#or excited for my life or anything at all. i’ve just been feeling steadily worse and worse and idk how to stop it

[teruthecreator]

when the bipolar depression is bipolar depressioning👍

[brydigdraws]

So these are long overdue lmao

I didn’t quite realise how 2021 was The Year of Crowley (2020 was The Year of Aziraphale) and 2022 was The Year of Izzy until I put these summaries together

I didn’t manage to account for every month these past two years, and 2022 is looking particularly sketchy (quite literally). This is because Shit Went Down :) I’m going to summarise it below for my own benefit▼

Personal/philosophical ramble under cut

In 2021 I had a lot going on, which I think explains the lack of art in June and August (memory’s fuzzy), and why I never posted some of the art in the summary here on tumblr (miiight post Nov and Dec soon-ish). In 2022 things initially screeched to a halt and I had the worst art crisis (and personal crisis tbh) I’ve ever had. Basically I had a really hard time drawing anything without it feeling completely soulless and of worse quality than my actual skill level, which heavily impacted my motivation to draw (sometimes my ofmd obsession came out on top lmao, but that fanart still felt like it was lacking something essential 99% of the time). I drew less, and felt worse for drawing less, which made me draw even less, repeat ad infinitum. It wasn’t until solidly into Autumn that I realised the root of the problem: I had tied the label “artist” so closely to my identity that it had effectively become my identity. And since it was my identity, I felt I had to become a professional artist or be miserable, and in order to become a professional artist I felt I had to constantly focus on honing my skills and get better, nitpick everything in every drawing and strive for impossible perfection, and “draw every day” as all the professional artists advice you to do (I have never managed to draw every day, and my failure to do so made me feel like I was lagging behind). Drawing had slowly but steadily become some insane rat race to me and eventually it ruined my art because I couldn’t appreciate where I was at. Actually finishing a piece of art felt like an incredibly arduous task with little reward (which is why I only really “finished” two pieces last year). I had drained myself of the inherent joy of creating. But realising this didn’t solve the problem, not on its own, because if the fact was “artist is my whole identity” the question then became “If I don’t create art, am I anything at all?”, and the answer for some time was “No.”

I have since found joy and genuine excitement in other types of creating (not that I hadn’t before, but never above a hobbyist level) with potential career opportunities that won’t make my daily life “miserable” (fun fact about me: my biggest fears are the unknown and having my soul ground down by the tireless gears of capitalism). This has helped me stress less about “becoming a professional artist” (something I’m still certain I’d enjoy, despite it all) and find some identity outside of art, but that perfectionist/improvement mindset in relation to my art didn’t start to leave me until a few days before New Year’s. That’s when I was suddenly inspired to make the Ed/Izzy sketch representing Dec ‘22 in the summary above. I had effectively given up on my art at that point, but my mental image was so strong I had to commit it to (digital) paper, no matter if it turned out like shit or not (which, in retrospect, is probably the most visceral motivation an artist can have for practicing their craft). Having no expectations on myself, and with the single-minded drive to capture the ~vibes~ and nothing more, I found the act of drawing fun and near effortless for the first time in fucking years. That’s when it clicked. You don’t have to try and make every aspect of a drawing perfect, and not every drawing needs to be properly rendered; just focus on the one or few most important things you need to be able to convey what it is you want to convey (in this case it was the overall poses and facial expressions). The rest may not be perfect, but it wouldn’t have been even if you tried to make it so, because perfection is fucking unattainable (as much as my chronically perfectionist ass wishes it wasn’t). Trying to attain it is a fool’s errand that’ll slowly eat you up, and your audience will most probably not even notice or care about the difference.

Audiences, especially online audiences, are arguably their own potential source of artist brainrot (and not the fun kind), and I’m of the firm opinion that art can definitely be made for no one’s eyes other than the artist’s own (in opposition to the mindset that the purpose of all art is for it to be shared with external parties) - my own art from years ago being an example of this. But I have found sharing my art with others to be such an inherent joy to me that I don’t think I’ll ever fully stop doing it, and will continue to try my best not to fall into the mental pitfalls that can come with it.

I don’t think my relationship to my own art is fully mended (and I’ve likely failed to see some of the cracks), but it’s definitely better now than it has been in a long, long while.

in short, thanks to edizzy’s dysfunctional marriage for helping me not give up on art I guess

[whentherewerebicycles]

all right friends 10 updates from the trenches:

still mostly off tumblr but am allowing myself to browse a bit in the evening, as you do

i have submitted 12 job applications and have heard nothing but i am trying not to freak out it’s not even been a full week for some of them and i am sure people took time off for the 4th!

today i spent literally 12 hours working on the same letter. i started getting concerned that i wasn’t tailoring the letters enough so i tried doing more but then it was so long i was having to restructure other parts of the letter and then i was making it worse so i ditched six hours of work and started over again. kill me!! it was not a good use of my time but i think the reason it was so hard was because i was trying to teach myself a new skill (tailoring) by doing it on the fly without much forethought or preparation, and so i was experiencing the frustration of learning on top of just being more braindead than usual after so much job stuff. i am sincerely hoping it will be easier tomorrow.

but also i need to get better at actually breaking the spell of hyperfocus good lord. i set a million alarms and try to make myself get up to walk across the room so i can shake off the trance but my ability to tunnel-vision into a task even if i’m not working efficiently and need to STOP is insane. the gravitational pull is so strong that i get up, do whatever distraction task i’ve set for myself, and then am immediately drawn back into the original task’s orbit for another six hours.

in writing today’s letter i found a way to weave in a nice thing my friend nicole once said to me about my teaching that i think about a lot. i am not sure the letter needed it (i am under NO illusions that i understand what cover letters need!!) it but it was nice to think about her saying it & then also nice to write a slightly more earnest paragraph about Values instead of all the Professional Woman Applying for a Job Stuff. also nice to think about teaching! the other day i made a joke about how i can’t write anything short about teaching without accidentally writing the entire book that lives inside of me and one of my beloved former students messaged me to be like ‘please please please write a teaching book i want to read it 🥺.’ VERY SWEET!!! TEACHING IS A GOOD THING IN A WORLD FULL OF BAD THINGS!!!!

michelle tested positive for covid this morning after i spent a big chunk of yesterday morning with her. this is my fourth ‘very close contact’ in the past month and i haven’t gotten it from any of the others which probably means my luck is about to run out. i hope i don’t get sick but also an enforced break from job stuff might not be the worst idea. i felt fine most of today, insofar as i was aware of my body at all in the strange trance state i entered, but i am feeling a little rundown now (though possibly that’s just the power of suggestion).

i have a student meeting tomorrow that i can’t forget about for a kid who is doing the coolest/most ambitious project and has just been steadily plugging away at it for a solid 10 months now. she’s getting REALLY close now and it’s very exciting to see!!

since i have to shower and make myself presentable tomorrow anyway i’m going to make myself do this annoying two-minute video for one of the job applications. if it weren’t a job i would be super psyched about getting i would skip it but alas.

i had such a lovely pre-4th of july cookout with my friends and we discussed plans for a big celebration of our ten years in texas at the end of the summer. it made me emotional!! my beloved humans!!! i don’t know if i’ll still be living here or not (my In a Perfect World plan is to move at the beginning of august) but i will obviously return for it if not. i feel lucky to have had this really solid group of friends here who i have known for so long and love so much. emotions!!!

i had a long phone call with one of my college bffs yesterday about some heavy stuff going on in her life. she has made A Big Traumatic Life Change recently which it is causing her a lot of grief, but also, even in the immediate wake of the Big Change she sounded more like herself than she has in a year. i have been pretty worried for her for a long time now, more acutely in the past six months or so, and i feel hopeful that this is going to be a good thing in the long run. also we discussed how clarifying the long beautiful wedding weekend last month was for both of us, in different but not dissimilar ways. and i think that’s interesting! like it was powerful enough as an emotional experience to prompt both of us to independently make huge changes that are going to change the trajectories of our lives. most weddings do not have that effect on me lol but it was just one of those experiences where the two people getting married are quite simply the best people you know, and they’ve woven around themselves this dense web of deeply meaningful relationships with so many different kinds of people, and we all just got to be immersed in all of that love and goodwill and positive feeling for like four full days, and it was just the kind of emotional experience that makes you say aloud to yourself afterwards: wow, i’m ready to change my life and i’m strong enough to do it.

[tokoyamisstuff]

This Is New For Me

Loki x Reader

Summary: Life on Asgard can be straining - especially if the God of Mischief has taken a liking to you.

Warnings: Loki being so terrible at flirting it physically hurts, bullying, this got way angstier than I initially intended

Words: ~2800

A/N: I’ve written this trying to distract myself from personal problems, but honestly I can’t think straight rn. Dunno I kinda hate how this turned out but here you go I guess...sorry.

Loki Odinson must really despise you.

No matter how often Thor would stand up for his brother and try to justify his behavior, there was no other explanation for you other than that he must truly hate you with every essence of his being.

In the beginning, having been invited in the palace to train magic under the Allmother sounded like a once-in-a-lifetime chance - yet all that’s left from your initial excitement had been replaced by pure annoyance.

Lately, whenever you knew that you had to attend class with that certain raven-haired prince, your insides would churn before you even arrived.

Weeks have turned into months, never once ceasing his condescending remarks or childish pranks. Of course, he wasn’t called the God of Mischief for nothing.

All nine realms had tales to tell about his sheganinans - yet with you, he seemed especially invested. There was not one encounter where he could leave you at peace, always ending with you being victim to his wicked humor. 

The man did not seem to respect you at all - and it made you furious.

Today, you’d show him just what you were capable of!

“Greetings, great Allmother.” Polite as always, you bowed deeply in front of your queen, her magnificent presence still making you jittery beyond belief.

“No need for formalities, my lovely student” she responded heartily, only making you admire her even more - until a loud, exaggerated sigh cut through the calm atmosphere.

“Her again?” There he stood, maintaining his defensive pose as he rolled his eyes at you. “Mother, why would you keep on bringing a lowlife like her to defile this holy place?”

This was probably the millionth time that Frigga apologized deeply for her son’s behavior, and you were always amazed by her patience with him. How could a person so formidable end up raising such a troublemaker?

But then again...if she believes that there is good in the God of Mischief, then so would you.

“For today, I have prepared a spell that can only be cast by two mages at once”, Frigga explained, while Loki would still not bid you a single look. “So throughout this lesson, you will need to work together to succeed.”

Irritation was clearly visible on his face - and if you were perfectly honest, you weren’t really fond of that idea either. Yet if it was your scolar’s wish, none of you would protest.

“Spontaneous creation of complex concepts puts a huge stroll on one’s mind and body, so do not be frustrated if it doesn’t work within the first try.”

The idea was simple: Create a blooming meadow in midst of the palace floor, since creating life would be way too complex - only masters of the sorcery arts could take this spell to completion.

You and Loki were now sitting on the bare floor in front of each other and only now you realized how tense he had become, sweat dripping from his forehead and biting his bottom lip.

Was your presence really so terrible that he couldn’t bear with it?!

“Hey” you whispered, taking his hands to form a ring just as instructed “Don’t worry, we’re gonna get this!”

“I don’t need your encouragement...” he spat between gritted teeth, now that you noticed his palms were just as sweaty as his face seemed to be.

One second. Two, tree...fourty....a hundret and two...

“Relax” Loki repeated to himself as if it was his mantra - but now, with your fingers entangled in his? Sheer impossible.

Distraught, he shot his mother a desperate look, just for her to point  towards you, sitting cross-legged and seemingly completely relaxed.

Since your eyes were closed, Loki took this chance to observe every detail of your face, without having to fear that you’d notice his little infatuation.

By the norns - you were as fair and bewitching as always. So way, way out of his league. An unreachable, vigorous being. No angel, valkyrie or similar could ever reach up to you - at least in his eyes.

Was this what they called love at first sight? Loki only knew those sentiments from novels he always ridiculed before he got to know you.

Slowly and steadily, Loki aligned his breathing pattern with yours, picturing the cycle of energy the two of you formed. Carefully, he began infusing you with his magic, trying his best to allow yourself do the same to him.

Another minute passed by and you were finally able to let your magic flow through each other’s bodies entirely, like a serene stream.

With things being like this, he felt so different from the Loki you knew.

His magic was strong, indeed - but so gentle, warm and somehow comfortable to be coated with. You wondered-

“HEY!”

As soon as Loki slapped your hand away, breaking the cycle, all of the flowers that had previously bloossomed through you would wither in an instant.

“What the hel do you think you’re doing, you mewling quim?!” Loki shoutet as loud as his lungs allowed him to, while his mother’s face distorted in second-hand-embarrasment at her son’s choice of words. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I just-” You only wanted to scan his emotions through the magic bond you shared, just peek under the cover for a mere second - what was he so afraid of you to find?

“Know your place, woman!” The god pointed at you before he rushed up, ignoring the ache in his heart as he saw your face contort in sadness. “You are beneath me, never forget that!”

Why were you even surprised?

“You’re right” you sniveled quietly as you balled a fist in your dress, and Loki hated himself so much that he wished to just disappear. “My apologies. You don’t have to put up with me ever again.”

As always, instead of fighting, you made your leave without ever fighting back.

Frigga’s pleads for you to stay and talk this over were all for naught when you rushed away, muttering curses directed towards youself rather than anyone else.

Instead of scolding her son, she’d punish him through her silence, furiously shaking her head as she rushed away as well.

Why did he always have to ruin everything?!

The God of Mischief was very well aware that whenever you were close, his mind went completely blank - and that made him panic.

Never before he had felt so goddamn vulnerable in front of anything, terrifying him beyond belief.

And Loki loathed that feeling: Losing control over himself, being reminded once again how alone and  unloveable he is, facing a goddess as stunning as you are every single day.

So he concluded it to be best to cope like he did all those millenia: Cover up those insecurities, shove his anxieties in the back of his heart and protect his heart from anyone coming close.

Good thing you believed that presumptupus, disoblinging duplicity of his to be his true self.

That would make it easier for the both of you, having as much distance as humanly possible. Vicinity could become dangerous terrain.

Yes, he would only save you some time - it would be a waste if you would try to actually give him a chance, just to be let down by what kind of disappointment he truly was.

But it wouldn’t end here - since the only way Loki Odinson first and only communication was through causing mischief.

A scream of yours startled the servants early in the morning, with your personal maiden being the first to rush to your side.

“Milady, wha-” She stopped in her tracks as she saw you standing in front of the mirror, touching your scalp in disbelief, where everything had been cut short.

That was it. Enough of it!

Dismissing the servants, you took a scissor and tried to at least make an acceptable hairstyle out of the mess he had made, before you would leave to the royal garden.

“You!” Pointing towards Loki, innocently sitting on a bench to watch the sunrise, you screamed and let a strand of hair run from your fingers to the floor. “You did this!”

“Now relax, would you” he chuckled, wearing his smug grin like a trophy as he defendingly held his hands into the air. “You should be grateful, it looks much better like this.”

Next thing he knew was the feeling of your backhand, mercilessly crushing against his collarbone.

Usually, you’d be shocked at yourself, for you had never been a person to choose violence ever before - but right now, you were too full of anger and hurt to even realize.

“You conniving craven pathetic worm!” you exclaimed, breathing heavily as you swung yet another fist towards the prince - however, he grabbed your wrists, trapping you in his hold.

In his life full of wrongdoings, he had been called worse than that - yet still, hearing insults coming from you of all people shot arrows through his heart with every word escaping his lips. Not that he’d ever admit, though.

“It was just a little prank.” Loki would’ve never thought that his actions would affect you this much. “What are you so worked up about?”

“All this time I believed there could be a good person beneath all that...but now what?” The compassion you detected in his eyes were only upsetting you even more. “You are a selfish, cruel and terrible person, and I gave up on you.”

Loki let go off of you, staring at you in disbelief:

You actually believed in him, all this time?! That was impossible!

If anything, the Odinson had always believed you to ignore his existence completely, if he wouldn’t use such drastic measures to attract your attention.

“Wait a second, I-”

“I hope you know that you deserve to be alone...” you sniveled, turning around to face him one last time before you fled the scene. “And you always will be.”

Several minutes had passed until Loki had given up in silencing he voices inside his head that told him you were right: He was indeed a despicable being, tainting your pure goodwill - repelling anyone that would still be willing to give the God of Mischief a chance.

Out of a whim, he jumped up from his place, wanting to rush after you. He was very well aware that he was probably beyond forgiveness by now, yet he at least wanted to make things up to you - even though he had no clue where to start.

“Calm down, Lady Y/N.”

Thor’s voice drang to Loki’s ears just a mere second before he saw that particular heart-wrenching scene unfold in front of him:

You were lying in his brother’s arms, crying to your heart’s extend while soothed you, softly petting what remained from your hair.  Loki remained hidden in the shadows, even though his guts told him to stab his brother right here and now.

“My brother...you know-” The God of Thunder was trying to find the right words, even though poetic speeches were not really his forte. “It’s just his speecial, twisted way of interacting. Who knows where he got that from.”

“I rather wonder if he realized how his behavior truly makes me feel” you snapped back, unwilling to keep defending him. “Weak and worthless, that’s how I feell. And every time our ways cross, he’s making it worse!”

By the gods, Loki never wanted to make you feel that way, let alone think such ways about yourself! He of all people, who knew best what its like to feel unfit and nowhere near enough.

Loki grabbed the fabric of his shirt tight, feeling that his heart might burst if he didn’t. It took everything in him to not let out a loud sob and be caught - but then, his brother snapped him out of it with an impossible question:

“Do you still love him?”

“L-Love might not be the right word, I mean-” Lately, you had let Thor in on your secret admiration for his younger brother. “With the way he’s treating me, and all-”

You just couldn’t help being drawn to him against all reason. After everything you had endured, just to be close to him - and he never even acknowledged your feelings.

And still, here you were, crying over a man that didn’t want you.

“Lady Y/N?”

Loki’s voice made you panic, immediately wriggling out of Thor’s embrace. The Odinson understood immediately, nodding towards his brother before leaving the two of you alone.

“Since when have you been standing there?!” Panic dropped to your stomach, wondering just how much he had heared.

“From the very beginning.”

Before you could even think about what to do now, Loki summoned a dagger, cutting off his raven locks in one swift move. “Wha-”

“Please, accept this as means of apology.” The man now dropped to one knee, humbly facing the ground. “I have never intended to make you doubt your most perfect self.”

Frantic, you were scanning his voice, face, anything for the slightest hint of a lie - but nothing. Loki seemed determined and sincere when he looked up to you, hesistantly taking a hold of your hand.

“This is new for me...” he uttered under his breath as his lips graced your knuckles, and only now you realized that he was trembling ever so slightly. 

“I-Is that another trick?!”

“What kind of vicious being do you think I am?” Well, after everything he had commited it was only natural of you accusing him. “There are lines not even I do not cross.”

Only for a brief second your heart felt a little bit lighter, as his eyes were locked with yours, lost in this moment you have been waited for so long...

...a little too unexpected, right?

Suddenly, you tugged your hand away, and Loki could only sigh in frustration. Of course it won’t be that easy for him to gain your trust. “I don’t need your pity, Loki...”

No matter how he racked his brain around the matter, he had burdened your shared past probably beyond the point of repair.

That would be his last chance, maybe the last time he’d ever see you again. He was so desperate in his attempt, and yet - what else could he do?

So for the first time in millenias, the God of Mischief decided to speak from the heart for a change:

"Y/N, I-I...As I said, this is new for me, so...” he cleared his throat before continuing, stress literally dropping out of every pore. “From the first day we’ve met, you...I mean...you were the most magnificent being I ever laid eyes upon, and...when I think about it now, I-I may be enarmored with you.”

Your eyes widened at this wholeheartedly confession, a sincere smile playing on his lips in contrast of sole tears running down his face.

Never before you had seen him like that: Flustered, vulnerable, and honest...

“I thought to be unworthy of your affection, so I tried to belittle you, to...I don’t even know. I’ve been told many times I am quite assertive of anyone but myself. I-I mean, I am a mess...I don’t understand my own feelings and thus drive away any chance of happiness, and...how could you ever-?”

“Mhh...” you silenced the man as your lips crushed over his, falling straight into his arms. It took Loki quite a second to fully grasp the situation before deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you’d disappear if he was to ever let go.

“Y/N...” the prince gasped when your lips parted from that breathtaking kiss - and this time it was you who wore that thug grin on your face.

"Apology accepted” you giggled, just to smother the face of this flabbergasted man in yet another thousand smaller kisses.

This had to be a dream, he thought...and immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him. He did not deserve this in the slightest.

“Now, don’t give me that look.” Cupping Loki’s face in your hands, you gifted him that heartwarming expression he had ignored for so many years, thinking it was not meant for him. “That kiss wiped my memory from everything you’ve done...by now.”

Out of sheer, genuine happiness, Loki leaped from the floor and excitedly swirled you around in his arms.

After another kiss that would kick the air right out of your lungs. the god would peck a more gentle one afterwards, as sweet and tender as no one ever thought he could be.

Even if it’s gonna be a long way, Loki would prove to be worthy of your love.

“Lady Y/N...if you are to believe in me, then I swear I will be on my best behavior from now on!”

"Let's see about that."

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 18:

“That’s pretty much all I got from him,” You sighed, picking at your fingernails. “That he doesn’t want me to know because other people talk bad about him.”

“That’s...” Selene trailed off, seemingly just as lost for words as you were.

Your best friend was making tea for the both of you, bustling around her kitchen as you spoke. Truthfully, you were thankful she invited you over. You didn’t think you could process this information by yourself.

You’d been going back and forth over it all day, trying to decide whether or not it was your place to share what you knew with Selene. You wanted to keep sacred the trust Bakugou had in you, but on the other hand, the longer you thought about his words the more worried you became. Deliberating on it further wouldn’t help you, but maybe talking about it would?

Either way, you just decided to cut your losses. Maybe a stronger woman could’ve kept this too herself and been fine, but you simply weren’t her.

“Yeah. I know.” You responded, falling back against her couch, and slumping into the armrest. “I have no idea what to do with that. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I can’t come up with any scenario that’s good.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” She nods, bringing your mug over to you.

“It’s just- I can only think of two reasons why that’d upset him so much, right?” You sip your tea. “One- he’s just being overly dramatic about it, but honestly, considering Bakugou’s reactions, that doesn’t seem to be the case. And two...”

You wrung your hands nervously. Selene only sat down next to you, a hand on your shoulder urging you to continue.

“Or h-he’s a bad guy. A really bad guy.” You spoke, suddenly sick to your stomach. “Like, a criminal or something. I mean, that’s the only way right? He��� said people talked about him, a lot, using his name, and then said I could look him up and find bad things, so that has to mean he’s like comitting crimes right? That he’s probably not good, and he’s got a record, because why else would anyone talk that badly about him, so much to the point where it’s synonymous with his name, if he didn’t do something horrific?”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, curling your arms protectively around them. Saying all of this out loud made you feel sick, but you truly couldn’t think of another explanation.

“Maybe...” Selene tried, but she seemed to be coming to your same conclusions as well. “Yeah. That’s- I can’t think of another reason either.”

“Yep.” You admitted defeatedly.

Silence fell over the room as you sipped from your mug. You tea was piping hot, nearly boiling, but it didn’t make you feel any warmer. You were cold, and you couldn’t stop your fingers from trembling.

You wanted to believe he was good, and you still sort of did from your personal interactions with Bakugou- But if looking up his name would show you a record of all his past actions, and if he was ashamed of them? Then how good could your soulmate really be?

It made you sick to think about. You’d wanted to save people and help them and do good your entire life- you didn’t think you’d be able to handle learning that your soulmate didn’t feel the same. That he hurt people instead.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Selene slug an arm around you, pulling you into her side. “Maybe- maybe it’s a misunderstanding, you know? Have you tried talking to him again about it?”

“No. Can’t.” You pull your phone from your back pocket, opening your messages to him. “Look what he sent me this morning.”

“He sent that at 5? In the morning?” Selene asks. “That’s.....”

“Suspicious.” You huffed, grabbing your phone from her and turning it off. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

“Y/n,” Selene lays her head on yours, squeezing you close to her. “I’m sorry. I-I know you were excited about him.”

“Yep. I was.” You wrap your arms tighter around yourself. “You know what’s even worse though?”

“What?”

“I-I think I meant it when I told him I’d like him anyway.” You confessed quietly. “Even if I did find out he was bad, I-I’m not sure I’d stop talking to him.”

Selene didn’t say anything, only pulling you even closer as you sniffled.

If thinking about Bakugou’s words made you feel sick, your own feelings made you downright nauseous. You truly didn’t think you’d be able to stop talking to him- you were already far too attached.

You couldn’t explain it either: why you already felt so, so, tied to him.

All you knew was you’d been waiting your entire life to be as happy as Bakugou made you. All you knew was that the sound of his voice made your heart jump and settle at the same time. All you knew is that your soul was finally being completed- and, selfishly, so, so, selfishly you weren’t sure you could ever give that up.

Selene leaned forward, grabbing her TV remote off the coffee table in front of you.

“Don’t. Please.” You sighed. “I love you, but I really don’t want to watch your trashy reality shows right now.” 

“I’m not, I’m not, don’t worry,” She knocks her shoulders lightly into yours. “Just local news for background noise.”

You groaned.

“What?” She asked, looking at you a little strangely. “Did Bakugou give you a problem with the news now, too?” 

“No, this- it’s not about him.” You rubbed at your eyes tiredly. “I still have that project remember? I usually watch the news for inspiration, so it just reminded me of it ‘sall.” 

“Oh, okay. You want me to turn it off?”

“No, it’s fine- it’s already on.” You curled into yourself just a bit more, voice tired and depressed as you felt. “Might as well just watch the hero stuff just incase I suddenly, like, get divine inspiration or something.”

“Oh my- you make it sound like you’re doomed!” She nudged you playfully. “C’mon, Y/n we can watch it together. You never know, maybe both of our single brain cells can think of something.” 

You just huffed a laugh, taking another sip of your tea and focusing on the TV.

On screen was another disaster scene, except this time in Jaku City. The city was decimated- buildings were turned sideways, smoke and fire were billowing, and loud explosions could be heard. There was another tar monster, but this time it was a lot larger than the one in Hosu. It was a black, twitching, fluid mass of poison that sucked up everything in it’s path, and seemed to be resistant to almost all attacks. 

There were multiple heroes on the scene, but it was all the same top pros you’d been seeing for what felt like years now. You recognized Deku, Shoto, and Uravity all working together, attacking and regrouping in the fray. It didn’t seem like they were making any progress, though. 

“Top pros have been working to stop the threat for hours now, but almost no progress has been made,” A reporter suddenly stepped into the frame, face visibly anxious. “They’ve been at it since early in the morning, but there has been virtually no change since they first infiltrated the hideout....”

You zoned out. You didn’t know who you were kidding, you couldn’t get anything done. Your brain just couldn’t seem to focus on anything but your soulmate. 

—/—

Bakugou still hadn’t texted you, and it’d been three days. You’d check your phone almost constantly, hoping and praying for even a single buzz, but it never made a difference.

On the fourth day, you texted him.

You don’t know what made you send the last two texts. You couldn’t explain it, even to yourself- but something just felt wrong. 

Bakugou hadn’t missed a single text from you since the very first day you contacted him. He might’ve been angry, and harsh, and volatile, but he was consistent. Even if he’d complain the entire time, he’d answer you, he always did. And if you didn’t contact him first, then he reached out to you. Either way, he was always around for you.

But not this time. 

Days went by and your texts stayed unread. There was a pit in your stomach, one that was steadily growing by the hour, and by the end of that week you felt like you were gonna cry. Every second was spent worrying, you couldn’t focus, and your school work was suffering. Nothing seemed to make you feel better. You weren’t sure when you let him burrow so far into your heart, but he was there now, and there was no use denying it. 

Your earlier questions about who he was, and whether or not he was good, seemed to fade entirely. You just wanted to hear his voice again. You just missed him. The ache you carried with you became a solid thing- sitting cold and heavy on top of a heart that had just learned how to be warm and weightless. You hurt, everywhere, and all you wanted was for him to be okay. 

Your phone was never far away, in your hands or pocket every second of the day- even when you fell asleep. But it didn’t matter. You phone never rang no matter how much you willed it to.

-/---

lmao this is kinda short,, but the original draft was wAY too long so i had to split it ahaha

[elvish-sky]

Say That Again {Legolas x Reader}

A.N: Do I really like this fic? Yes, I do. Will I possibly be re-writing it and turning it into a multi-part? Yes, I will. Thank you so much to the two Anons who requested this- I kinda went a little off of your exact requests, so I hope that’s ok, but I was super inspired by them. I’m very proud of this, and I really hope you all like it!

Requested by Anons on Tumblr: Can I request a Legolas x reader fic where the reader is an archivist for the library in Mirkwood and Legolas begins to visit more often just to see the reader? Over the months, they get very close and eventually end up confessing/sharing a small kiss, and the reader whispers, “I love you.” afterward. Legolas, having not heard those words directed towards him in a long time, is breathless. then, shyly, he tells the reader to say it again😶

and

Hey! I love your writing, by the way. I know you probably get a lot of these, so no pressure, but I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x reader fic? maybe where the reader is like an archivist/librarian for the woodland realm, and Legolas is doing research on the sickness in his homeland. together, they both find that Sauron has returned, and become really close over the time they’ve spent together. maybe the reader could join the fellowship with him? it’s just an idea based on a fic I read a while ago. you could do what you like with it, but I thought you could turn it into whatever you like. Thanks!

Word Count: 1,431

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, other than that I think that’s it. 

****

Say That Again

You sat curled up in your favorite chair in the back corner of the library and began to read, taking a break from your work. You were an archivist for the Library of the Woodland Realm, and you loved your job. Books were one of your favorite things in life, and so it was only natural for you to work in the library. Not only was it full of tomes of knowledge, but it was also absolutely stunning. Like everything else in the kingdom, it embodied nature, with smooth sweeping arches of stone and vines trailing along the walls. There were cuts in the stone to allow sunlight to brighten the dark, and the dust shone in the sunbeam on your table that was also illuminating your (h/c) hair, making it glow.

You looked up as someone plopped into the seat across from you. Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, had started visiting the library rather suddenly several weeks ago, looking for answers about the blight and darkness that were spreading through the forest. Shocked at first about how much he cared about the forest, and then even more so at how interested he was in you, it had been rather awkward at first. He was the prince, and you were just another elf, of no importance. Despite your differences, you had become fast friends, although you had wished for more since you had first laid eyes on him, years ago. 

He slammed a thick book down onto the table. “I think this one may contain the answers!” You glanced at the title. Blights of Nature and Their Causes. As much as you did not want to get your hopes up, this one looked promising. 

“Where did you find this?” you flipped open the cover, admiring the pretty endpapers. Whoever had authored this book had clearly taken the time to make sure it was presentable.

“In the ‘Ancient Lore’ section, the top of the last shelf.” You could tell he had been in the far reaches of the library, he was absolutely covered in dust. You absentmindedly reached out to brush off his shoulder, making him blush, but you quickly withdrew your hand once you realized what you were doing. 

“What were you doing back there?” 

“I figured that we’ve had no luck looking in the places where it would make sense to find answers, so I looked in a place where it wouldn’t make sense.” 

You chuckled at his explanation. “That may be the least-well thought out reasoning I have ever heard.” 

“Nevertheless, this one might be it. I mean, it mentions blights in the title! What’s happening outside is definitely a blight.” 

You could understand his excitement. You had been looking for some sort of explanation for weeks, and the darkness was only spreading. You bent over the book, head bowed next to his as you poured over the pages together.

Sometime later, you awoke, hearing a gasp, to find your head resting on Legolas’ chest. You were somehow lying between his legs with the book resting on your stomach as he peered at it over your shoulder. “What is it?” you responded to his cry, blinking groggily. “I think I’ve found something.” Your eyes scanned the page he was on, flying across the words as you searched for what he meant. They came to a rest on the line A spreading of darkness in a forest, and an infestation of dark creatures, often herald the arrival of dark sorcery. 

“Dark sorcery?” you glanced up at him, your worry mirrored in his eyes looking back at you. 

“It makes sense,” you could feel his mind spinning, sense his brain questioning, searching for an answer. “But what sorcery is strong enough to corrupt the Woodland Realm?”

 “I do not know,” you replied. “But I fear for all our safety against one this powerful. We must learn who is doing this.” 

“I know of someone who may be able to answer our questions.” Legolas strode into the library the next morning with a purposeful air. You looked up from your work. He was wearing a tunic and leather boots, like always, and his hair loose except for those two small braids on either side of his head. He looked, to put it simply, absolutely wonderful. But then, when did he not?

You were sure that you didn’t look half as put together- you had spent the whole night after he left-which was admittedly not much, he had stayed pretty late- pouring over ancient manuscripts and old texts, trying to find mention of any sorcerers powerful enough to corrupt a whole forest. You had found nothing, and looked rather worse for wear.

“Who?” you were frantically attempting to rein in your unruly hair as you spoke.

“Gandalf the Grey. I sent him a bird last night and he replied, he has found something most troubling and thinks it may be related. I’m traveling to Rivendell today on unrelated business and he’ll be there, so I’ll ask him then.” 

Now you were busy brushing out your clothes and picking lint off of them. Legolas looked at you, eyes drawn from where they had been steadily focused on the wall behind you by your frantic movements. “Y/N, what are you doing?” He grabbed your hand. “I’m just… nothing.” You looked down in embarrassment, eyes firmly fixed on his boots. “You’re primping, aren’t you?” “Well, it’s not fair for you to just tramp in here looking perfect all the time!” You stepped back from him, realizing what you had just said. “Well, you- uh- you don’t look perfect, per se, more like… well put together!” 

Your self-conscious stammering had just made you feel worse. “Look, Legolas. I’m sorry. I very much did not mean to say that.” “It’s ok, Y/N. I do look pretty great.” He did a little twirl to show off just how great, and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks again. 

“Now, Y/N, you might want to go upstairs and grab some things for the road if we want to be out of the forest by midday.”

“Wait- I’m coming?”

“Of course, Y/N! You didn’t think that after all of the help you gave me you wouldn’t be included when we finally get our answer?” 

Sheepishly, you nodded.

“Ok, well, go pack. I’ll put these books back and be waiting ready to go.”

“Thank you, Legolas!” you exclaimed as you turned to the door. “Love you!” 

“What did you just say?” Legolas spoke, and you spun to see him, face pale with shock, leaning against your table. 

“I said thanks.” It had been a passing comment, and you didn’t remember saying anything else. Until you did. “Oh, shit!” you clapped a hand over your mouth and internally smacked yourself. If he did not dislike me for my oddities before, he’ll hate me now, you thought. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Legolas. It was just a slip of the tongue, it meant nothing…” you trailed off as he stepped closer to you.

He grabbed your chin in his hand, gazing into your eyes. “Say that again.” 

“It meant nothing?” you were so very confused. 

“No, Y/N. The other thing.” He looked mildly exasperated with you now but was still gazing at you with that peculiar expression on his face.

“I love you?” you stammered, wondering if that was, in fact, the right thing to say. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

With this, his hand on your chin guided your lips to press against his. Finally, you thought as you melted into the kiss, surrendering yourself to him. You had wanted this for so long, and now it was finally happening. Your hands were tangled in his hair like you’d wanted them to be ever since you’d first met him. One of his was supporting your neck, and the other was wrapped around your back, pulling you closer into him.

Panting, you broke away. “I should go pack. We want to be on the road soon.” He nodded, seeming to come back to reality. “I’ll be waiting here when your ready, melleth nin.” He said the words to your retreating back, and as you heard them you smiled. Spinning around again, you strode back to him and grabbed his shirt to pull his lips down to yours. “We can wait ten more minutes, right?” “Of course.” He kissed you again, and you lost yourself in him, his arms wrapped around you, holding on to each other as you would be for the rest of your lives. 

Everything tag 💖: @entishramblings @boyruins @itgetsatadhazy @anjhope1

Legolas tag: @sheriffgerard

[inkandpen22]

I Hate You, I Love You

Pairing: Harry Potter x Female!Reader  

Warnings: Smutty-smut, swearing, fighting

Word Count: 

A/N: my first smut lol be nice 

Masterlist

It’s the day of Fleur and Bill’s wedding. Alone in Ginny’s room, I stand in front of her mirror, analyzing my appearance in this dress. Hermione picked it out at the store. She insists I look best in blue. I wasn’t sure about it being silk or the low neckline or the practically nonexistent back. At least it has straps, though they’re about as thin as pasta.

There’s a knock at the door behind me and a call over my shoulder for the person to enter freely. When I turn back to the mirror, I see Harry enter quietly. I swallow hard, clenching my jaw as I pretend not to care. He approaches me nervously, his hands in his pockets.

“You uh... you look really nice,” he compliments, look at my reflection by my side.

My eyes remain on the mirror as I mumble a soft ‘thank you.’

Harry sighs, picking up on my frustration. It rolled over to today after last night's bickering following dinner. Ron may have left it to slip that the ‘Golden Trio’ may be leaving any day now to search for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Harry somehow failed to mention to me, his girlfriend.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, sounding frustrated. “Can we talk about this? I would like for us to enjoy tonight.”

His words are rational if we were discussing him forgetting a minor matter! Instead, we’re referring to him leave for weeks, perhaps months! We will have no form of contact! I won’t know if he’s dead or alive!

“No,” I answer sharply. “Talking about it will just make it worse,” I determine, turning to head out of the room.

Harry grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Wait-”

“Harry!” I snap at him, much to his surprise. Harry stands there wide-eyed, taken aback by my rash reaction. How does he think I felt after I learned that he’s putting himself on death’s doorstep. “Look,” I sigh, softening my tone. “I understand that you’re ‘The Chosen One,’ but we’re only seventeen! Things are steady at the moment, why must we rush it?”

“I have to do this!” Harry insists and I yank my wrist free of his hold. I pace away and he follows close on my heels. “Do you think I’m going to enjoy it? This won’t be a little holiday, Y/N, we’ll be hunting ways to destroy Voldemort!”

I whip my head around, eyes pricked with tears, “but I don’t you to go...”

Upon seeing my distressed state, his features soften. He reaches out to me, cupping either side of my face softly. “I know, my Love. I don’t want to leave you... believe me,” he whispers, caressing my cheek and I place my hands over his. “But it’s up to me to fix this. Everyone is depending on me.”

“Let me help you!” I try to reason with him.

“No, I can’t ask you to risk your life for me,” he refuses sternly, but I can tell it’s out of fear.

“You're risking your’s for me,” I argue. “For all of us!”

“That’s different!” His hands fall roughly as he turns his back to me.

“How?” I shout at him.

He can the most irrational person! For being ‘The Chosen One’ he’s rather stupid! Hermione would’ve been a better option in that pointless prophecy!

He spins toward me sharply and yells, “because I don’t have a choice! Because I love you!” He pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares into my eyes solemnly. “Because I love you...” He repeats in a whisper.

“I love you too,” I reply quietly, tears threaten to fall from my eyes. I can’t lose him. A world without Harry in it is a world I couldn’t bear to live in. “Please Harry, please let me go with you!” I practically beg.

He shakes his head, avoiding my gaze. “It’ll be dangerous Y/N. I... I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself if anything were to ever happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself!” I remind him in a hiss.

I hate how defenseless he sees me. I’m one of the most skilled witches in our class at Hogwarts, Dumbledore said so himself once.

“I know that!” He barks, hitting his boiling point. “But I want to protect you!”

I roll my eyes with a scoff, he can’t be serious! “Oh stop with that ‘me man, me protect woman’ bollocks, Potter,” I mock.

“Why can’t you just listen to me!” He yells at the top of his lungs, his face turning red.

“I’m coming!” I insist, not backing down as I add to this screaming match.

In a swift glide, Harry crosses the yards between us. He grabs both sides of my face and smashes his lips to mine hungrily. At first, the action catches me off guard and I struggle to shove him off of me. He merely wraps his arms around me, pressing me to his chest. Harry’s never done this before, this isn’t like him. He’s usually so hesitant and unsure of himself. I find myself melting into the feeling. I embrace the sensation and Harry grips my waist, his nails digging into my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Harry grabs the back of my legs and I jump to wrap them around his waist. Walking across the room, he then lowers me onto the bed.

“Merlin, you’re so stubborn,” he mutters against my lips as he raises the hem of my dress up.

“I’ve learned from the best,” I remark bitterly, still frustrated with him.

“Why must you be so hard all the time?” He insults, rising above me with a disdainful glare in his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” I giggle, referring to a different kind of hard. Potter doesn’t scare me. Though I’ve never seen him this way, I’m still shaken. In fact, it excites me.

Furious with my reaction, he aggressively curling his fingers under my panties and yanking them down his legs. “You expect me to allow you to come with us when all you do is distract me!”

“That’s not my fault, Potter. You’ve always been too deep in your own head,” I tease, combing my fingers through his hair as he lowers himself down between my legs.

“You’re right,” he agrees surprisingly, peering up at me. “I should be deep inside you more often,” he smirks wickedly before disappearing between my legs.

My eyes flicker up to the ceiling as I feel Harry’s tongue brush against my core. At first, it’s a series of steady glides. He’s teasing me, making me want more. My hand brushes his brown curly locks back gently. Then, Harry picks up his pace unexpectedly, causing me to jolt from surprise.

“Godric fuck,” I curse, breathless from the sudden burst of pleasure.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he purrs against my core, making me shutter.

Harry’s nails dig into my thighs roughly, holding me in place as I struggle under his aggression. I had no idea Harry had this in him, it’s incredible. The sensation is all-consuming, I can’t get enough of it. I bite down on my lip, suppressing a sweet moan.

“Don’t do that,” he commands. “Moan for me, Baby.”

I peer down at him, thinking of everyone in the house. “But-”

His eyes narrowed at me in slits. “Do as I say,” he growls, moving up from between my legs to lay on his side next to me.

I swallow hard as Harry glides his fingertips down my body, watching them travel down to my core. His flicker up to my face as they enter me. My lips part with a gasp and I grip his forearm.

“That’s right,” he mutters in my ear. “I want you to cum for me.”

I moan, his action and words testing my willpower. His lips kiss my neck and suck at the skin, finding my sweet spot. My eyes squeeze shut and I feel myself slipping. He knows me too, it isn’t fair.

“Please Harry...” I whisper pleadingly

“Look who’s so compliant now.” I can feel his smile against my skin, “you want to?”

I hum, nodding my head slowly.

“Say it for me,” he instructs. “Beg for it.”

I remain silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He can’t win everything. Then, he begins pumping his fingers in and out of me faster. I gasp, reaching down quickly to stop it. He moves to hover over me, his fingers continuing their attack as his other hand wraps around my neck. He towers over me with a pleased smirk at my defenselessness.

“I won’t unless you say it,” he warns mockingly.

I squirm under his pressure, his fingers driving me closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he repeats.

“Fuck me dammit!” I bark, frustrated that he can make me get so close with little effort.

“There’s my girl,” he chuckles wickedly. “You needy needy girl.”

His attack ends as I hear him unbuckle his belt. I pant, catching my breath after everything. I was so close, dangerously close. I’ve never yearned for someone or anything more. I want Harry, need him. The best part, I’m fucking pissed at him and he’s pissed at me. We fucking hate each other right out and we’re taking our anger out on each other in the most glorious way.

Standing beside the bed, Harry glides his palm over my soaking core. My back arches off the bed as a quiet curse escapes my lips. He chuckles, rather pleased with him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Y/N,” he grins, grabbing me by the ankles and yanking me closer to him. “Just wait until I fill you.”

I roll my hips uncontrollably, needing him inside me. Merlin, I need him to fuck me hard. I need him to utterly wreck me with everything he has.

Harry teases my entrance with his tip, glancing between me and my core. Then, his eyes stay on mine as he glides into me slowly. My lips part as I suck in air sharply. He smirks mischievously, slipping his hand around my neck. Steadily, he keeps apace. I moan, getting used to the sensation and adjusting. Then, Harry increases his pace at a rapid rate, making me hiss. Pounding into me, he grips my neck tighter. I whimper, overwhelmed by the pleasurable and foreign pain.

“Scream for me, Baby,” Harry pants, relentless with his assault. “Scream my name for everyone to hear.”

“Fuck Harry,” I whine, running my nails down his back, likely leaving marks.

He moans in my ear, the sound causing my core to pulse. I wish I could hear it repeatedly.

“Just like that,” he breaths. “Louder!” Taking a fist full of my hair, he tugs it back.

I shake my head, everyone will hear us, then what? We’ll have embarrassed Fleur and Bill on their wedding day.

Irritated with my refusal, Harry starts rubbing circles over my clit as he thrusts into me relentlessly. A yelp escapes me uncontrollably, much to Harry’s satisfaction.

“You’re going to do as I say from now on,” he hisses, starring down at me as I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re going to be a good girlfriend and respect me!”

“Fuck you, Potter,” I grumble, barely able to speak.

He chuckles mockingly, “you already are.” I feel the pleasure building up in my core. Godric, I hate how I’m angry with him, but he still manages to get me off. We were fighting just minutes ago! I fought him off but it was hard not to give in. The passion in the anger energized the need for him even more.

He’s hitting my G-spot relentlessly as he rubs circles over my clit. I’m so close, my walls tighten around Harry.

“That’s it Y/N, cum for me,” he orders. “I want you cum all over my dick.”

His words push me over the end, the pleasurable feeling pouring over me. Harry thrusts into me faster, intensify my high. My back arches off the bed as a deep moan falls between my lips. Harry starts at my neck, kisses down my front.

He groans as I cum on his hardness. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” he pants. “I’m gonna fill you up so much.”

Right as I begin to subside from my climax, Harry hits his point. He rolls his hips, his dick hitting depths new for both of us. I moan, relishing in the feeling as his cum fills my walls.

Harry falls to the bed beside me. The room falls silent as we recover, nothing but the sound of the two of us trying to catch out-breath. Well shit, that was by far the greatest shag I’ve ever had. I stare up at the ceiling, still trying to process everything.

“You’re staying,” Harry pants as if that means anything. He certainly knows how to ruin a perfectly good moment.

I scoff dismissively, whipping my head to the side to look at him. “oh I am so coming!”

“It’s going to be rough!” He starts arguing again. “You’re going to get hurt!”

I laugh at his reasoning, “if what just happened proves anything, it’s that I can handle a bit of roughness.”

“Y/N...” he sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Rolling onto my side, I cup his face gently and make him look in my eyes. “You won’t lose me. Now you know I don’t make promises, so I won’t. But, even if something does happen, I will always love you.”

With a soft nod, he kisses my palm and places his hand over mine. “I love you so much.”

There’s a comfortable pause as we stare into one another’s eyes, pondering the minutes. Harry reaches out and brushes his fingers through my hair comfortingly. Soon, we won’t have this and we don’t know what may happen. We’ll have to make the most of what we have now.

“What time is it?” Harry asks.

I check the clock on the nightstand. “Three forty,” I read before turning back to him. “Why?”

He scrunches his brows together up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “That gives us twenty minutes. We’d be cutting it pretty close.” He glances over at me with a cheeky grin. “What do you it again?”

“Oh please, Potter,” I giggle, already moving to straddle him. He grips my waist, steadying me. “We can do it in ten max.”

“God, I love you,” he grins, bringing me down for a kiss.

I think this time around won’t categorize as angry sex, but for the future, Harry and I wouldn’t mind if we bicker now and again. 

[no-droids]

Rough Day (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 3.1K

Summary: When you woke up this morning, you didn’t really think it would be a “fixing Mando’s knife wound and then giving him a handjob” kind of day today but hey, who knew that agreeing to babysit a bounty hunter’s weird, green little child would be so full of surprises.

Warnings: Smut, language, handjobs (duh), dirty talk, Pedro Pascal (deserves his own warning), mentions of blood, spoilers for the Mandalorian.

Maker, why is this even a thing?

You don’t know his name.  You’ve never seen his face.  He barely says a word, doesn’t even move much unless he needs to.  If he didn’t have such an obvious complex about droids, you would’ve thought he could be one himself, quietly forged and hidden beneath gleaming beskar armor for an untold number of years.  You know practically nothing about him other than the few things you’ve heard about his culture��most likely either grossly exaggerated or just flat out nonsense.  Everything about him is an enigma, even down to the vaguely impersonal things, such as the technical name for his “poof gun” or what insane percentage of his body weight metal has to account for.

But that doesn’t stop you.  Nope, the fact that you’ve never even seen a strip of his skin doesn’t stop you from nursing a stupid, helpless crush on the quiet bounty hunter.  Stars, it’s ridiculous.  The modulated, low baritone, the intimidating way he carries himself, so stoic and dark and foreboding and tall—

He terrifies you.  You’re absolutely terrified of bothering him, of being too forward or inquisitive.  You sit in the cockpit with him for hours in dead silence, kid perched on your lap in the copilot’s seat to keep him from touching anything, hypnotized by the way his helmet subtly reflects the streaks of hyperspace as they race by and thinking about all the impossible things you want to know but can never ask about.  The last thing you want to do is accidentally test his patience, possibly get marooned on some backwater planet somewhere because you just couldn’t accept something so beautifully mysterious for what it is.

So you ultimately strive to be almost as quiet as he is, always helpful but never in the way.  You troubleshoot mechanical issues with the vessel when they make themselves known, take the baby in one of the secluded areas of the hull and play peekaboo for a bit when he gets too fussy, or just pick up a rag and start cleaning when there’s nothing else to occupy your time.  You sleep occasionally, curling up on the floor of the hull with a blanket to avoid taking up too much space, living out of your suitcase and making a generous ten percent of his commissions just by copiloting and keeping watch over the child while he works.  With the strict schedule he keeps, your pay is always handsome and consistent, even if it is all a bit boring.

Watching him wrestle his bounties into carbonite is admittedly the most exciting part for you, the rest of your days filled with nothing but the interior of the vessel as it either travels through hyperspace or sits stationary on a planet.  He always returns to you bruised and dirty, manhandling and shoving his bounties up the ramp and into the carbonite chamber one by one, not bothering with the fuel needed to collect payment until at least three or four have been retrieved.

You try not to constantly replay the incredibly vivid memory of one of them snarling something sexually obscene at you once and how quickly the bounty hunter whipped his fist out and broke his nose before freezing him.

“Isn’t… isn’t he still conscious in there?”  You remember asking, studying the disgustingly crooked angle of the man’s shattered silver nose, to which the Mandalorian shortly replied, “Yes,” before clambering into the cockpit and taking off.

You had to bite down on the back of your hand to keep from whimpering when you touched yourself later that night.

Maker, you want him.  You want to help him relax, give him something soft and warm to come back to after exhausting days spent in the elements, after not sleeping for who knows how long and toting elusive criminals behind him.  Sometimes you can’t think about anything else besides how hard he’d fuck, how much he desperately needs it, how sexy his voice would sound raggedly gasping your name through the modulator in his helmet.  You want to get on your knees and give him the reward he deserves for putting himself in danger for a living, risking his life time and time again for mere credits.  If he even returns your feelings by ten percent, it’d be gracious and far more than you deserve.

But then one day he comes back limping, dragging a dead body on the ground behind him by the hem of its ankle.  The baby is already fast asleep in the cockpit so you thankfully have nothing better to do but watch as he silently hauls the dead weight into the hull, heaves it upright into the carbonite chamber.  He’s slow—too slow in pressing the button.  He looks at it for too long.  It’s like he has to double-check it’s the right one, adjust his vision until it fully focuses and registers.  Breath coming out stunted and shallow through his helmet, every movement somehow looks like it’s increasingly more difficult for him, limbs heavy and weighed down with iron braces and pure exhaustion.

His silhouette slowly approaches through the thick haze of freezing gas, and you blink rather stupidly down at your hand when an emergency cauterizer is suddenly pushed into it.  Without a word, he turns around and starts working at his chest plate.

You’re… you’re actually kind of worried now.  He usually takes care of these things himself, shuts himself away and tends to his own wounds after capturing unexpectedly difficult quarry.  How serious must his injury be to not bother getting into hyperspace before treating it, much less even closing the door to the ship?

Finally managing to find some sense of urgency, you quickly reach up to fiddle with the complex magnetics below either of his pauldrons.  Once the beskar, utility belt, and underplates are all removed, the Mandalorian abruptly drops to his knees with a loud clang and curls over, reaching behind his gleaming helmet to pull weakly at his cape and tunic.  You lower yourself to the floor and help him, hands trying not to shake as the warm, tan skin of his spine gradually reveals itself from under the dark fabric.

Your heart somehow leaps and contorts simultaneously, soon catching sight of the ugly tear of a knife wound steadily dripping crimson down his side.  “Shit,” you whisper, fumbling with the unfamiliar piece of medical equipment in your hands.  “Shit, Mando, are—are you sure this’ll be enough?”

“Not deep,” he punches out through the modulator.  “Just need… close it.  Be alright.  Sleep.  Set coordinates…”

The cauterizer zaps red and reflects against the gradually dissipating fog in the air, its threatening buzz echoing throughout the quiet hull with impending pain.  

“Try not to move,” you warn, swallowing thickly and reaching your hand out to rest along the smoothness of his bared skin.  He noticeably flinches.

Your fingers squeeze gently, reassuringly as you bring the laser down and start at the very edge of the wound.  The Mandalorian manages to stay remarkably still for being in what you can only imagine must be incredible pain, the skin of his back feverishly warm under your palm as it periodically flickers and illuminates a glowing red.  

You have to bite down on your lip when he suddenly shoots a hand back to firmly grab hold of the bend in your knee, taking slow, deep breaths through the modulator and trying to relax the tensing muscles wrapping around his spine.

Maker, this is like a fever dream.  His skin is so smooth, firm and lovely and bronze under your gentle touch, muscles pulsing with life as you slowly work to stop the bleeding by scarring over the tissue.  It’s so… intimate.  The silence broken only by the zapping cauterizer and his tight breaths, the way you’re both holding onto each other for entirely different reasons.

His grip on your knee suddenly turns to steel and he huffs out a ragged gasp in wordless caution, giving you just enough time to pull your thumb off the button before his body jerks a few inches in pain.  His tunic falls down your wrist with the abrupt movement and nearly touches the sizzling wound before you can catch it, quickly yanking the fabric up his curled back as far as you can and readjusting your hold on him.

You give him a beat to recover like that before softly reassuring under your breath, “Halfway done,” and brushing the knuckles of your other hand down his spine in a small gesture of comfort.

His muted grunt of acknowledgement follows a minuscule little tremor under your palm, the way his body seems to be responding to your touch filling you with some new, radical kind of bravery.  You quietly shuffle closer to him and turn the cauterizer back on, carefully framing his hips with your open legs.

“That little green thing up there is a monster, you know,” you suddenly say, wanting to distract him by filling the void but not wanting to overwhelm him with conversation.  Even small talk is considered uncharted territory here, but you figure it’s better than letting him suffer in silence.  “I saw it eat a live fish today.  A fish.  Grabbed it out of the pond over there like it was nothing and just swallowed the damn thing whole, fins and all.  Most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You don’t hear him or see him move, but you do feel a subtle shake of his ribcage under your hand.  It fills your heart with air.

“Was twice as big as the little hairball,” you continue on.  “Surprised he’s not still flailing around in there right now, throwing him off balance.”

“Not with…those ears,” a modulated voice returns quietly, his gloved thumb barely brushing a half inch across your kneecap when you suddenly breathe out a laugh in surprised delight.  

“Maker, it’s worse than I thought.”  Your hand soothes gently along his back, trailing over the hills and valleys of each individual rib while you work.  “A Mandalorian just told a joke.”

“S-symptom of… of impend—ing death.”

“Yes, well.  At least the dramatics are consistent,” you remark.  “I deserve a raise, by the way.  Holding that little gremlin over the toilet and having him stare up at me while he does his business is getting real old real quick, tell you that much.”

“Reason…” he breathes out, trying not to wince, “…hired you.”

“Jerk,” you accuse with a smile.  “He’s healing you next time.”

There’s a small huff through the modulator, and his helmet tinks against the metal floor when he abruptly drops his head to rest there.

“Almost done,” you tell him, curling your fingers and softly dragging your nails down his side in hopes of distracting him from the pain.  It works like a charm, his whole body instantly going boneless at the sensation.  “Finish this up, close the door, set coordinates.  Get you clean, then you can rest for a few days.  You work too hard.”

“Mand—lorean…” he barely croaks out in response, as if the almost inaudible word counts as a valid explanation.

“Hadn’t noticed,” you say, finally reaching the other end of the wound.  You turn the cauterizer off and double check your work, hating the deformed scar for marring his beautiful skin but reasonably satisfied it won’t accidentally reopen.  “Alright.  Done.”

He doesn’t move.

“… Mando?”

His body stays completely still, unresponsive to your inquiry and his breaths no longer immediately audible.  Your blood instantly turns to ice in your veins as you drop the silver contraption to reach around his body and shove two fingers under his helmet, pressing them up against his lower jaw as best you can.  Only, the thick fabric of his cape wraps around his neck in layers like a shawl, blocking you from feeling his pulse.

“Shit,” you hiss, your other hand quickly rounding his side under the tunic to travel up the front of his bare torso instead. Pointedly ignoring the way his chest hair tickles your fingers as you wiggle them up firm pectorals and a prominent collar bone, you eventually find and push against a scruffy jawline.

The quick, steady beating under the tips of your fingers allows you to relax just slightly, but then the Mandalorian suddenly grunts and shifts, trapping your elbow under his arm and bringing his hand up to cradle the back of yours over his shirt.

You freeze with your body nearly folded over him on the floor like that, praying you haven’t overstepped somehow.  This is an emergency, surely he wouldn’t think you’re—

Slowly, so achingly slowly, he starts to pull your hand down the strong lines of his neck.  You gasp, fingers trembling under his as he gradually leads you lower, letting you trace the dip in his collar bone, spread out across the solid curve of his chest and feel his heart beat unexpectedly rapidly under your palm.

Maker, this is real—he’s real.  Warm, sturdy, clearly too delirious and lost in the same exact euphoria you are to snap himself out of it.  Touch.  Skin-to-skin contact after so much isolation, so many years spent by yourself.  In other circumstances, you might be worried that you’re taking advantage of him in his clearly exhausted state, but his grip on the back of your hand is so strong—his path so steady and clear as you both travel across the hard ridges of his sternum and abdominal muscles.  If anything, he’s not giving you much of a choice in the matter, and for some reason that fact alone serves to make you incredibly bold.

When your fingers eventually bump into the hem of his trousers, you cautiously lean forward and press your lips to the Mandalorian’s exposed shoulder blade.

He instantly goes rigid at the gentle kiss.  And then his entire back quakes with a shudder.

“Fuck,” comes that dark, gritted baritone through the modulator, losing all sense of composure and frantically shoving your hand beneath the fabric hugging his waistline.

“Maker,” you whisper against his skin, equally as fervent, letting him spread his legs slightly in his hunched-over position and maneuver your palm to wrap around a warm, thick cock.  He groans and gives them both a good, rough squeeze over the thick layers of fabric.

“Fuck—you’re—“ he moans hoarsely, moving to brace an arm above his head on the floor with a metallic clatter so he can slowly start to thrust his hips into your clenched fist, “fuck—soft.  How’re you so f-fucking—sof—oft.  ‘N pr-pretty.”

Your body fills with wildfire, ladling heat into your lower tummy.  “Softer somewhere else,” you admit quietly, brushing your thumb along the tip of his cock and humming when his body jerks with it.

“I—fuck—be-believe you,” he gasps, growing harder and harder in your hand.  “Bet you feel—per-perfect.  S’perfect.  H-home.  Rough—” his breathing stutters, helmet rolling to the side on the floor with a dull scrape, “Ngh, fuck—ro—ough day.”

“Let me handle it,” you murmur, beginning to stroke his throbbing length up and down in time with his cramped, stunted thrusts.  It’s not ideal, of course; it’s dry, probably too dry but for some reason you think he might like it more this way.  He gets to feel every ridge and crevice your fingers catch, gets to use his hand to tighten your grip around him even more and desperately start dry fucking your fist like he’ll never get enough of the sensation.

“Let you do anything,” he agrees mindlessly, the words sounding slurred and distorted as he groans them deliriously into the floor.  “Give you—give you anything.  Fuck.  Sw-sweet girl.  Helpful.  Always—always taking care of things.  The k-kid.  L-look so—look so pretty.”

You press soft, open-mouthed kisses along the heaving curve of his spine, letting your warm tongue come out to taste the thin sheen of moisture glistening there.  He growls low in his throat and freezes, holding himself perfectly still and clenching his hand into a fist on the floor as you flutter your tongue against his skin.

“I like taking care of other things, too,” you say softly into the dip in his shoulder blade.

“Ah—fucking, stars—like it—like it, too,” he grits, his cock pulsing between his legs.  “T-too much.”

“Relax,” you encourage, reaching your other hand down to gently cup his balls.  “Relax.  You need rest.  Just cum like this, I’ll go down on you later if you want.”

And then quite suddenly—so suddenly that you think it might actually surprise him more than you—he does.  

The Mandalorian cums.  Hard.  In your hand, right there on the floor, dark clothes bloody and prestigious armor halfway ripped off his body.

A ragged gasp tears through the modulator and his back straightens, the chin of his helmet lifting off the ground a few inches with it and his balls pulling up deliciously tight under your palm.  Warmth immediately begins to coat your fingers in throbbing spurts as he clangs a clenched fist against the hull, growling the first part of your name before it turns into a savage, wordless snarl.

You bite down on his back and moan with him, caressing the swollen head of his cock as it pulses spectacularly in your hand.  His orgasm is long and achingly slow, draining his body of its dwindling energy with every thick rope of cum you’re able to milk out of him.  He gasps and swears his whole way through it, until he finally exhausts every last reserve he has and collapses weakly to the floor.

With careful precision, you’re eventually able to remove your hands from his crotch.  His back continues to rise and fall with quiet, steady breaths, clearly passed out from overexertion, but it does give you the opportunity and privacy to lick your fingers clean without feeling embarrassed for doing so in front of him.

Nope, no embarrassment, just so fucking turned on that you might actually die.  He tastes absolutely divine—warm and masculine and gorgeously thick coating the shallow hills and shores of your knuckles.  Following your own advice, you manage to stand on shaky legs and close the hatch of the ship, deciding you should probably plot a course for… somewhere, before trying to clean Mando up or dress his wound.

You take a second to look back at him, laying there in a gorgeously disheveled pile on the floor, dead asleep.  It fills you with a surge of pride, being able to reduce such an untouchable, reputable bounty hunter to the level of any other man.  You already want him again, you’re already addicted to the glorious power trip of feeling him let go and fall apart under your touch.

Later, you silently promise yourself, climbing the ladder to the cockpit.  Later.

Edit: Read part two, Heaven in Hyperspace here.

[heavenbarnes]

Nightmare

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: a sort of fight scene, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), coming inside, mentions of come in other places, praise kink, bucky appreciates a beautiful woman

Word Count: 1983

i’ve joined Laur’s Quarantine Writing Challenge hosted by the oracle herself @fvckingavengers ​! so i am incredibly excited to bring you some not-so-angsty girl power smut with our favourite boy x

The moment you realize that the sharpest weapon you’ll ever wield is yourself, there is no way anyone else can catch up at this point.

You were born into a world that is hungry for your downfall, your own strength is your own survival. 

This role, Earth’s mightiest heroes, was never going to be an exception to the rule. You came face to face with the all the scum the Earth had to offer.

Nothing they liked more than trying to pick you apart, tear you down, find anything they could to throw back against you. Did they really think they could make a difference? You’d said worse things to yourself in the mirror.

The one you couldn’t stand, it made your skin crawl, was a simple one-liner.

“Give us a smile.”

If you had a dollar for every time you’d heard that one, you’d buy the Avengers tower right out from under Tony. 

Weapons bust, a tip off and late night siege. It all happened so quickly that you didn’t even see him. You were well aware of him once he had your hand pinned behind you and his grip on your jaw.

“Lighten up, baby.” His voice grated on you. “Why don’t you give me a pretty little smile?”

“I won’t smile but I’ll show you my fucking teeth.” You snarled as you struggled against him.

That chuckle, like he really thought he’d done something, it was enough to do your head in. His attention was drawn away from you by the door being kicked in.

He tugged you closer to him, the stench of him rolled your eyes and your stomach. His gaze stayed locked on the intruder, but you didn’t have to turn to know.

“How nice of your boyfriend to come save your ass.”

“Oh, I’m not here to save anyone, I’m here to watch.” Bucky’s flippant remark gave you something to smile about.

It all happened so quickly that he didn’t even see you. Within a moment you had his back on the ground and all was said and done. You knew you had nothing to prove, but goddamn if it didn’t feel good sometimes.

“You can’t just leave me here!” He hollered behind you, handcuffed to the leaking gas pipe.

“Actually I can, I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

“You bitch!”

“Oh, lighten up, why don’t you give me a pretty little smile?”

-

There was a switch within Bucky that, seemingly, only you knew how to flip. Something as simple as saving yourself and bringing down a piece-of-shit did it relatively easy. It left him with no choice but to stand in awe of you.

“You’re so fucking cool.” His voice came out as a groan. lips covering every inch of your throat as hands wrapped around your thighs.

He lifted you straight off the ground, pulling you flush towards him as your fingers threaded in his hair. You drew him back from your neck, connecting your lips together in a searing kiss.

It was heated and messy and there was something that said he had been waiting to do this from the moment he found you in that room. He’d never doubt just how powerful you were, there was never any doubt about it.

The way your legs hugged around his waist told him he needed them around his head.

Bucky lowered you against the plush of the hotel mattress, fingers working quick against the zip of your suit. You hurriedly pushed his tactical gear off his shoulders, fingers digging into the tense muscle of his shoulders.

The feeling of his bare chest against yours drew a gasp from your chest. He trailed his hands down your sides, lips following the valley between your breasts and over your stomach.

It was as if he was worshiping every part of you, accounting for all your curves and the parts that were uniquely you. It was hard to feel anything less than that bitch when you had a man that touched you just like this.

“You’re so fucking sexy, every part of you makes me so damn hard.” The strangled moan struck a nerve deep within you.

You giggled, combing his hair back out of his face as you watched his lips move down you. His eyes flickered up, catching yours with a glint in them. You could almost read in his expression exactly what he wanted to do to you.

The band of your panties snapped under the strength of his fingers as he discarded the fabric. Bucky picked up each of your legs, trailing kisses along the soft and sensitive skin of them, special attention paid to your inner thighs.

You could feel the heat rising within you, a man that could send a flood to your core with a look, the things he could do to you like this. He slung each leg over his broad shoulders, lowering down until his chest was against the mattress.

“Bucky, please.” Was all you could manage, hands coming up to tweak at your hardened nipples.

His eyes stayed on you, watching the way you touched yourself as his breath fanned over your mound. He drew in a deep breath, taking in the scent of your wetness, stirring his cock further to life than it already was.

Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of his tongue against your slit. Strong arms came around your thighs, large hands resting against your hips. He knew it was only moments before you started to thrash against him, he came prepared.

His tongue flicked against you clit, your hips rolling against his face in response. The rumble of his moans moved into you, your breath short and gasping as his tongue shifted something inside you.

“Good baby.” His voice muffled by your cunt. “Ride my face like that, use me.”

Your whimpers drifted through the room, body instinctively following what he said, grinding your heat down against his skilled tongue. Your toes curled against his shoulder, heel digging into the skin as he worked against your clit.

The tip off his tongue gently flicking against the bud had your back arching off the bed, nearly sending electricity through you. Your fingers tugged at the roots of his hair, spurring him on and telling him he was doing just the right job.

Obscene sounds from between your legs, you would’ve sworn you were Bucky’s last supper. He slipped one hand off your hip and brought it to rub against your entrance, your thighs tensing tighter around his head.

He slipped two long fingers in, immediately curling them up to force you to squirm against the mattress. Incoherent cries of his name drifted about the space, your body rising and falling with his movements. He fucked you steadily with his digits, tongue never letting up against your clit.

“You’re so good, Bucky!” A long whine in your voice. “So good!”

He chuckled against you, vibrations reverberating deep within you. He could tell exactly where he had you by the way you moved. His fingers slowed down, pulling out of you before he sat up against his forearm.

With the hand covered in your wetness, he delivered harsh slaps to your pussy, your whines breaking into screams. Your orgasm rocked through you, hips rolling into the delicious bouts of pain.

As you came down from your high, you felt Bucky crawl up your body. He brought his lips to yours, the taste of your pleasure still heavy on his lips. Your palms lay against his stubbled jaw, drawing him as close as you could.

You felt him, painfully hard through his boxers, rubbing against your sensitive pussy. For as big and as tough as he was, you always knew him to be the one that could near come in his pants just from tasting you. There would always be something about him that left you wanting more.

Shuffling his boxers off of him, you felt his length fall heavy against your stomach, a spread of pre-come left in its wake. You brought your fingers down to rub it between your hands and stomach. Bucky threw his head back, mouth falling open with broken cries.

“Did you want me to come on you, because I fucking will with you like this.” 

“As nice as that sounds,” You brought your lips right to his ear. “I’d like you to come deep in me.”

His hips stuttered against your motions and for a minute you thought you had him. He regained any composure he had left and lifted himself up to watch where his cockhead rubbed against your slit.

He trailed it along your wetness, the only sound in the room being your hushed breaths. He braced that hand against the headboard, the other on your hip as he slowly slid into you. Your body relaxed beneath him, a shuddered cry as he stretched you out.

There was a still moment before he recaptured your lips, drew his hips back and then plowed forward with near bruising force. You cried out into his mouth, the sounds of pleasure escaping within him. He pulled himself up with every thrust, the pace making your body give out on you.

He drew back from your lips, taking the moment to look at your expression, the face of bliss and content. He felt his body tensing, any ounce of control used to not absolutely lose his mind at the sight of you.

“That feel good, angel?” He grunted, soft hair falling into his eyes.

You brushed it back, tugging down on it as you did, drawing another groan straight from his chest. All you could do was nod in response, the pleasure coursing through you was robbing you of the ability to speak.

Your legs came up around his waist, spreading yourself out for Bucky. You rested your crossed ankles under his ass, drawing him in and getting him as deep as you could.

He always struck chords in you that you forgot you had, he was the only one to ever find them. Your fingers trailed from his hair to his shoulders, nails dragging down the span of his back. You knew you’d see him in a tank top, even shirtless whilst working out, and you’d see the scratches and they’d take you right back.

The feeling of your next orgasm was right there, the fuse inside you was burning quick and within an instant you were clamped tight around him. There was no control over anything, you let his name trail right off your lips and fall into existence.

You felt the release right through you, leaving no inch of your body untouched. The only thing you knew in that moment was him, he took over you wholly and truly. The sight of you in total pleasure had an all consuming effect on Bucky too.

He gripped onto you tightly, hips still driving forward at an impossibled pace. The sweet grip your pussy always has on him, the way your skin feels under his fingers. It was all so much for his senses, he felt the heat making it’s way through him.

Bucky bared down, stilling his thrusts, as you felt his release fill you. The glorious cries that came from him in the most intimate moment, when he was truly vulnerable, it left you whining for him.

He lay with his weight against you, heavy breaths and soft touches as you both found yourselves again. You felt his lips back against your neck, a silent but knowing grateful kiss from him.

“Beautiful girl, you really are something else.” He sighed, hands running down your sides. “You make me go crazy.”

You huffed out a laugh, hands slinging against his back and tracing over the scratches you’d left.

“You know I may not be a sweet dream, but I’m one hell of a night.”

[cuddlepilefics]

Balloon party

Fandom: Stray Kids, 3racha

Sickie: Jisung

Caregivers: 2basco (Chan, Changbin)

 Jisung’s POV.:

It had been a while since we’ve last been on a game show, so the entire group was hyped for our afternoon schedule. Those shows were usually the most fun to participate in, so not even the grueling dance practice this morning could dampen my mood. I was really looking forward to a fun afternoon, using this thought to keep me going, ignoring the burning in my muscles. “Alright, we’re done with practice for today. Let’s head back to the dorm. Make sure you shower quickly, so everyone gets a chance to freshen up before we need to leave again”, Chan announced and I dropped down next to my bag. My sweaty back against the wall, I pulled out my water bottle, chugging the small amount of water that was still left. We didn’t really get a chance to rest very long before Chan dragged us back home to ensure we wouldn’t be late. I was starting to get more hyped up, the more time passed. While waiting for my turn to shower, I wanted to help Channie-hyung make lunch but apparently, he didn’t trust me to be of much help, so he sent me away. I passed the time playing games on my phone, hearing the leader chuckle: “He’s already bouncing off the walls now, what am I going to do with him after the show?” A small giggle escaped my lips. I wasn’t sure who my hyung was talking about, it was either me or Felix, the younger Aussie seemed to be just as excited as me.

Lunch was filled with lighthearted chatter and I noticed that everyone had missed going on game shows. They were a welcome change from all those serious interviews and way less tense than most public appearances, so it’s not too hard to see why we liked having them in our schedules. We finished our meal and cleaned the dishes. Before heading out, I grabbed a chocolate bar as dessert which I devoured on the way to the car. I startled a bit when I heard a loud voice behind me: “Yah! Who gave the squirrel chocolate? You know what sugar does to him.” Afraid my dessert would be taken away from me, I stuffed the last few bites into my mouth and turned around to give Changbin an innocent smile, with my cheeks still puffed up. “Sung, you know how energetic you get when you eat candy. Who gave you that?”, my hyung frowned. I swallowed and giggled a bit: “I gave it to myself. You know, Jisung is a big boy. Don’t worry, the fans love my energetic self.” – “Yeah, maybe the fans do but what about giving your hyungs a hard time?”, Changbin argued. I looked at him innocently, pretending not to know what he was talking about, and asked: “You mean like that?” Then I started to chase him in circles around the rest of the group, who just rolled their eyes at me.

We made it to the car and I collapsed into my seat still panting from our little chase. Changbin plopped into the seat in front of me, turning around to give me a death glare. Probably a warning to not sneak my hand forward to tickle his side. Did I care? Nope, I didn’t. Instead I continued to bother my hyung for the rest of the ride. At some point, even Chan turned around to warn me and I felt a bit sorry for not being able to keep my overflowing energy under control. I managed to pull myself together right as the car came to a halt. From now on I need to be professional, I reminded myself, as we went in to get our hair and makeup done. It wasn’t that hard to do, since the effects of my earlier snack were slowly tapering off. Especially the hyung-line kept watching me warily, expecting a prank from me at any time now. They weren’t wrong but I refrained from doing anything, instead just looking forward to the games we were going to play soon.

The first few games were really fun and I was truly enjoying myself. Until the third game of the afternoon was announced. We were supposed to pair up and dance with a balloon stuck between our bodies. The team whose balloon dropped or popped last wins the game. I cringed and barely had the time to mentally prepare myself before the staff brought in a bunch of balloons, a lot more than we’d need for the game, probably for aesthetic reasons. I didn’t care about those reasons, my eyes going wide at the sight of the colorful party decoration. Balloons, I had always despised them. The colors were always way to bright and unnatural, they felt weirdly squishy and made those awful squeaking noises when you touched them wrong. Worst of all, they were like a ticking timebomb, ready to explode at any given moment. I couldn’t touch them. ‘No! Not going to happen.’ They even said the balloon would probably explode between us while we dance. My hands started to shake and I shoved them into my pockets, so nobody would notice. Of course, we had some time to fool around before the actual game started but unlike earlier, I didn’t join my friends. I tried to stay as far away from the dangerous balls, squinting my eyes at them as a warning. ‘Don’t you dare explode on me!’

Hyunjin chased after Jeongin, waving a bright orange balloon in the air. He dragged his hand over the rubber material, triggering a shrill squeak. I flinched as a shiver ran down my back and I pleaded in my head for them to please be careful and not accidentally pop the balloon. Changbin must have seen my face because he suddenly appeared next to me, a pink balloon in his hand. Smirking, he dragged his fingers over it and I jumped at the sound. I was starting to flush hot and cold and my hands were sweating. “What? You don’t like that sound?”, the older asked innocently, “Guess what, I don’t like being tickled either.” – “H-Hyung, please don’t do this”, I pleaded, backing away. He gave a fake-confused look, dragging his finger over the rubber again and asking: “You mean this?” I nodded, backing away further as my shaking hands went up to cover my ears. Changbin only laughed and I thought I heard something along the lines of ‘too bad, this is your payback’, but I wasn’t sure because it was muffled by my hands. He held the pink bomb closer to me and instead of covering my ears, I shielded my face with my arms. He couldn’t see the tears stinging in my eyes as he went to produce that awful sound again. Except this time, it was different. The last thing I remembered was a loud ‘BOOM!’ before everything went black.

 Changbin’s POV.:

I was just getting Jisung back for being an annoying squirrel on the way here. It was funny, he really seemed to hate the noise and I was certainly using that to tease him. Apparently, I had gripped it too tightly because the next thing I knew was the balloon popping in my hands. There was barely a second for me to get over the shock myself before a movement caught my eye. I cursed, jumping forward to secure my arms around Jisung’s waist to keep him from hitting the ground. Carefully, I lowered his to lay down on the floor and tapped his squishy cheek. No reaction. I shook his shoulder and called out his name, catching the attention of the remaining members. “What happened?”, Chan frowned crouching down next to us. I was starting to freak out and I cursed my voice for wavering when I replied: “I-I don’t know? The b-balloon popped and suddenly he was out.” A staff member joined us and felt my dongsaeng’s pulse, announcing that it was strong and fast. “Why don’t you take him back to the dressing room. There’s a couch you can put him on”, she asked and I immediately scooped the younger up. I couldn’t help but feel like this was all my fault.

I placed Jisung on the couch and studied his face. Chan put a comforting hand on my shoulder and it was only then that I noticed I was crying. He took Jisung’s wrist again and checked his pulse. It was still strong but beating steadily at an only slightly too fast pace. The rest of our group was asked to stay out of the room to give Jisung some space and I could only imagine how worried they must be, not being able to see him. I took Jisung’s limp hand in mine and cringed at how sweaty his palm was, was he scared? I gave it a gentle squeeze, mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again, till I felt his hand twitch in mine. Suddenly, the younger shot up and pulled his hand away, scaring me. His eyes darted around the room and he looked so small and so stressed. His breathing quickened and I patted his arm to catch his attention. “Hey, you’re okay, Sungie. You’re okay. Look at me!”, I said and he turned to face me. There were tears streaming down his puffy cheeks and I was almost thrown off balance when Jisung crashed into my chest, sobbing loudly. Taken aback, I wrapped my arms around him and stood up, pulling the shaking boy with me. I sat down on the couch, keeping the younger in my lap as he cried into my shoulder. Chan returned with some water and sat down next to us. “Hey Sung, can you tell us what happened?”, he asked carefully. The younger only continued to cry and I sighed: “It was the balloon, wasn’t it?” Jisung nodded against my shoulder, trying to pull himself together.

We waited in silence for our dongsaeng to calm down, so he could explain more to us and so I could apologize. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this guilty in my life but it didn’t seem like Jisung was mad at me, if he was, he’d be clinging to Chan and not me. Jisung’s cries quietened to soft sniffles and he looked up at us with swollen eyes, admitting: “I-I’ve always had that fear, I don’t think it’s bad enough to be called a phobia, -“ – “You passed out! I’m pretty sure it is bad enough to be called that”, I interrupted. “I don’t like balloons. I don’t like anything about them, not their color, not the way they feel or the sounds they make and even less the fact that they can explode at you any second. I’m pretty sure balloons are made by Satan to eliminate us”, Jisung rambled and I couldn’t help to feel even worse. How scared he must have been when I cornered him like that. My arms tightened around him and I buried my face in his hair mumbling ‘I’m sorry’. Jisung gave a weak smile and patted my head, whispering: “It’s okay, hyung. You didn’t know and you deserved to pay me back.”

“Talking about knowing. Why did you never tell us?”, Chan question his forehead creased. Jisung shrugged, blushing a bit, and replied: “One, it’s quite embarrassing and two, we do have a few pranksters in this group, so I guess I was afraid of the teasing and having that information used against me.” I nodded, it made sense but I could promise him: “Seeing how bad it is, none of us would ever dare using this against you, Sung.” Yes, we could tease each other endlessly but we knew our limits and wouldn’t harm any of our friends. He nodded and smiled when the rest of the group joined us. Not having heard our conversation earlier, Seungmin brought one of the balloons with him. I felt Jisung tense in my arms and was quick to ask Seungmin to take the balloon out of the room. He didn’t understand why and pouted a bit because he had planned to take it home with him but he sensed the seriousness in my voice and complied. Jisung hugged me closer and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ in my ear. I squeezed his shoulder in reply. He didn’t have to tell the others about his situation right now and I totally understood if he’d rather explain it to the at home. Our manager came in and announced that we could go home now. “Why don’t you guys go first? I’m going to take Jisung for some cheesecake on the way home”, I asked, wanting to make it up to my dongsaeng. A wide smile spread on the younger’s face and he giggled: “You’re giving me sugar, hyung?” My eyes met Chan’s in horror. “Channie-hyung, help! What have I done?”, I panicked. He just laughed at me: “Nope, you brought that on yourself. I’m taking the others back to the dorm. Have fun!”

[kyberphilosopher]

Tʜᴇ Nᴇᴘᴇɴᴛʜᴇ

part ii of ‘the Caim’. 

word count: 4790

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.  Nepenthe... (n.) one that brings a pleasurable sense of forgetfulness, or the erasing of an unwanted memory.

It felt better than last time, at least. 

No, it wasn’t perfect. Nothing was ever perfect when it came to wartime- least of all emotional well-beings. But you had once been at the lowest of all points, and now you could say otherwise. Now, at least, your emotional state was better than others. Better than comrades, friends, and those who you dearly missed without even being allowed to. 

You had known it was a silly thing to do from the very beginning. For one, it was against the code you had sworn to uphold and heed. You knew the Jedi would never have approved of what you allowed to take place, but the sincerity of it all had admittedly clouded your judgement. Secondly, it was simply ridiculous enough of you for encouraging it to begin with. It was even more ridiculous to continue to cling onto what had happened, all within the confines of a slim, onyx box. 

The parchments were fragile from time, but protected from how well you’d treated them. You’d been sure not to crinkle the pieces anymore than you’d needed to. Even taken extra care in not smearing the ink when your thumbs were rubbing over top of it. With a rather unrealistic fear of the papers turning to dust at the very mention of the air, you rarely took them out to see with your own eyes. 

But what in the wide open galaxy could’ve been so precious, someone would never take them out out of fear of oxygen? 

Treasures from your worst time, of course. From Umbara, when you had been called to fill in for General Kenobi and Skywalker on a month long mission in retaking the shadowy world. It hadn’t taken long for you to lose any notion of spirit to exhaustion. Your body and soul had turned sour with a dull ailment, as if you were dressed in the feeling of dry throat. But, of course, you had been prepared to ride this feeling out until the end of your task. 

And then something had made it far more bearable. First only a little, then a lot. 

No, you were never able to prove it. But you knew. And in return, Rex knew that you knew. Whether he noticed your demeanor and mood or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that the man had taken time out of his rather busy schedule to write you small, but simple, declarations of his admiration for you. It was probably the nicest things anyone had ever done for you, and the Captain had done it purely out of his own golden heart. 

So, that was what you kept in the box. Notes from the man who had touched you deeply, and therefor carried you to the end. 

You hadn’t seen Rex since the second siege of Umbara- the mission you’d been involved with. But that was about five months ago now. You had already returned to your own battalion, returned to your own battles, returned to the people who were already counting on you. You still saw Anakin and Obi-Wan fairly often, even aided the latter in a space battle against Grievous. Other than that, you worked with General Plo Koon in guarding the skies. And all was well.  

You never asked about Rex. Though you desperately wanted to inquire of his health, it would’ve been too off putting for both your colleagues and your own men. After all, nobody knew what had transpired between the two of you. And even then, neither you nor the Captain acknowledged it. So it wasn’t like you had much of a right to any concern for him anyway. You weren’t his lover, or even his friend. You were a superior, and it was not much allowed to act as though there was anything more to it. 

Though as your fingers ghosted over the last slip of paper he had written to you, a certain fondness was hard to deny. 

“ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ.” How were you just supposed to forget that? Though you supposed that must’ve been the mans intention. He hadn’t wanted you to forget it, even if it was a bit of a distraction to both of your duties.

With a slow exhale from your nose, your thumb strokes the corner of the parchment a final time. Then, you fold the paper back up, stack it up in line with the other pieces, and carefully place them back in the black box. You only have to lean over in your sitting position to place the box under the shelf you call your bed. Once you sit up again, you’re met with the boring gray walls of the inside of a Venator. And without realizing it, the last thing you think of before you lay down for sleep, is how you’d much rather be looking at a certain Captain instead. 

You would get your wish.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

You grip the table in front of you as your ship jolts. Overhead, lights lining the ceilings and walls flash red like sirens. A few of the officers and men around you stumble as well, and you just know a trillion more problems are arising. 

“C’mon Plo...” you urgently hiss under your breath. “Hurry up, please.”

As if on cue, you watch his star-fighter spin outside the bridge window, closely followed by a spray of enemy shots. A low trill from in front of you grabs your attention instead, and you raise your head to meet your fellow Jedi.

“General Y/N?” Anakin inquires importantly. “Are you there?”

Another shake runs through your ship, causing your knuckles to pale from the intensity of holding on. “I’m here,” you answer. “Our forces are overpowered. General Koon won’t be able to hold out for much longer. I suggest we-” another shake of your ship. “I suggest we pull back.”

General Skywalker nods his head firmly, then looks around with darting eyes. “We’re coming out of hyperspace now, General. Whether or not we’ll be in one piece is up for debate, though.”

You raise an eyebrow in question. Your fellow Jedi know your lack of speaking enough to understand that this quirk is encouraging them to explain. “We’ve been... badly damaged. Admiral Yularen is out cold. If we stay on this ship, we’re done for.”

You nod as you get the message. “Understood,” you say, and the hologram disappears. “Open up the hanger and lower rear shields. Prepare for incoming escape pods,” you say to one officer. As he nods his head curtly, you raise your communicator to your lips and turn to the bridge window. “You hear that, Plo?”

“Affirmative,” the Kel Dor answers through blasts. 

“As soon as everyone arrives, I want us in hyperspace,” you say to your Admiral. 

It only took three moments before the giant window you looked out to was painted with blue and white streaks, and then a tunnel of indigo. A slow breath escapes you as anxiety quietly builds inside. Skywalker’s plan went horribly. He’d known the Separatist ships had outgunned you and Plo this time, but he insisted you hold your position. You had attempted to warn him against this, but clearly to no avail. Now you’re down a ship, Yularen, and several men. Not to mention all the shots your own cruiser had taken. 

“Plo,” you say into your communicator, slowly. “Do you read me?”

Silence. 

“Plo?” 

“I’m here.” You exhale in relief at the sound of his voice. “I’ve met General Skywalker in the hanger bay. They have wounded.”

“I’m on my way.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“General Y/N!” Anakin exclaims. His notorious smirk is creeping against the edge of his lips, and his hands are outstretched to make his words all the bolder. Despite his warm greeting, clones are being carried away in stretchers all around him, and your once clean bay is now streaked with skid marks. 

“I have to say, this is one of your worse landings,” you tell him once you enter earshot. Unlike the man in front of you, you were not one to shout your half of the conversation from across the room. You nod once to General Plo as he passes you by.

“Yeah, well, I improvised.”

Clearly, you think as you watch a Clone remove his helmet and gasp for air. 

“We lost a whole squadron of men,” Anakin continues. “Yularen was injured while we were out flanked. And Obi-Wan...” Anakin sighs and squares his jaw. “Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.”

What about Rex? You resist the urge to scream. Instead, you say, “I can cover you for this one.”

“No,” the man says quickly. He folds his arms somewhat bitterly, though you know it’s not directed towards you. “No. It’s my mistake.”

You’ve barely opened your mouth before someone else steals your attention again. Behind you, a distorted voice rings clear and true. “General Skywalker,” it calls, and your heart gives a great pound, even though you’ve heard the voice over a thousand times today.

You shift your body so you’re half facing the voice. You watch a trooper in blue marked armor march up to where you and your comrade stand. Helmet scarred with tally marks... Blasters on both hips... The appearance only confirmed what you had already known. 

Coming closer, Rex lifts his hands and removes his helmet from his head, revealing his face. 

Maker, had he always looked like this? Or was this a trick of your brain from a new addiction to him?

Bleached hair cut close to his head, striking features and golden eyes. Angular as ever, but symmetrical nonetheless. You hadn’t really experienced attraction much in your life. The Jedi code kept barred you from it, and you hadn’t much of a desire to really seek it out. But you had spent so much time wondering about the man that when you saw him again, even after all this time, you knew at once that not only was Rex attractive, but you were attracted to him. 

“Ah, Rex,” Skywalker says in turn. “Good to see you’re in one piece. I was just about to mention you to our host here.”

You watch the Clones pupils dilate as he bites the inside of his right cheek. Although you’re feeling the same amount of both excitement and anxiety as he is, his discomfort means more to you. In a quick but meaningful attempt to quell his rather put-on-the-spot feelings, you speak first. 

“Captain,” you say steadily. “I’m glad to see you well.”

What a poor thing to say. Could you truly not have thought of anything better to say to the man?

“How are the men?” Anakin asks from beside you, nearly making you jump. You’d momentarily forgotten where you were, and the fact that other people just so happened to exist. 

Rex dips his head. You can see the weight of stress against his shoulders, and a darkening shadow within his eyes. In the pit of your own stomach, a prick of guilt and empathy sparks. Is this how he had felt seeing you in such a state? Had it truly felt this jarring?

“They’re... heavily injured,” the Captain answers. A thumb rubs against the side of his helmet like a ghost, just over the tally marks. “We’re still counting the casualties.”

“If you’d like to help your men...” Anakin trails off. 

Rex snaps back to attention, his voice as clear and strong as any soldier. “I would. Will you be alright without me?”

“Rex,” Anakin assures with a lighthearted smile. “We’ll be fine. I’ll contact you if we need anything.”

Rex is sure not to make eye contact with you again as he goes. He silently questions Skywalker a few seconds longer with his large, amber eyes. Then he puts his helmet back over his face, turns around in uniform fashion, and heads to assist Kix in the corner. 

You knew how dedicated of a man he was before. He had his conflict, but he always put it aside for the greater good of those around him, meaning he was selfless as well. Rex remained hardworking and level headed, which didn’t surprise you much, but still. He impressed you with how he walked and talked and treated other people, you being one of them. Focused, diligent... there was so many things you could say about him. All of them flattering. Instead, you muttered:

“He always was a good man.”

“Well he hasn’t changed much since you saw him,” Skywalker elaborates. “I was hoping to promote him to Commander this year, but I doubt it will happen now.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you turn back to your fellow Jedi. It’s a silent question of ‘why? what makes you say that?’.

Anakin takes a small step forward, which allows you to inhale his scent. It’s an intimate act, though not in a sexual nor romantic way. It’s an intimate act of secrecy, and you’re sure to give him your full attention in the coming moments. 

“Rex tends to... self deprecate.”

Your first instinct is to be somewhat offended on the clone Captain’s behalf. But your mind is quick to quiet this instinct, giving way to the logical answer. 

Skywalker isn’t wrong. Though his phrasing may not be the most accurate, it gets the point across. Rex does self deprecate. He shares the loss with everyone as if it were his own. As if he were responsible for the failure or wrongdoing whether he really was or not. And, sadly, most of the time he’s not. But he’ll never see it that way. 

The Captain considered all the men lost on this mission his fault. Anakin could offer Rex the position of Commander all he wants, but the clone would never accept after a mission like this. 

You turn back towards his direction. Rex crouches down next to his medic friend, occasionally nodding his head solemnly. Even now, in a state that tugs on the edges of your heart, he looks pretty. 

“How long do you expect to stay?” you ask with focused eyes. 

“I don’t know,” the Skywalker says with a sigh. “But you don’t mind if my men stay here while me and Obi-Wan do some recon, right?”

“No,” you answer slowly, the idea solidifying as you watch the Clone push himself to his feet. “Stay as long as you need.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You wrote it out carefully. The grip around the pen was tight and secure, and the letters that bled from it were tiny and neat. In an age where holopads ruled the galaxy, you’d almost forgotten what your handwriting was like. It was nice to remember. 

Writing was simple. It was more peaceful than holding a lightsaber, and you didn’t destroy anything through your hands movements. When the letters appeared at your will, you could imagine a life where they did this all the time. A life on the countryside maybe, or the beach. You’d heard Scarif was beautiful often. Maybe there?

The feeling of sullen peace doesn’t last long. As soon as you finish your statement, you’re back to being a Jedi knight. It saddens you in it’s own way, but you tell yourself it’s for the best, as you usually did. Then, you read your gift over in your head.

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴀɴ.

It didn’t seem like it was enough, so you flipped the parchment over to the other side and wrote more. 

ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

And you meant what you had written, too. Rex, like any other Clone, didn’t deserve the guilt that war brought. He didn’t deserve the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, but he had to bear it anyway. Maybe your little words with alleviate some of it for him, just as it had for you. 

I slip the paper between the folds of your robes. At nightfall, you creep into the darkness, a messenger of your own terms. 

You knew that Rex had received and read your offering. The moment yours eyes met, it was done for. 

You weren’t going to act out. Your face didn’t change in the slightest. Rex’s, however, has shifted his eyes into a widened state, and his lips are parted as he realizes what you have done. Whatever doubts he had about it were now quelled, for at first he had assumed it was a simply a kind soldier. 

Instead it was you, the Jedi he had thought about every day since first sight. 

Slowly, you raise your breakfast bread to your lips. Your teeth break through the little cloud of dough, savoring the dry taste. Rex seems to be paralyzed on the other side of the room. He doesn’t even seem to recognize that he’s in public, in a sea of clones and officers who would be able to read the look on his face if they squint enough. 

You hold the man’s stare for a few seconds longer. Then you turn away, just in time to catch Plo and Anakin approaching you. 

“General,” Anakin greets. You bow your head in recognition. 

“We received a transmission from General Kenobi and Windu this morning,” Plo booms. “They’re on their way to support us best they can, but they estimate they won’t be here for the next three days.”

Three days. You have three days to calm Rex’s nerves. 

You swallow down your bite of bread before you respond. “Any news of the enemy?”

“None so far.”

“We should send out scouts in all directions,” Anakin steps forward. “We have to locate Grievous before he escapes again.”

“He could’ve already jumped into hyperspace by now,” you urge. “Unlike him, we may not have that fuel. Not until Obi-Wan gets here.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex found the second note that evening. 

He’d already struggled to push the first from his mind, but now his head felt like it was filling with clouds. What should he have focused on? Your lingering scent on the cards? The cleanliness of your handwriting? The fact that it was from you? For him? Maker, he hadn’t even said thirty sentences to you, and he was already drunk with love. 

Not infatuation. Not lust. Love. 

With a shaky hand, the soldier purses his lips. He bends over in his blue painted armor. He feels the paper against the fingertips of his gloves. At once, he feels you too. He can’t turn it over fast enough. 

ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ, ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ. ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ- ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ? ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

Rex’s throat dries fast. The light in his ambers eyes resembles the embers of a fire, alive and awake with the spark of a promise. But the man knows there may be more, and he turns the parchment to the other side, nearly giving himself a paper slice. 

ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ, ʀᴇx.

It’s you. This confirms it. 

You’ve addressed him by name now. You’ve made it solid with the motion of your wrist and the ink of a pen. So how does Rex respond? Confront you directly? No. You’re his superior. Rex isn’t even fully sure he’d have the courage to do that yet. Lead his men into battle? Any day, no problem. Speak to you, with your piercing eyes and your analytical mind? His tongue would tie itself before he’d be able to get any words out. 

Should he write a letter in return? That’s not how this works. Rex remembers he’s out of paper at the moment anyway. He can’t talk to Anakin about it without getting you in trouble. Confiding in his brothers would’ve only led to frustration, lame advice, and court marshals. That’s not an option. 

The only other path is simple: no confrontation at all. Rex rides out the wave of your words until you split paths again. You disappear to do whatever it is Jedi do, and the Captain is forced back into having to find ways to inquire about your wellbeing to Anakin without seeming unnatural. 

But that doesn’t totally seem like an option either. 

Unknown to the man, you sit on security cameras. You watch as he stands outside the doorway of his barracks, clutching the note close to his chest, before you head to your sleep. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex is happier the next morning. 

His broad chest is puffed out further than before. It’s not noticeable for most people, but it’s noticeable for anyone who’s memorized the walk and posture of their lover. The same goes for the corners of his lips, which aren’t as dragged downwards as usual. His eyes are bright from a well rest. 

He is physically healthy. You can only hope his head is beginning to follow suit. 

You write him one note, which is read before lunch time. A simple:

ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ.

Which you could swear resulted in softer expressions on his part throughout the day. No smiles. The atmosphere was too grim and crowded for a full, cheery curve. It’s a bit of a shame, because you meant your words. The thought alone of Rex grinning in sheer joy is enough to make you want to grin too. Still, you understand. Disappointment and understanding tend to go well together. 

After overseeing some construction, you receive a cut along your palm. It is sharp and deep, and the crimson blood seeps into the crevices of your fingers. Despite the stinging, you offer little outside reaction. You are quick to carry yourself to the infirmary. 

Rex leaves the infirmary at the same time. 

You tell yourself you won’t turn to look at him. But then you hear him speak “General, are you alright?” and you abandon your internal swear. 

The promise of seeing his face is too tempting. You turn smoothly, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” you tell him, as if nothing ever existed between the two of you. “I’m alright.” Then your brows crease together. “Are you?”

Rex takes a split second to respond. He is distracted, trapped in his own thoughts thanks to you. “Oh- yes, General. I was just, ah, visiting Jesse. Some friends of mine were injured in the crash, sir.”

Your gaze softens considerably. Your next lines come out without thinking, but they flow as freely as a stream regardless. “You always were a kind man.”

Which isn’t a bad thing to say to anyone, by any means. But in relation to you and him, it feels like a big step. The words sound like something that should’ve been kept in between the folds of paper, and left by the side of a door. 

Both Rex and yourself tense up at the exact same time. Eyes widen, shoulders square. 

But Rex is true to his nature. “And you always had quite the way with words, General,” he says. The end of his sentence is capped with a clipped up smirk, and a charismatic glint in his eyes that is too raw to be untruthful. 

So the Captain finds another letter addressed to him that day, right before bed. 

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ.

And on the other side, 

ɪ'ᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And then it’s the last day that you’ll be together. The day you’d been dreading. The day you’d been putting off. 

You hadn’t meant to get so attached. It goes against your training, your code, everything you’ve sacrificed yourself for. But you’re too far in now. You are absolutely star struck, invested, and trapped in a rabbit hole created by Rex himself. Not that you blame him. You’re glad for it. You could be happy like this. 

You don’t want to lose him. Therefore, a line of thinking pops into your intelligent little brain. It wouldn’t solve all the problems. In fact, it would probably create more. But it would be binding. It would be official. You could escape. 

You wanted to. You wanted to go forward with your line of thinking. But Maker, it was a leap. Would it be worth it?

Yes. If you had to answer now, the answer would be yes. 

An entire section of your brain was dedicated to mulling it over the entirety of the day. Even as you commanded your troops, signaling and training and clutching the end of the holotable with your bandaged fingers, about seventeen percent of your brain power was stuck on the future. 

The answer was reached at the very last moment. 

As Obi-Wan emerged from hyperspace, along with several fighters, your mind went blank. And then the blankness washed away, and all you could feel was the simplicity of a crackling fire, the waves on a beach, and the promise of safety. You imagine yourself writing every day with pen and paper, creating whimsical works for yourself and your lover. There is nothing but peace. No war, nor responsibilities. Only the beach, the parchment, and Rex. 

Rex. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Your lover already received what he had assumed would be the last letter from you. He’d seen it in the morning. It was simple and sweet, and while it didn’t do much to soothe himself from the thought of parting from you, it had made him feel warm inside. 

ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

So you can imagine the way his dark eyebrows knit together at the sight of another. 

Perhaps it was an accident. The Captain had been returning to his quarters to gather whatever belongings he’d left inside before transferring over to Obi-Wan’s cruiser with General Skywalker. No. That was a ridiculous thing to think. You were simply immune to making mistakes. 

Rex bends over. Again, his black gloved hand stretches out and clasps the parchment up. He is always careful with it, as to not crinkle the memories and sentiment wrapped within. Like you, he is sure to keep everything you send to him in either a box or an envelope for future reference. 

Your last note is not a statement. It is not a compliment to be taken at face value. It is a question, a proposal. It is a leap of faith. 

You got your answer the next morning. Before loading himself onto the transport, your Captain is sure to meet your eyes. You step forward with one foot, searching for any signs. And for the first few seconds you are concerned that he has answered with a simple ‘no’, but then you realize that he is simply teasing. Something you’d have to get used to, it seems. 

Rex gives you a smile. A soft one, but a sincere one. His right hand reaches up, and pats against his armor, right over his heart. He does this one, two, three times, before slipping his handsome face inside his helmet, and disappearing behind the visor. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You are married on Obi-Wan’s cruiser. General Koon sends you over the next day to obtain information in person instead of holograms for fear of bugs and spies. And, yes, you were true to your mission. 

But where no one could see you, you met Rex in a humid hallway. The lights were dimmed and near glowing red, but the area was totally cleared out. Neither clone, nor Jedi disturbed the lovers, whose shadows were looking into each others eyes.

Rex has your hands in his. They are rough, and a reminder of how you observed them and thought he had stood out at first sight. He still has the scar on his palm, though this time you have your own to match it. This time, you also match in terms of jewelry, for both of your left ring fingers are tethered by simple, silver bands. 

The kiss that sealed the idea was chaste at first. You hadn’t known what to do, though it hadn’t taken you long to through that thought to the wind. Kissing Rex felt good, even if you had nothing to compare it to. It was the kiss you had been waiting for, and the tongue prodding at your lips had only confirmed your suspicions that Rex was an adventurous man. 

And so, in the hallway where the lovers met, all was well. 

At least until Order Sixty-Six came. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

finally. 

might edit though, but i always say i’ll do that and then don’t. 

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​ @chokemeanakin​ @anakinswhore​ @haztory​ @fanficsforheartandsoul​ @kit-jpg​

[laurenairay]

Ice-Skating Date - C. Kreider

Summary: your boyfriend Chris suggests going ice-skating for date night. There’s just one problem – you can’t skate.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: some bad language, a lot of cute fluff

A/N: fully in my winter holiday feelings! ☃️ This one is for @itsbadgerbadgermushroom​ – I hope this brings you a little joy!

*

“So I’ve got a surprise for you,” Chris said, slumping down next to you on the sofa.

“A surprise?” you grinned, raising an eyebrow.

Oh fun! A sexy surprise?

“A surprise date night!” Chris announced.

Okay, not a sexy surprise. But you were listening – with him, how could you not?

“I’ve been thinking about all the amazing dates we’ve been on and I realised we’ve never gone skating!”

Oh. Oh no.

You’d managed to avoid this particular activity for so long, and for one very good reason – you couldn’t skate at all. Yes, you were dating an incredibly talented nhl player…but you were worse than bambi whenever you stepped foot on ice. The last time you attempted to skate, it had ended in disaster…so this was a nightmare. Maybe you could talk him out of it?

“I’m a hockey player and I’ve never skated with you – there’s just something so wrong about that. So I’ve booked us some skates and a time slot at the local outdoor rink for tomorrow night!” Chris finished, smiling widely, “that sounds fun right?”

No talking him out of it then. Oh god, what were you going to do?

“I don’t know…” you hesitated, trailing off.

He was so excited, making these plans for the two of you to do something that he loved…how could you ruin his fun like that?

“It’ll be a great date. Super romantic, you’ll see,” Chris said, trying to reassure you.

You just sent him a weak smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with him?

*

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with him. Hah.

Okay, so the setting was super romantic, just as Chris has said. The darkness of the evening made the fairy lights strung up around the rink look so beautiful, a few Christmas trees fully decorated around as well. And there weren’t that many people on the ice either, so the two of you would be able to spend the time together without feeling crowded.

But as Chris helped you into your rented skates and laced them up for you, kneeling between your thighs, you felt that ball of anxiety building in your chest, until it got to the point where your whole body was frozen. Fuck. Fuck. Chris looked up at you, a big smile on his face, until he saw your fearful expression.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Chris frowned.

“I can’t skate, Chris,” you blurted.

Damn it.

His eyes widened with surprise, which then shifted into understanding. “Is that why we’ve never gone skating together?” he asked softly.

It was all you could do to nod.

“Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?” Chris sighed, sitting back on his heels.

“You were so excited to share this part of your life with me,” you winced.

Chris pursed his lips slightly before standing upright, helping you stand up too. “If you’re too nervous to go on the ice, I really won’t be mad – I promise,” he said with a sad smile, “but if you trust me, I will try my very best to make this fun for you,”

“You know I trust you,” you murmured.

Chris’ sad smile shifted into a genuine one, and he tilted your head up to kiss you gently, making you sigh into his embrace, sliding your arms up around his neck. You always lost yourself whenever he kissed you, everything around you fading into nothing whenever your lips were on his, and you knew that wasn’t going to change any time soon. This kiss included.

“Come on, let’s give it a go. If you really hate it, then we’ll leave,” Chris suggested.

That…you could do that.

You found yourself nodding, and then you were being lead like a shaky newborn giraffe to the ice rink barrier entrance. You looked down at the sheet of ice at your feet, and swallowed heavily. What were you thinking?! There was no way you could do this! But before you could run away, Chris took both of your hands in his and slowly guided you out onto the ice. You couldn’t help but whimper, but Chris shot you an encouraging smile

“Okay bend your knees slightly, only slightly, and try not to lean back on your heels,” Chris started.

You bit your bottom lip but nodded. That you could do. He squeezed your hands in encouragement and you found yourself letting out a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding. This…this was doable.

“Alright, we’re not going to go crazy, okay? We’re going to do short little scooting steps. Don’t worry about picking up your feet too much, or going too fast, just little scoots,” he explained.

You just nodded, too nervous to speak, but you slowly attempted to do as he said, making the tiniest little scoot-steps…and it was actually going okay! Maybe you should’ve tried this a long time ago…

“Okay, this isn’t too bad, I don’t feel-”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as the toepick caught and you crashed to the ice, knees buckling beneath you. Chris groaned, hunched over in his last minute attempt to unsuccessfully stop you.

“Chris! You said you would catch me!” you pouted.

“I’m so sorry,” he chuckled, making you pout harder, “I wasn’t expecting that fall. I’ve got you, I promise,”

You sighed, biting your bottom lip, but nodded. More than anything, you trusted him. Shakily you accepted his help standing up again, clutching at his forearms to steady yourself. Fuck.

“Hey, you’ve got this. I believe in you,” Chris said firmly, looking straight into your eyes.

If only you believed in yourself too.

*

Chris had somehow encouraged you to stay on the ice for a full 45 minutes, despite the many times you fell over. Thump thump thump on your ass, over and over again. He’d tried so hard to encourage you, to get you to enjoy yourself, but things had only gotten worse as you continued to fall, even if you tried to keep a smile on your face. Tried, being the accurate word there.

“That was a fun date night, right?” Chris said cheerfully, tugging your boots off for you.

You sent him your most unimpressed look possible, earning full belly-laughter.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t all the bad, was it?” he asked fondly, handing you your shoes.

As much as you wanted to scoff and bemoan all the forming-bruises on your ass, you could see the hesitation in your boyfriend’s eyes. You knew exactly how excited he’d been for date night and the fact that you’d got steadily more and more uneasy throughout the skating had probably ruined the vibes a bit. Okay, more than a bit. Ugh, okay, positive thoughts, positive thoughts…

“There were some moments in between all the many falls where it was quite lovely, all the winter prettiness,” you admitting, nodding as you pulled your shoes on, “And all the twinkling lights are pretty at least?”

And you looked around, at those lights, and you couldn’t help but smile. There was something magical about this winter holiday atmosphere, and he had tried to make it fun for you.

“I’m glad you enjoyed that much of it,” Chris mused.

“I enjoyed being here with you more than anything else though,” you said simply.

His amusement melted into the sappiest look you’d ever seen, and you felt your cheeks heat up with a blush. You couldn’t help it. Chris was just so expressive, so open with his emotions especially in his face, and to see that much genuine love projected towards you was always overwhelming.

“I love you,” he said softly.

See?

“I love you too,” you said, just as soft, “but I’m not skating again any time soon,”

“That’s fair enough,” Chris snorted, pulling your body against him with his arms around your waist.

“You owe me a very large americano,” you groaned, thunking your head against his collarbone, “with a splash of milk. And maybe a nice slice of cake,”

Chris just grinned. “You’ve got a deal,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

So maybe ice skating was never going to be your thing – but being here, with this incredibly guy, this was something you wanted to treasure for the rest of your life.

[mythiccheroacademia]

Forgive Me

Summary: It only seemed more prevalent, now more than ever, that people like him didn’t deserve people like you.

Word Count: 4.8k+ Words

Pairing: Natsuo x Reader (21+)

Warnings: blood, death, gang organization involvement, gun use, sexual content, explicit language, and angst

A/N: First, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAIN MAN NATSUO TODOROKI!! And I also want to say thank y’all so much for 2k followers! You make my heart ache. To celebrate, I wrote this self-indulgent mafia au fanfic that nobody asked for. I honestly just wanted to write Todorokis involved in organized crime. 

All the Japanese in here is from Google Translate. It most likely butchered it, so I’m sorry about that. I tried. 

Some things to mention: *Yakuza: Basically, the Japanese mafia  *Oyabun: The leader of the organization *Onna-Oyabun: The spouse of the leader. It really translates to the “wife.” I tried to keep things gender neutral, however, I couldn’t find a gender neutral term for this. Please forgive me!

Thank you for ridin with me, y’all! Enjoy this one, hotties ❤️   

Forgive Me

All Natsuo had ever wanted for you was normalcy. Call it wishful thinking—his siblings called it naivety. However, there was nothing more the young successor wished for than for you to have the life you deserved. One filled with love, laughter, and smiles. Not tears, blood, and bullets.

He wanted you to be able to come from work or class with a head full of things for the two of you to gossip about over dinner and ice cream. He wanted to be able to cancel his day and take you to that one amusement park you always talked about. He wanted the petty arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes and whose brownie recipe was better.

Natsuo wanted that for you. Not this.

Your shared room suddenly felt cold and rigid as he stood by the doorway. The sight of your body curled into the sheets, hoping the mattress would swallow you up, made his heart ache. There was no movement except for the slow rise of your breathing as you stared at the wall next to the bed.

Natsuo’s grey eyes focused on the bandage patched to your ear and was brought back to the events prior. An event that had been the reason why he couldn’t have spent the evening in your arms.

[Earlier]

Since having been introduced into the Todoroki lifestyle, life had been hectic. You had been ripped away from your normalcy and propelled into the yakuza* game. It was seeped in cruelty, darkness, and evil that would make you spend nights shivering.

Ever since you had been engaged to Natsuo, your exposure only grew worse. Your fiancé would spend nights apologizing, but you’d only quiet him with a kiss and a small joke.

It wasn’t his fault. His older brother, Touya, was “deceased”. It was against tradition for Fuyumi to have it, and Shouto was too young. He would have to be the next Oyabun* and, despite his unwillingness, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

But that wasn’t something to dwell on. Especially today. Today, you had plans to go shopping with Fuyumi and Shouto and end the night with some well-deserved quality time with your husband-to-be. You had rarely seen anyone due to yakuza activity, so this was something you were looking forward to.

You smoothed down your outfit, adjusting your watch in the mirror. You gave yourself a nod, liking what you saw.

Natsuo came from around the corner, eyeing you with a glint you knew all too well. He apparently liked what he saw too.

“Hi,” he said, smiling into your kiss.

“Hey,” you grinned. You flattened the collar of his shirt where his tattoo peeked from his neck. “You look good.”

He was quick to respond. “You look better.”

“You flatter me,” you chuckled. “Did you pick where we’re eating for dinner later?”  

“I made reservations for the seafood restaurant you like so much. The one with the lights by the ocean.”

“Oooo with the parmesan crusted flounder and the stuffed oysters?”

He hummed a yes and laughed as you did a little dance expressing your excitement. You couldn’t wait to stuff your face. While being classy of course.

“What time?”

“6:30. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that should give ‘Yumi, ShoSho, and I enough time to shop around.” You turned to the mirror to put some last-minute touches to your hair. “We still have to find an outfit for your mother’s event Friday. You know your brother’s a lowkey diva about that stuff so it’s gonna take hours.”

A sudden slap on your ass made you yelp and just as you were about to cuss him out, Natsuo captured your lips in a kiss that made your knees buckle. He slowly explored your mouth, committing every taste to memory. Your hands massaged the nape of his neck and it had him growling in your ear.

“Why don’t you skip the shopping today and we can start on dinner now?” he suggested, loving the moan he got from you as he sucked on your neck.

As much as you adored the offer, you weren’t going to pass up the chance to get out of the house. You’d been cooped up in there for too long. Not even his dick could get you out of this.

You pushed him off of you, laughing as he bit the air between you, trying to put his lips back on you.

“Nat—Natsuo. Stop it. I promised them I’d go shopping today, so no. Besides, I’m already running late. I was supposed to meet them at 1 and it’s 1:30.”

“But you just look so good, baby.” He managed to pull you flush against his chest, mischief in his eyes. You gave him a look when his hands went to go grab a handful of your ass. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you're just an hour more late,” he said, going back to lay claim to your lips.

If last night’s sex was a testament to anything, you’d be here for much longer than an hour. If you didn’t get your ass to the car, you’d be stuck at home and his siblings would have your head.

“Boy, if you don’t get off me, I’ll tell Fuyumi you’re keeping me hostage again. She’ll sick Shouto on you,” you threatened.

At the thought of his sister and brother’s nagging, he rolled his eyes and backed off. “Ugh, you’re such a killjoy. Fine, whatever.” You hummed in triumph and turned to walk away. Natsuo gave another hard slap to your backside again and you sent him back a glare that made him smirk.

“Natsu,” you warned.

“You better get in the car quick before I really decide to keep you here.”

“Keep it in your pants, horndog,” you bit.

“Keep that ass away and we won’t have problems,” he playfully retorted.

You smacked your teeth but hid the growing smile on your lips. That man would be the death of you.

…

Despite your wishes, you ended up being an hour late. Natsuo tried to play innocent underneath his siblings’ threats but stopped the act once they pointed out the growing hickey on your neck.

He was waved off, much to his chagrin, when he told the three of you to be wary of your surroundings and reminded you of the security guards that would be following close by. He finally left for his meeting with few choice words and a kiss promising his return.

Fuyumi grabbed your arm and gave you a smile that was contagious. “Now that Natsu stopped hogging you, we can finally hang out!” she cheered. “The outlet just opened up a few new stores we’ve been eyeing for a while now!”

Shouto nodded in agreement. “I’ve been waiting all week to use my father’s credit card.”

“Didn’t you buy a fur coat yesterday—”

“That’s besides the point.”

Once Shouto took your other arm, the three of you spent your time going from store to store. At first, the objective was to find outfits for the party Friday, however you three had become easily distracted with the sight of a smoothie stand.

A couple hours had gone by, and not much was done. Although you might have wasted time (and money) shopping at miscellaneous stores, neither one of you cared.

It had been so long since you laughed so freely. With Endeavor across the ocean, things were steadily heating up. Enemies took his leave as an open shot and the Todoroki siblings were obliged to reinforce why their family reigned supreme. Due to that, it seemed no one could go a day without stressing over something.

Between that and Natsuo’s near-obsessive mission to keep you safe and away from the details of the yakuza, you were forced to stay in the house twiddling your thumbs with constant security around you.

Feeling so useless drove you crazy. No matter how many times you tried to get your fiancé to let you help, he would always give you a firm no. Fuyumi and Shouto tried their best to keep you out of it as well. Even Dabi warned you about wanting something so dangerous.  

It was frustrating, but you tried to understand. Regardless, having the chance to hang out with your friends like old times was a saving grace and you’d enjoy it to its fullest.

Eventually, you three made it to the boutiques and clothing departments. Shouto had already gotten a suit tailored so it was left with you and Fuyumi.

Your soon-to-be sister-in-law found an extravagant gown that stole your breath. The crimson dress hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating the softness of her feminine figure and the coolness of her kind eyes. It was beautifully bold statement speaking to the fire within Fuyumi many seemed to miss. But no one would overlook that spirit with a dress like that. Her measurements were taken, and the dress was quickly swiped off the rack and sent to the tailor.

Your clothing didn’t come easy. Fuyumi was indecisive and Shouto was a harsh critic.

“Hmm, that one’s too much.”

“Nope, not enough.”

“Too loose.”

“Too tight.”

“No.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m pretty sure someone from the Nanu family wore that in 2016. Next.”

It had taken nearly an entire hour before the three of you found your outfit. Something that had caught your eye was soon being shimmied over your body. When you stepped out of the dressing room, you were relieved when Fuyumi nearly cried and Shouto’s bi-colored eyes twinkled with satisfaction. The material was comfortable on your body and the pigment made your skin color brilliantly glow. It moved and swayed like it was meant for you. It just felt right.

“That’s the one,” Shouto smiled.

“You think so?” you asked, checking over the detailing.

“You’re going to steal the show, as always, Y/N,” Fuyumi gushed. “The most beautiful Onna-Oyabun* the yakuza have seen this generation.”

At the mention of the word, you casted your eyes downward. “Right. I’m going to be the new Onna-Oyabun,” you sighed.

The two Todorokis caught the heaviness of your tone and looked at one another in sadness. They were privy to the burdens of this family and the titles that came along with it. Your reaction wasn’t abnormal, but the despondent gleam in your eyes was still hard to sit with.

“Y/N—”

The sound of Shouto’s phone cut off his words. As he listened to the quiet words from the other line, his eyes began to harden. The store clerk kept you busy, but Fuyumi noticed his sudden rigidness.

Her brother’s eyes flicked towards the door and she caught the sight of more their bodyguards surrounding the boutique, hands on their weapons.

There were a few more words said before Shouto spoke.

“Anata wa mōru o torikakonde imasu. Natsuo wa 5-bu de soto de aimasu.” (Keep the mall surrounded. Natsuo will meet us outside in five minutes.)

Fuyumi met her brother’s eyes once more and understood the situation.

“So, the seamstress said she’ll tighten around the waist and add more fabric to the end. It’ll be ready by tomorrow evening,” you said to them.

Shouto excused himself while Fuyumi walked towards you, a practiced smile on her lips.

“Perfect. Now let’s get you changed and out for your date. Natsuo will be here any minute.”

…

The car ride to the restaurant was filled with your rambling about the day and Natsuo’s usual teasing. When he got into the car after speaking with his siblings, he seemed very tense. So you were happy you were able to get him to relax. Work must’ve put him on edge, and you were determined to let the rest of your night come stress free.

When you got there, he helped you out of the car and you made your way to the door. You were surprised to see who was standing by the entrance.

“Dabi?”

“Hey there, doll,” he said behind an easy smirk. He kissed the back of your hand. “Still see you’re with this punk. Tragic.”

You tried to hide your giggle as Natsuo punched his brother’s shoulder.

“Back off, brick-face. Lookin’ like a burnt raisin.”

“You wound me,” Dabi faux gasped.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

Although Dabi kept his eyes on you, he felt his brother’s stare on his face.

“Just doing some patrol. Heard you were coming around and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say hi to my new favorite Todoroki,” he responded coolly.

You quirked your brow at that. “Did something happen?”

Dabi opened the door. “Nah, nothing you need to worry about. You just enjoy your dinner for me, yeah?”

Before you could say anything more, you felt the man behind you place his hand on your lower back and guide you into the restaurant. You didn’t miss the order he hissed to his brother before closing the door behind him.

You had to learn Japanese one of these days, damn it.

As you stood in line to be seated, you eyed your fiancé.

“I know something’s going on,” you spoke.

Natsuo didn’t even flinch. “What do you mean?”

“Why’s Dabi here?”

“You heard what he said. For patrol.”

“Patrol for what? He doesn’t just police the area for no reason.”

“It was just on some small case we’ve been working on. No biggie,” he shrugged.

You frowned at his play of innocence. You were getting kind of tired of this. “You know how much I hate being kept in the dark…”

“It’s nothing you have to concern yourself with, babe. I’ve got it handled.”

“Natsuo—”

“Y/N, please.”

You watched his shoulders sag a bit from the heavy sigh that left his mouth. If you hadn’t been watching, you would’ve missed the fatigue that flashed across his face. To see someone usually so upbeat look so tired made your chest ache.

You knew you were being pushy, but all the secrets were piling up and your curiosity was starting to become insatiable.

“I…I just want to help,” you softly admitted. “I don’t mean to be annoying.”

“You’re not being annoying,” he answered in a heartbeat. Natsuo pulled you close and kissed your temple, feeling comforted by your smell. “I know all these secrets drive you crazy, but I’m trying to protect you.”

You placed a hand on his cheek to which he placed a kiss to your palm. “And I want to lessen your burden. We’re in this together, baby. You don’t have to handle all of this alone anymore.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. He stared into your eyes for a moment before gently smiling down at your hopeful gaze. “How ‘bout this? We forget about all this yakuza stuff whiles we’re here, and as soon as we get home, I’ll fill you in on my meeting today. Sound fair?”

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but it was a step in the right direction. Besides, you could see how eager he was to forget about the topic. The focus of this night was about having fun, so you would drop it for now.

You pecked his lips and nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

“Bet.”

The hostess met you two just as you pulled away from one another. She led you to your table where you had a clear view of the beach behind the crystal glass. Your waitress, an older woman with a smile that felt safe, got you settled in.

“My name is Jane and I’ll be serving you today. May I get your drinks?”

Natsuo looked to you. “Wine?”

You made a thoughtful face. “Yeah. Sure. Something on the sweeter side.”

“Bring us Moet Chandon Dom Perignon. 2008.”

“Yes, sir,” she bowed before going to retrieve the drinks.

You frowned in confusion, the bran unknown to you. That was before your eyes scanned over the wine listing. You choked on your spit.

That bottle could pay rent.

Rich people were crazy.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Something in my throat,” you coughed.

After the waitress brought your drinks and you placed your orders (you both ordered enough for eight but what’s new?), you and Natsuo spent your time talking and laughing.

It was like old times. He was the jokester, throwing out horrible pick-up lines with a terrible pun to match. You’d tease him, snickering when he’d whine about how sensitive he was.

You missed this. A lot.

Your previous grievances left your mind. Like he said, for now, you’d forget about the yakuza. The carefree smile on your fiancé’s face, the one that reminded of you of just how young he really was, was beautiful. He was only 23 and dealing with so much. You wanted this expression of freedom to remain for as long as possible.

“The ‘Saw’ series wasn’t even that scary. It was just really gross,” you said.

“Fair. But the one with the teeth was kinda scary. Saw 3 I think? I couldn’t sleep for like, five days,” Natsuo shivered.

“Okay, yeah. That one was…ew,” you agreed. “But remember ‘The Human Centipede’? Now that was some creepy shit. I couldn’t eat cereal for a month.”

Natsuo visibly paled, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “Nah for real, bro. I’ll never watch that shit again. I feel like it was some big, grotesque, sexual innuendo.”

You gave him a flat look.

“What the fuck, Natsu.”

“No, listen! Remember the part where they took the hammer and—"

“Your food, Mr. Todoroki and Mr/s. L/N,” Jane interrupted. A questioning look flashed across her face but you two just stifled your laughs.

The other waiters laughed as they stood behind her with the food in their hands.

You were eyeing the hell out of those oysters.

“Here we have the lobster bisque, the shrimp tacos, the stuffed oysters—”

“I’ll take that one, please!” you excitedly clapped.

“Excellent choice.”

“And you say I’m a child,” Natsuo snorted.

You threw a glare his way. “Little boy, if you don’t—”

And just as your day had been filled with laughter, the sound of one bullet tore through that illusion.

It was as if the world had stilled for a moment. Then, there was screaming and the onslaught of gunpower. There were so many men in dignified suits running in and out of the restaurant. You hadn’t even blinked before two waiters dropped to the ground, piled beneath the food they were holding.

Two shots rang near your table, and you felt a string of fresh blood paint the sides of your face and a burning sensation on your left ear. Two hands held the table and the back of your chair, body a shield from the bullets.

You slowly looked up and saw Jane’s bright blue eyes wide with surprise. There was a moment of silence as her bottom lip wavered, wanting to say something.

However, her last breath slipped through her lips as you watched the life dull in her cerulean irises.

That bullet was meant for you. That bullet was meant to kill you and instead…instead…

When she fell onto you, dead, that’s when you screamed.

At some point, Natsuo had gotten you into his arms. His body was ice cold as he used his quirk to protect you and carry you out. He was shouting orders and curses while trying to coax you out of your numbness. However, you couldn’t hear anything.

The stench of blood was strong. You saw how the bodies of innocent men, women, and children laid piled on the floor. They bled out; their lives taken from them before they even had the chance to think about it.

You closed your eyes when you saw blue and red flames lick the ground. You had seen enough.

Somehow, you had gotten outside and away from the warzone. Natsuo carried you into the car.

“Doraibu!” he thundered. (Drive!)

The driver took off with speed that made our backs hit the seats. Once he hit the main streets, miles away from the scene, Natsuo took his hand off the gun and quelled his quirk.

His phone lit up and it wasn’t long before he blew up at whoever was on the other end. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him use a tone so mean and angry. He roared into the phone, his words foreign to your ears. However, you couldn’t concentrate on that.

The shock of what just occurred struck your body numb. The ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped since the first bullet. You could still smell the blood and the bodies. Jane’s lifeless eyes would haunt you forever.

The same bullet that tore into her heart was meant for you. Whoever shot that, was aiming to kill. Kill you. But instead, Jane had taken that place. For what reason, you didn’t know. But she did.  

You didn’t know which one was worse.

Bile rose in the back of your throat and you let out a shaky breath.

You could do nothing else but hold your head.

Natsuo had gotten off the phone and looked over at you in silence. His grey eyes stormed with pain from the way your shoulders hunched over in grief.

He reached for you. “Y/N, sweetheart—”

You flinched away as his fingertips ghosted your skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you seethed.

He quickly withdrew his hands.

“Are…are you okay?” he slowly spoke.

The glare you gave him made him avert his eyes in anguish.

“Am I okay? You’re asking me if I’m okay!?”

“I just want to make sure you’re not hurt,” he thickly swallowed.

“Are you serious, Natsuo!? I just saw twenty people die in front of me and you’re asking if I’m okay!??”

Guilt drowned him, but you just couldn’t seem to care at the moment as rage took over your body.

“I asked you to tell me what was going on. I’ve been fucking begging you to keep me up to date so I can just be prepared for when things like this happen!”

“I know.”

“If I had just known someone was trying to take me out, I would’ve stayed the fuck home, but you wouldn’t tell me and now there’s people DEAD!!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Fuck your sorry!” you roared. “Fuck you, Natsuo! Sorry won’t bring those people back!”

Your voice was beginning to grow hoarse but screaming felt good. It was the only thing that felt real even as it took you to hysteria.

“I know those bullets were meant for me! They wanted to—to—oh my God!” Your breathig grew erratic as it all dawned on you. “I’m supposed to be dead! They wanted to kill me! I can’t! I can’t do this!”

Natsuo felt his heart break with every sob that ripped from your mouth. He wanted so badly to hold you and take you away from all of this. However, he knew better.

For the entire car ride and throughout the time it took for the nurses to patch you up, you hadn’t allowed him to touch you. You even ignored him until he was forced to leave you to rest.

When he told you he loved you, it hurt like hell to see you wordlessly disappear behind the bedroom door. That pain was what later fueled him back to the scene of the crime and into doing things to the captured enemies he would never utter to anyone that wasn’t there.

Fuyumi and Shouto couldn’t look him in his eyes for the rest of the day. It was Dabi, as heartless as he was, that told him it was enough.

He would give anything to give you what you deserved, a life without pain and death. But that’s not how it worked. Not in this life.

He knew that, yet, he had been selfish and took you for himself. Now, this was the result. Your life in unremitting danger because of who he was.

The agonized screams of dry ice burning away flesh constantly played in his head. It only seemed more prevalent, now more than ever, that people like him didn’t deserve people like you.  

[Present]

Natsuo’s heavy stare caused you to shift. As he changed into pajamas, you looked at the clock. It was 2am.

You hadn’t realized it was so late.

You felt a heavy dip in the bed and watched your fiancé carefully settle into the sheets. His face was clean of blood and dirt, so he must've showered before coming back home.

A pregnant pause filtered between you two. As you continued to stare at one another, you could see his façade slip with each passing second. The blank front he was so skilled at putting up melted as his eyes continued to pass over the bandages. His eyes sunk and the skin around them was dark with wear. He looked exhausted.

The anger that had once bristled inside of you had given way to melancholy a long time ago. You felt so empty and lonely with the dark thoughts that circled in your head. Sleep wasn’t an option if you wanted to avoid the nightmares that would plague you.

The two of you scooted closer to one another. Natsuo was the first to speak. He spoke in a voice so small, you almost missed it.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you whispered.

Soon enough, you were in his arms, chin on his shoulder as he peppered the junction between your neck and collarbone with kisses. You relished in his hands exploring your body, missing how he just seemed to swallow you up.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed.

“I love you too, Natsuo.”

Much of the night was spent reminding yourselves of the other’s touch. Natsuo drew your lips captive, his tongue overtaking you with dizzying pleasure. You couldn’t keep track of where his mouth was. Whether it was on your lips, on your stomach, or in between your legs, you savored how good it felt.

Soon, his low growls and moans were hot against your ears. Your nails ran down Natsuo’s back as his hips swam into you, taking his time to rememorize how you felt around him. The bed creaked along with your moans. You threw your head back and gripped whatever you could hold of him during your lovemaking.

It seemed you’d reach your high over and over again. You could never get enough of each other. There was something intoxicating about how his tongue would roll over yours as he pounded into you, staking claim over your body as he gave himself to you until he couldn’t.

When your bodies couldn’t go any longer, you just lied underneath the sheets. Natsuo lied on top of you, head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat. You pushed back his sweaty bangs, staring down at him.  

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until his thumbs went to swipe past your cheeks.

“Damn it,” you hiccupped.

Natsuo let his vulnerability slip. “I know they’re just words, but I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said. His voice cracked and it was your turn to catch the tears that fell from his eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I was just…”

“Just what?”

A fresh wave of images from today filled the forefront of your mind. Those pictures did something to you. A switch was flicked.  

Your voice caught in your throat and your eyes pinched as more tears filled them. However, these were not tears of fright, rather tears of animosity. The anger you thought had left you had turned into something worse. Something much darker.  

Natsuo saw that look many times before in his own reflection. Vengeance. Pure, unadulterated, vengeance. And as much as he hated it, it was the gas that incited his own flame.  

“Natsuo,” you spoke like you were about to tell a secret. You slowly swallowed the ball in your throat.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what it is you want.”

The words that left your mouth felt different, but you would never regret them.

“Whoever it was, whoever was behind this, I want them gone,” you instructed, voice stone cold. “For every child lost, I want ten of their heads. For all our men they took, I want their bodies burned. For the life they took from Jane, I want their blood on the street. Today, they took their stance when they tried to kill me.”

You held his face and fell into his gaze with hard eyes. In those grey irises, you saw a man that would stand against an army for you. It gave you the courage to say your order.

“And for that, I want the entire yakuza dead.”  

The glint in his eye matched your own and you knew there was no turning back. Natsuo nodded without a second thought. There was nothing to think about. He’d give you the entire world or burn it down at the flick of your hand.

“Yes, my Onna-Oyabun. Your wish is my command.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss.

“This is war.”

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 5: Charlotte

Summary: High School AU. 1985. Winter. Charlotte and Razzle are officially not dating, while Lola’s not dating someone but won’t say who, though she’s contemplating sleeping with Tommy in an effort to get him to stop pining for her, which Charlotte thinks is a terrible idea. Except that Charlotte lets slip to Tommy that that’s Lola’s plan, and he doesn’t take it well. The whole pack ends up at the Drive-In, which is going great for Charlotte and Razzle right up until Nikki decides to be an ass, and Charlotte realises that Tommy has spoken to Lola about their fight. It looks like things will be getting worse before they get better.

A/N: 6655 words. long overdue sorry!! @misscharlottelee and @evaangelics my beloveds this is, as always, for you both. ft. asofterworld quotes

my sister and i both hate antique shopping. but we love hating things together.

So yes, technically Charlotte and Razzle spent the better part of Heather’s party in a dark corner being altogether gross, as an incredibly drunk Peach had informed them both before she was pulled away by a far more sober Vince, which Charlotte hadn’t thought much of at the time, herself more than a little tipsy, but hearing Eileen rant in the diner the following day had made her feel a little guilty for not paying more attention. Not that anything bad happened, but still, she felt partially responsible for the young ginger girl. 

But the point is that Charlotte and Razzle are not dating, despite what everyone in their weird and ragtag bunch of lunchtime delinquents likes to imply. If Charlotte could justify punching Nikki again, she absolutely would. It’s not her fault that Razzle’s interesting and kind and honest and funny, and if she finds herself feeling a little heady, a little good-nauseous, like she had back when she and Duff had first been dancing around the idea of being a couple, she pushes those feelings to the back of her mind and distracts herself with something, anything else. 

Right now, she’s got a terrible headache and is having a whisper argument with Lola in the middle of art, trying to talk her out of pity-fucking Tommy.

“You make it sound so crass and heartless,” Lola’s lip curled, frowning at the red pencil in her hand and the cartoon drawing of a flower in her notes, “pity-fucking,” the word sounds wrong on Lola’s lips, tone derisive, “you say it like I don’t care about him.”

“Don’t pity-fuck my cousin, you can both do better,” Charlotte rubs at her temples, eyes closed, as Lola makes a noise like she’s not too sure if that’s a compliment, “a few weeks ago, you promised me you were just friends -”

“He’s a hopeless romantic who keeps hearing about cheerleaders sleeping with people who aren’t him, lemme put him out of his misery -”

“By fucking him? What if he catches further feelings for you?”

“I dunno, I’ll kill him?” Lola suggests flippantly, and when Charlotte cracks her eyes open to level a glare at Lola, the dark haired girl is grinning, clearly joking.

“Why Tommy? Why can’t you sleep with someone less related to me?” Charlotte hisses, tone vaguely annoyed and desperate, “I thought you were getting laid? What’s up with you and Nikki anyways?” There’s a shift in her tone, and Lola makes a face, pressing a little harder with her pencil. 

“I am sleeping with someone less related to you,” Lola says, though there’s a strangely guarded quality to her voice, “not Nikki, for the record; he’s the one who suggested I sleep with Tommy to begin with. He’s too much of a bitch to fuck me himself,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose as she thinks about it. 

“Wait, you’re seeing someone? For real? And it’s not Nikki?” Charlotte’s expression lit up, and Lola gave her a calculating looking out of the corner of her eye.

“I bet we both know another person I’m not sleeping with,” and Lola’s tone is mean and a little venomous as she deftly changes the subject, “how is our favourite exchange student, by the way?” Charlotte realises too late that her excited questioning of Lola’s private life may have touched a nerve. For all that Lola’s become more open in the few months they’ve been friends, there were strange lines Charlotte kept finding. Lola never really acted as though she cared much about Charlotte and Razzle’s vague status, so to use it against Charlotte was a surprise, and a clear giveaway that one of those lines had been crossed. It got Lola’s message across well enough, and Charlotte’s mouth snapped closed. 

Lola was a terrible distraction when she wanted to be.

“Lola’s not seeing anyone,” Nikki says flatly around his cigarette, and when Charlotte realises she’s gossiping with Nikki Sixx, she wonders idly where her life went wrong, “she’s fucking someone,” he corrected, “and she refuses to tell me who, but she’s not seeing anyone.” He sounds far more annoyed than Charlotte had anticipated, and she can’t help herself. She tugs on that string.

“Wait, so it’s actually not you?” 

“Lola’s dad is built like He-Man, Master of the Fucking Universe, have you seen him, Charlie? I couldn’t stick it in his daughter and bring myself to look him in the eye every other day; and I’m past worrying if he’s gonna toss me into space like he’s an Olympic hammer thrower,” Nikki considers for a moment, before heaving a sigh, “I just don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“You think fucking Lola’s gonna disappoint her dad?” Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with slight confusion, “why do you even talk to her dad every other day?”

“We work together?” Nikki says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and oh, suddenly Charlotte knows exactly why the back of the fry cook in Leo’s looked so familiar. Nikki can obviously read it on her face as the realisation, the full understanding of the situation dawns on Charlotte, but it still doesn’t stop her from bursting out with laughter.

“Oh dude, you definitely cannot fuck your boss’s daughter, no matter how much you so clearly want to -”

“Hey!” Nikki snapped, “bold words coming from you, Miss Lee; you already made sure Razz has had the full American High School Experience, or are you waiting for Prom to go full cliché about it?”

“Nikki, I’ve already punched you in the face once, so help me -”

“Yeah but now I know what to expect, I’m kinda into it,” Nikki’s grin is all teeth, and he leans across the table, into Charlotte’s space, “do it again, Miss Lee,” he teases, offering up his cheek to her, grinning from ear to ear. Charlotte makes a disgusted noise, leaning back, crossing her arms.

“You disgust me; can you please quit your job so you can fuck Lola?” 

Thankfully, this seems to take the wind out of Nikki’s sails, his expression falling to something irritated as he huffs and drops his gaze, sitting back dejectedly, and pointedly refusing, unable to come with a snide comeback in time to save face. 

“Lola would punch you in the face,” Charlotte pointed out, tone a little smug, and Nikki presses his lips together, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as a blush creeps up his cheeks. 

“So would that leggy redhead of yours,” he’s quick to change the conversation, “isn’t she in the musical? You know my band’s still looking for a singer -”

“Lemme stop you right there,” Charlotte stops Nikki in his tracks, holding up a single hand for silence, “first of all, the only person Eileen hates more than you is Vince Neil, and she told me personally that she’d rather eat glass than join your band, secondly -”

“You talked about my band with her?” There’s something a little bashful in Nikki’s voice, and the blush hasn’t left his cheeks; the whole picture would be endearing if he wasn’t such a colossal asshole.

“Secondly,” Charlotte tries again, “you know her name’s Eileen; everyone knows her name is Eileen, stop calling her my leggy redhead,” she ordered, before taking a deep breath, trying to let her irritation subside, “and thirdly, Lola was the one who asked Eileen to be in your band, Eileen just brought it up to me because she knew Tommy was in it.” Nikki, who had already been pink all over, was steadily turning red, trying to hide it as he made a show of patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Lola... uh, she talks about my band? She asked if Eileen wanted to join us?” He’s shooting for casual and missing the mark miserably, much to Charlotte’s delight.

“You’re so in love with her,” she smirks. Nikki scowls at her. The bell rings.

i have found a way to watch video in your head. high definition, with instant replay. it is called having regrets.

When Eileen invites Charlotte to the drive in, and suggests bringing Razzle, she insists it’s not a date, that some of the people from the musical were just getting together to watch the new horror movie, and she thought it would be good for Razzle to experience a proper, drive-in movie. That probably should have set of alarm bells in Charlotte’s mind, since everyone knew that if you take someone to a horror movie at the drive-in, you generally don’t end up actually watching much of the movie. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. 

But Eileen’s adamant, and Charlotte honestly wouldn’t actually mind sneaking off with Razzle at some point, if the opportunity arose, not that she’s admit that. 

“I should ask Lola to go,” Tommy says, tone a little wistful, when, on Thursday, Charlotte tells him her plans for the following evening; alarm bells definitely start ringing. 

They’re in Tommy’s kitchen after school, with his mom at the supermarket, and his dad at work, they’ve got the house to themselves, apart from Tommy’s sister upstairs, monopolising the phone. Charlotte’s sitting on the counter, while Tommy’s staring into the refrigerator, not actually looking at what’s in there, thoughts miles away as he considers his own words.

“Shut that if you’re not going to get anything, and no you shouldn’t,” Charlotte shuts him down immediately, to which Tommy frowns, asking derisively when she became the boss of him, slamming the fridge closed, “I thought you two were just friends,” Charlotte counters with.

“I can ask a friend to the drive-in,” though the way he suddenly can’t meet her gaze betrays him, and he flits over to a cupboard, opening it and staring at the food inside, trying to decide on an afternoon snack, “why are you here, anyways?” At this, Charlotte goes quiet and pensive, looking down at her knees as her heels kick softly against the cupboards below, trying not to think about how her mother keeps leaving college brochures out, with Law, Accounting, and Medicine courses all meticulously highlighted, or how whenever they’re in the same room, she’s treated to passive aggressive questions about whether she’s seen the brochures her parents know she definitely hasn’t touched.

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” Charlotte finally surfaces from her thoughts to see that Tommy is waiting for an answer.

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“If you’re going to daydream about Lola, I’m going to be an asshole,” Charlotte fired back, snarkily, and Tommy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve become kind of a bitch since you started hanging out with Nikki,” he huffs, and Charlotte straightens up where she’s sitting, eyes going wide with disbelief, with slight outrage.

“I’m just fucking sick of hearing you chase after girls who don’t want you! It’s all you ever talk about!”

“Lola wants me! Lola fucking wants me, Charlie!”

“She doesn’t want you, she wants to pity-fuck you so you’ll get off her damn case! Just how naïve are you, Thomas?” Charlotte yells back, and immediately smacks her hand to her mouth, regret written all over her face. Tommy’s expression falls like his heart is breaking. “Tommy -”

“A real, fucking bitch,” there’s a shake in Tommy’s voice that is breaking Charlotte’s heart, and she tries to apologise, but he tells her to go home. 

Yes, she leaves, she shuts the door behind herself, but she can’t bring herself to go home. Her feet carry her while her mind is blank, but when she looks up, she’s pushing open the door to the gas station, seeing Mick Mars look up from his magazine. Before he greets her, she sees the way his eyes search the space around her, roam the empty fuel pumps, as if expecting Tommy to pop out behind her. Then, once he considers himself safe, he puts down his magazine, tilting his head curiously at her, at her dejected demeanour. 

“Charlotte?” She’s actually surprised that he knows her name, and Charlotte hovers in the door, letting in the cold air from outside as she deliberates. Why had she come here of all places? “Are you okay?” The words sound strange, like he’s not used to saying them, not used to showing any sort of care, but she appreciates them nonetheless.

“I was a massive asshole to Tommy,” the words spill from her before she can stop them, and she watches Mick’s expression, can almost see him fight back several sarcastic or congratulatory remarks, suppressing his own well-worn irritation for her cousin, instead, just making a noise in the back of his throat that she can’t quite decipher. Then, he looks out the window, looks to the clock on the wall, and takes his feet off the counter carefully. 

“Do you want a slurpee?” He asks, obviously a little uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not really,” Charlotte admits, and Mick awkwardly looks around, as if to offer something else.

“Do you smoke?” He’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Charlotte shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shaking her head, looking at the floor, not quite sure where to go from here herself, “do you mind if I smoke?” 

“No,” her voice is small.

They sit on the step by the door outside the gas station, side by side, silent for a few minutes as Mick smokes his cigarette. No cars approach, but they watch some drive by as the sun sinks lower in the sky. 

“I told him Lola doesn’t want him, that she’s just interested in pity-fucking him because she thinks it’d get him off her case,” Charlotte admits, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Mick wince, a sign that what she’d said truly was a dick move. 

“That would’a broken the kid’s heart,” Mick muses around his cigarette, and Charlotte, who’d had her knees curled up to her chest, rests her chin on them, with a quiet ‘I know’. 

“He said I turned into an asshole since I became friends with Nikki Sixx, and then I just managed to prove him right,” she seethes, disappointed in herself more than anything else. 

“That’s your first problem; being friends with Nikki Sixx.”

“That was an accident,” Charlotte tried to defend herself, “and I’ve been friends with Nikki for kind of a while, honestly, but I was just so sick of hearing Tommy moon over girls who don’t even look twice at him, like they hung the stars in the sky -”

“Charlotte,” Mick interrupts her, his voice soft but insistent, and when she finally looks at him, he’s actually frowning at her, hands stilled with another cigarette half-pulled from it’s packet, “that’s not... you know why what you said hurt him, right? You know you could’a said that about any other cheerleader he was into and it would’a rolled right off his back, right?”

Oh. Oh no. Slowly, Charlotte’s expression crumbles as the full weight of her words dawns upon her, her guilt skyrocketing. Face in her hands, she actually wails, and Mick gives a firm pat on the back as a show of support. 

“They’re friends, Mick.”

“I know, Charlotte.”

“God, fuck, he probably thinks that I mean she doesn’t even like him as a friend, Mick!”

“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, giving another pat, “I know, Charlotte.”

“I just... don’t want him to get his heart broken,” she admitted, her only attempt to justify herself, which Mick didn’t accept as a proper answer for a moment.

“He’s sixteen, he’s gotta make his own mistakes, and,” at this he hesitates, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long draft as he deliberated saying his next words, “don’t ever let her know I told you this,” he adds seriously, “but the last thing Lola wants to do is hurt that kid; if anything, she’s hoping hooking up with him will strengthen their friendship, and raise his confidence for when he goes after other girls.” This... is a lot to process.

“How do you even know this?” Charlotte asked, bewildered, and Mick scrunches his face up and takes another long inhale on his cigarette.

“We’re friends,” is what he settles on.

“What?”

“Lola and I... are friends,” he sounds like he doesn’t want to admit it, and visibly cringes as he follows it up with, “she cares about that kid, and speaks very highly of him, and of you, honestly, and maybe the kid’s not as irritating as I had him pegged as. He’s still irritating, but he,” and he audibly groans, hanging his head for a moment, as if disappointed that he’s even saying any of this, “he’s a good friend to Lola.” It’s like the words themselves hurt him to admit, so he changes the topic quickly, “she told me he’s in a band with Sixx, actually,” and his tone is thankfully much less strained as he straightens his posture a little, ignoring Charlotte’s frankly flabbergasted expression, “I’ve been seriously considering joining them.”

“You sing?” Is what Charlotte hears herself say, without really registering it. Mick snorts derisively.

“Fuck no, I play guitar.”

“You sho- you should join them,” Charlotte babbles, trying to make sense of everything that she’d just learned, and now this of all things, but it’s going to take her a while. 

“I should,” he agrees with the barest hint of a smile, once more clapping her on the back. He hesitates before he stands, like he wants to say something else, but instead, he gives an awkward smile and gets to his feet, heading back inside, leaving Charlotte in silence. 

Eileen gives her a lift to school the following morning, seething about how Peach got a part-time job and their parents still aren’t happy. It’s conflicting for the older sister, who hates hearing the derisive way her parents refer to Peach as a ‘burger flipper’, while Peach herself had sneered when Eileen had asked about the job, telling her older sister that she was done grovelling at their parents’ feet just to exist, with an implied ‘unlike you’ which had been so uncharacteristic of the usually kind and upbeat Peach that it had sent Eileen spiralling. It was the third day in a row Eileen had been ranting about it, about how she just wanted to support Peach, but that her whole family appeared to be turning on each other.

Charlotte found herself relating to that particular sentiment far too well.

Half their ragtag bunch of lunchtime misfits is notably absent from their usual lunchtime hang out, so while Charlotte spends the forty minutes picking apart her food like she’s trying to deconstruct it atomically, Razzle sits diligently as Eileen carefully and meticulously braids his hair, while he asks if he needs to bring anything, or wear anything special to the drive in that Friday. Charlotte’s not paying them any attention, just letting her gaze roam distractedly essentially until the bell rings, and Eileen pulls the hairband from her own hair to secure Razzle’s braid, before taking off. 

“Anybody home in that head of yours, Charlie? The bell’s gone,” Razzle’s offering her his hand where he’s standing, and Charlotte finally returns to reality from her blank, concerned mind, wiping the last few crumbs of her sandwich on her jeans picking up her bag with one hand and taking Razzle’s hand with the other. Today he’s chosen to wear a royal purple collared shirt, several sized too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into tight, acid-washed jeans littered with naturally-made holes, his backpack on his back, and a black, corduroy jacket slung over one shoulder; with his newly acquired braid, the whole look is quite fetching, quite -

“You look like a prince,” Charlotte feels rather foolish for even saying it, can feel as the blush rises on her cheeks, but Razzle’s beaming as he pulls her to her feet, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment. 

“Well then I must be truly lucky to get court a princess like you,” and coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cheesy, or the phrase princess would have been derisive or snide, but he’s sincere, almost painfully so, and Charlotte ducks her head, “not courting,” Razzle corrects quickly, and Charlotte doesn’t think about how her heart sinks at that, despite how they’d talked through this.

“Princess Charlie -” something about the way he says her name always hits her hard, because hearing how it sounds, the reverence with which he says it, the nervousness, she leans in and kisses him quickly, can’t help herself, can’t stop herself. But then she’s leaning back, getting a better grip on her backpack, but - “wait, wait, wait, Charlie, wait -” Razzle, for the barest moment, tightens his grip on her hand, and she’s terrified that she crossed a line, that she’s done something wrong, but she turns back, and he doesn’t seem to be mad or concerned, instead he drops the jacket he’d been holding, gently taking her face in his hands, “can’t spring that on me and get away with it; lemme do it proper.” 

i am going to build a new boyfriend out of garbage and dirty feathers. no one else will touch him. 

 “Did you tell Tommy we were coming here?” Eileen hissed, startling the hell out of Charlotte at the concession stand at the drive-in before the movie began. Charlotte, who had been hovering in line, nervously retucking her nice blouse into her skirt every few minutes, almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice in her ear.

“Yeah, I - why?” Looking around, Charlotte thankfully can’t see Tommy’s shitbox of a car, but it becomes readily apparent the source of Eileen’s frustrations, when she spots a shiny, red sports car parked four cars past where Keanu and his good friend and well known fellow theatre kid Alex Winter were sitting on the hood of Keanu’s car, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who they had been quick to warm to him upon meeting him about twenty minutes ago. 

“Charlie!” The name came out as a frustrated noise from between Eileen’s clenched teeth, her eyes glued to Vince Neil’s ostentatious car, and Charlotte looked down for a moment, before adjusting her skirt again and retucking her shirt as she spoke.

“I didn’t know he’d tell Vince; I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon,” and she hesitates before adding, “we got into this fight and I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologise but I don’t know how, so it kind of slipped my mind, I didn’t know -”

“We’ll talk about you and Tommy later, I promise, but right now I need you to tell me three convincing arguments as to why I shouldn’t pop one of Vince Neil’s fucking tires.” Eileen’s hatred of Vince is perhaps getting out of hand, Charlotte considers, prying Eileen’s vice-like grip from her upper arm, considering for a moment.

“I know you have no qualms about becoming a felon to protect Peach,” Charlotte says with half a smirk.

“Absolutely none,” Eileen agrees without missing a beat, which was both amusing and heartwarming.

“- but your mom would probably pull you out of public school to enrol you in that strict, girls-only, future-nun-school, Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow,” Charlotte’s trying so desperately not to smirk, not to give her amusement away at the concept, “and you can say goodbye to any chance you had of ever making out with your co-star on or off stage.” 

Eileen turns as red as her hair, but at least she takes a moment to calm down, glancing over her shoulder at the three boys who were waiting for them. Keanu looks over for a moment, catching her gaze, waving and grinning from ear to ear, and Charlotte practically cackles as Eileen’s blush deepens. 

“Look, Eileen look,” Charlotte pointed insistently back at the boys, to where Alex had hopped off the hood of Keanu’s car, and was making his way over to the pack of kids Eileen had vaguely gestured to earlier, mentioning that they made up most of the technical theatre department, despite their leather jackets and motorcycles, leaving Razzle and Keanu chattering away, “Alex is going to hang out with the Crew boys, leaving Keanu free to comfort you during the scary movie.”

Eileen takes a deep breath, not even pretending like that wasn’t what she wanted, steeling herself to head back, and ignore Vince Neil’s goddamn car. After a beat, however, she turns to Charlotte, looking altogether stern and collected.

“I know I said you and Razzle could stay in my car, since I’m hanging out with Keanu, but don’t have sex in there -”

“What?!”

“Don’t have sex with Razzle in my car,” Eileen practically ordered, and Charlotte nervously looked to the guy ahead of her in line. He looked back at her, between the two girls, then thankfully stepped up to the counter without a word. 

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Well you also weren’t planning on being make out buddies after getting drunk and being the gross PDA couple at Heather’s party,” Eileen sniped back, “listen, I just want Peach to be able to sit in my car without either of your bare asses having touched any of the seats.” 

“I won’t let either of our bare asses touch the seat,” Charlotte agreed, mortified.

“And no stains -”

“Eileen!” Charlotte all but screeches, right as the messages before the movie started playing.

“Eileen, the charming Mister Reeves wants a word with you,” Razzle’s voice joins them just moments before Charlotte’s pretty sure she would have expired from embarrassment, and at the mere mention of Keanu, Eileen relaxes a little. All three of them glance over to Keanu’s car, to see the man himself leaning against his windshield, cigarette idle in one hand as he watches the first of the preview trailers. As much as he makes gestures like he’s about to take a drag, the cigarette never quite makes it to his lips before he extends his arm out beside him again, like he’s going through the motions without really following through. Eileen, as if drawn to him by a spell, practically floats away.

“She’s a strange one,” he says fondly, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t point out the hypocrisy in his words, “Keanu and Alex act like she’s some aloof, inscrutable woman; weren’t sure we were talking about the same woman,” he huffed a laugh, much to Charlotte’s disbelief.

“Eileen... she is an aloof, inscrutable woman, you just happen to live with her arch nemesis, and- you’re- we’re- you know, we’re...” Charlotte gestured between herself and Razzle, flushing, as his smile widened, “and you know, I’m her best friend.”

“Guys, are you buying food or what?” The concierge asks; a tired-looking kid Charlotte recognises from Tommy’s year. She hops forward, ordering food, and waiting for it to be prepared, all while standing by Razzle’s side, his chin on her should as they watch the preview trailers. He’s behind her, warm and solid and grounding, which is exactly what she needs as her cousin’s beat-up excuse of a car screeches into the lot, almost spraying gravel thanks to his sharp turn into the first available space. 

“Oh god, oh fucking hell,” Charlotte breathes, clenching her eyes tightly shut, “if you see a blonde-haired, six-foot stick-insect, who looks like he’d cheat on his girlfriend,” she starts, whole face scrunching with frustration, “and-or Nikki fucking Sixx, well, that would be about right; that feels like how tonight would go,” she lets out a long, frustrated breath, and she feels Razzle lift his chin from her shoulder right as he makes a noise of confusion.

“Tommy just arrived,” she clarified.

“Oh?”

“And we kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Charlotte’s name is called and she collects the bucket of popcorn she’d ordered for the pair of them, and Razzle picks up their drinks, heading back to the car as the movie opens. 

“You wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you and that Drummer Boy?” Razzle asks as they’re settling in the back seat together. Charlotte’s detaching the front seat’s headrests with possibly too much vigour, but declines, despite the frustration written all over her face. Razzle keeps a careful hold on the drinks that he’d thought were safe to balance on the centre console as Charlotte foisted herself over the back seat to pull the blankets she’d packed from the trunk. 

“You sure?” Razzle tried again, still with one hand nervously keeping the drinks in place, the other firmly holding their bucket of popcorn out of harm’s way. With a blanket securely bundled in her arms, Charlotte gives him a flat look, that quickly disappears in the face of his genuine concern.

“No, Razz,” she sighed, “I’m just mad at myself for letting this, like, fester, you know? I should have apologised sooner,” she huffs a sigh, unfurling the blanket with far more care now, draping it across both of their laps. 

“You’ve a good heart, Miss Lee,” Razzle assures her, but Charlotte’s face scrunches reflexively at the nickname, having only ever associated it with Nikki Sixx’s dreadful attempts to hit on her.

“Thanks, but please don’t call me that,” Charlotte gives a strained little smile, but Razzle nods and takes it in stride, finally getting himself comfortable and sitting back against the seat, one arm draped across the back, the other holding the popcorn in his lap.

“No worries, Love; I could call you Charlie, but I always thought it sounded a bit weird coming from me,” Razzle is rambling as Charlotte settles against him, tucking herself up close to him, “had a mate back home called Charlie, but short for Charles; absolute cockhead,” he clicks his tongue as Charlotte can’t help but giggle, “I could always keep just calling you Love, but it’s not as personal, you know? And Charlotte... it’s a pretty name, but it would be like if you started calling me Nicholas, be a bit weird, don’t ya think?” He mused, and Charlotte’s eyes drifted from the opening scene of the movie, where a menacing looking knife-glove was being created, to Razzle’s face as he chattered away. 

“I could keep calling you Princess Charlie,” as he says that, he looks to her, and seems a little startled to see her looking back at him, “like the other day,” his voice is softer, eyes wide, roaming her face, as if trying to capture her fond expression in his memory forever.

“You wouldn’t imagine your friend Charlie from back home a tiara?” Charlotte’s voice is amused, as is her expression, and Razzle’s eyes crease in the corners as he smiles; his eyes as so blue, so honest.

“You’d be the only Princess Charlie in my life,” he assures, giving her shoulder a squeeze where his arm is wrapped around her, and Charlotte doesn’t even think about how they’re less than a minute into the movie before she’s kissing him. 

At least it gets her to stop thinking about Tommy. 

Honestly, it gets her to stop thinking about everyone and everything that isn’t Razzle in this car in this moment, which is fine for her, because her life is somehow currently a stupid, complicated mess of people and emotions, and Razzle is nice to her, and a damn good kisser, and gentle, and his hands are warm -

“Miss Lee, does the Declaration of Independence mean nothing to you?” Comes shouted through the wound-up window of the car, startling Charlotte, who’s been in Razzle’s lap with his lips on her neck, so much that she jumped, smacking the back of her head into the roof of the car. Razzle reached out for her, expression concerned and lips kiss-bruised, as Charlotte held her head, wincing. Looking to the window, however, she could see Nikki Sixx pressing his face to the glass, looking altogether unsightly, with Lola a few feet behind him, drawing something in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. 

Assholes!

“I’m gonna kill him,” Charlotte says with deadly calm the moment she understands the situation, though Razzle seems to have anticipated this, and has his hands on her thighs, keeping her secure in his firm grip.

“No,” Razzle says, voice equally as calm, his gaze focused on Charlotte, and not on Nikki who had put his open mouth on the window, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to lick the glass. Charlotte scrunches her expression for a moment, internal debate raging between her desire to stay in the car with Razzle, and her need to beat the ever-loving shit out of Nikki Sixx for being a smartass.

“I’m gonna crack the window and inch and tell him to fuck off,” Charlotte says, looking back to Razzle, who was wearing an expression of faint amusement, and his grip became a little less firm. Reaching over, she wound down the window an inch. Immediately, Nikki looked through the gap, cheek still pressed to the window as his gaze darted around the cabin of the car, no longer obscured by the window tint. 

“I’m surprised you know what the Declaration of Independence is,” Charlotte said, tone icy as she moved to sit next to Razzle. 

“Honestly I stole that line from Lola,” Nikki admitted, and upon hearing her name, even faintly, Lola joins them, thankfully not pressing herself to the window, instead standing close to Nikki, her hip by his, hands in her jacket pockets. 

“Were they doing it?” Lola asks far too casually, almost too quiet for Charlotte and Razzle to hear, though they do, and both blush, even as Nikki pulls back, making a face. 

“No,” Charlotte calls back, and Lola’s expression turns smug as she holds out her hand, making a ‘hand it over’ gesture to Nikki, only for him to begrudgingly hand over a five dollar note. 

“Shoulda waited ‘til the end of the movie to ask,” Lola’s grin stretched wider, even as Charlotte tried to splutter a protest, and Razzle had to press his face against her shoulder to muffle his laugh at the whole situation.

“Why are you assholes here?” Charlotte hissed; strangely, Lola’s expression fell, and she stepped back again, adding more to her gravel drawing with her shoe, not looking at the car. 

“We’re at the drive in because I’ve heard this is a good movie,” Nikki goes back to staring at them through the inch crack in the window, “and we’re here-” his tone turns proud while his smile turns sharp as he taps his nail against the glass, “because we’re trying to give Tommy and Heather privacy,” he all but sings. There’s... a lot to unpack there, however before Charlotte can process any of it, Lola grab’s Nikki by the elbow, pulling him away.

“Come on, I didn’t take a night off to talk to people I can see every day, did you bring weed or not?” She insisted, tone frustrated leading him towards the concierge stand. Something about it had Charlotte’s heart sinking, even as Razzle’s still chuckling and confused about what was going on, Charlotte’s heart was sinking. 

Tommy had driven Nikki and Lola - and Heather? What? - to the drive in. Tommy and Lola had almost definitely spoken about the fight Charlotte and Tommy had had, which means Lola almost definitely knew what Charlotte had said. 

“Everything okay, Princess?” Razzle had asked gently, his arm around her once more as Charlotte had buried her face in her hands. 

“My whole life is fucked,” Charlotte muttered, and Razzle pulled her in close to him. Her legs bridge over his thighs, and he’s holding her close with both arms, keeping her warm and secure, and Charlotte takes a moment, then another, then a third, to take comfort. 

She’s going to miss this. Going to miss him. Fuck, she can’t think like that, can’t keep reminding herself of the time limit on their friendship, the reason she’s scared to call it anything more. 

Everything is fucked, but this one moment, how Razzle was holding her close, devoid of it’s context, it was pretty damn great.

a friend will help you move. a best friend will help you move bodies. but if you have to move your best friend's body, you're on your own

Charlotte goes to see Tommy on Saturday morning, but when she gets there, he’s not home. 

“He’s at a movie~ with a girl~!” Athena sings, when Charlotte asks, and Charlotte, confused and concerned, looked to her aunt, Tommy’s mother, who gave a kind smile and nod of confirmation. 

“He was so nervous and excited, spent a long time doing his hair just right,” she giggled fondly, pride in her voice, but Charlotte’s heart was in her throat. Had what she said somehow guilted Lola into dating her cousin? That could only end badly for both of them, oh fuck -

Except when she bursts into Leo’s at eleven, after most of the breakfast diners had vacated, and the lunch rush was still about half an hour away, Lola was standing behind the counter... with Peach? Teaching her how to fold silverware in napkins correctly? 

“Do you know... do know that thing where you fold it into a swan?” Peach asks, giggling, right as one of the other kind-faced staff members approaches Charlotte and asks her how many people she’d like a table for. Lola instinctually looks to the door, and Peach catches on a moment later, and suddenly both girls behind the counter are frowning in Charlotte’s direction. Lola mutters something to Peach that’s too quiet for Charlotte to hear, and the younger redhead immediately takes the silverware they’ve already wrapped, going around and dispensing it amongst each table’s silverware holder. Peach is in uniform. 

“I just...” Charlotte’s voice is soft, while her gaze is locked with Lola’s, brushing past the host who’d greeted her, “I need to talk to Lola.” The host looks over his shoulder at Lola, who looks his way for the barest moment and gives half a shrug. The kid backs off, looking past Charlotte to the street outside to see if anyone else was coming in after her, and upon seeing no-one, he heads back to the counter. 

“Hey Peach,” Charlotte says as the redhead slides past her to get to another table. Peach doesn’t even look at her when she gives a flat greeting in response. 

“How can I help you?” Lola’s painfully sweet customer-service voice hurts more than any sarcastic remark she could have come up with, and it’s eating Charlotte alive to know what Tommy told her, what Lola thinks Charlotte thinks of her to make her act so hostile. The way she’s smiling so widely coupled with her dead-eyed stare is unnerving. 

“Keola!” It comes as a shock when a firm voice comes from the kitchen, and Lola practically jumps from her skin. Looking to the source, Charlotte sees the face of the man she’s only ever seen the back of in the kitchen, taller than anyone else in the restaurant, and he looks like Lola.

“What?” Lola hisses, surprising Charlotte, and the man looks to Charlotte, giving her a warm, friendly smile, before he answers.

“If you need to talk to,” and the man pauses, tipping his head a little as he looks to Charlotte, “Charlie?” And Charlotte, kind of confused and nervous as to how he knows her name, nods in confirmation, “you can take your break, okay? Water, fresh air, outside -” and without waiting for a confirmation, he calls the kid who had greeted Charlotte to come and take Lola’s place at the counter, as Lola begrudgingly grabs a bottle of water from beneath the counter, and storms out from behind the counter, past Charlotte to the door. 

Charlotte, a little terrified, looks to the man, who gives another bright smile.

“Sorry we haven’t properly met, I’m Leo, glad to finally meet you, Charlie,” and immediately everything makes total and complete sense, and Charlotte nervously greets him, and takes off after Lola, who had disappeared down the street. 

[nenko-dreams]

Ohh, what is moon lovers about?

Hi, thank you for the ask, anon!

The Moon Lovers AU is loosely based on the TV series Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo.

It was the worst day in Brienne’s life. People she trusted set her up for public humiliation. She was convinced that nothing could make her life worse. But then, she got involved in a strange accident at the lake which coincided with the full solar eclipse. After Brienne waked up, she discovered that she was transported back over a thousand years ago to the Westeros, ruled by the greatest king of all times, Goldenhand the Just.

She was excited to meet him but when she did, she had to confront everything she knew about him as a historical figure with the real man he was in his time.

 And here is a short fragment I’ve already written:

Something was very, very wrong. It wasn’t the world she knew. This father wasn’t the one she recognized.

               “I’m sorry,” she said carefully, deciding it would be wiser to just listen to him. As strict as he sounded, Brienne was certain that he didn’t mean any harm to her. And maybe if she listened, she could better understand where exactly did she find herself. “I’m afraid I do not quite feel like myself.”

               “I can see that. Do you remember anything?”

               Brienne did actually remember everything until the accident at the lake which this version of her father claimed to happen fourteen years ago. She shook her head, deciding it would be a safer choice than to force her version of events. She didn’t want to appear crazier than she already did.

               “Where are we?” she asked.

               “I already told you it’s your chamber.”

               “Yes, but I meant more general location.”

               “We are at Evenfall Hall.”

               “The museum? How did you arran—”

               Brienne didn’t finish because of the incredulous expression of father’s face. “I mean, yes, of course, it is. But we don’t live here, right?”

               “Brienne, I am the Evenstar and you are my daughter and heir. Where else are we supposed to live?”

               Father has gone crazy. Or it was her. Judging by the surroundings it must have been her.

               The further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of elderly looking man wearing a strange brown robe with a thick chain composed of rings of different colours which clanked with his every step. Fortunately, the woman didn’t return with him.

               “My lord, septa Roelle has informed me that lady Brienne is now awakened but…”

               Instead of finishing, he threw Brienne an assessing look.

               “It seems that the accident might have had some…” Father was clearly struggling with choosing the right words. “…strange effects.”

               “What do you mean by this, my lord? From what can I see the lady seems to be quite well.”

               Because I am, Brienne thought. Physically she was good. Yes, her body felt slightly different than usual but Brienne was convinced it was just the effect of her prolonged diving. What troubled her most was the question of where she was and how did she end up in this place. And how to go back.

               “She is not quite herself.” Brienne heard her father saying.

               “It is normal to be in a state of shock after such extreme experience.”

               “Could it involve memory loss?”

               “I haven’t heard of that but if she stayed under the water for a long time, then yes, it might have happened.”

               “But it is not a permanent effect?”

               “I can’t tell anything before I check out my patient. If you allow, my lord, I would appreciate it if you left the chamber.”

               “Of course,” father said, leaving Brienne alone with the man.

               Without a hurry, he stepped toward her bed.

               “My lady,” he said calmly, sitting on a chair that someone brought to her bed. “Let’s start from the basic question. Do you know who you are? What is your name?”

               “Of course, I know. I’m Brienne Tarth.”

               “Excellent, my lady. But could you tell me, where are we?”

               Brienne hesitated. Father said they were at Evenfall Hall and she could just go on with that even if she didn’t necessarily recognize the place or even believed it was true.

               “I can’t. I don’t know this place,” Brienne said, deciding against the lie.

               “I see,” the man nodded, his long white beard grazed the rough material of his brown robe. “But you recognize your father, is it right, my lady?”

               “Yes,” Brienne simply answered, refusing to elaborate on the differences between her dad and the man who could pass as his identical twin.

               “Do you know who am I?” came the next question.

               Brienne looked again in the man’s face. It was old and covered with wrinkles and stains so characteristic for older people. Everything about him seemed to be old and fragile except for eyes, which were bright and astute, making Brienne feel that he could see right through her.

               “I’m sorry but I don’t. I guess you must be a doctor of some sort.”

               “I am not sure what you mean, my lady, but I am maester Volden of the Citadel. I have been serving at Evenfall Hall for nearly twenty years.”

                Brienne found herself nodding at this information, not sure how she should respond.

               “Do you remember what did you do today and yesterday and the day before that?”

               She did. But when she tried to question father about that she only earned a look of confusion and denial. Brienne shook her head.

               “Interesting,” maester Volden murmured to himself. “Now, I would like to examine you, my lady.”

               Brienne nodded and maester stood from his chair. Before Brienne could blink, he started his assessment, checking her pulse, her eyes, asking her to inhale and exhale on his command, and other things Brienne knew from medical shows that doctors tend to do. Particular attention he paid to her head, touching and watching it closely from every possible angle.

               “Do you remember any kind of head injury you could receive? It didn’t necessarily have to happen during or after your fall from the cliff.”

               “I didn’t fa…” I didn’t fall from the cliff, I was rescuing Gal, Brienne wanted to say but stopped herself before the words left her mouth. “I didn’t have any head injuries.”

               That wasn’t strictly the truth. During the years of fighting training, Brienne got punched multiple times, including her face but she was more than sure that she was fine.

               The maester nodded, however, the expression on his face indicated that he didn’t quite believe her words.

                “Are you sure, lady Brienne? Nothing during your sword training?”

               “No.” I have never held a sword in my life.

               “As you say, my lady. Physically everything seems to be alright, I can’t see anything out of order. Except for your memory. There is nothing I can do for you now but you need a lot of rest and as few stresses as possible. Let’s just hope your memories return to you soon,” he said moving to the door.

               “Ehm… maester Volden,” Brienne called him, not quite sure how she should address him.

               “Yes, my lady?”

               “Can I ask you something?”

               “Of course.”

               Brienne took a deep breath. It was her chance to get some clues about what was going on. If she asked the right questions…

               “Where is Galladon?” Brienne started with the most important one. Despite what her father said, she couldn’t accept that. Maybe father got something wrong, maybe he was mistaken and Gal lived. Maybe… Brienne looked expectantly at the maester but the serious expression on his face killed the last tiny shreds of hope she possessed.

               “He died when you were a child, my lady.”

               No, Brienne wanted to scream. No, Gal was alive. They grew up together, they played together, they shared secrets, they comforted each other. She didn’t know the world without her older brother. She didn’t want to accept any world where Gal was not there.

               “How about mum, Ari and Alys?”

               “They died years ago.”

               Brienne blinked trying to prevent new tears threatening to fall. What kind of world it was where almost all her family was dead? It was worse than any hell she could end up after dying. But Brienne was sure she lived. The intuition, the strange unfathomable feeling inside her was telling her that she was still alive. Her heart was steadily beating under her ribs and her body greedily demanded breath after breath.

               “Where am I, maester?” Brienne asked in a shaking voice.

               “We are on Tarth, my lady. Your homeland.”

               Brienne nodded. “What year do we have?”

               “It is 297 After Conquest.”

               Brienne froze. No, it was impossible. She couldn’t move back over a thousand years ago. If she was told she spent decades in a coma and awaken after some sort of nuclear apocalypse, Brienne would believe that easier than the fact that she somehow traveled so long ago.

               “Lady Brienne, are you well? You became pale all of a sudden.”

               “I’m fine,” she replied, trying to appear unaffected by the unexpected information. “Could I ask you to tell everyone that I would like to be left alone? I think I need some rest.”

               “Yes, of course, my lady,” maester Volden replied, bowing slightly.

               Only when the door closed after him and Brienne was finally left alone, she let the grief and distress take over her.

[ffsjeongyeon]

Loud And (Not So) Proud Pt.2 (SMUT)

WARNINGS: SEXUAL SITUATION (CHAEYOUNG/NAYEON), G!P, HANDJOB, CUTE PREMATURE EJACULATIONS

Why does G!P Chaeyoung with premature ejaculation problems make me uwu so hard lmao. Shout out to @bbygirldahyun, @sleephyuns and @cubchaengs for having top tier blogs that inspire me to get off my ass and write more. <3 This is a part 2 to this post. You don't have to read it beforehand but it might explain some shit. Enjoy~

The situation Chaeyoung had found herself in a few days prior echoed around her mind endlessly. Nayeon had walked straight into her room, watched her jerk off, then made a cheeky comment, laughing at Chaeyoung’s bewildered stuttering, then casually winked and walked right back out. She had left Chaeyoung is such a state; her sticky hands uselessly trying to cover her spent cock, bright red in the face, heart beating so loudly it was all she could hear. She tried not to think about how her cock sprang back to life after being walked in on… she didn’t know how she felt about that.

All she knew is that she hadn’t met Nayeon’s eyes for three whole days.

Nayeon had acted completely normal with her since the… incident, but something inside Chaeyoung burned whenever she came near, so much so that she could barely be in the same room as the older girl. When she happened to be, she could feel her cheeks glowing, her mind snapping back to Nayeon’s dark, mischievous eyes as she quipped about how loud she had been pleasuring herself.

The embarrassment.

Not only that, but Chaeyoung had now began to have the predicament of her cock suddenly trying to make itself apparent every time she was within touching distance of her. Even worse, it had even started affecting her relationship with the other girls. The other very hot girls that she lived with.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so jumpy?” Sana asked, confused as Chaeyoung had jumped back instinctively from her cuddling on the sofa.

“Oh, sorry. No, it’s nothing. Sorry.” Chaeyoung apologised, clearing her throat and commanding her body to relax. She watched from the corner of her eye as Sana watched her suspiciously. The younger girl cleared her throat again, nervously. “I’ll see you later, enjoy the movie.” She got up, trying not to act too strangely, and walked to her bedroom, closing the door. She let out a breath quietly, leaning her forehead against the wood of the door.

Looking down, she scowled at her dick. She could clearly outline in her sweatpants as it twitched, thumping against her thigh.

This hadn’t been a problem before. Before all this had gone down, she had barely touched herself. She had rarely felt the need for it. But now, things were different.

The image of Nayeon’s naughty eyes flittered through her head again, and she shuddered, catching a moan in her throat as her cock caught wind of the thought and pulsated in need again.

“God dammit.”

Sighing heavily, she plopped herself down in her computer chair, just about to shove her waistband below her balls and sort herself out, when her bedroom door opened.

“Chaeng? Sana says you’re acting weird. Are you okay?”

Nayeon’s head popped itself round the door frame. She seemed to be about to continue asking questions, but when she saw Chaeyoung’s position, she paused.

“Oh. This is familiar.” She voice took on a cheeky tone and her hand came into view, wrapping itself around the door slowly. Chaeyoung gulped and felt like she had run out of air suddenly.

“Are you really okay though?” Just as Chaeyoung was about to say that ‘yes, she was fine’, Nayeon continued. “Or are you just really horny?”

…

Okay, she had definitely now run out of air.

Nayeon continued.

“I mean, you look pretty horny to me. But what sort unnie would I be if I didn’t make sure?” Her dark eyes flicked down to Chaeyoung crotch, leading Chaeyoung to look down too. She was pretty much tenting her sweatpants now. Chaeyoung’s hands shot to cover herself and she stuttered for an explanation - anything to explain her weird behaviour. Nothing came out except a long drawn out ‘errrr’ as her brain fried.

Nayeon walked into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. Before Chaeyoung could attempt to salvage her image and actually say something of substance, the older girl had crossed the room and had sunk down to her knees in front of her, placing her hands gently on the younger girls thighs.

“I want to help you out.” Nayeon’s eyes looked earnest and excited as she whispered lowly. “If that’s okay. If you’ll let me.” Chaeyoung gulped, flicking between her eyes. “I don’t want you hurting.” Nayeon smiled kindly, which suddenly took Chaeyoung out of the slightly overwhelmed headspace she had been in. This was her unnie. She just wants to help her out. Of course.

“Um, yes please.” Chaeyoung winced at her automatic words. “I mean, yeah that would be nice.”

Nayeon’s smile widened as one of her hands came up to Chaeyoung’s face and gently caressed her jaw.

“You’re so cute, Chaengie.” Chaeyoung felt her cheeks flushing. The air suddenly felt so much less awkward and brain frying. “So cute.” Her voice trailed off as her hand dropped back down to her thigh.

“I, um…” Chaeyoung stuttered. “I’ve never… done anything with anyone.”

The older girl smiled again (had she actually stopped smiling since the first time…?) and nodded slightly.

“It’s okay. I know.”

“And I… kind of… um. I kind of struggle with not… y’know.” Chaeyoung blushed harder, not able to finish her sentence, her eyes looking to the side. “….Y’know. Really quickly.” Nayeon tilted her head ever so slightly and raised an eyebrow, trying to understand. “I… finish really quickly… usually. It’s a thing. I haven’t had, um, much… practice.”

“Oh…. Well, I’ll just have to help you with that, won’t I?”

Nayeon’s fingers rubbed gently on the other girl’s thighs as she said this. Chaeyoung watched her, holding her breath.

“Breathe, babe. I don’t want you passing out.” Nayeon teased. Her voice got quieter and lower as she wrapped her long fingers under her waistband. “Is this okay?”

Chaeyoung nodded quickly, and Nayeon smiled once again at how suddenly eager she looked. Chaeyoung’s sweatpants were slowly pulled down, revealing her dick.

“God, I forgot just how big it was. I mean, I saw it from afar, but… wow.”

Chaeyoung suddenly had the image of being walked in on, and her cock twitched heavily, touching her stomach. Just as Nayeon reached her hand out to slowly touch her, Chaeyoung blurted out again.

“It really is gonna be fast, Unnie. I can… feel it already.”

“It’s okay, Chaeng. Really, I don’t mind one bit.”

As she said this, Nayeon’s hand very gently around the shaft. Chaeyoung felt like her body turned to jelly as she naturally leaned back against the chair. God, her hand was so soft and warm.

“Your balls already look so tight.” Chaeyoung let out a loud groan at the words, and watched as Nayeon’s eyes quickly met hers. “It’s okay, you can be loud. I like it.” The younger girl pushed up into her hand with her hips and let out a long groan. She couldn’t decide whether she should fight against her eyes closing or not. In the end, they slipped closed automatically as Nayeon moved her hand up then down again very slowly. Up to the top of the head, becoming slick with the precome steadily leaking out the tip, then down down down so that her thumb caressed the balls that felt like they were tingling to Chaeyoung. “Let’s see how long you can last.”

“Unnie, I’m gonna… I’m gonna come.” Chaeyoung breathed out, fighting to open her eyes and meeting Nayeon’s. Nayeon hadn’t even been touching her for more than a minute or two. “I can’t help it, I’m gonna come, I can feel it.”

“What does it feel like?” Nayeon’s whisper commanded. For a second, she wasn’t sure how to answer, but as she got closer, the words spilled out of her lips without her even thinking.

“I can feel my balls tingling. Feels so good. Feels like I’m gonna explode. Feels… Unnie…”

“It’s okay, you can come. Just let go. You can do it. Go on.”

No sooner than those words had been said, did Chaeyoung go very still, tilting her head back and opening her mouth, letting out a rough loud groan. The cock in Nayeon’s hand thudded strongly as a heavy spurt of come escape the tip. It sprang into the air, landing thickly on her wrist. Then a second load came, shooting up and then landing on her thumb. The third shot out as Nayeon continued to move her hand on her shaft, landing on the back of her hand and dripping down onto Chaeyoung’s crotch. The fourth and subsequent spurts thickly dribbled down onto her hand and her fingers. After a few seconds, Chaeyoung thighs twitched sharply as Nayeon continued to gently massage her cock, and her hand instinctively shot up to cover the older girl’s to stop it moving.

“Sorry, that’s… so sensitive…” Chaeyoung sounded worn out. “But… holy shit.”

Nayeon grinned devilishly as she took her come covered hand away from her crotch and brought it to her lips, licking it clean.

“Tell me about it.”