn’t changed.

Approaching from the side, Kensi takes in his bowed head, one hand draped across his middle.

“Hey, Baby,” she murmurs, a smile breaking over her face. The sun glints over his hair, making it look almost golden. His head jerks up and he looks briefly alarmed before he centers himself.

“Kensi, I thought you had to work early today,” he says, eye furrowing in concern. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. It’s a slow day, so I decided to visit.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble. Somebody’s going to notice if you keep skipping out of work early or not going in at all.”

“Relax, baby. It was actually Granger’s idea. He said I had more important things to do here,” Kensi tells him. She reaches out, brushing his bangs off his forehead, soaking in the feel of the soft strands. One of the nurses must have helped him wash it this morning. “Somebody’s gotta keep you out of trouble after all.”

“Right,” Deeks scoffs, pursing his lips as he turns his gaze away from her. He lifts his right hand, running it down the length of his body. “Cause I’m so mobile right now. But hey, maybe I’ll get in a wheelchair race with Stella down the hall. I hear she’s getting a power chair soon.”

“That sounds about right,” Kensi agrees, deciding to ignore the slight bitterness in his voice. “Oh, by the way, I brought you a breakfast sandwich and a vanilla latte.” She holds up the bag and shakes it enticingly.

Rolling his eyes, Deeks lets her lay the meal out in front of him and help him eat a few bite. She can tell how much it’s killing him to have so little control of anything. So, Kensi distracts him with stories of Nell and Eric’s antics, Sam and Callen’s recent squabbles.

After a particularly awful reenactment of a recent save, Deeks is actually smiling, his lips lifted in that familiar grin that shows his top teeth. It actually takes Kensi’s breath away and she leans forward, kissing him. Deeks makes a soft sound of surprise, his hand rising towards her cheek before falling back again.

She sighs into his mouth, forgetting everything but him at the toasts of his lips for a moment. As she leans forward, she hears something clutter to the ground, and they pull apart.

Kensi spots a plastic spoon on the ground, knocked of by their PG activities. Before she can bend to grab it, Deeks instinctively leans over, losing his balance and tipping forward.

“Damn it!” he hisses as he clumsily grabs at the table, his chair, anything to stay upright. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like hours before Kensi manages to stand up and grab him around the middle, stopping him from landing face first on the concrete.

“Oh my god, Deeks. Baby, are you ok?” she gasps.

“I’m fine,” he grounds out, shifting out of her grasp. “I’m just stupid.”

“No your not.” Kneeling in front of him, she starts to shift his feet back into place and jerks away again, barely moving, but his intent clear.

“I’ve got it.”

“Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because I feel completely useless,” he blurts out, eyes flashing with frustration and a hundred feelings Kensi can’t hope to understand.

“Deeks, don’t talk like that. You’re not-”

“I can’t even brush my own teeth right now because the hand that actually works doesn’t have any sensation and the one that does, doesn’t work,” he says quietly, cutting her off. “I can’t do anything.”

Kensi’s eyes fill with tears as her heart breaks for him. She covers his hand, switching to cup them, even if he can’t feel it.

“Baby, I know that what you’re going through right now is incredibly difficult, but it will not be that way forever,” she tells him softly. “You will get better and so will this.”

He swallows harshly and when he speaks again, his voice shaky.

“Kensi, even if I do recover to some degree, it will not be the same. I won’t be able to shoot or run or surf-” His voice breaks. “I won’t be the same guy you knew.”

She senses that he’s trying to tell her something, maybe trying to cut her out, but she’s not having it. Nodding, she presses her lips together.

“I refuse to believe that is true. But even if it is, I will never leave you. I love you Deeks, whether you can fire 20 perfect shots or catch 20 waves. I love you and I will be here every step of the way to help you.”

He lets out a quiet sound, almost a sob, resting his forehead to hers. His head moved minutely against hers and Kensi cups his cheeks again kissing him gently.

When she pulls away, Deeks doesn’t resist when she moves to put his feet back on the rests.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Kensi tells him. “But I forgive you.”

He chuckles wetly at that, looking up from under his bangs.

“I love you.”

***

A/N: Thanks for the prompt and I hope it was something like what you were anticipating.

[nanagoswife]

Noticing You, Noticing Me

Chapter Eight

Summary: More soft moments between reader and Obi-Wan as they enjoy being back together

W/C: 3.5k

Warnings: Not smut, but there is some intimacy? Not really though? Idk😅

- - -

Apparently, everyone knew about Obi-Wan’s arrival except for you. Anakin and Padmé were just the ones who participated.

As you walked through the halls, basically clinging to his arm, he laid his free hand on top of one of yours as he told you.

“I had also been talking with Anakin these last months, albeit, not as often as I was with you.” He paused to smile at you, gently squeezing your hand. “When I found out of my plans to come here, I wanted to find a way to surprise you. Then, Anakin came to mind.”

“Let me guess. You asked Anakin, then Anakin asked Padmé, and then Anakin told you what she had said.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Sometimes I forget how well you know your brother.”

A small sense of pride filled you with that.

“But yes, that’s what happened. Of course I had first written to your parents about a few things. They were more than happy to hear that I could make my way over after so long. I think it was something about how their daughter was quite taken with me.”

He looked down at you with that cheeky smile once again. You shook your head and giggled as you lightly pushed him, only sending him slightly off balance.

His laugh filled the halls as he regained his steady pace.

“I do believe that she is quite taken with the prince of Coruscant. The princess couldn’t be happier.”

Obi-Wan’s crystal blue eyes stared into yours while he smiled. Slowly, he brought the two of you to a stop in front of one of the windows. The light of the sun reflected perfectly in his eyes.

When he turned to face you, both of your hands ended up in his one. Although you loved the feeling, you took one hand away to bring it to his cheek. A small giggle bubbled its way out of you at the feel of his beard as he leaned into your touch. The well trimmed hairs were scratchy but in the most delightful way.

Your eyes couldn’t leave his even if you wanted to. The sight of him like this held all of your attention as you slowly dragged your hand down to rest on his chest.

The fact that both of you were leaning in went hardly noticed. It felt so natural that you paid no mind to it. It was only as you were that few centimeters away from the other’s lips that you realized, but you didn’t pull away. No, this was something the two of you had come so close to once before, yet it now had a different meaning. This was more deserved than before.

You were so close until footsteps could be heard from the other end of the hall. Obi-Wan huffed out a sigh of annoyance but didn’t make any movement to pull away from your proximity.

“We really need to find a more private place,” he whispered, causing you to chuckle,

“If I remember correctly, not even that worked, Obi.”

All he did was groan and roll his eyes as his shoulders slumped. “You unfortunately make a good point, my dear.”

You chuckled before the person arrived in your area. When you turned to greet them, it was Varlo. Maybe it was your eyes just playing tricks on you, but he seemed absolutely miserable. More than he had been in the last two months, anyways. Apparently not having the popularity that he used to have was weighing on him more than you had thought.

“Good afternoon, Varlo,” Obi-Wan greeted with a bow from just behind you. As he did, you saw that a small piece of his hair fell out of place. He did nothing to put it back, though, as he stood up.

“Prince Kenobi,” he greeted briskly with a stiff bow.

He seemed rigid in his greeting. Had something gone wrong in a dispute? You weren’t super into the politics of your kingdom as he was, so you didn’t know what possibly could make him like this.

Varlo’s jaw seemed tense, like he was clenching it.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. You could feel Obi-Wan shift uncomfortably behind you. Whatever was going on with Varlo was unsettling him just like it was for you.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I apologize. Just something occupying my mind. Anyways, I really came here to find you to tell you that our parents are putting together a small feast in honour of your arrival, Prince Kenobi.”

“Please, call me Obi-Wan. And thank you. I’ll be sure to thank them later although it’s highly unnecessary.”

“Oh but it is,” you cut in, flashing him a smile.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Alright, alright. If you say so.”

“I’ll leave you two be. But, Y/N, I should mention that mom is putting this together. So, be prepared,” Varlo said with a playful smile.

You knew exactly what he meant. Whenever your mother would go into planning mode, she always made it the best. If it weren’t for the fact that Obi-Wan had told them before arriving, you would’ve assumed they only had a day's notice. In that case, it would be more toned down. Knowing that she had known well in advance, well, it would be extravagant.

Both you and Obi-Wan said your goodbyes to your brother before he turned away.

“Well, what shall we do until dinner?” Obi-Wan asked when your brother was far enough down the hall. Before you answered, you brushed those few strands of hair back into place.

“Have you unpacked yet?” You turned to look at him, seeing him shake his head no. “Why don’t we do that, then.”

His smile grew even more before offering you his elbow. “Sounds like a plan.”

-

At first, Obi-Wan felt a slight bit awkward. The last time he had a girl in his room, that wasn’t his mother, was Satine. Nothing had happened between them other than simple conversations.

With you, he was a little nervous. He wanted a life with you. Unlike with Satine, he felt like he could see himself with you for the rest of his life. Every part of him was drawn to you in a way that he had never felt in his life.

As the time went on though with you helping him where you could, it felt just as natural as everything else. Obi-Wan could feel himself relax more and more as the time passed.

By the time he had finished, you were sitting at the foot of the bed. Despite his insistence, you refused to make yourself more comfortable further up the bed. Instead you stayed where you were, intently listening to his ramblings. Some were stories from your time apart, others were just simply him muttering his thoughts.

Nothing changed though. You sat and listened, occasionally chiming in at certain details.

Once Obi-Wan was done, he sat beside you. It didn’t take long to find your hand so that he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

“So,” he started, “did that take all the time we had or is there still time?”

You giggled as you leaned against his shoulder. “I’m sure we have some time. Besides, who says we can’t be fashionably late?”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in curiosity. “Is there something your brilliant mind is working up?”

He watched as your cheeks flushed as you smiled coyly.

“Not really. But I did have an idea for after dinner.”

“And what might that be?”

You looked up at him, your cheeks burning an even darker shade than before. You opened your mouth to talk, but closed it before looking away again. It confused him.

“Darling?”

“Never mind,” you said quietly.

“If you think I would say no to whatever your plan is, I’m sure you’re wrong,” he said encouragingly. His free hand came up and turned your face towards him with his index. “What is it?”

When you stumbled over your words, he let his fingers trail along your jawline before cupping your cheek. It was a gesture to comfort you in your doubt, and it seemed to work. He could feel as the tension in your shoulders eased. Even the grip you had on his hand relaxed.

“I- I was thinking maybe… we could come back here after. Together,” you said. Quickly, you continue before he could react, “Not to do anything like, you know. Just to… sleep. And I was wondering if we could read that poetry book that we never finished that night because it was so beautiful and-”

Obi-Wan gently hushed you with a soft call of your name before you’d go into an endless ramble. “Yes,” he said in a breath. “Yes to all of it. Whatever you wish.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He felt you relax further against him. Almost on instinct, he wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer, pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Now, shall we head down to the feast your mother has put together?”

Chuckling, you lightly pushed off of Obi-Wan to sit up. “Are you sure you’re ready? She never goes halfway with these sorts of things.”

“Always.”

-

“Ok, so I may have underestimated what Queen Breha had planned,” Obi-Wan said with a sheepish chuckle.

What your mother had planned had even surprised you. All of the servants had been dressed in their best. The dining table was set to feed three times the amount of your group. The seven of you hardly made a dent in it all.

When it came to decorations, you would’ve thought that you would’ve been serving every king and queen there was. Yes, you were a part of a royal family, but you had never dined in such a fancy setup. You had thought your normal setup was over the top, but you were dead wrong.

Even Obi-Wan had seemed overwhelmed by it all. The enthusiastic call from your brother had distracted both you and Obi-Wan from your surroundings.

Apparently, despite actually arriving in time, the two of you were the last to arrive. Everyone else greeted you enthusiastically when you sat down after Obi-Wan pulled out your chair.

Varlo didn’t though. Like he was earlier, he had seemed preoccupied. That kept up during the whole meal. You didn’t pay much mind to it as your parents, Anakin, and Padmé all started a conversation lasting the whole meal.

Once you were all stuffed to the brim, Varlo had left. He said that he had something to attend to, yet he wouldn’t say what.

For the rest of you, the conversations continued as the servants all cleared the table without incident. Even if there were, it wouldn’t be a huge deal. Most of them you knew quite well, and so did your mother. They were all good people who strove to do their best in their role. You always smiled whenever you heard how happy they really were.

“Even I underestimated what she would do,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently as you walked down the hall to the sitting room that contained the poetry book.

Normally, your arm would be linked with his, but you didn’t feel like being that formal. You guessed he felt that same as he reciprocated the action without any protest. If he had said anything about it, you were sure that it would only be about how his thoughts were going down the same path as yours.

When you had gotten to the room you needed, you told Obi-Wan to wait as you quickly ran in to grab the poetry book. After you did, you resumed your hand holding all the way to your room first to change and grab some things.

You had disappeared behind your changing screen as he observed your room. There wasn’t much in your room. A few books on the shelf beside your desk, the satchel which held all of his letters that sat on the floor still next to your desk, your bed, and your changing screen.

Everything was going well until you were unable to undo the back of your dress. No matter how hard you tried, each attempt was met by failure.

There was no other choice other than to ask Obi-Wan to help.

Stepping out from behind the screen, you saw him looking out of your window. He had one arm across his chest while his other elbow rested against it as he stroked his beard. It looked as if he was lost in thought only to briefly smile to himself.

“Obi,” you called out. You hated to break his train of thought, but the longer this took, the longer it would be until you could get on with the night’s plan.

He turned towards you, looking slightly confused when you were still in the same lavender dress as before.

“I can’t get it undone, and I… I was wondering if you could help,” you said as you looked at the floor. It felt strange asking this of him. At the same time, it thrilled you. Nervousness took over in the end.

Obi-Wan walked over to you, taking your hands in his. He gently squeezed them in a silent question asking you to look at him. “Only if you want me to.”

You nodded. With a comforting smile, he led you back behind your screen. Turning around for him, his hands worked on the ties at your back. Each lace up your back slowly loosened as he made his way up, letting his fingers graze against your back.

As he made his way up, you couldn’t stop the shiver that went through you as his hand ghosted the bare part of your back. When he was done, he placed his hands on your shoulders, finger slightly under the material of the dress.

The sensation was one you had never felt before as his hands began trailing outwards, bringing the fabric with it. A part of you wanted him to continue, but you knew it was better when he had paused his gentle caresses.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ll let you get changed.”

“It’s alright, Obi,” you said as you turned to face him. “And thank you.”

With a shy smile, he went back to the main area of your room. A part of you wished you could’ve continued, but now wasn’t the time for that. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet.

Either way, you pushed it aside as you finished getting ready. Your sleep gown was much more comfortable than your dress. You wondered what Obi-Wan would think of the light blue gown that flowed more and was far less constricting.

-

When you walked out after changing, Obi-Wan’s breath hitched for what felt like the hundredth time today. He knew night gowns were nothing special, but you just looked so… beautiful.

The simpleness of it caught his eye immediately. Yes, you looked amazing in all of your day gowns, but this was just a new level he didn’t know was possible.

He must’ve muttered something about it because your cheeks turned flushed as you took on a demure stance.

Finally gaining some sense, he cleared his throat before speaking, “Shall we continue the evening?”

You nodded, walking over to him before taking his hand to make your way to his room. Although it was no secret that the two of you were together, you had to make sure you weren’t seen. People would most likely assume that something other than what you truly were doing would be happening.

The only people that were told were Anakin and Padmé. They had told you that they would make sure that no one saw either of you. Specifically in the morning. The plan was that Anakin would make sure the hall was clear as Padmé would come get you and escort you to your room. Of everyone, they knew that Obi-Wan wouldn’t take advantage of you. Plus, with your friend knowing of the night you and Obi-Wan had first read this book, she was quick to believe your true plans.

Thankfully, the hall was clear all the way to his room.

Obi-Wan had removed his jacket rather quickly, exposing his white tunic that lay underneath. There was a small area where his chest was slightly exposed, revealing hairs there that matched the colour of his beard.

A small part of you wanted to have the kind of courage that he did and unlace the top of his tunic for him, to feel some of the skin on his chest. That courage wasn’t there. Not a single part of you could muster up the ability to ask, but you didn’t need to. Obi-Wan had caught the way you were looking at him.

Taking a few steps to close the distance between you, he took your hands in his.

“It’s alright,” he said, placing one of your hands on his chest near the ties. “You can if you want. You don’t have to.”

His voice was quiet and soothing. That courage you thought you would never have? It was there now, slowly crawling out as he encouraged you.

Along with his comforting words, you moved your fingers to where the lace laid. With a shakiness, you brought your other hand up to help undo the knot. Before you could start untying it, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing gently for comfort.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this. Stop whenever you like.”

As he took his hand off of the two of yours, the final bit of courage filled you. Slowly, you untied the lace, loosening it until even more of his chest was exposed.

For a moment, you let your fingers graze over the exposed skin and hair. The golden curls on his chest made you smile as you briefly rubbed his chest.

This time, you gained even more confidence as you then let your hands glide down to his torso. Something in you wanted to see more, to feel more, but you weren’t sure if it was the best decision.

When your hands reached his waist, you stopped. Looking back into his eyes, nothing but warmth and sureness radiated from them.

“Go ahead. Like I said earlier, anything for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, gaining even more reassurance from Obi-Wan as you looked in his eyes. So, you let your hands clench the material of his shirt, pulling it up until he lifted his arms, letting the shirt fall to the ground.

You let your eyes explore the surface of his skin, noting every scar until you reached out to trace them all. He told you how many were from training, others from a battle years ago when a random group who wanted to dethrone his father attacked.

-

He worked hard to keep his breathing controlled as your hands explored the surface of his skin. Despite this, Obi-Wan knew that if you felt over his heart that you would be able to feel it racing.

As you traced over his scars, he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed. The thoughts that began to run through his mind were becoming intrusive. He didn’t want to rush into anything with you, though. What he didn’t want to do was scare you off and that meant having to keep this all under control.

Plus, he didn’t want to wreck your reputation. Something like this could ruin you, and that’s not what he wanted. You were doing so much good for your people. If they thought any less of you than they do now, he wouldn’t know how he would live with himself.

Instead, he closed his eyes so that he could quell the feeling of desire he felt for you. It was working too, until you reached his shoulders, trailing towards his collar bone.

Nothing could keep his breathing from picking up. The closer you came to his collarbone, the more he felt his want for you. But he wouldn’t let it happen. Not unless you wanted to, and you already had said that you wanted this to be purely just an innocent night. Just reading and sleeping.

So, he shifted slightly, taking a sharp intake of breath as your hand traced his collarbone.

-

This exploration lasted a few minutes as you looked over his freckles that were scattered across his shoulders. Obi-Wan took a deep breath as you traced his collar bone, shifting slightly.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, pausing your exploration. “Did I go too far?”

“What? No, of course not,” he said quickly to reassure you. “No, it’s just… maybe we should read now.”

Nodding, you went over to the bed. Obi-Wan joined you not long after.

After getting settled under the sheets, the two of you went into a familiar position like the night in front of the fireplace. Only this time, you didn’t stay awake long, falling asleep against Obi-Wan’s bare chest.

Everything, his warmth, the sound of his voice, the comfort of the bed, it all made you drowsy. Obi-Wan noticed and encouraged you, “Go to sleep, my dear. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05 @blondekel77 @thereluctantherosrose @cosmicsierra @badbatch-simp24

[yandere-sins]

Now that the undatables are datable, can I see some thoughts on a jealous Diavolo who wants to hoard the mc? Just maybe a punishment for going on a trip to the human world with some of the bros and leaving him behind. Or he’s upset about how little time he can grab between the demon bros eating up all of their attention and his own duties. He’s just so cute, and I’m so happy he’s finally a surprise guest!!!!!

Bruh ask me!!!! Everyday I open the app to be welcomed by the handsome demon-king-in-making and my heart goes doki doki ♥ I decided I need a change of mind since I worked on the book for four days straight, so I wrote you a scenario instead of just my thoughts! Thanks for requesting and please enjoy!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««      

Humming, you were led down the hallways of the Demon Lord’s castle. With a smile and short waves, you greeted the little devils that passed you, snickering and welcoming you back. You had only been back home in the human world for a weekend, but they all seemed awfully joyous that their exchange student had returned, even though you couldn’t pinpoint why that was. 

Thanking the Little D that led you to Diavolo’s study, it swirled around you, giggling for a moment before leaving you alone, and you took a deep breath before knocking on the massive doors that separate you from the room. With a hint of anticipating nervousness, you waited for an answer, hoping Diavolo would be as happy to see you as you were to see him. Over your time in the Devildom - no matter how harsh the truths you had discovered were and how often you had questioned your capabilities since you met the brothers - you had grown quite fond of the Lord, always knowing he supported your progress and time here.

“Yes?” it called out from inside. You had no doubt that Diavolo knew everyone who knocked at his door, but it was still nice that his voice never lost a certain tinge of curiosity when he called someone in. With your smile growing wider, you entered, looking into the instantly brightening face of the man of the hour. 

“[Name]!” he called out, jumping out of his chair like an excited child, and you greeted Barbatos quickly before focusing your attention on the Lord in front of you. “I am back!” you announced, holding up the small package with sweets you brought as a gift from your trip.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice urgent despite the smile on his face. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Huh?” you muttered in surprise. “I thought Lucifer was going to tell you that we were visiting my home for the weekend?”

“Is that so?” Diavolo grumbled under his breath, expression faltering and becoming somber for a moment before the corners of his lips curled up again. He opened his arm as he approached you, adding, “It’s good you’re back then.”

Even before he could reach you, you quickly handed over the package in your hand to Barbatos, who whispered a short, “His majesty was a little... tense this weekend.” Then spoke up louder, “I shall prepare some tea.”

With that, he was gone, and Diavolo pulled you into a hug, an affection you two had grown used to. It was wild for a mere human like you to embrace the future Demon Lord, but you weren’t complaining, especially not since it was Diavolo’s wish to act more normal with you. “I’m sorry. I really thought Luci was going to keep you updated,” you mumbled into his hug, and Diavolo let out a long, sad sigh that tugged on your heartstrings. 

“I can think about why,” Diavolo revealed, and your curiosity perked up at that, showing in your face when you finally brought some distance between you two. “Why?” you asked, unsure what he could mean, but Diavolo’s answer kept you waiting while his eyes scanned all over you, inspecting all of you as if he hadn’t seen you in years. “It’s not a surprise. Anyone would want you all to themselves.”

Furrowing your brows, you let yourself be led to the discussion couch in the middle of the room, sitting down together with Diavolo on his urging. “If Lucifer had told me, I’d have insisted on tagging along. I am sure he wanted to be the only one to have all of your attention this weekend.”

Spluttering, you felt the heat shoot into your head as you shook it vehemently. “It’s not like that! I just showed him around my hometown, and we had all kinds of foods, and...” your words trailed off as you heard the door behind you open again, Barbatos walking in with an apologetic smile as if he had interrupted something, tea tray in his hands.

“As I said, it was just a change of scenery.” Clearing your throat, you tried to change the topic, looking Diavolo straight in the eyes as you spoke up. For a moment, you thought to notice a disapproving gleam in his eyes, but you merely spoke over the bad feeling his unusual stern expression and crossed arms gave you. “What have you been up to? I hope you didn’t just have to work all weekend!”

Prolonging his response, Diavolo hummed thoughtfully before sitting up straight and opening up his arms to receive the cup of tea Barbatos was handing to him, and afterwards to you. “That’s all, Barbatos,” he confirmed to his servant, the latter bowing before taking his leave. You thanked Barbatos too and took a sip of the hot beverage, letting the delicate aromas of the drink fill your nose. 

“I’ve... I’ve been busy, yeah,” Diavolo eventually simply admitted, an uncommon short answer coming from him. Not like he had much leisure to tell endless tales, but usually, he talked in longer sentences. “It’s been a quiet weekend, and I actually wanted to ask you to join me for tea, but I guess my message never reached you.”

“Oh, no...” you mumbled, realizing that since your DDD didn’t have reception in the human world, you hadn’t even checked it once in all this time. Not even know had you charged it and looked at it, having come directly to the castle instead after your return. A crude mistake on your side.

“It’s no problem.” A short smile crossed his lips as Diavolo looked into your regretful eyes. “I am used to it. You are always up to something with the brothers, so I am not surprised when you didn’t reply.” But disappointed. The words he didn’t speak were plainly visible on his face, and you felt a sting in your heart knowing that your carelessness had upset him. Biting your lip as you thought, you decided to make it up to him in the best way you could come up with.

“I’m sorry, your Highness... But I am here now! How about I wait for you to finish your work and we can go out together and have dinner? Promise I won’t leave this time!” Laughing, you tried to lift the mood, and at first, he gave you a raised brow and a somewhat skeptical look, but soon enough, even the Lord couldn’t resist your smile, chiming in softly. 

“Here, let me,” he prompted, taking your cup from you and filling it up with fresh, warm tea even though you hadn’t even finished. Being only able to see his back, you could only assume he even put sugar into the new brew for you, stirring your cup dutifully. It was an honor to receive such a treatment from someone like Diavolo, and you made sure to thank him plenty when he handed the cup back to you. 

“I think spending some time with you is a good idea. This weekend I’ve just been a bit too gloomy for everyone in the castle, I think. Can you believe it? I broke half of the entire inventory on tea sets we own in my frustration.”

Diavolo laughed out loudly while you couldn’t help but feel concerned about what he just revealed to you. It didn’t sound very healthy that he’d let out his mood on the items around him, much less on the people who had to endure the chaos he caused. Giving him a forced polite smile, you decided it was best to let him talk while you sipped your tea. It was almost too sweet now to enjoy it, but since Diavolo went out of his way to prepare it, who were you to refuse the gesture just because it was a little sweet?

“Everytime they brought me a new one, I felt so lonely since you never responded. Eventually, Barbartos decided no more tea for me.” His laugh became even louder as you felt your stomach twist anxiously, not liking what you were hearing. 

“But now you’re here.” Diavolo’s eyes focused back on you, blinking innocently as if he didn’t just reveal that he caused quite an unnecessary troubles. He opened his mouth, breathing in visibly before he continued to speak, one of his hands coming down to lay on your free one resting in your lap. “Let’s not talk about the past anymore. We should think about what we want to do when you wake up instead!”

“When I wake up?” you questioned, confused. Was this a dream? Did Diavolo meet you while you were asleep still? But everything and even his touch felt so real and warm, it couldn’t be. “Well, I didn’t think I’d stay the night. There’s school tomorrow, right?” you chuckled jokingly, nudging him slightly, but when you continued to talk, your voice betrayed you, cracking as you felt a nervous pull inside of you.

“I... I just thought we could go for dinner later, so we have enough time to prepare for tomorrow at home.”

As if on cue, the moment you finished your sentence, you looked back at Diavolo, feeling suddenly very light-headed. “I heard you, [Name].” Diavolo spoke slowly, sounding a bit like he was talking to a toddler, trying to pronounce his words clearly. “But you said it. You’re not leaving this time, and a promise is a promise.”

“W-What... What’s going on... ?” 

Indifferent to your growing discomfort, Diavolo took the cup of tea from you, putting it down on the coffee table before inching closer to you. An arm wrapped around your shoulders while another pressed between your knees and the couch, all while you felt dizzy and dizzier, your body slowly but surely growing heavy. “I think I deserve some extra time with you, and tonight must suffice for now. Maybe even tomorrow? Let’s see how long the magic lasts. Do you like movies?”

Really, it was more of a monologue by now as you could barely manage to speak anymore, being hit by seemingly the weight of the world as Diavolo lifted you gently from the couch. “We could watch one of the new movies I sponsored. Rate if they did a good job.” Giggling like an excited child, your head fell against his chest, your breathing growing slow and steady despite the inner panic you felt just seconds ago. Your eyelids felt like they were solid blocks of cement, ready to bow to gravity and fall closed.

“I know, you're very tired, you don’t need to answer me right away. I promise we’ll have a lot of fun together later, and you can tell me if you like movies then. If not...” Diavolo’s words came to a halt while he carried you forward, doors opening for him with seemingly no effort as he simply kept going and going. But it was too hard to comprehend what was going on, only a feeling of fear and disapproval left bubbling inside of you for a few moments more. 

“If not, I am sure we’ll find something,” he promised with a wide grin on his face. You felt his lips connect with the top of your head briefly before a second wave of tiredness overcame you, this time too strong to resist. Your eyelids refused to open while your mind was lulled into a dreamless sleep, your limbs hanging loosely from Diavolo’s arms. The last thing you remembered wondering was what he was going to do with you, but luckily, you didn’t finish this thought and rode yourself into more anxiety than the situation already gave you.

If Levi’s envy, Satan’s wrath, and Lucifer’s pride - feelings that were ever so possessive over you - were awful in your opinion, then you should have known better than to rise all of them in the strongest Demon that currently existed. Unless, that was, if you wanted him to catch you like a mouse with a piece of cheese?

If that was the case, you achieved exactly what you wanted.

[kawaiijohn]

Rewind, Rinse, Repeat Chapter 1

For Invisobang Minibang 2021

Ao3 Link

Chapters: 3 finished, 12 total Rating: T+ Warnings: Major and Minor Character Death- all temporary, Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Strong Language, Mild Body Horror, Mild Injury. Other warnings listed by chapter Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Pariah Dark, Levi | Leviathan (OC), Mal (OC), Observants, Mentions of other characters Ships: Lost Time, Dark Ages, CW & OC child, CW & Levi | Leviathan (OC) Genre/Tropes: Human AU, Magic AU, Found Family, Character Origin, Hurt/Comfort, Original Magic System and Lore Additional Tags: Existentialism & Existential Angst, Memory Loss & Amnesia, Corruption, Clockwork Centric, They/Them Pronouns for Clockwork, The Fenton's A+ Parenting, Obersvant Bashing

Summary

“Clockwork can I ask you something? How did you become a ghost?”

The tale surrounding the mystery of Clockwork's existence; a world where magic is common and ghosts are not. A world where one lonely, average mage tries with all their might to save what means most to them. A world where things need to be remade into something better.

Shout out to my betas @bibliophilea and @moonlights-shadow-warrior for keeping me sane, @13thdoodle for letting me use their OC, Levi, @dailudannos and @sailor-toni for providing art for later chapters, and all the folks over at @invisobang for being awesome!!!!

Chapter One below the Cut. The rest is available on my Ao3 account because tumblr linking/posting is hella broken.

Chapter 1: An Inquiry

“Hey, Clockwork? Can I ask you something?”

Clockwork looks over from the mirror they were watching intently.  “You already have, Daniel,” they reply, offering the other a smirk.

“Oh, ha ha.  You've never said that to me before.”  The reply is filled to the brim with sarcasm, as per usual.  Danny rolls his eyes, but a small smile gracing his lips betrays the fact he isn't annoyed in the least.  “Seriously, though.�� It’s something that's been on my mind like... every day for the last two weeks!!"  He raises his hands towards the sky, flopping back in the air dramatically.  "But... it's kinda, y'know.  Personal-”  Danny trails off, slightly embarrassed.

Of course.  Clockwork finds themself smiling fondly- Danny thought he’d said something he shouldn't have- an inquiry that could make his guardian upset (as if it's even possible to upset Clockwork like that).  A question is a question, and this is a worrying habit of his that the Time Master is trying to help break, even if it's still somewhat endearing to them.

“I uh, I mean... it’s personal about- to you, not to me. That’s what I meant!!” Danny continued.

Clockwork stares at him, unblinking.  An idea (or thousands) of what he may ask flashes through their mind’s eye.  With a single, calming pulse to their Core, Clockwork pushes the involuntary slideshow of timelines aside as if they're no more than curtains.  They need to focus on the window in front of them; the here and now, not the temporal drapery.

It's a habit they are trying to overcome for Daniel’s sake.  To ensure their ward's growth, they need to stop peering into the near future as often- not discourage his asking of questions.  After all, what is a child if not but a well of endless curiosity?  Cutting Danny off is also sure to disallow the development of any trust or patience Clockwork needs to build within their young ward.  They wouldn’t receive either of those things if they assume what he wanted to ask.

It's common decency to not assume, lest it ‘make an ass out of you and me’, according to Daniel.

It is going to be a tough habit to break, but by the (other) Ancients, they're trying their best.  Their ward deserves the infinitesimal choices all other children have when asking things of their guardians, so even if they do glimpse to the future, they will not mention it to him.  Clockwork refuses and will continue to refuse to take their ward’s agency away; to not have a choice in things is a fate worse than fading.

The boy has been quiet, stuck deep within his own thoughts even after an impressive five minutes and thirty-seven and a half seconds of silence (uncharacteristic of the boy, Clockwork notes).

Now that just won't do- he must have lost his train of thought.  Clockwork gestures at the ghost boy, motioning for him to continue.  It works- Danny adverting his eyes and clearing his throat, "Well, it’s just like- you know so much about me- like, how I died, the whole Ghost Zone Prince business, that entire disaster doomed timeline with Dan... I just keep thinking- no- realizing, that I barely know anything about you!!”  He throws his arms up in thinly veiled frustration.

Clockwork smirks. “You had another question, did you not?”  They place a hand along the edge of the closest Temporal Mirror, turning to face the mirror- still halfway facing Danny.  They can see his inner debate clearly written on the boy's face- the mirror reflecting as if it were an ordinary object (for now).  They turn towards it fully and watch Daniel's reaction from behind them, acting as if they aren't finding joy in their ward's hesitation.  It's always adorable when he tries not to offend Clockwork. "I may be able to work with time, but that doesn't mean I wish to float here waiting for an answer all day."

Danny blinks a few times, rolling his eyes again in response.  Clockwork is certain that if they weren’t secured to his skull by human musculature they’d fall out and roll away.  “Well, I’m sorry for trying not to be rude and like, asking outright... but since it’s you I have to always be super direct!!  Jeeze you’re frustrating sometimes!”  He floats towards his mentor, crossing his arms.

Danny often forgets Clockwork isn't easily upset over trivial things such as questions.  Most questions are about things they already know the answers to, anyways.  And the few things that they don’t know when asked, they figure out soon after.  Such is the duty of the Master of Time- to be a step ahead of everyone and everything else always.  Besides, in most timelines (68.3% of them, to round up) the question Daniel wishes to ask is along the lines of ‘What was your past like?’ Another small fraction (a little under 20%) the question is ‘How did you get so strong?’ .  And even in the remaining timelines, the question would be along the lines of ‘How do your time powers work?’

They are each things Clockwork expects Daniel to ask them at some point or other, as it were.  There isn’t really anything Daniel can ask that could be too shockin-

“Clockwork, I was wondering… how exactly did you become a ghost?”

They... did not see that coming… in any of the timelines they’d glimpsed.  Clockwork stills for only a fraction of a moment, but it’s long enough for Danny to flinch, feeling as if he’s crossed a line.  They hear more than see Daniel shrinking in on himself as they look off into nothing, buried memories waking slowly in their mind.

Clockwork is brought from their introspection by a mumbled curse.  “Shit!  I mean... uh crap??"   They just stare at Danny as they are brought back to the present.  "Never mind just... sorry for asking...  Oh man!  Did I offend you somehow?  Ancients dammit, this is what I was worried about!!”  They watch him curiously, soft whirring coming from their ward's anxious core.  “We can just forget about it if-”  Daniel’s hands wring together nervously, shoulders tense with worry and face full of guilt.

Right- facial expressions are also important for a young ghost's emotional communication and development.  Sometimes the Time Master wonders if their isolation in Long Now affected their social behavior (it did).  Their face is carefully blank most times, so they set to fix it- they offer a small grin, hand coming to rest on Daniel’s shoulder.  “It is more than fine, Daniel.  You asked if you could ask a question- which is in fact, two questions, I should note- but I gave you consent to ask it of me.”  They squeeze his shoulder to placate the worry.

“It’s about time I told you this story, as it were.  I just did not foresee it being told at this very moment."  Clockwork floats slowly, turning away from their Mirrors.  "Come along- it’s best we sit for this.  I’ll have one of your friends bring us some tea.”

Danny floats after his mentor, looking around the room the two normally use to study history of the Realms.  “So, uh… is it a long story or...?”

“Oh, it is very long, indeed.”  They fly through an ornate door and over to their favored 'chair'- a stack of comfortable cushions in violets and blues, both impossibly cool and warm at the same time.  They recall Daniel discovering the room, eyes full of wonder and posture relaxed.  Clockwork chuckles- the first time their boy had wandered in here he'd decided to take a running dive into the pile, jumping up in surprise when it was cold as ice, yet warm as fresh laundry.  The expression on their ward’s face is one of their fondest memories; a happy moment amongst all the tedium of watching time.

“It may take a while to tell this tale proper. But, it is a story that ought to be told.”  Daniel makes himself comfortable on his chair of choice- an unholy combination of 'borrowed' pillows and what appears to be a more modern gaming chair- complete with an obnoxiously bright green-black color scheme.  Clockwork has to hide another smile as Danny wiggles himself deep into the pile.  “So, Daniel- what do you know of the phrase ‘Totems of Power’?”

“I thought I was getting a story, not a pop quiz!  Unfair!!”  His disdain for schooling makes Clockwork laugh fondly before the boy continues.  “But they’re like… hmm how do I explain this?  Well, there’s the universe right?  Like every timeline and every result of every timeline all at the same time kind of ties into the main universe thingy- but there's still a main timeline, and that's kinda like... Main Street, and the other possible timelines are uh... like side streets with dead ends?  But there's other forces that like, aren't time and… uhhh...”

He hums, crossing his arms deep in thought.  Clockwork takes the time to purr-sing-hum at one of the many blobs floating in and out of their lair; Daniel had asked them to keep some around as pets and the Time Master was happy to oblige.  They were unable to deny something so beneficial to the young Prince, after all.  The one deemed ‘Mr. Pants’ by one of Daniel’s friends answers their call.  Clockwork buzzes to it a quiet request- ‘bring Daniel's favorite tea and mugs for two, please.’  The little thing chirrups and zips off through the walls- eager to serve the Lair’s owner and be (potentially) rewarded with pats (from Daniel).

The Time Master brings their undivided attention back toward a grumbling ghost boy, lost in thought.  “Daniel if you need to ask for help I’m glad to-”

Danny snaps his fingers, coming to a realization before his mentor can finish.  “I got it!!  The best way to explain it is ‘The Universe needs to run smoothly, so there’s certain forces- like Time or Space- that are upheld by a powerful entity, like a person or like… the avatar of that concept?  Yeah, something like that, but they ensure the aspect they represent is properly cared for so the universe doesn’t completely like, die.’”  Danny nods to himself.  "It's why you stepped in to stop Dan, to make sure the world didn't end like that."

“That is correct- it is my job to ensure this universe of ghosts and reality doesn't crumble prematurely.  Now, do you have a recollection of any other Totems you may have encountered?”

“Well, yeah!  We call them ‘Ancients’, though- so like… Pandora is the one for war and history, and Nocturn is for like… dreams?  The Void or something, maybe?  And then there’s old man Pariah who isn’t one, but he said there’s a Leadership Ancient somewhere, and then-”  Danny pauses, blinking at Clockwork in realization.  “Wait, you asked that for a reason, didn’t you?”

“That I did.  Becoming the Totem, or Ancient of Time is where this story starts.”  Clockwork hums, seeing Mr. Pants fly back towards the two- nearly spilling scalding tea all over the ground.  “Now then.  We have drinks.  We are sitting comfortably.  I believe it’s time I spin my tale for you.”  They take a sip, closing their eyes in bliss.

They open them once more and see Daniel sitting, eyes full of stars and eager- Eager to hear, eager to fire off a question a minute.  It makes a chuckle bubble up in their throat, to see their favorite person so excited to learn.

“Once upon a time, there was a human; average in most ways, a simple person living a simple life.  They would get up in the morning, perform their daily tasks, and go to sleep at night.  Day in, and day out- a boring, but fulfilling existence.

“However, where this story differs from what we recognize as reality, is that in this realm, humans who could control magic were the norm.  Think as if it were like one of those fantasy games you and Tucker play together- mages, healers… all of those and more were commonplace when I was alive.  Yes, humans can wield magic now, but it is nowhere near as frequent as they could in our tale.”

They pause, seeing that Danny was about to interrupt.  “Wait wait- this realm?  Like- this is a completely different reality?? And people can wield magic now???  Are you messing with me?  Like… I thought it was all just-”  The boy stops, his train of thought drifting off the tracks as it tends to now and then.

“Yes, first, this is a completely different realm from either the Mortal Plane or the Ghost Zone.  Second, Daniel- tell me... have you not noticed the magic of those you have encountered?  Blood blossoms… a reality warping gauntlet?  The existence that is ‘Freakshow’ in general should be a red flag, seeing as his talents were… strangely non-ghostly in origin.  Not to mention objects such as the Infi-map...”

“Man, I wish I could forget about Freakshow… who mind controls ghosts???  He was the worst!” Their young ward crossed his arms and grumbles.

“If you’re done sulking about your past misadventures and former foes, I was in the middle of telling a story, if I recall correctly.  One you asked I tell you…”  Clockwork simply stares, unblinking as steam wafts from their slowly cooling tea.

All is well, they knew Danny would only take approximately 4.85 seconds to snap his attention back to their story.  Clockwork sips their tea, waiting.

Danny snaps out of his thoughts only a millisecond off of Clockwork's prediction. “Sorry... it’s just super weird to think that magic actually… still exists?  Like ghosts are real and all but magic being a thing feels a bit far fetched, don’t ya think?”  He pouts, brow furrowed.

The Master of Time finally closes their eyes, removing the hood from their head.  White hair floats gracefully behind them, settling just past their shoulders.   Clockwork opens their eyes again- a serious, yet warm expression directed at their ward.  “Magic is simply defined as reality altering acts using both energy and the willpower of a sentient being, if that helps.”  Another sip.  Mr. Pants made a wonderful batch of tea, as always.  They smile wider when they notice Danny’s expression- the boy has never seen them without a hood, and they know doing this will (in 99.78% of all possible timelines) convince the boy to take what they said seriously.   ”Just as ghosts can be defined as ‘ectoplasm given form and consciousness’, forces beyond humanity and the physical realm can be explained with scientific terminology if you know where to look.”

“So like... what all did magic have to do with this ‘simple human’ version of you?  Did you ever have the power to shoot lightning??  Could I shoot lightning if I tried?  Like were you some sorta time wizard?  Is that why you’re all… timey-wimey and powerful?”  Danny wiggles his fingers with a look of confusion on his face.

Clockwork always finds their Core warming when their boy acts his age.  He's abnormally prone to shoulder the destiny of the world on himself and often forgets he's just a kid.  “You could continue asking questions one at a time, or you could allow me to tell my story.  The choice is yours, Daniel.”  They smirk, watching as Danny purses his lips, his steady flow of questions stopping short.  The best answer.  “Perfect- all is as I thought it would be.”

They close their eyes and reminisce as they continue.  “Now- to answer your last question… Yes.  You could say magic is how I came to be the Master of Time in both the Infinite Realms and the mortal plane, but there is much more to the story than that.  Other players, situations, and pure circumstances.  The universe in its infinite chances and possibilities brought myself, as well as many others to the situations they face here and now.”  Clockwork pauses, taking the moment to stare straight through Danny’s soul.  “Even yourself.”

The boy shudders, an appropriate response.  “Wait... me?  Did you… do something in the past to like… a past version of someone we know??  Can that even happen???”  Danny is already enraptured by the story, eyes twinkling as his mentor opens up about themself.  The boy is obviously thinking about everything that has happened, everything that could possibly have happened, and everything that Clockwork could possibly drop on him.

They feel Daniel cautiously tug on loose strands of time to see if he could possibly scope out what is about to be said, quickly failing to do much else beside give himself a small headache.  “Time stuff is still really confusing, Clockwork…”

“You could say that.  You could even say that trying to mess with time in the inner sanctum of Long Now is the most confusing ‘time stuff’ one could do if they were not myself.”  They grin- a Temporal Mirror appearing behind them with a thought.

“What’s the mirror for?”  Danny catches sight of himself and looks away, embarrassed that he’s been literally glowing with power after trying to do something so simple with his developing powers.  The glow is something he’s been working on suppressing recently.  After all, it would be a shame if other ghosts could see the boy powering up by aura alone.

The Master of Time smirks, bringing tea to their lips again.  “I thought it would be fun to attempt braiding my hair and doing my makeup for once.  It has been an awfully long time since I’ve done either.”

They stare at Danny who just bursts into laughter.  “Did you just use sarcasm???  Man, I didn’t know you could lighten up, Clockwork!”  The boy laughs harder, sinking deeper into his nest of pillows.  After a few minutes he was finally wiping tears from his eyes.  “But no.  Seriously… what’s the mirror for??”

“Why, what they are always for, Daniel- seeing through time and space.”  Clockwork waves their hand.  The mirrors show an image of a human with dark hair and burgundy eyes.  They have a large, hooked nose and medium brown skin- and Danny finds himself having a hard time guessing their gender.  The human sits at a desk, paused in time with the delicate gears of a clock sprawled along the desk surface, tools in hand.

Behind Clockwork, the image changes, showing the human living through an average day- images play in small spurts, never showing the whole story.  “Do you understand what’s being seen?”  The young boy nods, grabbing Mr. Pants out of the air as the blob drifts between the two.  Good, he will probably need the companionship, especially towards the end.

This isn’t the easiest story to tell, nor is it easy to listen to, but with a sip of their tea, Clockwork continues.

[brat-tamer69]

Dead Branches and New Leaves

♡ Summary: Levi’s relationship with his son Eren reaches a new low, and Y/N is there to confront Levi in an effort to rebuild. Very much inspired by this picture and in response to this request.

Part Two TBA

♡ Notable Tags: AU, Married, Parenting, Levi x Fem!Reader, Broken family, daddy issues, argument, angst and over 3k words holy shit!

❥ Disclaimer: Levi and his actions in this are not intended to be perceived as anything other than him being emotionally unavailable. He lost his temper and it is acknowledged numerous times that he is remorseful. I would like to emphasize that he is not emotionally or verbally abusive but this content may be upsetting to some readers. Please use your own discretion if you are sensitive to the topics.

♡ Send requests here!

Levi’s head instinctively whipped around to face the house’s front entrance when the screen gritted against the doorframe’s track. If he was not mistaken, his son would come bounding into the house from the front yard to ask for yet another snack. And Levi would once again shave down a carrot and before handing it over so it could be crunched down in seconds. How the kid had the energy to take off and put on his rain boots so many times in such quick succession, Levi didn’t know. But Eren did thankfully understand that if not for that talent, his dad would rip him a new one for tracking mud onto the freshly mopped tile.

As if summoned by thought alone, the percussive pattern of little feet hitting the floors echoed, and the urgency in it suggested that he was running. Levi pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, trying to cling onto what felt like the last second of peace he might have since Eren was running.

“Dad! Dad!” the toddler addressed him shrilly.

“What is it, runt?” Levi sighed and rotated in his spot in front of the stove to face his son.

“I was playing outside, and- and there was a big boom in the sky! And- And I wasn’t scared at all,” he added matter-of-factly. “But there was a little kitty outside, and I think him was scared.”

Levi stared down at the boy, bemused by how he managed to squirm and point every which way during a ten-second-long story. He then shifted his gaze back in the direction of the screen door, praying that Eren had possessed enough sense to close it behind him on the way in as the heavy rain had been accompanied by wind all morning. Levi had bargained with Y/N to support his stance of keeping Eren indoors but, in exercise of her wonderful parenting strategy, she insisted it would be better for him to play outside and get used to the daunting nature of thunderstorms.

Well, it’s working, Levi noted as he circled around the “big boom” Eren pointedly mentioned he wasn’t scared of. Still, his concerns were loyal to the furry little pest that seemed to be taking shelter in his front yard. “It’s ‘he was scared’,” Levi corrected. “And that’s too bad. Maybe he’ll run off somewhere safe on his own.”

Eren deflated, his shoulders and his volume falling while the size of his eyes grew. “But what if he can’t, Dad? What if the rain gets him sick?”

“Then the rain gets him sick,” Levi shrugged. “Not everything is meant to survive in this kind of weather, Eren. Besides, he might already be sick if he’s out there hanging around our house.”

An indiscernible emotion flashed across Eren’s face and disappeared just as quickly Levi picked up on it. But before he could engage, Eren was sprinting away and to the front yard again.

“Whatever,” he mumbled to the likes of himself. One thing he’d learned since become a father was that the less he knew, the better. If Eren did do something drastic like fall into a puddle of mud or befriend a sickly cat, he would scale the mountain of mishap once he approached it. For now, he had his focus on finishing dinner just as he promised his wife he would, and that was all he had the mental energy to do.

Perhaps one too many moments passed where Levi worked on simmering his kimchi nabe in the quiet, the slightly gentler rain being the only noise in the background. As he replaced the lid to the pot, he seemed to simultaneously sink back into reality. The thunder had finally ebbed. Y/N was still working on hemming some of Eren’s new clothes…

And Eren. The damn toddler that was notorious for popping up for snacks and attention hadn’t reappeared once in the past twenty minutes. The thought made Levi’s mouth dry and his throat swell faster than they would if he’d have swallowed a handful of cotton rounds. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. A clenched fist still equipped with a ladle, Levi set a brisk stride toward the front yard where, if his nonexistent god had any mercy, Eren would still be playing in the rain.

During the walk, the rain, the shuffle of his house slippers against the tile, and every other noise slowly faded. All he had in his ears was the vivid imaginary scream of his wife as she found out her son went missing under his watch. And the image of Eren with teary eyes burdened by fear was not any kinder to his growing panic.

“Shit–” he spat.

“Momma said that’s a curse.”

Levi looked down at the origin of the voice, the relief he felt in seeing Eren standing in front of him in perfectly healthy condition lasting but a second. It was instantly replaced by rage. As the panic drained from his body, every inch of him became ignited by disgust, disappointment, grief and a slew of other emotions he was too angry to even process. The blankness in his mind caused by the adrenaline rush was being filled in by the stench of the sopping wet stray cat being held out in front of him. “Eren…” he seethed in a low voice. “What the hell is that?”

Eren chewed his lower lip in hesitation. Levi almost wrenched when the boy had the gall to hoist the rancid being up higher, as if his father wanted to inspect it. “It’s the kitty! See?” he answered in earnest. “It’s the kitty I told you about! I told him to go find a new house so he doesn’t get sick, but he didn’t want to! And his tummy is bleeding, too!”

A soaking wet, bloody, feral cat. Levi didn’t know if he should give in to the hysterical, exasperated laughter bubbling in the depths of his stomach or if falling to his knees and sobbing would free him from the chaos he felt. Helpless to his anger toward his own child, all he could do was touch his hand to his face in a feeble display of his emotion. The outwardly endless consequences to Eren bringing a bleeding cat inside the house started to appear in his mind one by one, each adding to the pressure he felt building underneath his temples.

“Daddy?” Eren squeaked.

Levi was so distracted by his inner turmoil that he hadn’t even realized the minutes of silence that passed between them. “Go put it outside and wash your hands. Now.”

By the particular tone of voice his father used, Eren knew better than than to disobey him—even a single casual command from Levi would normally be enough to move him. But after trading glances between his dad and the injured cat, Eren shook his head.

Levi was in disbelief. He could feel his heart racing with every ounce of searing blood it sent through his veins. His hand trembled as it gradually fell from his face to reveal a nearly crazed expression, his eyes opened as wide as they could go but his brows furrowed impossibly low over them. “Did you just shake your head at me, boy?”

“Uh, well, the- the kitty is scared and has blood on him,” Eren gulped. “H-He can’t stay outsi–”

“Put it outside. And the next time I have to repeat myself, I’ll put you and the damn cat out.”

A small gasp escaped Eren’s quivering lips, but he swallowed it quickly before tucking the cat underneath his arm and escaping out the front door in a flash. Levi sucked in a shuddered breath, only now noticing the thick, brown splatters of mud and the droplets of red that created a trail to the yard and soiled his previously spotless tile.

“What happened? Where’s Eren?” Y/N’s soft voice questioned as she paced into the kitchen. “I heard you raise your voice. What’s going on?”

The worry in his wife’s shaky words gave way to her equal distress if not for the hand gently laid over her heart. It was enough to draw the ire from Levi’s body. Like the bright red leaving the eye of a cooling stove, anger steadily seeped from parts of him he wasn’t even aware were tensed. His set jaw unclenched, he lowered his shoulders and his fingers loosened from their intense hold on the ladle.

“Eren,” Levi replied to his wife in a breath at long last.

“Eren what?” she urged, her pupils growing.

“Eren’s fine. He just brought a fucking dying cat into our house.”

Confusion distorted Y/N’s features while her eyes moved frantically across Levi’s face in search for some sort of unspoken answer. When she didn’t receive it, she whirled around with a small huff then grabbed a fistful of her skirts and hurried to the front yard.

By her reaction itself, Levi knew he was finished. Y/N’s kindness knew no bounds in even the most stressful situation. In circumstances where his own instinct would be to react first, his wife was guided by the purest ethics; she would comfort, ask questions then gather herself enough to find a solution. But her consideration skipped him this time, and it was because she was livid with him. Levi could tell that much.

Bending at the knee to retrieve the cleaning supplies from the cabinets, he expelled a wearied sigh. He figured there was no better way to postpone is annoyance with the situation than by losing himself in the pleasures of cleaning on his hands and knees. He forced himself to focus on the acrid scent of chemicals burning his nostrils instead of the gut-wrenching sobs he could hear once his wife opened the front door. He tried to remember which solution was best to polish the ivory colored tile, but god damn it, he couldn’t think when he saw Eren’s little body, defeated and dripping wet, shuffling down the hall. His knuckles blanched as he all but strangled the cloth, putting all his upper body strength into scrubbing away what little remained of the muddy footprints.

Y/N watched Levi in silence for a brief period, absorbing how pathetic he looked down on the floor, frantically erasing the nonexistent spots while his son cried himself to sleep in the other room. She didn’t know what possessed her, but her nails were starting to dig into her palms in effect of how hard she was trying to contain it. If not for the pitiful picture of her baby boy standing outside, wailing over the corpse of a cat, she might have been frightened; she had never felt this way about Levi. But today was different—for everyone.

Levi released his rag and sat back on his heels when the shadow of his wife fell over him. At the same time, a coldness that he was far from feeling fell over his eyes. He could only hope it would protect him even a little bit.

“What the hell did you do?” Y/N demanded of him through her teeth, her voice faulted by an emotional tremolo.

He rose to face her and swiped his palms over his apron. “I did what any parent would do if their kid brought in a dying cat from outside. I told him to put the vermin back where he found it and wash his hands.”

“You cursed at him,” she sneered. “And you threatened to put him out of the house if he didn’t listen to you. It’s raining!”

He tried to keep his voice leveled though his need to emphasize his point superseded the attempt. “Well, if he listened to me the first time, I wouldn’t have cursed. And he’s a smart kid– He knows I wasn’t going to put him out.”

Already jaded by the argument, Levi mentally readied himself for Y/N’s rebuttal. But it didn’t come. Instead, her open hand flashed across his line of peripheral vision, and if it weren’t for his unique reflexes, it would have left a bright red print on his left cheek. Overwhelmed by the sequence of events, Levi’s defenses fell. By putting his energy in holding his wife’s wrist tightly, just mere inches away from his face, he’d lost his composure. His mouth went dry as it fell slightly agape and his eyebrows were pressed upwards together in sheer astonishment.

“Y/N–”

“You bastard!” she cried, her tears leaking through her voice as well as onto her face. “Do you have any idea how scared and alone he felt, watching that cat die in the rain?! And to make things worse, you were punishing him for your selfish ass obsession with keeping the house clean!”

Levi’s eyes darted past his distraught wife and landed on Eren’s bedroom door, paranoid that his mother’s shrieks might wake him. “It wasn’t like that.”

Y/N shook her wrist in his hold defiantly. “Then explain it to me! Explain to me what the hell you wanted to do! What, were you scared of telling him he couldn’t keep it?”

“No, I wasn’t!” he growled back. “The first thing I told him to do was let the damn thing go. It was a dying cat, Y/N! That thing could have given him or any one of us all kinds of diseases with its filthy fur in seconds! What if it had bit him or scratched him?”

Y/N met her husband’s eyes squarely and stared into them for an unwavering minute. His volume had fallen off marginally by the end of his question. Her eyes narrowed as his softened. She caught him. Letting out a mirthless laugh, she finally ripped her wrist from his grip. “You didn’t even check if it did, so why are you bringing that up as if you actually care?” she whispered.

Shit. “He would have told me it did,” he answered then swallowed, not quite convinced of his answer himself.

“Don’t you get it? He doesn’t want to tell you anything, Levi. And he wouldn’t ever if he had the choice.” He braced himself as he noticed her hands balled at either side of her waist. “You’re so goddamn bent on policing him that you forget to parent him, and you’re nothing but an authoritarian that feeds him. Our son has the biggest heart, and by the way you treat him, he would never know that he got any of it from you because you act just like your father figure, not his.”

Levi prided himself on his steel-like aplomb. But if anyone could melt steel, it was Y/N and any selection of words that came from her heart. Often times, they were sweet—almost cloying as he felt he never deserved her praise. This time, they were filled with venom and provided a sensation no different than someone plunging a blade between his lungs. In fact, each of his breaths in following were shaky at best.

Y/N knew that Levi hated being likened to the weasel of a man that raised him almost as much as he hated the man himself. Still, she pressed on, resolved to defend Eren and put an end to the struggles he had with his dad. “You’re silent,” she pointed out. “Because you know it’s true. I’ve tried so many times to get you to understand, to be more gentle with Eren, and you just aren’t. Today would have been the perfect opportunity for you to bond with him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t even treat him like he was worth something. You didn’t reason with him. You didn’t listen, you didn’t explain the why’s or even make sure he wasn’t being hurt by what was happening. You just cursed at a child– My child for having empathy. And you let him sit out in the rain, grieving and crying alone.”

Nausea washed over Levi as the color drained from his face. He felt as though someone had tied an anchor to his lungs and allowed them to dangle precariously in his chest. Tears sprung to his eyes when he realized that the way Y/N described the evening’s events were simply how it happened for Eren. While Levi had been driven by his compulsion toward cleanliness, Eren was acting on his innocence. The child wasn’t hardened by and consequently numb to death like his father was. Eren only saw an injured animal, retrieved it then looked to his dad for help. And Levi had sent him away, practically abandoning him. Even if it was just for the moment that he’d lost his temper, the impact on Eren was irrevocable.

He started to fix his lips to apologize, but he knew the words would be insultingly inadequate given the circumstance. “What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asked thickly.

By the time his words were out, it seemed an eternity had passed and Y/N already had most of her back to him. What he could see of her face was a perfect and painfully personal illustration of disillusionment. “I want you to stay here, with Eren.”

“What?” Levi felt his own voice sounded like a distant echo in the room.

“I can’t stand to look at you, to be perfectly honest. And you hurt Eren more than you’ll ever know. You need to fix this—all of it while he’s young or you’ll never have the relationship with him that I always wanted for the both of you.”

Y/N turned to walk away again, but in this instance, it felt more final. It was why Levi threw his hand out toward her as if it had any power to halt her from such a distance. “Now you stop right there,” he ground out, masking his misery with a roughness. “You can’t just leave after the shit you’ve said. So where the hell do you think you’re going?”

She paused, providing truth in her earlier statement by keeping her eyes trained on one of the pristinely cleaned tiles. “I’m going to say goodbye to Eren then going to my mom’s house. And if he’s not attached to you by the time I get back, then you can set up a new living arrangement with her.”

[chipper-smol]

*cracks my writing knuckles bc my artistic patience isn’t enough to fill the ambiance and tone properly*

2K WORDS. JUST FOR YOU GUYS

Was their ire and spiteful nature exclusively directed at the Pale King? Some retainers of the palace would say yes. Others would object and say it extended to the Five Great Knights as well since Ogrim had yet to hold onto his charm for longer than a day and Hegemol continued to wield a pole instead of a mighty hammer.

Well if you asked the source, they would simply stare at you silently, but you might get the impression that they had strong opinions (a wild thing for a vessel to have) on a few individuals other than the King.

Which is why the Feral Vessel is currently running for their life with the Great Nailmaster Sly hot on their back.

“Give it back you impetuous brat!” Sly roars behind them as he bounces off the walls at unfathomable speeds. Ghost, now going by Feral, is only surviving thanks to their knowledge of Sly’s moves from the Godseeker’s Pantheons. Sly’s jumps are still wildly unpredictable to them, but their now longer legs help them meet the speed needed to dodge the flea’s grabs.

Why are they doing this in the first place?

Well because when a rule is made that the Feral Vessel isn’t allowed a nail in the palace, or in any location in Hollownest, the only reasonable way to follow that rule, if you are said Feral Vessel, is to obtain nails of increasing ridiculous sizes. They first took their sibling’s old nail after the Pure Vessel grew out of it, and then they continued from there. They thought of borrowing Sheo’s nail for a day, but they quickly realized after finding the three Nailmasters that they were still the three Nailstudents. They were adorable but small and didn’t have their nails.

So Sly was there and Feral had some lingering rage left over from the Pantheons and well, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Two aspids with one stone. Now they were finding out that conceptualizing that plan and executing that plan were completely different things.

How do they get him off their back!? They already tried losing him through the maze that is the White Palace but they could not build any distance between them and Sly to make the endless corners and hallways useful. They need something- anything-

A-HA! One of Hornet’s web traps! (ingenious sticky things that clung ruthlessly to the clothing of the royals that walked this palace.)

Feral musters up their soul to push themself into one last burst of speed. They dash over the top of the trap just as they hear Sly zooming right at their back. With a twist of their leg and a firm grip on the oversized nail they spin at the last moment and swat the flea with his own nail into the poorly hidden nest of sticky silk.

The indignant yell of rage made that whole marathon worth it.

Not wanting to squander their momentary freedom from Sly’s wrath, they quickly turn and hightail it out of there.

Left. Straight. Left. Right. Straight. Straight. Up. Up. Right. Left-

That should be enough, right? Feral slows down and leans against a wall to catch their breath. Great Pale Beings they have not felt that much adrenaline since the first time they danced with Grimm. They were safe, for now. Feral straightens up, adjusts the greatnail onto their back and looks around.

...

They glance back from where they came.

Where... is this? They know the palace like the back of their hand, even without the buzzsaws. This corridor isn’t familiar. There is only one open doorway with a shining pale light gently leaking into the tiled hallway. Curious yet cautious they approach. They had a sharp greatnail after all.

They step into the light and freeze as they see the towering form of the Queen leaning like a drifting tree over a lush bush. Her back was turned to them, maybe they could-

“Vessel,” her voice, even though a whisper is loud enough to seem like she’s speaking at normal volume. Feral had noticed that with all of the higher and pale beings they’ve known. They all whisper.

Still, they had conflicting feelings toward their mother that they hadn’t yet put into words. They were avoiding her. They still want to avoid her.

“Come, garden with me,” she says, not lifting her head an inch from her work. Feral itches to disobey, but the urge feels wrong. It doesn’t carry the same gleeful note that comes with directly ignoring the King’s orders. They don’t have a solid reason to dislike their mother and it doesn’t feel right to force one either.

It’s not often they feel hesitant, but the Queen has a fae-like air about her. She could hide cruel remarks in what seem to be compliments. They had seen her pick apart arguments to the letter until her opponent had nothing else to say. She wields her words like she would a nail, and a battlefield of diction is an area Feral is massively lacking in. Hopefully she doesn’t want much. Hopefully she wants them to retrieve some confusing herb or something.

Carefully, they enter the room— a green house— and slowly make their way over to the White Lady’s side. They peer over at what she’s tending to. It looks like a bundle of dozens of little blue buds. Her hands glow underneath and the flowers respond by drifting up gradually and opening their delicate petals.

Feral watches quietly.

“They are not what they make themself appear to be,” she says after a long pause. Feral tenses. She reaches to her side where a basket of tools hangs from a kingsmould that Feral didn’t realize was there and picks up a humorously small pair of scissors compared to her massive hands. She carefully begins to snip the bases of those small flowers, collecting them in one hand as they fall, “My senses may be fading as things do with time, but I am not yet so blind to see that they know things that they should not.”

Feral never tried to hide their emotions and personality when they emerged from the Abyss, but they found themself smothering their nervousness before it could leak out of them.

“… they are nervous?” The Queen finally turns to look at Feral with her slightly glassy blue eyes, “I did not intend my words to be a threat, but their reaction proves my thoughts correct.”

Feral maintains as much eye contact as they can before turning their gaze to the floor. The full force of a pale being’s attention wasn’t a thing most bugs could endure. She watches them. Silent. Considering.

“It is odd. I have wanted children of my own for so long, yet what I have received from this world is curious,” she turns back to the blue flowers and snips two more into her hand, “one offspring that is meant to be empty, yet wishes to be a child, and one offspring that acts like a child, yet has experienced more than a child should have.”

Feral feels an odd twisting in their gut. They want to leave, yet they now also want to stay. The Queen is perceptive, that was never a doubt and perhaps another reason why they avoided her. The fear of being known. Yet… now they are known and it’s more of a relief than anything. They slowly look back to her as she places the scissors back in the basket.

“I have wondered why, but I cannot come to a conclusion that satisfies me,” she places three flowers in her spare hand and begins to braid the stems, adding flowers as the braids start becoming short.

“Why do they hold their branch as if it were the familiar handle of a nail? Even though they are forbidden from holding their own?” More flowers are added into the craft she is making. It’s beginning to look circular. Feral watches quietly.

“How do they know to get charms and spells on their own?” She glances over at them, but doesn’t meet their eyes. They sense her gaze on their horns. She looks back down at the flowers and makes some sort of adjustment.

"Why do they stare at things that are not there?” Feral’s throat tightens with that question- or observation?

The Queen finally finishes whatever is in her hands and takes a step over to the Feral Vessel and leans down with an alien-like grace. Feral blinks as she threads the circle of flowers over their horns to then rest right at the base of their horns. They do not know why she is doing this, but they would not dare fight it. They have no desire to.

Her hands drift down from their horns to their face to gently cup and hold. Their eyes gently flutter. The warmth from her root palms seep into their mask as if they were sitting in a hot spring. With the warmth comes a feeling of peace. Understanding. Their eyes close and before they can catch themself they lean into her touch. They miss how her eyes soften as she rubs one of her thumbs against their temple.

“I thought I had been mistaken before, but I have noticed that their pranks on my beloved Wyrm have grown half hearted,” Feral’s chest sags in a mock-sigh and, not knowing why, they nod.

“Has the novelty of his frustrated yells gone stale?” They shake their head, shoulders lightly quivering as if laughing. They crack their eyes open to catch the end of a smile from their mother.

“Why is it then? Why have they lost their fire?”

Feral stays silent as that was all they can do, but the tightening of their brow and the way they pull away from the warm comfort of their mother’s hands speaks hundreds of unspoken words. They glance at their hands, clenching and unclenching them.

When they re-awoke at the bottom of the Abyss surrounded by the thousands of masks of their dead siblings they thought they had dream nailed the black egg at the bottom of the Abyss again, though they did not know how. Soon they realized after getting to the top alongside their sibling that it was not a dream, but reality. To their delight, they could act on their spans of anger and spite they had toward the Pale King.

They thought that once they had their fun they would go and defeat the Radiance by finding the Godseeker in the trash pit. They would scale the pantheons and destroy the infection before the Pure Vessel was sentenced to waste away in the Temple of the Black Egg. It was simple so they didn’t think hard about it.

Until they realized they didn’t have the dream nail. They stressed for a bit, but then thought they could go find the seer and ask for it again! When they made their way to the Resting Grounds however, her little burrow was nowhere to be seen. They truly panicked then, scouring Hollownest for any moths they could find, but the few ones they found were not the Seer. When they held up their, admittedly, crude drawings of the dream nail they were met with confused stares.

They felt scared, frustrated, anger, desperation and then numbness.

They had been trying to run away from these thoughts, but now they were back and plainly showing on their face for the Queen to read like a tablet. There is a long silence between them before her melody-like voice whispers once more.

“Do they know how to write?” She asks.

They shake their head. No. They barely knew how to read and that was from noticing patterns in the tablets and signs they stumbled across in Hollownest. The Queen stands up and with her Feral’s eyes follow.

“I will teach you my child. Come, and perhaps while you learn you may give me your name. Feral is such a harsh word to be called by.”

Feral watches the White Lady as she walks deeper into the greenhouse. Did she just… say she was going to teach them how to write? They would never have a voice to speak on their own with, but to have the power of script in their grasp…

Excitement sparks their step as they quickly run back to her side, looking up at her with such strong wonder that she can’t believe she ever doubted her offspring weren’t hollow. The crown of flowers bounce on their head with each eager step.

“Now it will take some time for us to get the right writing utensils, but perhaps the first thing you could tell me when you can write is how you got that massive nail on your back.”

[sylvies-chen]

Test Runs

Summary: Matt agrees to help Sylvie babysit a 5-month-old Brian Cruz for the night to help Chloe and Joe out, and gets a glimpse at a life with Sylvie he thought he could only ever dream of.

Words: ~5.5K

Warnings: None?? It’s just pure baby fever and heart eyes and canon-compliant established Brettsey

Tagging: @fighterkimburgess Cíara, this one’s for you. I hope you enjoy your much anticipated gift— and some very long, plot-less tooth rotting fluff :)

A/N: I don't know what this is and I'm pretty sure I zoned out while writing this so let me know what you think of this because this is the least edited thing I've ever written lol

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Matt’s in the locker room at the end of a tiringly long shift when he hears Sylvie’s voice coming from behind him.

Their shift has been filled with an endless amount of intense calls. House fires, a harrowing ambo call according to Sylvie, car crashes galore. He’s more than ready to go home and enjoy his next few days off. He and Sylvie had even agreed to make tonight a date night, staying in with a bottle of wine and watching a movie (or, in their case, not watching a movie). It makes him even happier to be done with this shift. Just a regular, normal, peaceful night.

That’s what it’s supposed to be, at least. Only he hears his girlfriend’s voice and, instead of its usual soothing effect on him, is filled with something tense and nervous. He turns around and lo and behold, Sylvie’s standing in front of him with a perpetual wince.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“I may or may not have told Joe and Chloe I’d babysit Brian for them tonight,” she explains nervously, her palms stretched out flat against each other. “Which means I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that date night we’d planned.”

Matt instantly finds it hilarious that she’d been so worried to tell him about it. “Sylvie, it’s fine,” he assures her. “Date night can be any night, we’ll just postpone it for another day.”

“Really? You’re not bummed out?” “I’m extremely bummed out,” he corrects her, his hands flying to her arms and rubbing circles on them gently with his thumbs. “But I’m not mad. I just wanted to spend time with you after a long shift, that’s all.”

“I know,” she sighs. “I’m sorry. Joe just kept going on and on about how he and Chloe haven’t had a minute to themselves since the baby was born and I just remember thinking how, if that were you and I, it’d make me really sad not getting to have a night off with you.”

Matt swears his heart melts right then and there. Sylvie’s compassion is pretty much endless but when she mixes it with that adorably longing look in her eye, and with words like that? Yeah, Matt’s a total goner.

Things between him and Sylvie have been going so great. They’re going on six months and not a single day goes by where he doesn’t feel like the happiest guy in the world. He knows tonight is one of their only nights off between shifts and he’d prefer not to have to share her quite yet during those nights but Joe and Chloe are their friends, Sylvie was right to offer them a kind gesture.

So an idea forms.

Matt’s always been good with kids, he’ll never complain at getting the chance to look after one. Especially not when it’s with the woman he loves. Besides, he sort of loves the idea of spending the night watching Sylvie gush over Brian Cruz. She was sort of adorable with Amelia, he can only assume it will be the same with Brian.

So much for a normal, peaceful night. (Although frankly, Matt thinks normal is overrated.)

“What if I came with you?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “What if I looked after him with you? I’m sure Joe and Chloe wouldn’t mind, I’d be more than willing to give you an extra set of hands.”

She gives him a puzzled, slightly skeptical look. “So you mean to tell me,” she starts, “that you want to spend one of your few nights off in between shifts babysitting a screaming, crying, spitting five-month-old baby, just… because I am?”

“That’s sort of the idea, yeah,” he chuckles. “I’m good with kids, I can handle a little spit-up. Besides, I’ll take any time I can get with you.”

Ok. So maybe that was a little cheesy. It still rings true nonetheless. Spending time with her in any capacity is good enough for him-- and he has a feeling this will be a lot of fun.

She seems to think the same thing too, and smiles sweetly at him. “How did I get so lucky?”

“You just are,” he shrugs amusedly and leans in to kiss her soundly, sinking into it for a minute before he realizes he shouldn’t get carried away when they’re in the locker room. He’ll save the PDA for Stella and Severide. When he pulls away, she moves to pick up her bag and shut her locker, the two of them ready to leave. “So I’ll pick you up then? What time did they want you there?”

“5:00. But I should warn you,” Sylvie warns teasingly with a pointed index finger. “I will be singing a lot of Wiggles songs. It will not be sexy.”

He lets out a chuckle from deep in his chest and Sylvie returns the laugh as she heads out of the locker room and to her car. Even when she’s gone, Matt can still feel himself smiling like an idiot.

Like he said: Sylvie Brett makes him feel like the happiest guy in the world.

“Hey. You’re in a good mood.” Matt’s about to get his own bag and leave when he turns around to see Severide coming into the locker room.

“Yeah, well, I’m on babysitting duty tonight,” he explains. “With Sylvie. Joe and Chloe needed some time off so she volunteered and I thought I’d tag along.”

“Uh-oh,” Kelly teases. “I sense a little baby fever coming on.”

“What? No, Sylvie’s not baby-crazy, it’s not like that.”

“I’m not talking about her,” Severide explains. “I’m talking about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You’re a sucker for kids, man. You’ve wanted them for as long as I’ve known you. You’re going to have that little pipe dream back in your head by the end of the night, I’m telling you,” he warns, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I’ll be fine,” Matt grumbles in response. “I think I can handle one night of babysitting. Besides, we’re just helping Cruz. Kids are something for down the line. Way down the line.”

“So you have thought about it,” Kelly replies victoriously, raising a single, cocky eyebrow.

“What about you and Kidd, huh?” Matt knows deflecting won’t work forever, but he’s not ready to admit to himself that he has thought about it, nevermind Severide. So switching the subject back onto his best friend seems like the safe option. “You’re the ones who are married now. You two haven’t thought about having kids?”

Kelly bites his tongue, blushes slightly. It’s a rare occurrence for him, but one reserved uniquely for all matters related to Stella. “Maybe,” Severide shrugs. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.” Matt huffs, picking up his bag and shutting his own locker. “I can handle myself. I was just giving you a heads up in case you wondered why I wasn’t at the loft. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Matt heads out after that making a beeline for his truck before anyone else can question him about this.

Severide doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He and Sylvie are enjoying their time together right now, taking things at their own pace. Matt’s not about to ruin that for some fantasy he had that’s slowly dissipated. After all, what’s the point in wanting kids if you don’t have someone you want to have them with? After Gabby, he’d given up on that until what was once a pipe dream became something completely irrelevant and blurry in the back of his mind. Besides, six months of dating is a little soon to be thinking about that. There’s about a million steps they have to go through first, a million milestones before kids would be in the question. So yeah. He and Sylvie are not in any rush. For now, Matt is perfectly happy to be able to wake up to her for as many mornings as he can. Just him and her. That’s always going to be enough for him, no matter what. His small fantasies are a thing of the past.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he drives home to the loft and gets ready to pick Sylvie up. He repeats it over and over until eventually, it doesn’t feel like a lie anymore.

********

When Sylvie hops into his truck, she’s wearing jeans and an old graphic t-shirt. She figures it’s best to wear something she won’t mind dirtying a little. She explains this to Matt when they’re in his truck and he nods thoughtfully at her smart thinking. He even leans over to kiss her on the cheek while waiting for one of the traffic lights to turn red. Only then does it truly register in Sylvie’s head about what they’re doing tonight.

They’re really, truly, spending an entire night together with their friend’s adorable baby.

She really hadn’t expected Matt to offer his help tonight. She doesn’t need the help-- Sylvie knows her way around a five-month-old, after all-- but he’d offered it anyway which somehow makes it even sweeter. Joe and Chloe had been more than okay with it. There’s no one more decent and reliable than Matt Casey, after all. Together, Brian Cruz is guaranteed to spend the whole night being showered with love. She’s sure of that, so she’d obviously been thrilled to have him tag along for babysitting. Until the weight of it all sinks in, that is.

Things between them have been going so great. It’d taken them longer than she’d hoped to sort out their feelings but it’d made the release all the more satisfying. They’re here now, together. And even though they’re only six months into this relationship, she knows that she’s never backing out. This is it; for both of them. It adds an extra layer to her happiness, knowing that everything she does with him will be her last firsts. It’s wonderful and beautiful in all the best ways. They’re still fairly early on in their relationship though. She doesn’t have an exact plan for the future-- it’s the only thing she can’t plan out thoroughly, unfortunately-- but she knows six months is still fresh in the grand scheme of things. And whereas she thinks a kid or two might be nice, it’s still too early to have a conversation that’s that detailed with him. Up until now, she’d been perfectly fine avoiding that talk. Now though, it’s going to be the big, plus elephant in the room. They’re getting a glimpse at what it would be like to have a kid together. It seems silly, but she’s almost scared to let her mind wander.

She goes over it in her head quietly in the car. It’s not a big deal, she reminds herself. They’ll just look after Brian, have some fun, and put him to bed at a reasonable hour. And most importantly, under no circumstances will daydreaming about their future be allowed. Ever.

They reach Joe and Chloe’s house and Matt takes her hands as they reach the front door. She’s been quiet the rest of the car ride, ever since he kissed her on the cheek. She’d gotten so preoccupied reminding herself not to get ahead of herself tonight that it’d picked up his attention, but she gives his hand a gentle squeeze as they wait for Joe and Chloe to answer the door and he smiles, thinking nothing of her quiet mood.

“Hey,” Joe greets them when the front door finally opens. His face is beaming, and it really dawns on Sylvie how excited he must be for tonight. He and Chloe haven’t been out of the house for weeks, never spending more than five minutes alone without baby Brian Cruz. “Come on in.”

Sylvie flashes a friendly smile and lets go of Matt’s hand to step inside, looking around the place. Chloe’s putting her earrings on in the mirror, preparing the finishing touches of her date night outfit. Which, in Sylvie’s opinion, is gorgeous. Saying her friend looks amazing is almost an understatement. “Don’t you look fancy,” Sylvie teases from behind Chloe. “Sylvie! We’re so glad you two were able to make it,” Chloe cheers, leaning in to give Sylvie a tender hug and then doing the same for Matt. “Thank you so much for this. We owe you one.” “Don’t worry about it,” she hears Matt speak. “I think we’re both just happy to lend a helping hand, right?”

He looks to Sylvie with raised eyebrows, and she nods in agreement. “Yes, we really are. You two seriously deserve some time off.”

“You’re right about that,” Joe nods. “I thought being a firefighter would mess with my sleep schedule but it’s nothing compared to this kid.”

“Where is Brian anyway?” She asks.

“He’s in his crib right now, hang on,” Chloe tells her, stepping into the room next to them and pulling Brian out of his crib. The little boy sits perfectly against his mother’s chest, his feet dangling slightly. He’s wearing a onesie too, the light blue fabric covered with little robots. It’s quite possibly the cutest thing Sylvie’s ever seen and she has to fight back the urge to coo at him.

“Say hi to Auntie Sylvie and Uncle Matt, sweet cheeks!” Chloe coos to her son, grabbing his tiny hand and waving it at Sylvie and Matt for him. He can’t talk yet but he flashes a smile at them and it melts Sylvie’s heart. Man. Tonight is going to be amazing and yet so tough to get through. “So there’s fresh formula in the fridge but we just fed him so he should be fine for the night. His toys are all laid out on the floor if he needs tummy time and we normally put him to bed at 7:00. If there’s anything you guys need or any questions, just call us. We’re bringing our phones with us and the number for the pediatrician is on the counter just in case,” Joe explains to them.

“Got it,” Sylvie nods.

“Ok,” Chloe nods to herself, handing Brian over to Sylvie. The small boy fits just as nicely against Sylvie’s chest but he tries to turn his head as soon as she holds him, urgently looking for his mom. Chloe stands back, staring at Brian nervously. “I gotta go now, buddy. I’ll see you later.”

“It’s harder than you expected, isn’t it?” Sylvie asks her, already well aware of the answer. Leaving your kid with a sitter is tough, she imagines, especially when it’s your first kid.

“Yes,” Chloe admits, slightly pained. “I know it’s only a few hours but we’re going to miss him.”

“We’ll take good care of him, we promise,” Matt assures them, already moving closer to Sylvie to see Brian and let his tiny hand wrap around his thumb. “Thanks again you guys,” Joe nods appreciatively.

“Of course, anytime. Now go on, have fun, you crazy kids,” Sylvie teases.

“Alright, bye!” Chloe keeps waving until their front door is fully shut, leaving Matt and Sylvie in total silence.

Matt glances at Sylvie up and down, taking in the sight of her with baby Brian, and something in his eye lights up. It sends a warm tingling down Sylvie’s spine, but he just nods at her. “He really is a cute baby.”

“I know,” she raves instantly. “Look at how small his little hands are!”

“You’re just so tiny, aren’t you, little buddy?” Matt talks to Brian, wiggling his hand.

Brian giggles, his arms wiggling amusedly at Matt’s gesture. He looks over at the front door though, waits expectantly for Chloe and Joe to come back in. A few seconds pass where Matt and Sylvie watch as Brian stares at the door. It’s almost as if everything that happens next happens in slow motion. They watch as his face turns back to Sylvie, his twinkling eyes turning sad as his face sours. The wail comes next, matched with flailing arms as Sylvie feels his body shaking in her arms.

He’s not hungry, Joe said he and Chloe just fed him. And he can’t be tired since they haven’t done anything with him yet. So really, he just misses his parents. It’s not all that abnormal for a kid his age but it still hurts Sylvie’s heart, watching this little guy wail in her arms.

“Oh no,” she blurts out, slightly panicked. “Shh, it’s okay! We’re right here. I know you miss your mommy and daddy but they’ll be back soon, I promise.”

He continues to wail, sticking his hand out and wiggling to try and get to the front door. “Who am I kidding, you don’t understand what that means,” she mumbles under her breath, beginning to bounce him.

His wailing isn’t as shrill after the bouncing starts but he’s still crying at a volume comparable to 61’s sirens. She tries her best to calm him down but it seems unsuccessful. Dammit. Sylvie and Matt aren’t five minutes into this night and Brian’s already crying.

The reminder that Matt’s there is enough to snap her out of it. Only she turns to where he was not five seconds ago and he’s gone. “Matt?”

“I’m in here, just a second,” he calls from the family room. Sylvie moves down the hallway away from the entrance to find him. When she does, he’s hovering over a small, wooden chest and rifling through it. Brian’s still crying as she pats his back and offers soothing hushes.

“I think we just broke Cruz and Chloe’s baby,” Sylvie tries teasing, her face still making a worried wince. “Shh, it’s okay Brian. You’re okay, it’s okay.” Matt grabs something out of the chest, moving to close the space between him, Sylvie and Brian. “Here,” he tells her, revealing the little, plush blue and green robot in his hand. “I figured a toy might distract him.”

“Right, good idea,” she nods, turning to meet baby Brian’s eye again as he grabs a fistful of her hair. “Uncle Matt has some of your toys, you want to play with them?”

Sylvie turns him so he can see Matt, who extends the soft plush robot and wiggles it playfully.

“I bet you like that one, huh? He even matches your pyjamas,” Matt points out.

Brian instantly becomes mesmerized with the toy, his eyes sparkling as they follow it’s trail as it moves in the air. His cheeks are still glossy with tears but he sticks out a hand to clumsily grab at the toy. The shift from upset beyond consolation to pure fascination with something so simple as a toy robot is enough to astound Sylvie-- and, admittedly, send relief washing through her body.

As soon as her shoulders relax, she feels Brian relax in her arms too. He even smiles as she wipes his cheeks clean of the tears, pointing towards the toy and cooing incoherently. Matt keeps wiggling the toy and bobbing his head along with the toy, eventually handing it to Brian and letting him play with it on his own. He squishes the robot’s rectangular head, then mimics Matt’s movements with it and moves it around in the air. Sylvie watches in happy surprise. She’s about to move her head to send a bewildered yet appreciative look at Matt but when her eyes look up, he’s already looking at her. There’s a slight twinkle in his eye, similar to the one Brian had when he saw the robot. It’s nothing but pure wonder, and her heart skips a beat.

Up until now, she’d been trying to keep herself from getting ahead of herself. Apart from the logical reasons of it being really early and soon on in their relationship, Sylvie also just doesn’t want to freak him out with baby fever. But he’s staring at her as she coddles Brian, a smile dancing over his face, and it seems pointless.

Maybe she’s not the only one picturing them doing this with a kid of their own.

Maybe, he’s just as much of a daydreamer as she is.

********

Matt’s not trying to give himself away too much. He swears he isn’t.

But damn. If Sylvie with this little Cruz baby isn’t the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, he doesn’t know what is. It’s been an hour since they arrived at the Cruz residence. An hour since they’d walked in and immediately had to deal with a screaming, crying baby Brian. Thankfully, they mellow out pretty quickly after that. Matt and Sylvie pull out as many toys as they can and try to distract him. His tears dissipate as they play around, keeping the young child preoccupied.

Sylvie, as promised, even starts dancing and singing Wiggles songs. Matt started out singing and dancing with her but Brian had tried crawling away while they were both up so he’s now sitting next to Brian, who’s on his stomach on his mat in the family room propping himself up to watch the show as Sylvie keeps dancing and singing.

“The Big Red Car rolls along the street

And to all the people that we meet, we like to say hello

Say hello! To the people that we meet!”

Sylvie sings, spins around, and does comically dramatic gestures as Matt claps along with Brian, making a few sound effects himself to help out with the number. The songs are too catchy not to sing along, so he does. That just seems to make the baby giggle even more, and he tries crawling over closer towards Sylvie.

She finishes the song and does small but amusing jazz hands, practically out of breath. “That was exhausting,” she exhales heavily. “How’s that for entertainment, little guy?”

He coos and waves his arms around in the air, trying to cheer for her. Matt chuckles and claps along himself, keeping an expectant eye on Brian.

The baby keeps wagging his arms though, and when they realize he’s asking for an encore Sylvie leans over with her hands on her knees in exhaustion. “You want more of this?” She addresses Brian, not expecting a response. “We’ve been at this for nearly an hour, I’m getting more of a workout from this than from Foster’s infamous spin classes. How is he not more exhausted?”

“Different sleep schedule, I guess,” Matt shrugs. “Don’t worry, you can tap out and I’ll take over.”

“More romantic words have never been spoken,” she replies teasingly with a relieved groan. She wipes at her brow and moves to find space on the mat but instead of the encore, Brian turns to her.

“Oh,” Matt says. “Looks like he doesn’t want more singing and dancing after all.”

The young boy starts reaching for Sylvie’s hair, grasping at the blonde strands that fall just above her shoulders. He manages to find a fistful but Sylvie pulls him in closer so he can grab her hair without yanking it. “I think he likes you,” Matt points out with a grin. “Good, my plan is working,” she teases, resting her head ever so lightly on Brian’s head. “I’m hoping to work my way up to his favourite aunt by the time he’s two. I’m going to be your favourite, aren’t I, little man?”

Brian coos in her lap, smiling wide at Sylvie. But he looks over at Matt and reaches out from Sylvie’s hold to grab at Matt’s hand too. Matt’s heart melts.

“He seems to like you too,” Sylvie adds.

“Yeah, I’ve never met a baby with so much trust in people,” Matt replies. “And so many robot toys too. What’s up with that?” He gestures at the spread of robot toys they arranged in a row on Brian’s mat.

“I think Joe was hoping he’d get him interested in tech stuff like Otis was,” Sylvie explains, a wistful sigh falling over her. Matt gets serious too-- not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of their dear, fallen friend. Thinking of where Brian Cruz gets his name from is always a sharp reminder of Otis, and this new piece of information doesn’t make it any better.

Matt throws Sylvie a sympathetic look, which is returned. There’s nothing much to say to that, nothing but to let there be a gentle and solemn moment of silence as Brian wiggles in Sylvie’s criss-crossed legs on the floor.

The silence is broken when he crawls out of Sylvie’s lap, slowly finding his way to Matt. Somehow, some way, he can sense Matt’s heavy heart and reaches to grab his hand. Brian doesn’t try to lift it, just puts one hand around Matt’s thumb and one around his pinky. He looks up at Matt, his eyes twinkling energetically.

“I bet your mom and dad tell you all sorts of stories about Uncle Otis, don’t they?” Matt asks as he lifts Brian into the air. He giggles, waving his arms and toes in his little onesie. Matt knows the kid can’t talk yet but he takes that as a yes. When Matt brings him back down from the air, he presses a kiss to the kid’s forehead and pulls back with the small smack of his lips. It makes Brian laugh even more.

Man. He really is a cute kid. Maybe Severide was right, maybe Matt’s already feeling that little pipe dream of his coming back. Because he’s sitting there with this tiny little kid in his arms, having the time of his life as Sylvie watches them amusedly, and it feels like he’s getting a glimpse at their future. The idea of a family, one with someone he loves as much as Sylvie, feels so right. It’s enough to send a warm and electric feeling throughout his body.

“This is fun,” Matt admits to her, meeting her eye with a hesitant but hopeful gaze.

Sylvie pulls her lip in between her teeth, fighting a smile. “Yeah, it is,” she nods. “It’s nice, I’m glad you offered to tag along. It’s like a little test run.”

“Test run?” Her eyes widen slightly and her cheeks heat up ever so slightly, to the point where Matt thinks he imagined it for a second. “I-- I mean, for babysitting,” she backtracks, shaking her head. “You know, if Joe and Chloe decide somewhere down the line that they need more nights out.”

Matt’s heart skips a beat.

Sylvie’s a terrible liar. She knows it, he knows it, all of 51 knows it. He can tell when she’s fibbing. She gets all flustered, fumbles her words just like she is now. Only now, he can see right through it and it excites him beyond comparison. He can see it in her eyes: she’s been thinking about kids just as much as he has.

“Right,” Matt chuckles lightly, going along with it. “For babysitting.”

She knows he can see right through him and sucks in a sharp breath. She looks more hesitant than he does now. “I don’t know, a kid or two might be nice somewhere down the line,” she admits nervously. “Right?”

“It would,” he replies softly with a smile. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it once or twice tonight.”

“Really?” When Matt nods, she smiles and her shoulders relax.

“Well Severide said I should probably keep that to myself but I don’t care.”

“I don’t want you to keep it to yourself,” she tells him firmly but kindly. “You, Matt Casey, are always allowed to share what you see in our future with me. Okay?”

“Okay,” he nods happily. “I guess this test run isn’t so bad then, is it? If we’re on the same page about things.”

“No, it isn’t.” Her eyes light up and it’s all the confirmation Matt needs that he’s not alone in his baby fever. Their eyes stay fixed on each other, a soft and exciting tension washing over them.

The moment, however, is interrupted by Brian. He’s still in Matt’s arms but Matt suddenly hears what is probably the quietest, cutest yawn he’s ever heard come from Brian’s mouth.

“It’s getting late,” Sylvie realizes.

“Yeah, his bedtime was…” Matt checks the clock and his eyebrows immediately shoot up. “Twenty minutes ago?”

Sylvie looks at the baby in Matt’s arms, surprised. “You really had a lot of energy tonight, didn’t you? You were dancing past your bedtime, little buddy!” “Well I don’t blame him, your performance was very entertaining,” Matt muses. “Maybe a little too good,” she realizes with a giggle. “Come on, let's put him in the crib.”

“Aw come on,” Matt pleads. “Just a few more minutes? I don’t think he wants to move.”

“You are a bad influence, Matt Casey.” Sylvie shakes her head amusedly. She soaks in the sight though and can’t resist. Brian is draped over Matt's chest, his head now resting on his shoulder as his eyes flutter tiredly. Matt’s hand covers the little boy’s entire back, rubbing circles on it gently as he stabilizes the boy. Sylvie bites her lip for the second time that night and Matt knows she’s going to concede. “He does seem to be comfortable there though,” she counters reluctantly.

“Very comfortable,” he corrects her. What can he say? He just wants to sit in this little fantasy of his for a little longer. He so rarely lets himself hope like this that it feels almost necessary to extend this for as long as possible. Besides, Brian Cruz is adorable, it’d be crazy if he didn’t think of a kid of his own-- at least a little-- while he’s here. “I, however, am not.”

“Well here, come up to the couch. That’ll be more comfortable for the both of you,” she tells him, her voice now hushed and soothing so as to calm Brian down and not interrupt his process of slowly falling asleep.

Matt carefully gets up and shifts onto the couch, Brian still in his arms. He leans back and lets Brian sprawl out against his chest. The boy is light, no more than 15 pounds, but it’s still enough to put a light pressure on Matt’s chest.

He doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s the opposite. He loves it.

Sylvie stands up too, clearing the toys off the floor as Matt watches Brian’s breathing, the rise and fall of the small boy’s chest against his. It’s weirdly soothing and he soon feels his breathing match Brian’s, his eyes fighting to stay open. The singing and dancing and playing around really took the energy out of both of them.

When she’s done, she looks down at the two fatigued boys, smiling gently at the sight before curling up next to Matt on the couch. She holds Brian’s hand with her index and her thumb, and runs a soft hand over his head, before Matt’s arm wraps around her shoulder and she tucks her head in the nape of his neck.

“That’s better,” Matt beams, a tired smile on his face. He moves to press a kiss to Sylvie’s forehead.

“Much better,” she agrees quietly. “But we shouldn’t stay like this forever. He’ll need to go to his crib soon.”

“We’ll put him there soon,” he tells her. “Just five more minutes, babe…”

********

Wake up.

She feels those words ring through her body like an alarm. It sends the lights in her brain slowly turning back on as she eases into consciousness.

The first thing she sees, just barely and surrounded by a tired blur in her vision, is Matt. Brian’s still on his chest, both of them sleeping soundly. She smiles to herself, noting how peaceful her boyfriend looks in this position. Everything feels so warm. She’s cuddled up next to him, he’s lying with the baby. It all seems so picture perfect. She revels in it, if only for a moment.

She looks up and realizes it’s been twenty minutes since they’d fallen asleep— and Matt had promised only five. For a minute, she considers waking him up and telling him to bring Brian to his crib. She decides against it though, choosing instead to cuddle back into him and relax.

Joe and Chloe are going to be back any minute now. But she’ll be damned if she doesn’t soak every minute of this moment in. Before they’d figured things out and gotten together, Sylvie had scarcely allowed herself to feel things for him, nevermind daydream about the life they could have. But she looks at them, sees how truly good and comfortable Matt is with Brian, and can’t stop now. It’s addicting, dreaming about her future with Matt Casey. She intends to chase that feeling like it’s her only fix, especially since now she knows he’s thought about it too. Her dreams are his; theirs.

To Sylvie, that makes for a pretty good test run.

She falls back into Matt’s embrace, the three of them dozing off. They don’t wake up again until Joe and Chloe come back.

It’s the first night Brian Cruz gets a full night’s worth of sleep.

[mandoinevarro]

Deep into the Wilderness

Words: 4.7k (this was supposed to be short but, alas, i am an asshole) 

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, sex pollen :0, dubious consent (see: sex pollen), a bit of size kink ö, multiple orgasms :O, light descriptions of blood, magic nature if you’re in the mood, incredible coincidences if you’re not

a/n: i genuinely thought this would be a lil drabble :/, also fuck snakes all my homies hate snakes

There’s something wrong about the stars.

Nights in the Tatooine desert are usually dim and still, as stoic as the Mandalorian who’s been journeying across the endless dune sea with you in your little caravan of two. These past few days, you’ve noticed that the jagged difference between coarse sand and smooth beskar are no obstacle for his ability to blend perfectly into his surroundings. For days, you’ve seen the bounty hunter cruise the barren wilderness like he was born in it, climbing the mounds of sand leisurely and offering his hand when the treacherous ground gives in under your feet and you tumble forward. Ever the gentleman. Silent and observant, he tends to adapt to the elements around him and mimic their energy, until he becomes part of the landscape. Tonight is no different.

The normally scattered and shy desert stars have all gathered in a cluster right above your modest campsite, blinking down at you white and yellow and red against an electric blue sky, bright enough to spare the need of a fire. You feel watched. The stars’ ghoulish eyes above trail your every movement. Waiting to witness something.

Yes, a meek voice inside lies for you, it must be the stars, as you purposefully try to ignore the crushing weight of the Mandalorian’s trained gaze on you, much heavier than the strong beskared arm resting on your upright knee. The tube of bacta ointment moves awkwardly under your fingers and, Maker, you know it won’t be enough. The small holes on the wool covering his arm reveal two angry red pupils gushing blood where the snake’s fangs pierced him; pupils that stare amused at the medical salve that they know and you know and Mando knows will do little neutralize the unknown toxin. You sit so close to him you can hear the hitch of his breath when you pinch the tube and white balm oozes onto your finger.

“I—Mando, I-I think we should get help.” It doesn’t help your nerves that the man to your left hasn’t stopped staring at you since the ruby red viper appeared from under the sand like a conjuring, going straight for the Mandalorian’s arm and slithering back inside its hiding place beneath the dunes before either of you could react. It was unnatural; desert creatures tend to linger in the shadows and never attack unless provoked. Then again, everything about this particular evening—including the bounty hunter—seems to be slightly off, like when something in a familiar place is moved, but you can’t figure out exactly what.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the voice under the modulator scratches at a  lower register than usual, gruffier in a way that would excite you and warm your belly if you weren’t so worried about the liquid currently poisoning his bloodstream. It must be the pain. “Two days by foot to the nearest town. Just use the bacta.”

You gulp and nod as firmly as you can manage, trying to quiet the whisper saying that bacta won’t cut it this time as you get your finger closer to his arm. It’s strange that he asked for your help—the bite is right on the pulse point of his inner elbow, where he could easily do it himself. Maker, just focus. He must have had a good reason to ask you. Plus, you’re not about to miss the promise of even the slightest physical contact with the Mandalorian, even if the situation is not exactly as you’ve fantasized all these months.

Your finger presses lightly into one of the gaps, and with a bit more force when you hear a raggedy exhale leave him. The opening the snake left behind is too small for your finger, and most of the bacta gathers around its edges, while barely any gets to the wound.

“I, um…I need to cut it—t-the fabric,” you stutter and, stars, you sound like an idiot, getting nervous over applying balm when you’ve seen him cauterize his own injuries with a steady hand, much to your horror. You can feel the way his eyes feed from your words as they study you carefully, somehow strengthening the gravity pining you to the ground. A strange static crinkles in the air between you, so real you almost hear it, and for a moment you feel the weight of his stare move past your face, lower down your body. By the time he finally nods and signals towards the open medical kit with a tilt of his helmet, you’re warm all over.

Stretching your torso just the right amount so that his arm doesn’t slip from your knee, you reach straight for the scissors in front of you. Your fingers pinch the fabric to lift it while your other hand works the clippers, cutting with tiny snip-snip-snips that do little to fill the tense silence between you. Why it’s even tense to begin with is beyond you. Sure, Mando got bitten by some unknown creature that could potentially be lethal, but the invisible rope getting stretched from both ends more and more between your bodies has little to do with the mishap. Stars, it feels like it’s pulling you closer and pushing you apart at the same time, and the arm on your knee suddenly feels like it’s burning through your pants. What would happen, you muse as you crank your wrist, if the rope gave in?  

The scissors close their circuit, and you lift a small circle of cloth, leaving the clippers aside. It’s a little bigger than it needed to be, but the Mandalorian doesn’t complain when you properly apply bacta on the lesion, sitting like a statue with the visor shining dark blue at your face. The stars reflect distorted on his helmet with judging eyes, like they can hear your thoughts. Like they just know how being so close to the man you think about to warm cold nights is making your heart pump more blood that you need. To places that definitely don’t need it.

You raise your other hand and rest it on his bicep. It’s only to pull the sleeve a little higher. To give you more room to work. And it’s only with that touch that he flinches.

You immediately lift both hands. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, does…does it hurt—?”

“—No.” Mando moves his good arm and grabs your hand roughly, bringing it to rest on his bicep once again. He clears his throat, unable to wash away the grainy strain on his voice. “No, it—it’s fine.” His large palm stays over yours for a moment, before pulling away slowly. Reluctantly.

You nod and continue your ministrations, massaging a little more bacta than necessary on the bite. Maker, you never want to stop touching him. The patch of olive skin burns hotter than the planet’s twin suns under your touch, and you feel under your other hand how every shift of your finger makes his bicep jump in response.

His flesh absorbs the ointment fast, and you’ve now covered even the surrounding area around the bite, so you lift your finger, a bit disappointed that your little moment of intimacy is over. Until you feel him tug at his end of the rope.

“Cut more,” he breathes, and you freeze before you can lift the hand off his arm, staring right at the visor with eyes round as moons.

“Cut—cut more? More cloth? Wh—”

“The venom will travel up my veins.” Mando’s voice is a little steadier, but it still doesn’t mask a strange tint of something that doesn’t sound quite like pain. “You need to check how far up it goes. If…if it goes into my chest…”

He doesn’t need to finish. You shuffle to your knees—a little clumsily because of the sand beneath—and let his arm fall to his side as you squeeze his strong bicep a little tighter. For support.

“Tell me when to stop.” The blades cut away at the fabric, revealing a vertical line of lovely skin with each snip. They go higher and higher, higher and higher, and it’s you who decides to stop when they almost reach his armpit. You rest the scissors next to your legs. The slit uncovers the upper half of his arm’s underside, and you can’t help it when one hand moves to rest on the pauldron and the other slips under the crevice to caress his skin.

Mando’s chest puffs with more air and moves quicker, and—fuck—he looks so broad like this. Sitting and injured, he still towers over you with the beskar and the mass of muscle beaten into him through years of fighting.

He could crush me. The idea pools hot in your core.

“What, uh, what am I looking for?” Your own voice is thick. It’s wrong, but you’re honest enough to admit it’s arousal.

“T-the veins.” You hear him gulp and imagine the apple on his throat bobbing up and down. “Feel around. Che—check if they’re protruding.” You comply, dragging your fingers up and down his burning, strong arm, getting caught up in how he tenses under your touch. He’s pulsing, sure enough, beating like a drum under your hand—you even manage to raise goosebumps when you give a test squeeze—but you can’t feel any veins.

“No.” The hunter exhales with relief and nods once, but his arm doesn’t follow, as it remains taut as wood. You don’t remove your hand. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into you.

An soft breeze raises a small cloud of sand and cools your face, whistling past you while it orders you to do it. “If it’s not pain,” you murmur, deciding it’s your turn to tense your end of the rope a little, “what do you feel?” You scratch your nails down his arm.

The gloved hand furthest away from you balls into a fist, clutching sand. “It—it, uh. It burns.” The words are dragged out and gritty, like they’re forcing their way out. He shivers and shuffles closer to you. “But—fuck—feels good. You—you feel good.” Encouraged, your nails sink into his flesh, testing the waters. Finally, it earns you a grunt, deep and rumbling its way between your thighs. In a split second, his arms fly to his shoulder, tugging at the cloak desperately, and you remove your hand from the opening to help him. It takes a few rough jerks, but the cloak eventually rips away from his pauldrons, and the Mandalorian throws it back. His hand travels to the side of his torso closest to you and signals. “Cut here.” He doesn’t offer an explanation this time.

Shit, you probably shouldn’t. But wetness is gathering around your folds and you’re not sure if you’ll actually get anywhere, but, Maker, you’re willing to try. Your hand is trembling when it finds the scissors next to you and you crouch slightly to cut away, eager and desperate to reveal more of the mysterious bounty hunter. This time, though, you don’t make a crevice, but instead cut a long rectangle from his waist to the side of his chest. You drop the scissors and the piece of fabric on top of the cloak and waste no time before your right palm crawls into the opening. Boiling skin welcomes your hand as it explores his naked torso, up a sturdy chest rising and falling rapidly, and back down again, savoring the sensation of soft skin over firm muscles flexing under your fingers. You stop at a trail of hair near his navel.

The Mandalorian growls. You scratch the hair lightly. The rope snaps.

Your hand slips outside when two hands grab your hips to lift you, setting you down to straddle Mando’s lap. You fall ungracefully, wobbling and grabbing at him to find your balance, until his steel arms wrap around your waist to press your chest to his. You grab his shoulders for support, and your warm breath clouds the beskar of his helmet. Your hips squirm unconsciously, making your core accidentally rub against something hard between the hunter’s legs. His grip on your back tightens and grinds you against him again, making him release a deep, primal moan against your ear. Fuck, you feel how hot liquid plops on your underwear as he ruts you against his erection, but somewhere in the back of your brain a puzzle solves itself in a snap and sends a pang of guilt to your chest.

“M-mando.” You sound whinier than you intended. “Mmando, I—I’ve heard about this, you’re poisoned, y-you don’t know what you’re d—”

“—Shut up,” he spits at you and pushes you roughly against him as a hand unwinds from your waist and wraps over your mouth. Your moans are muffled against his glove when a current shocks your body as your clit rubs just right over his bulge. You glance up at the stars, looking for guidance around the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break you, but they only stare back, burning brighter than before.

Suddenly, Mando pulls his hands away and pushes you off his lap. You fall back kneeling, worrying you’ve crossed a line somehow, but your anxieties disappear when you see him rip off his gloves and pull at your clothes hastily. You take the hint and help him undress you. The top garments he removes, but your underwear is ripped away and thrown to the side.

He whips around and finds his cloak, laying it on the sand and silently ordering with a finger to get on top. You shuffle on your knees until they reach the soft material, and—just when you’re about to turn around and beg him to touch you—the Mandalorian lifts the rectangle of cloth you cut away and wraps it around your eyes. Your vision gone but impossibly turned on, you feel his hands shove you back until you lay on the cloak.

Sand and hair tickle your face, and maybe it’s not the best idea to lay completely naked in the middle of a desert where you already know dangerous animals hide. The thought is quickly washed away by the heat of humid breath on your stomach. It throws you off for a moment, to feel a human gasp so clearly against your skin, but once you put two and two together the realization hits you so hard you slump limp on the ground.

The helmet…

You barely have time complete your thought. The Mandalorian climbs on top of you, a tuff of hair tickling your stomach. The trail of heat stops at your tits, where he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down hard. You whimper to the sky.

“F-fuck, what—” He cuts you off when he laps at the injured nipple with fast, wide strokes of his tongue, before sucking hard on it. One palm holds down your chest, as the other comes up to squeeze your other breast, kneading and pulling the soft flesh like dough. You try to bite down your whimpers, but it’s too fucking much and they tumble outside urgent and needy.

Fuck, you should push him away. You both need to calm down before he forgets your body is attached to a living, breathing person and tears you apart. You—you—

The atmosphere seems to fall down on top of you when two thick fingers sink to the hilt inside your open hole effortlessly. You hum at the bliss while Mando’s wet tongue travels between your breasts, up your sternum, and leans into the curve of your throat, stopping only until it reaches your chin. You’re starting to cramp beneath him, trying to push down on his digits, but his body is too heavy over yours and fuck, fuck, you want him inside you.

His hand wraps around your cheeks and presses them together, making your mouth give in to the pressure and open up wide. His tongue—still salty with the taste of your own flesh—barges into the cave of your mouth and messily drags across its walls, your tongue, the roof, somehow everything at once with aimless movements that lack rhythm or pace.

And then his fingers start pumping. They start fast and hard and only get faster and harder, as they curl into a hook and hit something that makes you see the stars outside through the blindfold. Mando moans against your teeth, and you swallow every vibration.

“Yeah? T-there?” His mouth moves away from yours and trails the edge of your jaw, stopping at the edge and biting your neck. The two fingers working inside you push upwards to make room for a third one, and the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your clit up and down. Your scream echoes in the empty space of the sterile desert, now buzzing with life. “R-right there? Hm?” His voice hangs thick in the air, mixing with the loud static in your ears. Through the haze, you wonder momentarily what his face looks like right now. Probably red and sweaty, popping a vein or two.

“Fuck, I don’t k-know…I—I have to…” The Mandalorian removes all three fingers at once, making you yelp at the emptiness that they leave behind. Your pussy clenches a second too late and pulses around nothing, as you move in the darkness to find him again. You open your mouth to beg, but he grabs your shoulders before you can even gather some broken vocabulary together and he turns you around, pressing your chest and face against the cloak.

Resting your cheek on the cloak, you grunt at the abrupt change of position. Five fanned out fingers press down between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements and compressing all the air out of your lungs. You can’t breathe and you can’t wait, too stimulated to backpedal now, but not enough to be satiated.

An arm wraps around your midriff and roughly lifts your hips. You hear heavy breathing behind you and some incoherent mumbling, as a zipper lowers.  

Something round and smooth pokes at your entrance.

Is…is that…?

It definitely feels like the head of his cock as it runs up and down your folds gathering moisture. It even twitches a little against your clit and he’s grunting with every movement but…but even without your sight to help it feels so big. It can’t be his cock, in what universe would he be that fucking bi—

A grunt and a slight retrieval of his hips for impulse is all you get as a warning before he slams into you, lurching you forward. It knocks every single thought out your head, jamming what little air you’d managed to inhale on your trachea. The stretch bites, straining against your walls at an uncomfortable angle. And then he grinds further inside, deeply and hard as the bulbous head of his cock stimulates just about every nerve inside your pussy at once. You choke on your own cry, desperately trying to hold on to some sanity as you focus on processing the burst of pleasure that casts a dark shadow over the pain. The feeling secures every muscle on your body so tightly you think your spine is going to snap.

And he holds there, pulsing angrily and breathing down hot against your shoulders. You feel a slow trail of flames burn your insides with every strong sequence of thum-thum-thums of his thick cock against your walls.

Stars, did he cum?  Is that why he’s throbbing so violently, did he cum? It’s hard to tell when you’re so wet you’re sure you’re going to dehydrate tomorrow and fuck you only get wetter with the strumming and Maker you know the snake was poisonous but…but could he really want you this much?  

He sucks in a gulp of dusty air through his teeth, grunts and holds you tighter, his arm strong as beskar around your midriff and a burning palm pressing you against the cloak, sinking it deeper into the sand.

Finally, the Mandalorian pulls out with a grunt, your hips following his with a sucking sound because of the grip of your walls against his girth. He stops right before the tip slips out, its ridge catching on your opening. And maybe whatever venom running through his veins dissipated because he doesn’t move for a second that feels like an eternity. Fleeting disappointment surges inside you because maybe…maybe it was just the serpent. Maybe he doesn’t really want you. You are the only fuckable thing for miles, and you’ve heard enough about the toxin to imagine how desperate he’d be. Stars, you feel like such an idi—

Mando’s hips suddenly crash against yours, sinking himself to the hilt.

You feel him everywhere. Fucking everywhere, even where he isn’t. The fat cock hammering into you randomly with no pace or metric, seemingly determined to taste every inch inside your cunt takes most of your attention, but the hand on your back kneads and pulls the thin skin there as best as it can. You try to brace yourself against something solid—anything—but when your hands form fists they find only handfuls of sand, and the delicate particles do nothing to steady you from the animalistic thrusts of the Mandalorian.

So you moan, long and high to try and release all the pleasure stockpiling inside of you with no exit routes. Mando answers with grunts all the way down in his glottis. A deep and angled snap of his hips hits you somewhere electrifying, and you feel something hot and liquid knot your pelvic muscles tighter. His skin slaps against yours obscenely, paired with the squelching of your pussy trying to engulf him deeper and deeper in spite of his size.

“T-take it,” you hear him growl behind you. Barely. Your ears ring and you can’t even listen to your own whimpers anymore. His length keeps coming, restless and infinite and fuck, you need to focus on something else, something outside to keep your head from slipping away. “Just—just f-fucking take me whole, you—"

Fuck, focus. Focus, count to ten, do something—

You grit your teeth and you can’t even warn him. Something drops into your pelvic muscles and you swear you can see the blue desert sky in a flash behind your eyelids and feel the blinking stars prickling the nerve endings on your back, making you spasm desperately. Your head spins, and you only feel pleasure. Only him.

Still half-passed out from your release, you hear it before you feel it. The wet sound contrasting the dry dunes of how he keeps using your cunt to get himself off. He’s not letting you come down, fall to the natural next step of your cycle and relax. Breathe. No, he keeps filling every last inch of you, faster now with the help of the additional wetness and holds you in that state of euphoria that keeps hitting you like a tide. Shit, are you cumming again?

“F-fuck—fuck—d-did you—ngh—cum? W-was that—” Another wave hits you and you clamp down mercilessly around him before he can get an answer. His long moan gets you wetter somehow, and you can’t even savor it before the strong forearm holding your waist pulls you upright against him.

Up is down as you try to figure out in the darkness where your body ended up. Something slumps behind you and pulls you down with it hard against the cushioning of the sand. You find yourself impaled on the Mandalorian’s cock, his chest to your back. He bends and opens his legs to grab yours, pulling them back and hooking them around his cuisses. Propped up with most of your weight on Mando’s hips, your feet barely graze the cloak below them.

You reach up to touch him but he beats you to it, wrapping his arms around your torso and grabbing the surely bruising skin of your tits. Your eyes roll back and you try you best to keep your head above the water, which proves incredibly difficult when you feel his lips on your jaw, his drool trailing down your neck. You turn your head and he doesn’t miss a beat before his tongue slips between your lips, tasting and exploring and almost drinking from you like you’re water in he’s been stranded in this desert for years.

Mando thrust up at you, resuming his senseless fucking. And maybe you’re a little greedy. Maybe it’s wrong, especially because you don’t have an excuse to act like this, but you roll down into his cock, wanting him everywhere and for as long as you can get him. His thrusts are almost impossible to meet and his thickness catches at your opening, but you work diligently—determined to have him buried as deeply as he wants to go. The beskar of his chest trembles against your shoulders with a vibrating, noiseless moan.

“You—you pretty t-thing,” he breathes lowly against your mouth. You grab his knees for support and push down harder. “I’ve want—wanted this—w-wanted you f-for so—so long.” He bites your lower lip. His voice sounds delirious.

Maker, it’s ridiculous. You’re bouncing your pussy on his stiff cock like an animal in heat, but his words warm your chest more than your core. You know it’s probably the poison talking, but you indulge in it. You let your hand cradle his cheek and bring your lips sweetly against his, pretending you’re his lover and not just a vessel for his release. He gasps into the kiss.

It’s with your lips that he finally lets go. It happens midthrust, so his cum spurts out of you and dribbles down his cock. It smears on your folds and, surely, on the cloak beneath. Stars, you’re shaking. Your legs spasm with the promise of another orgasm that almost—almost happened. Still holding you, Mando pulls out, and the rest of his seed spills on wool and sand.

What now? If not the sweat and the fucking, then his release surely evacuated the venom by now. The Mandalorian pants behind you, just as spent and exhausted, and what the hell are you supposed to say to each other now? You squirm uncomfortably at the dilemma, and your slit accidentally drags against something upright beneath you. Mando winces at the contact.

Maker, is he still hard? How—?

Fingers dig into your arms and force you forward and away from him. You fall on top of the cloak, barely pillowing your fall with your forearms before you feel the Mandalorian turning you around to face him.

You lay open below him, ruined and confused in the darkness as to what he’s planning for you next. Your clit pulses with equal parts arousal and apprehension at the uncertainty, but it decides for the former when you feel him dip his fingers in your entrance and scoop his cum and yours. The sound of him pumping himself faster and faster is muffled by his moaning. It’s filthy gibberish: loose words of everything he’s dreamt about doing to you; of how he’s going to fuck you over and over again; of how you’re going to take every drop of him; of how good it’s going to be for you.

Four fingers land on your clit and work it wetly up and down. A whine escapes you and you’re so sensible it almost hurts and your head swims and he’s still talking but there’s something…something sincere about his words. Something that hides beneath the frantic movements against your bud that feels almost reverent. Like the snake’s toxin only lifted a veil, revealing the Mandalorian’s pent up lust and primal instincts below his layers of unyielding discipline.

“S-so, so fucking good for me, so—"

You cry out when your walls tighten around nothing with powerful contractions, deciding at some point of the frenzy that consumes you that you’ll take advantage of this queer land and the limbo its night has thrown both of you into. Deciding you’ll let the Mandalorian explore his more primitive urges and fuck you into tomorrow, whatever “tomorrow” may mean for your relationship with him.

The sound of him fucking his hand quickens and you hear it closer to your body. You can’t tell exactly where.

“I—I—gonna c-cum.” His voice tightens in his throat. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” you answer breathlessly, and you mean it.

[roll-da-credits]

His Biggest Regret -Bakugou Katsuki x Reader-

Word count: 2.28k

After cracking down a big mafia operation on the other side of the globe, the entire alumni’s of UA’s 1st year finally gets together. The festive situation didn’t sit right with Bakugou who felt the overwhelming longing of someone he couldn’t have anymore.

!Warning!:

Mentions of death, mentions of injury, I think that’s it?

A/n: I honestly felt sad writing this haha, I’m kind of proud of it? Editting it was a hassle tho. Anyways, hope ya’ll enjoy some Bakugou (or Bakugo however you want to spell it) angst.

“Congrats Kacchan!!!” Deku playfully slaps the back of his childhood friend.

His smile was bigger than ever. Around Bakugou was his former classmates all talking away in their own little space.

It's been a long time since they all got together since their graduation. Every time anyone tried to plan anything, at least one of them couldn’t make it. But after a big takedown on a pesky Mafia group on the other side of the globe, they all agreed to take a break and celebrate.

The mastermind of the entire operation was the number 1 hero himself, Katsuki Bakugou. “Without you, I don’t think we’d be able to crack the operation.” Kirishima walked over to them with an equally bright smile.

“Tsk, of course! You extras would’ve gotten nowhere without me!!!” The group laughed together.

Some things just never change when it comes to their anger issues ridden former classmate.

“Then I shall make a toast!” Iida spoke loud enough to make sure everyone heard his voice. Everyone nodded and raised a glass. “To Bakugou, for cracking the mystery of Banana Fish.”

“And to all of us who worked together to finally end Golzine’s reign.” With that, everyone cheered and took a sip from whatever drinks they were holding.

Soon enough, endless chatter filled the entire room.

Smiles, laughter, and giggles could be heard from any point of the room. Old friends reconciling with each other. Old lovers mending their relationships. And old enemies finally apologizing.

It felt foreign to Bakugou.

Not the fact that they were all getting along. It wasn’t that.

It was the fact that everyone knew they were missing someone incredibly important.

They weren’t here right now.

He observed the private club with a keen eye. There were bottles of random drinks on almost every table, shot glasses also littered there.

His former classmates were always responsible drinkers. But today, they took shots after shots. Bottle after bottle.

Even Iida seemed to always have a different drink in his hand every time Bakugou would glance over.

He knew; it wasn’t to celebrate. It was to make sure everyone was too tipsy to say anything that would ruin the mood. It was to make sure that no one brought ‘them’ up.

Afterall, their busy schedules weren’t the only thing that stopped them from getting back together and hanging out.

They held fear in their eyes any time the thought of getting together would cross their minds. The thought of having to come face to face with their greatest failure as a hero, friend, and classmate.

Bakugou knew the feeling all too well.

When he was alone, there were plenty of things he could do to prevent his mind from wandering too far. But whenever he’d come across Deku or Shoto in missions or patrol.

If he were to strike a conversation, there’d always be a small silence that would almost always lead to them bringing up the topic of ‘them’.

“Heyyyy bakubrooo you should relax, you seem a little tense!!!” Kirishima’s words slurred.

It was close to 2 am, the party had already died down a little bit.

Some of his more responsible friends are already long gone. Leaving behind either the ones who are passed out or waiting for their ride.

“Get that shit away from me shitty hair!” He huffed and pushed the half full bottle of some random alcohol his friend tried to hand to him.

“Oh, come one number one. You should loosen up!!! You looked more angry than usual this entire time!!!” Kirishima sat down on the couch beside Bakugou with a loud thud.

“I mean, doesn’t the number one hero deserve a break every once in a while? You deserve it Bakubro. You cracked this giant case!!! Without you, that guy with the purple mohawk could’ve died.”

Kirishima laughed, reminiscing all the sleepless nights he and Bakugou would spend just doing research and trying to gain information from anywhere they could.

He took another swig from the half-emptied bottle, “I don’t deserve the number one spot dumbass.”

Bakugou muttered barely above a whisper.

Even though Kirishima was beyond wasted, the fact that his usually guarded friend suddenly opened up sobered him. “Hey, don’t be like that Bakubro. I’m sure they’d want you to be happy.”

Kirishima tried his best to comfort his friend, to no avail.

“I’m going home.” Bakugou suddenly stood up. “Don’t drive dumbass.” With that he walked to leave the club and to his car, hearing Kirishima yell his response. “Got it!!!”

When he got home, he quickly changed out of the annoyingly formal attire, back to his normal everyday attire. A black tank top and sweatpants.

Bakugou fell onto his bed with a small thud, a sigh of exhaustion left his lips. “Damn shitty hair talking about shit that shouldn’t be talked about.”

There was an unspoken rule amongst anyone who knew the alumni’s situation.

Don’t talk about them, you’ll regret it.

After tossing and turning around, Bakugou realized. He couldn’t sleep.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t a normal sight to see the hero not being able to sleep. He was so strict about his sleeping schedules too. But his mind can’t seem to leave what Kirishima said.

“I’m sure they’d want you to be happy.”

Who does Kirishima think he was? Talking about them like that. Who knows what they’d think of him right now? He broke his promise to always protect them. To always be by their side.

His head looked to the right. A bedside cabinet made out of wood, stood. Devoid of any decor and just with a single compartment.

A single object lies within that cabinet.

His mind argued with each other, debating whether or not to open it.

“Fuck it!”

If he regretted this decision, he’d deal with that later.

Sitting up on the side of his bed he looked solemnly towards the cabinet.

A shaking hand opened the compartment.

There was a single photo frame, the photo side facing down instead of up.

Before he could back down, he took the frame and flipped it to see the photo.

The photo gleamed at him. It was a pitiful reminder.

Overwhelming sadness and anger filled him, when he looked at the picture. Anger, frustration, longingness, sadness, it all came crashing down.

Before he knew it, stray tears fell from his eyes.

The photo was the last photo he ever took together with his high school sweetheart. The love of his life. The person he promised to marry one day. It was the last photo he ever took with you before the world took you away.

Before those villains attacked UA whilst he was in his 3rd year.

It was before he lost the most important person to a villain.

~

The battlefield was a mess. It had ended but it was still a mess. Random debris scattered around. Some of his classmates and other students from other classes were injured and bloody.

Most of the league had gone with Shigaraki through Kurogiri’s portal, but there’s no telling if someone had stayed. Especially that specific villain with an invisibility quirk.

He had proven to be a rather difficult enemy because of his quirk, but realizing he was outnumbered, he hadn’t showed himself at all. No one saw him walk through Kurogiri’s portal either.

Bakugou shoved that concern to the back of his mind, he had other things to concern himself over. One of the biggest was, finding you.

He needed to apologize. The other night you and he got into a pretty big argument. All because of his anger issues and his pride.

But he couldn’t find you anywhere. Knowing your teleportation quirk.

You’d probably be helping other people around. Helping people deal with debris, transporting different things, and overall doing what you can to relieve any burdens from both the teachers and the students.

He wasn’t really focused on anything. He thought the battle was over. He just needed to find you.

He let his guard down.

He didn’t notice the invisible villain appearing once more to stab him from behind.

He didn’t notice until it was too late.

An ear-splitting scream broke the relatively quiet mood. He knew that scream.

He knew that voice.

His head snapped to the back and everything seemed to have slowed.

He remembered the panic and fear in your eyes. When he noticed the blade embedded in your heart, anger covered his senses.

Another yell resonated in the air. This time it was his own.

Bakugou’s hand went to the villain’s face and blasted them to somewhere he couldn’t even bother to care.

His arms caught your limp body from falling to the cold ground.

The world seemed to turn gray around him. The only thing he could see was your figure on his arms.

Blood pooling from your wound.

The anger that he felt just moments before was quickly replaced by fear.

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT DUMBASS?!” the people around him froze.

You tried to mutter enough energy to at least say a word. Just a single word. “Sorry.” Your voice came in stutters. Followed by a cough of blood.

He felt your body in his hands growing heavier, your hand on his cheek fell to the ground.

“DUMBASS WAKE UP!!!” he didn’t know if it was the shock of the surprise attack or the fear that made his voice crack. “WAKE UP OR I’LL NEVER COOK YOU FOOD AGAIN.”

Your eyes were wide open, but they were cold, empty, unresponsive.

He let tears flow down freely. Now clutching your body against his chest.

“No please.” He wrapped his arms around your body one arm below the stab and another from the bottom, above the stab. “Please teddy bear. I’m sorry ok? I’m sorry. This is enough payback for the shit I said to you last night. So please ok? Please wake up.”

A few of your classmates already a sobbing mess on the ground.

“Please teddy bear, the prank is over. Please… wake up…” Kirishima’s hand on his shoulder broke his trance.

He looked up at his standing friend.

Kirishima saw the sight of his usual angry, stubborn, brave friend, turn weak. Tears were already pouring from Kirishima’s eyes. But he needed to be strong.

It wasn’t his place to breakdown when his best friend had lost the only person who was brave enough of taking the challenge of calming the beast.

“I’m sorry Bakubro.” Kirishima shook his head.

That was the thing that made Bakugou finally realize, you were gone. He screamed up to the sky, cursing whatever God had decided you’d sacrifice your own life for his. He was frustrated he couldn’t protect you.

Kirishima looked around, and he saw how much his classmates cared about him.

No one dared to move or utter a sound above a stifle of cries. No one knew how to react. For the first time in UA history, a student has died in the school’s premise. And that student, was you.

Though Kirishima couldn’t see all of his classmates. He was sure they’d be equally as devastated to hear what had happened. You were such an important part in their lives. To have yours be stripped away that easily was shocking.

You were a ball of sunshine that brought joy no matter what you were feeling or where you were.

But now you lie on the ground, cold.

That night, the entire class was reminded of the hard truth of being as self-sacrificing as you were. You’d sacrifice your sleep to tutor Denki. You’d sacrifice resting your aching muscles just to make everyone’s favourite dishes for dinner.

Now, you’ve sacrificed your life for your lover’s.

~

He wiped the clear frame from dust and took a closer look at it.

You took it the morning before the argument. It was breakfast and for some reason, you were awake as early as him, for the first time in forever.

You had one of your arms around his torso, hugging him from behind. A bright smile decorated your face as you looked at the camera. Bakugou on the other hand looked to the side with a scowl on his face.

He remembered, after taking that photo. You kissed his cheek and uttered a sweet good morning before making your own breakfast. You didn’t miss the pink hue that decorated his cheeks. Your teasing giggles filled the room.

God, the things he’d give up just to hear your giggles again.

“You’ll never get hurt as long as I’m around.”

“Shut up dumbass, you won’t get hurt. I’ll protect you.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you.”

Those were just some promises he had made to himself and to you.

But now, here he was regretting the fact that his very last conversation with you was a useless back and forth of insults.

If he could turn back time and sacrifice himself, he would.

Bakugou placed the frame down and opened his phone, hoping for some sort of distraction. He wasn’t ready to completely face it yet. Though, everything online only fuelled his self-loathing

There were articles everywhere about how the number one hero Ground Zero otherwise known as Katsuki Bakugou, had saved the lives of thousands of people by cracking a giant drug market.

They all praised him. They all agreed he deserved the spot.

But did he really?

He didn’t think that such a title can be for him. Someone who broke all the promises he ever made to you.

How could he be the number one hero when the only person who was able to control him whilst loving him unconditionally died because of him.

[hey-there-juliet]

llora por una rosa, dijo el ruiseñor

➤ Written for Day One of Jukebox Appreciation Week: Canonverse @jukebox-week

Summary: Dr Turner said that there was no such thing as a schedule for grief and that everyone dealt with it in their own way, so it was okay if some days were worse than others. Although it helped to have a cute ghost to cuddle with. (Read it on AO3)

Notes: Thank you so much @sunsetcurbed and @felicitysmoaksx for betaing this for me! You guys are amazing, and any remaining mistakes are my own. 

Title: El ruiseñor y la rosa, by Oscar Wilde. | Song: A La Nanita Nana, from The Cheetah Girls 2.

Enjoy ♡

llora por una rosa, dijo el ruiseñor

Sometimes, Julie would wake up feeling like her world had turned on its axis as the pain of losing her mother hit her all over again. Dr Turner said it was normal, that there was no such thing as a schedule for grief and that everyone dealt with it in their own way, so it was okay if some days were worse than others. 

The problem was that every 'worse' day seemed to get worse.

Reality came crashing down on her on a Thursday morning with absolutely no warning. She still hadn't figured out what triggered the bad days, but she was pretty sure they were intrinsically connected to the good ones. 

Ever since the ghosts of three teenagers from the '90s fell into her life, Julie had been having (mostly) good days. Sometimes it all felt like a too vivid daydream, a fantasy she'd come up with to escape her painful reality. Ghosts, the band, music back in her life, stronger than ever, curses and playing the Orpheum; it was crazy. So crazy that it might as well be true. 

Five days after the Orpheum, after being able to touch the guys, Julie woke up with the realization that her mom would never meet them. She would never be there for Julie to tell her about how much Reggie enjoyed spending time with her dad. Or how cute Alex looked with his pink-tinted cheeks as he spoke about Willie and museums. Her mom would never be there for Julie to tell her about Luke's passion for music, about his endless energy and encouragement, about his perfect smile and ever-changing eyes and how it felt to finally, finally be able to wrap her arms around him. Her mom would've loved Luke. She would've loved all of them.

Only minutes after Julie turned off her last alarm, her dad knocked on her door, brows furrowed in concern when he peered into the room only to find her still in bed, eyes puffy and red, nose stuffed up and burrowed in her covers. 

"Oh, mija," he sighed, making his way into the room. He sat down next to her, and Julie dragged herself into her father's arms, unable to hold back the sobs that were begging to be let out.

"I miss her," she gasped between cries, burying the words into her dad's shoulder. 

"Me too, cariño. Me too." He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Your mom would be so proud of you, Julie. Wherever she is, I know she’ll be watching over you and Carlos and cheering you on like she always did.”

Julie nodded, thinking about the three boys who had literally dropped into her life. Her dad had no idea how right he was.

“Why don’t we take the day off? I’ll call the school and empty my schedule.”

“No, no,” she protested, leaning away and wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sleep t-shirt. “Don’t miss out on work because of me, I’ll be alright. I think I’d just like to be alone today.”

He didn’t seem really convinced, raising an eyebrow in her direction and lowering his head to meet her eyes directly. “You sure?”

“I’m sure, Papi.” Julie sent him the most reassuring smile she could manage, which must have been good enough because he soon relented and pushed himself up.

“I’ll bring you something today after work, how about that?”

She frowned, unable to stop the lighthearted smile from forming on her lips. “Like what?”

Her dad shrugged, stepping backwards toward the door. “I don’t know, something cool. A surprise.”

Julie chuckled, but agreed, “Okay.”

“Don’t stay in bed all day. And eat something.”

“I won’t, and I will. Thanks, Papi.” She threw him a soft smile.

“Te quiero, mija.”

“I love you, too.” With a last worried glance in her direction, her dad stepped out and closed her bedroom door, taking all of Julie’s lightheartedness with him.

Like a dark cloud descended over her, Julie’s mood crashed again. Left alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t keep herself from imagining if anything would’ve been different had her mom still been there. Would Julie even have told her about the boys? After all, she still hadn’t told her dad, and now with her being able to touch the guys, it could be just a matter of time before they became visible to her family. 

One thing she knew for sure it’s that she definitely would have never stopped playing, and maybe she wouldn’t have immediately kicked Luke, Reggie and Alex out. And maybe, without needing to earn back her spot in the music program, she never would’ve played with Sunset Curve in the first place. That was a terrifying thought, but she’d like to think that they would’ve found their way to Julie and the Phantoms eventually anyway, and her mom would be cheering for them every step of the way.

Julie sighed, dropping back down into her pillows and burying herself into her covers again. With one hand, she reached over her nightstand for a picture of her mom and her. It wasn’t her favorite one — that one was in her dresser, — but it was definitely a close second. Rose was sitting on the couch with a five-year-old Julie on her lap, fresh out of the shower and rolled up in her towels like a burrito. They’d been watching something on TV when her dad captured the moment. Years later, Julie had no idea what they were watching, but what she did know was that there were several pictures of that day because that was when her parents found out they were having Carlos and so her dad wanted to have the whole day on record.

With a soft laugh at the memory of her mom and dad telling her that story, Julie traced her mother’s smiling face in the photograph, lightly humming her favorite lullaby that Rose used to sing to her.

Julie was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden knock. She dropped the picture down on the bed, body tensing up since her dad and Carlos had left minutes ago, until she remembered they weren’t actually the only residents at the Molina household anymore. She rolled her eyes before calling the knocker in.

Luke’s beanie covered head phased through the door. He had a bright grin on his lips and a bounce on his step as he made his way inside, stopping by the foot of her bed.

“Skipping school? Damn, Jules, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, apparently before getting a good look at her and immediately frowning in concern. “What is it, what’s wrong?” Luke came closer, kneeling by the side of her bed and resting his chin at the corner of her mattress.

Julie took a moment to take him in; the way his bottom lip stuck out just a little in a pout, and how his hands fiddled with her sheets, his eyes focused and intense, filled with worry and never leaving hers. She had to look away. “Nothing, I’m just- I’m just missing my mom today, that's all.”

“Oh.” His voice was low, barely a whisper, and it drew Julie’s eyes back to him. This time, he was the one staring down at her bed. He crossed his arms over the mattress and rested his chin on them, only sticking a hand out to tap lightly on the picture that rested between them. “Is this her?”

She looked down at the picture again, tracing the frame with her fingers. “Yeah, that’s mom.” 

“You look like her.”

Raising her eyes to meet his again, Julie couldn’t help the soft smile at the sincerity she found in his face. “Yeah? Thanks.”

They were silent for a moment, both lost in thought. Julie was sure that Luke’s mind had gone to his own mom. She knew he still visited his parents, and sometimes she honestly couldn’t say what would be worse: to never be able to see or speak with her parents again, or to see them and talk to them, only to receive no response and have them look right through you.

“Scooch over.” Luke’s voice brought her out of her thoughts abruptly, and Julie could only blink at him in confusion as he got up and started toeing his shoes off.

“What?”

“Move over,” he shooed her with his hands, and Julie was a little too shocked to protest when he grabbed a corner of her blankets and crawled into bed next to her. 

For a whole minute, Luke fumbled around, fixing the pillows behind him however he wanted and covering himself with her blankets except for the one leg sticking out of the side. Finally, he opened one arm in invitation and threw her an expectant look.

Julie could do nothing but look at him in bewilderment, on the edge of freaking out about having a boy (a boy she had a big, fat crush on, no less) on her bed. Before she could let herself spiral into nervous laughter, Julie shook her head with a chuckle, and moved closer, fitting herself into his side with the picture of her mom in her lap. She was unable to contain the sigh of relief at actually being able to feel him there — the boys’ solid-state was still new, and she was always afraid that it would suddenly go away. 

Luke shuffled around a little more, getting both of them comfortable before tapping the picture in her lap again. “Tell me about her.”

With her brain still struggling to catch up, all she could manage was a “Huh?”

“Well, you got to meet my mom, but since I can’t meet yours, I figured the next best thing is that you tell me about her.”

Julie looked at him then, soft eyes meeting hers, and she felt her breath catch, the familiar butterflies fluttered their wings in her stomach. She couldn’t quite put a name to what she was feeling, she just knew that she had never felt something like it before.

She gave him a smile, and turned forward again, leaning her head on his shoulder to look down at the picture in her lap. There were a million things she could tell Luke about her mother, but the decision was made for her once she caught sight of the dahlias on the cushions next to her mom in the picture.

“My mom loved flowers. All kinds, and plants, and she would make the most beautiful flower crowns you’ve ever seen. Anytime we went to the park, she’d find these pretty, wildflowers and make crowns for me and my friends. Carrie and I used to say we were fairy princesses,” Julie chuckled, losing herself in vague memories of two little girls chasing each other around the swings while her mom sat on the ground nearby, weaving flowers together. Luke laughed softly with her at the image she painted. “Her favorite were dahlias, though. Mom absolutely loved them, they’re everywhere in the house.”

“Dahlias,” he said, and Julie glanced at him over her shoulder to find him lost in his own thoughts. “My mom likes those too.” He sent her a sad smile before motioning for her to go ahead.

“Uh… She loved sparkly things. Every time an outfit wasn’t quite what she wanted, she’d just… bedazzle the hell out of it.” Julie laughed, happy tears forming in her eyes. She sniffed. In the back of her mind, she remembered the latest bedazzled creation of her mom’s she’d found — the Sunset Curve shirt, and made a mental note to ask the guys about it later.

“She, uh, she didn’t like sugar on her tea, but she had the biggest sweet tooth. She loved breakfast for dinner, especially pancakes. She was a great dancer, she’s the one who taught me how to salsa, 'cause dad’s a little useless in that department.” Using the sleeve of her shirt, Julie wiped away the few stray tears that had fallen down her cheeks. If Luke was bothered by her crying, he didn’t say anything.

“She used to leave notes all over the house. Sometimes reminders about Carlos’ games, or where dad had put his keys, but other times just little encouraging messages like 'you got this' and ‘I love you’...” Julie’s voice trailed off, remembering the last note her mom ever left for her at the end of Wake Up; You can do it, Julie. Love, mom.

The few tears multiplied. She sniffed again.

“She sounds amazing,” Luke said softly, brushing his cheek over her hair and using the arm he had around her to reach for her hand. 

“She was,” Julie agreed, distracting herself by playing with the rings on his fingers. He was such a rockstar. She chuckled, tilting her head to the side just a little but not looking away from his hand as she traced the calluses on his fingertips. “When she was younger, she was actually in a band. A couple of bands, even.”

Julie felt Luke tense up in excitement, and she imagined he was having a hard time actually staying still.

“Really?” he asked, and she heard the awe in his voice just like the first time he said her mother was a really talented writer.

“Oh, yeah. They never made it big, but… they sounded pretty good. And mom was an amazing singer and writer, and the way she shredded on the piano?” Julie shook her head, no words would ever be able to describe the admiration she had for her mom and her talent.

“Kinda like you, then?” His tone was teasing, but Julie could hear the sincerity in it plain as day, and couldn’t help but tilt her head up to throw him a thankful look. 

“She taught me everything. The first song I learned on the piano was the lullaby she used to sing to me. Every night, she sang Carlos and I to sleep, and my dad too, if he happened to be sitting down,” she told him, and they laughed at the image of her dad being lulled to sleep.

As their chuckles faded out, they lapsed into silence. Using Luke’s knuckles as keyboards, Julie practiced the lullaby she hadn’t heard in years. She kind of wished she could go back in time and tell twelve-year-old Julie that she would never be too old to be lulled asleep by her mom’s voice. 

A few moments later, Luke’s voice broke the silence. “Will you sing for me?”

“What?” she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“The first song you learned, the lullaby. Will you sing it for me?” he asked again, voice just barely above a whisper, drawing her eyes back toward him, like a siren luring a fisherman into the sea. 

For a second or two, Julie got lost in his ocean eyes — the late morning sun that was shining through her open curtains making them look bright blue. Then she cleared her throat, taking the moment to remember some of the lyrics. Julie’s Spanish was never as good as her parents’, but the words for this song she knew by heart.

���A la nanita nana, nanita ella, nanita ella,” her voice started out low and slowly built up to the song’s rhythm. Julie didn’t look at him, but she could feel Luke’s warm gaze fixed on her. “Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea.” She repeated the first two lines, letting her volume rise just a little. The song felt like an overdue embrace from her mom, and Julie let herself get lost in the memories it brought.

She felt Luke’s fingers tapping against her own hand, and could imagine almost perfectly how the melody would sound coming from his guitar. A part of her wondered why it felt so natural to share this with him, but she also knew that if it wasn’t for Luke, Stand Tall would probably still be sitting unfinished inside her Dreambox. Music flowed through him the same way it did through her, and the same way it had flowed through her mom. It felt right to share this with him too.

Ascending to a major key, Julie started the next verse effortlessly. “Fuentecita que corre, clara y sonora. Ruiseñor que en la selva, cantando y llora. Calla mientras la cuna, se balancea. A la nanita nana, nanita ella...”

Julie sat up a little, leaning her shoulder against Luke’s and finally turning to meet his eyes. The look on his face… she couldn’t describe it, but her heart understood it anyway. Without looking away from him, she continued. “A la nanita nana, nanita ella, nanita ella. Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea.” Before Julie could start the last verse, Luke started to hum, following the song’s rhythm as if he’d heard it several times before. His fingers were still tapping against her wrist, and she couldn’t help sending him a small smile before continuing.

“Fuentecita que corre clara y sonora. Ruiseñor que en la selva, cantando y llora. Calla mientras la cuna, se balancea. A la nanita nana...” she sang, then drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, remembering her mom’s kind and smiling face. Dragging out the last couple of notes, Julie finished the song, a single tear making its way down her cheek. “... nanita ella.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or even charged. It was peaceful and comfortable, and Julie could have basked in it for a long time, but she couldn’t say she was surprised when Luke ended the peace quite soon.

She felt his hand leaving hers and wiping away the tear from her cheek just as her eyes fluttered open, meeting his awed eyes and impossibly soft smile.

“That was beautiful, Jules.”

She smiled, accepting the compliment with a nod before settling back down against him. Julie burrowed her face against his neck, the lullaby from her childhood had left her feeling light and sleepy.

Luke seemed to have gotten the message because he shuffled around a little more before settling down too. Julie didn’t know if the boys could sleep now; they couldn’t before, but after everything that had happened post-Orpheum, to ask whether they could sleep or not wasn’t exactly high on her priority list. 

She felt his fingers lightly run down her braided hair, soothing her further into sleep. Just before she could doze off completely, Luke spoke again.

“You know, you never told me her name.”

Julie yawned, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling herself closer into his side as she answered. “Rose. Her name was Rose.”

She didn’t see Luke’s frown, or notice the way he looked down at the picture that had fallen from her lap and into his with a dawning sense of realization. All Julie knew was that she felt safe, and loved, and that wherever she was, her mom was still watching over her.

After all, she'd sent her Luke.