#they're a part of something much bigger and older

[jungkoode]

Strings Attached (to my heart)

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 2: 1000 notes. ✔️ NEXT

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish), dry humping, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, creaming his pants, sexual content, explicit content, library smut, clothed getting off, breast play, grinding, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, size difference, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, protective jungkook, closet sexual activities, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at a Spidey!JK AU, where he somehow manages to be an even bigger mess than Peter Parker 😭. This story is very close to my heart because it dives into the dynamic between a confident noona and her adorably flustered freshman—who just so happens to be Seoul’s clumsy new superhero. To be honest, this Spiderkook oneshot was heavily inspired by Tangie, aka @rpwprpwprpwprw (love you bb!!!). I’d been lowkey daydreaming about Spiderkook for ages but thought, “Nah, that’s too silly.” Then I discovered there’s an entire community sharing the same brain cell as me??? Like, you’re welcome for my service, I guess?? Originally, this was supposed to be a short, smutty 5k romp. But do you think I can write smut without plot? I CAN’T. IT’S A MEDICAL CONDITION. Now it’s a 12k beast with feelings, webs, and chaos. Sorry (but not really). If you enjoy this, I might turn it into a mini-series because, let’s be honest, spider powers in… certain scenarios… sound very intriguing. Hihihi. Hope you enjoy this mess I’ve unleashed on the world! 🕸️

Edit: also, yeah. Tae is older than Jimin and Jungkook here because my sleep deprived brain slapped a ‘hyung’ on Jimin’s mouth and I’m not editing again. (≖͞_≖̥)

The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.

A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.

You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.

The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.

"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.

"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."

"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"

You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"

"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"

"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."

He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—

No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.

"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."

You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"

"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"

"That's not how spider-sense works."

"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."

"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"

"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"

"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."

You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"

"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."

You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...

No. Stop it. You're not doing this.

"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."

He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.

But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.

You really need to stop noticing these things.

You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.

And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.

It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.

Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"

"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.

You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."

There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.

"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't spit in them, did you?"

"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"

You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.

"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"

His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.

He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.

"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."

You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.

You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.

It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.

He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your hand freezes midair.

His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.

You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.

"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."

If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.

"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."

"Exactly."

He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."

You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."

"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"

And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.

You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.

Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."

Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."

Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."

Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"

Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."

"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"

Jimin gives him a look.

Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."

Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"

"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."

"But that was BEFORE—"

"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."

Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"

"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."

"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."

"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.

"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."

Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.

"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"

Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.

"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.

The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.

"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.

Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.

Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.

But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.

"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"

"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.

Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"

"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.

Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.

"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."

Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.

"Wait, why do I have to—"

"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.

Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.

"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.

"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"

"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.

"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."

Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.

"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.

"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."

Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.

"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."

"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"

Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.

"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"

"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"

"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."

Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."

"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."

"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"

Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."

"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.

"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.

Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.

"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."

Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."

"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.

But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"

Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.

Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.

But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?

And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?

You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.

Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.

"Noona!"

You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.

He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.

"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.

Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"

The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?

You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.

The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.

"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.

You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?

God, this kid.

"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.

"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"

You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.

"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"

That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"

His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.

"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"

Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"

"Jungkook."

He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"

"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"

Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.

"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"

"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.

"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"

The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.

"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"

You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.

Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"

You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.

Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.

You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.

"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"

You don't answer.

"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"

"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.

He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"

"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.

"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.

You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.

Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"

He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.

"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.

You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.

He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—

"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"

"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"

He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.

And that's when it hits you.

Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.

Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.

Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."

"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.

And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.

"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"

"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"

Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.

"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.

He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.

"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.

"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.

Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."

Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.

So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.

He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.

Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.

Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.

He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.

"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.

Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.

Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—

You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.

"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"

Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"

But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.

Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"

Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.

Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.

And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.

Totally not unhinged.

But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.

He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.

And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—

Yank.

Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."

Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?

"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.

"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."

"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"

Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.

"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.

But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.

"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"

"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.

"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"

"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"

"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?

"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"

The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."

And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—

"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."

Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"

"I—"

Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.

"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.

"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.

And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

Oh god.

This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.

"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.

His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.

"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"

Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—

You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.

"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"

Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—

"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."

"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"

You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"

"Since... right now?"

Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.

Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—

"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.

All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.

"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.

"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.

His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.

Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.

You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.

But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.

Oh no.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.

"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.

His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.

"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.

You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.

"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?

"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.

You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.

He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.

"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"

You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.

"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"

"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.

"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"

"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.

And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.

Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.

Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?

Or—

The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.

And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.

"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.

But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.

Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.

Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.

"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.

You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.

"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.

Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.

"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.

You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.

You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.

Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.

His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.

But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."

The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—

Oh god.

You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.

A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.

"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"

He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.

"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"

Fuck.

"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.

But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.

His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.

Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.

"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."

You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.

And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.

He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.

But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.

"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"

His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.

The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.

"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"

He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.

"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."

And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.

He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.

"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.

He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).

But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'

"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.

No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—

"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.

Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"

You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—

"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.

The dam breaks.

Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.

His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.

"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.

You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"

"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.

He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.

"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.

"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.

His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.

Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.

"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"

"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."

His breath catches. "But—"

"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."

Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—

"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.

"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"

And then the door clicks.

Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"

Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.

"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"

Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[damselneedssaving]

I wish you were mine.

JASON TODD X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: You're Dick's girlfriend. But when you patch Jason up, when it's just you and him, he likes to pretend you're his instead.

★ TAGS: forbidden love, angst, hurt/little comfort, yearning, so much yearning, background!dick grayson x reader, mentions of violence, very slightly suggestive themes, no cheating though dw, just longing, unrequited love, jason fell and he fell hard

line divider by @cafekitsune

There's not a lot of things Jason gets to have in life.

For as long as he can remember, it's just always been that way. From something as small as a waiter not getting his order right in a random, dingy diner, to something bigger like not being blessed enough to have both his parents still be alive—Jason has never been one to have things.

Many would call it sad, and hey, maybe it is, but he's come to terms with it—

—or at least, he thought he had.

But then you came along.

You with your warm touch. You with your kind eyes. You with your perfect, pretty lips he just can't help but want to kiss senseless every second of every day.

And suddenly, Jason Todd was no longer okay with not getting to have things.

You're Dick's. Because of course you are. Perfect golden child that he is—why wouldn't you want to have him over his younger brother?

But fucking shit, would it really be so much for Jason to ask for you to be his? For you to look at him the same way you do his brother? For you to have and hold and love him instead?

Every day he's without you is another day he feels like caving his head in, like clawing at his chest and ripping his heart out to stop the dull ache not being next to the girl who lights his world up like no other spreads throughout his body.

It's why he so cherishes moments like right now, sat on the couch with one leg propped up and the other dangling down, his back towards you as you press a cloth to his wound, no cockblocking older brothers in sight.

'Cockblocking older brothers'? Seriously, Jason? Don't be a dick. She's not yours.

"—Jay? Jason?"

He blinks, head tilting just over his shoulder to meet with your own, that cute little sassy brow raise you do greeting him almost as soon as he does.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?"

He blinks again, lips quirking up at the corner as he stares at you through lidded eyes. "Nah."

Then he winces, face scrunching up as your hand meets his back with a resounding smack that sends tingles down his spine (whether or not they're from pain or something else, he won't say).

"You are unbelievable."

Almost immediately, his wince is wiped clean off his face, and in its place, sits a lazy grin instead. "Believe it, doll."

With that familiar huff you do whenever you're sick of his attitude but too tired to say anything back, you return to focusing on cleaning his wound, and he uses the moment to take you in.

You're sat there, knees tucked under your body and lips parted ever so slightly, looking as though they're just begging for him to meet them with his own, as you concentrate on the task at hand.

Do you even know what you do to him? The way he'll fall to his knees in an instant should you say so? The way he longs to wrap his arms around your waist and plead and beg at your feet for you to leave his brother and be with him instead?

It's wrong—God, it's so wrong. But Jason just can't help it. He wants to be selfish. You make him want to be selfish.

No. Stop it. She's Dick's girl. Not yours.

He curses.

You pull away immediately.

"Sorry," you say, and it's with brows all knitted and tight and worried all over. "Did that hurt?"

The edges of his eyes go soft. "Nah. You're good, princess."

Then, instead of immediately going back to cleaning his wound like he thought you would, you pause—linger—and your lips pull into a frown.

He mimics your expression. "Somethin' on your mind?"

"Just..." you start, lowering the cloth like it's your guard, like you're letting down your defences just for him, and his heart flutters at the thought, "worried I guess."

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

Then you go back to tending to his back, slower than before, but still just as gentle, still just as kind, and maybe, if he can allow himself this pretend, still just as loving.

A few beats pass before you pause again, and he sees the way your eyes glaze over in real time.

He parts his lips, ready to call for you, when you interrupt him.

"Jason..?"

He melts. "Yeah?"

"You... you're not getting into any serious trouble, are you?"

When he quirks a brow, you continue, albeit, hesitantly.

"It's just... well, your injuries have been getting worse lately, and I... I just can't help but worry." You furrow your brows, shaking your head violently after a moment passes. "Nevermind, what am I saying? You can handle yourself. I'm just being stupid."

It's then that he chooses to turn his body around, to stop craning his neck in order to look at you despite the way it aches to do so—and as he does, as the couch lifts from his lack of weight before sinking down again not a moment after, he can see the way your eyes, sparkling and pretty as ever, go wide with surprise.

That surprise only heightens when he takes your hands in his own.

"You're not stupid, doll," he says, soft and certain. "You just care."

Your breath hitches, and he thinks his own is caught in his throat too as he registers just how close you are to him now, just how you're a breath away from his lips.

The heat of your body radiates against his own, the feeling like a warm fire in an ice-cold cave, like something he needs in order to survive.

It's pulling, this magnet that draws him closer, that weighs down on his eyes and blocks the very air from leaving his lungs until all he can focus on, all he can breathe in, is you.

Perfect, loving, sweet little you. Who sits so close to him with big eyes, and parted lips, and his brother's name written all over you—

Fuck. Pull away, Jason. Pull away.

He doesn't have to, because you do instead—

—and his heart shatters in his chest.

"I should... I should get you wrapped up." You clear your throat, averting your gaze to the side, and Jason desperately wishes to move with it, if only to stay in your eyes for just a little longer. "You'll bleed out at this rate."

And as he sits there, your body now right behind his own to finish wrapping his wound, he can't help but somehow feel like you're farther away than ever before.

[stevecore]

random shit keeping me up at night:

steve has no plans other than working at family video for the rest of his life until he randomly goes with eddie, jeff and garet to la to check out some shady record deal they've been offered, because being a formerly wanted criminal and survivors of the infamous hawkins town disaster doesn't hurt your cred as a metal band. all ozzy did was bite the head off one little bat.

they've sent out a handful of tapes and some actually get picked up, even though everyone wants money just to take a meeting. steve is planning to plant his pretty ass down on venice beach for a week and do fuck all when he's approached by an excited looking punk girl asking if he's ever acted, modelled, anything? he has a look. he has the look for a project she's working on, she's co-director, would he be interested?

which is how steve harrington end up playing one of the lead roles as an undead jock in the worst b-rate horror flick you've ever seen. the kind that gets passed around at parties as joke. robin makes fun of it for the rest of his life, but he's the best thing in it and it puts him on the map. he's got natural charm and comedic timing, and the fact that he's basically playing himself and everyone adores working with him keeps landing him bigger roles.

meanwhile eddie cannot believe his awesome scream king boyfriend and the fact that he's casually hanging out with some of eddie's heroes. he's filming with john landis. cronenberg wants him for project. barbara crampton gushes about working with him. steve didn't even know who half these people were, is an unrepentant romcom fanboy. when asked by fangoria who he'd like to work with in the future he says john hughes, and everyone thinks its a really funny joke. only eddie knows how much of a dweeb steve really is.

corroded's kind of dead in the water at this point, but they've got a solid first album and steve is pretty close with the director he's working with at the moment, and the film is in development mainly off of steve's typecasting anyway. so steve is like "sammy, what about a psychadelic metal concept album running through the entire film?" and eddie's like "did you just call sam fucking raimi 'sammy'?" and sam is like "sure, set something up" *shrugs and goes back to writing about a demonic witch cult that steve's unassuming quarterback has to fight off with a cursed bible and a nail bat in a small town in iowa (some of which is steve's idea, thank you very much, its a collab for the ages)*

corroded coffin's soundtrack ends up a success, and much later a lauded cult classic. they get signed by someone who doesn't work out of a basement. steve is a hit, and its the first time he sees this many people dressed as a character he played for halloween, which is a trip. dustin sends him a pic from a party at his college wearing his now iconic letterman jacket and the bat and steve has genuinely never been as proud of anything he's worked on.

he lands a tiny part with about two lines as 'guy who gets face eaten' in a john carpenter film and john falls in love and makes him kurt russel's younger brother in a lovecraftian story about a a mysterious extraterrestrial force unleashed during a solar eclipse. eddie munson shakes kurt russels hand for about ten of the wildest seconds of his life at the premiere party. he'll score a song for john years later, and john will remember how much of a hyper fanboy he'd been that night and enough time will have passed thats it funny.

steve takes him to dinner with bruce campbell, who likes to call him kid apparently while steve tells him to fuck off, hes 8 years older and a dick, and apparently this is some injoke between them. eddie is dating a dude that has injokes with bruce campbell. eddie barely eats the entire time, just keeps about half a billion questions about every minute detail of evil dead to a minimum and lets the guy breathe. he's pretty sure bruce knows they're together, even though they dont go around announcing it, and he seems cool. he signs an autograph that eddie only feels a little mortified about asking for while steve rolls his eyes.

and steve is like i dont understand why me being a kickass point guard for three years didnt do shit for you but getting sprayed by a fuckton of fake blood in this terrible stephen king adaptation impresses you but ill take it.

eventually eddie composes a couple of songs solo for a scifi that does reasonably well and just leans fulltime into scoring. as a personal favor, john and him chainsmoke their way through a few collaborations on eddie's first and final solo record in the late 90's. it's indisputably his best work, and he tells steve he can die happy now.

they're just an adorable little horror power couple and i live for it

[woso-dreamzzz]

Jersey

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The difference in your jerseys

Magda can remember your first shirt.

It was a Wolfsburg one because of course it was.

Wolfsburg green with Pernille's name and number on the back bought from the store with a sixty percent team member discount from the baby range.

That was your first shirt.

You'd been tiny when you wore it and you'd spat up on it more times that Magda could count but it was your first shirt and Magda had never found the courage within herself to throw it away.

It was buried in the storage under the bed and Magda's pretty sure it's going to stay there for years to come.

You'd had countless shirts throughout your life - a new one for every season.

They grew with you and as you got bigger, so did they.

But you'd never overly cared about your jerseys. Not in the way Magda expected you too.

There was always a stark difference in your mind between the shirts you were bought, the one with Magda and Pernille's names on the back, the ones customised with your own, and the shirts you were given.

The shirts you were given were always the special ones.

They were the ones you cared about.

You were still tiny when you received your first jersey from a player. It dwarfed you, falling way past your knees and dragging a bit behind you as you shuffled along the floor.

You wore it as a pyjama top for the first few weeks before Pernille managed to finally wrangle it off you to throw in the washing.

But it set a very dangerous precedent of you seeking out player worn shirts for your nighties and refusing to part with them.

"They're proper jerseys," You'd told Magda one time after you'd fought like a cat to keep wearing your special Ingrid Norway shirt," My shirts aren't proper jerseys. They're just...replic...repelic...rep-"

"Replicas?"

"Yes, that." You'd poked the badge on your chest. "This is proper."

"It's a proper jersey, is it?"

"Yes. Auntie Ingrid wore it herself. It's special."

It still dwarfed you.

All the shirts you'd received dwarfed you, baggy and hanging over your little frame like a sheet.

Pernille had once tied the extra fabric back with a hair tie but you'd whined and whined about it not being comfy anymore so it wasn't something that had been repeated.

Magda had never really seen much of a difference between the match worn shirts you collected and the small ones she and Pernille bought you in your size every season.

To her, there hadn't been a difference.

At least not when you had been younger.

But now she thinks there must be.

You step onto the pitch with your youth team, just fourteen surrounded by the sixteen and seventeen year olds at Linköping's Academy.

You've shot up now but sometimes Magda can still see the hint of the child you use to be. The child that wore big jerseys like a nightie and shuffled along the floor where the fabric would always drag.

You're older now. Your baby fat has melted away, leaving sharper angles on your face and a more mature look that Magda hates seeing.

She hates the realisation that you're growing up.

She hates the realisation that all those match worn shirts you've collected over the years would fit you better now.

They would fit you like your goalkeeping shirt fits you now.

You're not in the first team at your age, not even on the B team but it's still an official Linköping shirt. It's the same as the ones the professional keepers wear.

It's not baggy. It doesn't go past your knees. It doesn't drag around on the floor when you walk. There's no need to use a hair tie on the excess fabric.

"Magda?" Pernille's sitting next to her in the stands, fingers threaded together as they both watch you make your way to the goal. "Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah?" Magda's voice cracks. "Why-Why do you ask?"

"You're crying."

She hadn't even noticed and she hastily reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"She's just so big now, you know? She used to fit in my arms."

"She's growing up now."

"I don't want her to."

[girl-lostconnection]

I'm so sorry you have to deal with people being so demanding, and I hope that they actually listen to your post and stop, cause it's just really rude in general.

On the other hand, I, for some reason, keep thinking about your story of reader dying and the 141 grieving and how, for me personally, when it comes to one of my loved ones, no matter how much time passes, I just can't stop thinking about them, craving their love, the way that they loved, and how you can see the similarities in others but it isn't quite right, it still doesn't feel the same, and you're just never left satisfied when you want their love again and no one else can do that, because it's not them. You're still loved, yes, but it's not the same.

Idk. I just was thinking about that and was wondering if that's what they might feel. They still have each other and love each other, but I wonder if there are times when they want or feel like they need it to be like reader's way to feel better on some days, where little things that upset them were originally made better by something reader did, but now that they're gone they're just left with that feeling to simmer.

You know one of the things I had to learn while dealing with grief — it doesn’t become smaller. You just get bigger, you get more experiences the older you get and all of that grief is still there. But grief is just what is left of your love for the person who is no longer there.

I think for them it would manifest differently but I can definitely see Johnny trying his best to keep going because he knows he has three more partners and they have to keep going and they have to keep living. Because Reader wouldn’t be happy with them just ending it all, because there is so much more time left, so many things they haven’t done. I think for him it would be one of the things that would eventually result in early retirement. He already lost a quarter of his heart when he lost Reader, he doesn’t want it happening again. And as much as he loves being demolitions expert, he knows there is a different type of life out there. One that can give him and his partners stability and safety.

I think Johnny would be the person that despite it all still sometimes talks about Reader like they are still there. He mentions references to movies and music and books, he draws them in his sketchbooks, he mentions that “this is the dessert they always wanted to try”. With time it turns into a warm kind of nostalgia, the love that he carries with him, his grief manifesting in trying to compensate for everything Reader wouldn’t experience by living through it himself. And by living on. When his time comes he hopes to see Reader again and say “see? I did well, didnae i? It was a good life. A long life, like you wanted. Bet you are proud of me”

Like i mentioned before Kyle took it in one of the worst hits, he’d keep holding onto Reader’s clothes and mementos as long as he can. He googles obsessively brands of clothes, he finds exactly the same articles because even if these get ruined or good forbid someone throws them out — he will know what to order. It won’t be the same, but he could pretend that it is. He already pretends that he’s alright, he already pretends that the hoodies he’s wearing with Reader’s name and rank are just part of his standard uniform.

I feel like Kyle is a person who has never experienced a loss this big before. He never lost someone who was this close, someone who’s still in his head, someone whose voice he keeps hearing when he talks to himself. Kyle likes to imagine that Reader never passes on. That they are still there, maybe noncorporeal, maybe he can’t see them, but at this point he’d settle for anything.

I think Kyle was never one for religion but whenever he passes church he’d get in to light a candle and say a quick not even a prayer but sort of a wish. Like that’s the only way he can chat with you, like something holy could really pass his “I’m okay, love, I’m eating well. Last mission was shite, but you know how it is. You no longer come to me when i dream. Are you upset, baby? I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time, i know you don’t like me getting injured. Just please, come back. I can’t sleep well without you.”

Simon would probably have the hardest times adjusting to the absence of Reader, because he takes the longest time to accept their death. He tries so hard to pull away from the moment where he would need to actually process the notion that it finds him itself and hits him with the force of minivan.

There is aching that he can’t relief, there is itch he can scratch — there is a person who he could tell any of his jokes and who’d not just joke in return but laugh at it and this person is gone. They are not coming back, he can’t even find them somewhere to watch out of the shadows, he can’t stalk them.

Losing people like that is always the hardest because with living people you at least can call/text/send a letter with a carrier pigeon. You can come back and open old wounds, you can pick up the fight, you can look them in the eyes and get some closure. Simon is not getting any. He fights every step of the way, he drags his feet. He’s easily agitated, he feels like hitting his head on the wall every time something stabs him from inside reminding that you are gone.

He comes up with a joke and yeah, of course he can tell it to anyone out of 141, but he wants to tell it to Reader. He wants to tell it to them specifically because they’d have a funny response which they’d choke out of themselves by laughing so hard he actually starts laughing. He misses it. He misses them. He misses their smell, the feel of them, the way he could talk to them and they would just get him so well like no one else would. He doesn’t just lose a partner when Reader dies — he loses a friend.

Price is…Price is complicated. He’s one to bottle it all up and throw it so deep down it may never come up other in his subconscious habits. He makes tea for five people and not four, he shops for five, he still buys the snacks Reader liked, he starts planning celebration for their birthday just on the back of his mind until he catches himself doing it and just forces it all down deeper.

Price would be a high functioning alcoholic in his grief, but still an alcoholic. He drinks a little more than he should, he forces down a drink he’d previously wouldn’t because he knows his limits. But it burns and it numbs and for a few hours he can breathe again. Alcohol allows himself to loosen a lid on everything he feels, it puts safe distance between his feeling and him and he actually allows himself to process some of them.

He cries, he ruins his office, he punches through the wall, he routinely throws up. Once he gets so drunk he actually starts having hallucinations, intoxication so severe he almost chokes on his own vomit. Soap finds him just in time to get him help. After this he gets out on suicide watch for 72 hours and the team would start actually guard him in shifts.

Price still drinks but now next to him there is always someone who also remembers his limits and doesn’t let him overstep them. John hates it at times. He hates himself much more though. He hates Reader sometimes too, because that’s not fair that they are gone. Because look what a fucking mess he is, love, bloody disgrace to drink himself under the fucking table.

Price has the fastest adjustment to Reader staying deceased but at the same time he can’t fully process his grief. Part of him is scared that he will drive himself mad if he does, another part just doesn’t want to. It’s stubborn and unhealthy but so what. He’s a captain, he lost soldiers before, he’s gonna deal with it this way.

But i think he’s also the second person who retires straight after Soap because he finds a new almost obsessively-desperate purpose in keeping his boys alive and well. He may be a fucked up man but his boys already lost one of their own, he doesn’t want to drag them through his death as well

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 16.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: trust issues, implications to abuse

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Two chapters in a month? Say what. I know, I'm surprised myself. Blame it on a national holiday.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

Series Masterlist

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Part 16

Y/n doesn't want to admit it, but she enjoys Katsuki's absence.

It's been three days and she has had more company than the entire time she's been with Katsuki. At least, if you don't count the several visits by the healers, that is. Mitsuki is still hostile toward her, but she doesn't leave y/n up to her own devices which y/n appreciates. Moreover, the two women she helped with the knives, have taken an interest in her. It seems as if they've noticed that y/n can be quite useful for a variety of tasks and thus give her chores upon chores. A lot of them revolve around creating weapons or taking care of weapons which y/n does not appreciate that much.

On the last day, y/n spent wrapping arrowheads to shafts. During the day, the skin on her fingers is ripped open in different places which is quite painful. However, y/n doesn't want to look like a wimp in front of the older women and works through the pain. Also, she enjoys the women's company and doesn't want to be sent away because she can't get the job right. She's afraid they'll send her back to Mitsuki.

Nevertheless, she must've done an okay job since her arrows pass inspection by Mitsuki (again). She tries to hide her hands from the blonde woman, but Mitsuki catches on anyway. She says something to the older women who then inspect y/n's wounds and put a slave and bandages on them.

The evenings she spends mostly alone in Katsuki's tent. The other women invited her for dinner around a bonfire, but y/n retreats to the tent rather quickly since the mountains are cold once the sun disappears behind their peaks. Being used to Katsuki's company, the evenings are terribly boring. Eventually, y/n occupies her time by carving game pieces out of wood. She hoped that maybe she could teach Katsuki the game when he returned. She's too shy to ask the women for that.

The next morning, y/n is picked up by the old woman with whom she mended clothes with. The woman animatedly tells her something that y/n doesn't get and leads her to a stone hut she hasn't seen before. Y/n swallows hard. Was I demoted because of my hands?, y/n wonders as the woman pushes her inside the tent.

Inside, an old bearded man stands by a forge and hammers onto metal. The old woman loudly announces their arrival and the smith lowers his hammers. He listens to the woman's rambles while looking y/n up and down. Y/n feels like she's shrinking under his gaze. Why did she bring me to a smith?, y/n wonders. The smith barely says anything and just grumbles as a response to the older woman.

After the woman takes her leave, the smith waves y/n over and shows y/n a couple of knives and some arrows. For a moment, y/n doesn't understand why he's showing them to her until she realizes that those are her work. She sharpened those knives and made those arrows. Looking at the smith and points at the weapons and then at her. “Yes, I did that.”, she tells him while nodding. The smith nods and waves her over to the forge. He doesn't actually believe that I can make weapons, y/n thinks.

Turns out, he doesn't but he makes y/n help him. Apparently, he is working on making a sword. He makes y/n hold the metal piece down while he hammers it into shape. When the forge cools down, y/n has to bring new firewood and it's her task to make sure that the forge doesn't cool down. He even lets her try hammering on some metal but quickly takes over again. I bet I don't have the strength to hammer metal into shape, y/n thinks.

By midday, y/n's exhausted and ash and grime stuck to her sweaty skin. She's glad when the smith waves her outside the hut for some lunch. It's only then that y/n notices how absolutely famished she is. Together, they eat a hearty meal of brown bread and thick slices of cheese and ham. Y/n thinks it's the most delicious meal she's had since she arrived here. Maybe it's because it reminds her of the rustic meals her family used to eat. Or, more likely, she's just that hungry considering that she hasn't done that demanding physical work in quite a while. Either way, she enjoys the meal she shares with the smith. Mostly, because the smith doesn't talk much. She's sure that it's not because he knows she doesn't understand him but it's simply because he doesn't talk much at all. She feels a lot more comfortable around him than around the women who keep talking around her until her head swims.

When she's done with her meal, the smith gives her a cup of tea and they sit in the sun for a little while. To occupy herself, y/n takes out her game pieces and a knife. Her set is complete, but the wood still feels rough. She tries to smooth them with the edge of the knife but she just keeps cutting notches into it. Frustrated she lowers the knife. Only then, she notices the smith watching her while sipping his tea.

Y/n can feel her cheeks heat. He must think I'm incapable of simple handiwork, y/n thinks.

Suddenly, the smith gets up and enters the hut again. Y/n hears him rummaging inside. When he comes out again, he hands her some sandpaper. Y/n's heart skips a beat. How nice of him!, she thinks and beams up at the smith. Immediately, she gets to work and starts smoothing the wood of her game pieces. When the smith finishes his tea, he waves her back inside and the two of them go back to work.

At the end of the day, y/n is absolutely spent. Nevertheless, she feels pretty good. The smith patted her on the head when he let her go for the day and y/n felt like she did a good job. She joins the other women for dinner around the bonfire and they laugh at y/n's ash-covered face. Y/n takes no offense in it as they also pat her on the back and shove some stew into her hands.

As she eats, she looks around the bonfire. Nadia is nowhere to be seen. She hoped to see her and start a conversation, but it was no luck. However, she did see some women take off with some bowls with stew in the direction of multiple living tents. I wonder if more women like Nadia live inside those tents, y/n wonders. But why am I the only one around the bonfire? And working?

After dinner, y/n waves the women goodbye to retreat to her tent for a well-deserved bath. After her bath, y/n sits on the bed working on her game pieces. Carefully, she runs the sandpaper over each piece smoothing the edges and softening their surface until they're nice to the touch. It's rather late when she's finished and slides underneath the covers. Shivering, she wraps her arms around herself.

It's rather cold without Katsuki, she decides as she's drifting to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Y/n's up early the next morning. She wanted to do some laundry before someone came to pick her up for work. She's glad that the wounds on her hands are healing rather quickly. She's standing outside hanging up her washing when the smith approaches her tent. She smiles at him and waves.

Guess, I'm up for another day at the forge, y/n thinks. Not that she minds, y/n actually likes working with the old smith. Maybe I have a thing for grumpy men?, she wonders as she follows the smith to his forge.

The day passes as the one before. She helps out the smith with a variety of tasks. While the smith does not make her hammer onto some metal again, he does make her blow into a large pipe. However, they both quickly give that up. I've got neither the strength nor the lung capacity for being a smith, I guess, y/n decides. It doesn't really matter to her since she's completely fine with playing the assistant.

After lunch, she hands back the sandpaper and the smith points towards the sachet in which she keeps her game pieces. Y/n takes them out to show him. The smith inspects them by turning them over in his hand and feeling the edges. He nods approvingly and hands them back. He asks y/n something she doesn't understand. Maybe he's asking what they're for?, she wonders.

Y/n draws the pattern of the game board into the dirt with a stick and sets up the game pieces. The game's rather easy to explain since the all game pieces can only do the same steps on the board. It doesn't take long for the smith to understand the rules of it and they play for a while until y/n beats the smith. With furrowed brows, the smith gets back to work and y/n follows him.

After the day's work is done, the smith demands another game which y/n is happy to comply. She's glad that someone is willing to play it with her. The game is rather simple: You win when you occupy the most places on the board which means you have to plan multiple steps ahead.

Y/n loved playing with her dad even though he beat her almost every time. Therefore, it's even more fun that she keeps on beating the smith. They keep on playing until someone calls them over for dinner around the bonfire.

~*~*~*~

Two more days pass and y/n continues to work with the smith. She's rather glad that Mitsuki seems to have lost interest in her and leaves her alone instead of handing her around people and inspecting her work. The work with the smith doesn't get boring since he makes not only weapons but household goods as well. He shows her how to make metal spoons which y/n takes up rather easily since it consists of hammering only a thin metal stripe into place and then carving and smoothing the surface with sandpaper. It's a process y/n already knows since her mother and she used to make lots of wooden spoons that they sold in the villages they passed through. The smith seems to approve of her results and she's allowed to keep the first spoon she made. During the lunch breaks, the smith and her keep playing with y/n game pieces and the smith even manages to win once or twice.

~*~*~*~

The air starts to get cooler as it rushes through Katsuki's ears. It's an unpleasant feeling but Katsuki embraces it nonetheless. It means home is getting close. He's even more glad when he sees the familiar mountain chain ahead of them. Kirishima on his golden dragon flies a head and does a somersault whoopingly. The men behind him cheer loudly.

They're all glad to get home. The raid was successful even though they ran into complications with some Todoroki soldiers. However, they faced no losses as Katsuki and Kirishima fought ferociously side by side leading them to victory.

“Yo, Kirishima, knock it off! You're about to lose our precious cargo!”, Katsuki howls through the wind but Kirishima only laughs as he falls behind his chief again.

While the village they raided was evacuated by the king's soldiers, there still was enough gold and goods to appease his men. Even better, in Katsuki's opinion, is that they managed to capture one of Todoroki's men alive. It's about time to squeeze out of this dirtbag what's really going on in the kingdom, Katsuki thinks.

“Ey, Katsuki, what do you think y/n will think when she sees all the goodies you brought for her?”, Denki teases at his side. “Ya think, she'll drop her panties for ya?”, the blonde laughs.

Katsuki glares at him and swivels Drami into Denki's dragon's path. The dragon yelps and quickly maneuvers out of the larger red dragon's way but Denki only laughs in response.

Of course, I wonder what she'll do when we see each other again, Katsuki thinks. He hopes his mother didn't take it too hard on y/n while he was gone. Part of him also wonders if y/n missed him in his absence.

~*~*~*~

Upon landing, a large crowd of people gathered to greet their warriors. Mothers and fathers hug their sons upon arrival. Even Kirishima's mate showed up which is a rare occasion. It sends Kirishima over the moon.

Katsuki scans the crowd for y/n but fails to find her.

“Son.”, his mother calls out to him. Katuski eyes her suspiciously.

“Where's y/n?”, Katsuki asks sharply. Mitsuki gives him a cool look before answering.

“I don't know. Haven't seen her in a few days, actually. The other women say that she's been dining at the bonfire every evening so I wouldn't be too worried about her.”, Mitsuki tells him.

Katsuki is relieved but still suspicious. “Any idea where she could be at?”, he asks.

Mitsuki shrugs. “Probably with the smith. She's been helping him out.”, she tells him.

Katsuki immediately sees red. “Working at the forge? How did that happen, mother? That's no place for a woman!”, he yells.

Mitsuki gives him a sharp look. “Who are you, a man, to determine what a woman can or cannot do? I heard she's rather good with forging and taking care of weapons. Maybe she is good for something after all.”, she replies.

Katsuki feels like ripping his mother to shreds. “It's your doing, I know it.”, he hisses, “Sending her to the forge, giving her such hard, dangerous work. You're punishing her for becoming my mate.”

“Do you really dare to accuse me of such a thing?”, Mitsuki hisses back, “Y/n is the mate of our chief, therefore she needs to pull her weight. She can't relax in the tent like the other women you brought here do. She needs to show her face when you're gone. After all, she's supposed to be the leader when you're not here.”

Katsuki's quiet at that. Of course his mother is right about that, but Katsuki is sure that y/n isn't ready for that.

“Moreover, isn't the smith one of our most honorable craftsmen?”, his mother adds and Katsuki bites his tongue.

“I rather hope so!”, a voice behind them says. It's Testutetsu, the smith's son.

“Is it true your mate picked up the role of my father's assistant?”, Tetsutetsu asks, “In that case, I owe her a thank you. After all, she picked up my work.”

Katsuki grinds his teeth. “I guess so.”, he replies. Tetsutetsu joined his men for the raid, but Katsuki knows the man would rather stay behind helping at the forge. Unfortunately for him, Tetsutetsu is one of the tribe's strongest warriors and therefore indispensable for such raids.

“Let's go and see if she's at the forge.”, Tetsutetsu proposes and Katsuki follows him after giving his mother a last, dirty glance.

~*~*~*~

“I'm surprised my father let her stay at the forge. He's rather picky with whom he works. There are days that he can't even stand me around the forge. Says that I talk too much and he can't focus.”, Tetsutetsu chats as they walk towards his family's workshop.

Katsuki huffs. “I guess he won't have a problem like that with y/n. She can't speak our language and therefore often doesn't speak at all.”, he grumbles. Tetsutetsu gives him a glance.

“Yeah, that must be weird. Can't imagine being mated to someone who doesn't understand me. How do you two even communicate?”, he asks.

“Barely.”, Katsuki says truthfully.

As they march up towards the stone hut that is the Tetsutetsu workshop, they see two figures sitting infront of the workshop on the ground.

“Father!”, Tetsutetsu calls out, “We're back!”

His father waves at him dismissively as the two younger men approach. Katsuki notices the game pieces on the ground. Y/n makes a move and the smith throws his hands into the air.

“She keeps beating me!”, the smith exclaims in a deep, gruff voice. Y/n beams up at him triumphantly.

The two men come to a stop infront of them and y/n notices them for the first time. Upon seeing Katsuki, she only smiles slightly and waves at him. It's not the welcome I hoped for, but at least she's happy to see me, Katsuki thinks.

“What'ya two playing?”, Tetsutetsu asks and crouches down before them.

“It's the girl's game.”, the smith says, “The rules are simple but the girl's hard to beat. She's got a smart head on her shoulders, I've got to give her that.”

“How does it work?”, Katsuki asks and sits down next to the smith.

“She's your mate. Let her show you.”, the smith says getting up to greet his son.

Y/n tries to put the game pieces away thinking that Katsuki has come to collect her, but Katsuki stops her and points at the board. Y/n is quick to understand and sets up the board again. She shows him how the pieces move and Katsuki is quick to take up the rules. They start a game while Tetsutetsu and his father watch.

As they keep moving the pieces around, the furrow in y/n's brow deepens.

“You almost got her, chief.”, the smith mumbles and Katsuki moves another piece. Y/n stares at the board for a long time. She tries to move multiple pieces before giving up. She looks at Katsuki and shrugs. The smith laughs.

“Seems like she's got some serious competition!”, he tells Katsuki and Tetsutetsu gives his father an amused look.

“You're in a good mood, dad.”, he says. The smith only shrugs. “The girl's been some fresh air around here.”, he simply replies. Tetsutetsu laughs.

“Oh my, I feel like I'm getting replaced here!”, he exclaims. His father shakes his head, “Well, you might be. Considering that the girl's actually good at executing orders instead of lounging around by the fire.”

Meanwhile, y/n packs her game pieces back into her sachet and gets up. Katsuki gets up as well.

“We'll be off then.”, he tells the Tetsutetsus. The old smith nods. “Alright then, y/n's welcome back anytime. Maybe she can even teach my son some work ethics.”, he replies at which Tetsutetsu only rolls his eyes. Katsuki walks on ahead and y/n waves at the smith smiling brightly before running after Katsuki.

“What a nice young lady.”, the smith tells his son, “I think our chief made a good choice there.”

~*~*~*~

Katsuki and y/n walk back to their tent in silence. Now that she's alone with Katsuki again, y/n doesn't know how to act. Nevertheless, she's happy that he played the game with her. Maybe he'll play again with me tonight, she thinks.

When they arrive at their tent, there are multiple men carrying wooden boxes into the tent. They greet their chief respectfully despite the blonde y/n has seen before who wiggles his eyebrows at Katsuki who only snorts in return. They enter the tent and y/n looks at the boxes with furrowed brows. Katsuki enters behind her and gently touches the side of her arm and gestures for her to walk to one of the boxes. With a knife, he yanks the box open. He rummages through the box and pulls out a beautiful dark green dress. Golden leaves and tendrils were stitched into both sides of the dress. The best part of it, however, was the long sleeves which is something all the dresses Katsuki brought her so far lacked. Katsuki holds the dress out to y/n who hesitantly takes it. Katsuki watches her expectantly as she inspects the dress and holds it against her own body to see if it fits her. When she looks up and meets Katsuki's eyes, she softly smiles at him.

Katsuki gestures to y/n to go through the box and take what she wants. Hesitantly, y/n walks to the box and peeks into it. Katsuki watches her for a moment as she looks through the contents of the box before turning around. I really deserve a bath, he thinks and leaves y/n to her own devices.

Meanwhile, y/n gets bolder in looking through the box. She finds more clothes that clearly originate from the Todoroki kingdom judging by the designs. They're winter clothes with long sleeves, lined interior fabric and fur overcoats. Y/n smiles as she runs her fingers over the soft, warm fabrics. He must've chosen them for me, she thinks.

Y/n takes the liberty to look at some of the other boxes. She finds a hairbrush, thick socks, books in her language, paper and all sorts of other trinkets. She also finds an expensive-looking flancon of perfume which she can't help and spray on her neck. A modest, flowery scent wavers through the air. Y/n thinks she never smelled anything that nice.

Suddenly, Katsuki enters the tent again. He's only wearing his linen pants and walks towards the closet to get some fresh clothes before hopping into the bath. When he passes y/n, he stops and sniffs the air. He looks at the flacon in y/n's hand and then sniffs the skin on her neck. He grunts and his nose wrinkles in disgust. What the fuck is this shit?, he thinks to himself. The perfume smells absolutely disgusting to him. Why would she cover up her scent like that? Is she planning to walk into enemy territory undetected?, he ponders. Meanwhile, y/n's cheek heat in embarrassment. Clearly, he thinks it stinks, y/n decides.

“That stuff needs to go. No woman of mine should smell so horrendous.”, Katsuki decides loudly and takes away the flacon. Y/n purses her lips at that but doesn't stop him. When he turns back around to her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, y/n feels like he's about to do something bad.

Katsuki then lunges forward and grabs her by the wrist. He heaves her over his shoulders and marches into the bath hut with her. He sets her down at the entrance of the bathing hut. Y/n's heart thunders. She really doesn't like it when Katsuki shows her just how superior he is to her when it comes to physical strength.

Katsuki moves to the bathtub and takes off the rest of his clothes. Y/n watches his very naked, and very muscular, backside. She's getting embarrassed and tries not to stare at him. It's not like she's embarrassed by his nakedness (clearly she's used to it now), but considering her last naked experience with him (no, not the one where he kept walking around their tent fully naked), she expected to be more repulsed by him. Instead, she finds her gaze wandering and heat rising in places where it really shouldn't. Without noticing, her hand flies to the scar on her neck.

Katsuki notices her stares and gives her a complacent smirk. Then, he throws a sponge at her and points at his back. “Your man just came back from war, you should treat him a bit.”, he tells her.

Y/n is taken aback by it, but eventually complies and washes his back. Katsuki leans forward in the tub so that y/n can reach his back better. Y/n can't help but trace the muscles on his back. It's only then that she notices the many scares that adorn Katsuki's back. When she's done with his back, Katsuki leans back and gives her access to his chest which flusters y/n even more. Y/n stares at his broad chest and tries her best to not let her gaze wander more downwards. Katsuki takes her hand and lets it wander to his abdomen just above his – y/n yanks her hand back, her cheeks flushed in scarlet. Katsuki gives her a dirty laugh.

“It's not funny!”, y/n laughs getting up from her place beside the tub. Anger flushes her system. How can he make such jokes? Doesn't he understand just how traumatizing it was what he did to her? Or does he simply doesn't care?

Upon seeing her angry face, Katsuki understands that he crossed a line. His face becomes regretful He only wanted to see how far she'd go. Katsuki reaches for her hand that balled into a fist by her side. Gently, he strokes over the back of her hand and y/n relaxes.

“Sorry”, he mumbles and y/n understands the apology. She takes the bucket with cold water that stands next to the tub and pours it over Katsuki's head in one swift motion. Katsuki yelps and lets out a string of courses.

“Now we're even.”, y/n tells him grinning and Katsuki rolls his eyes. Y/n laughs and Katsuki is taken aback by how pretty y/n sounds when she laughs. Then, y/n takes the soap again and starts washing his hair. Gently, she runs her fingers through the wild, blonde strands and scratches his scalp. Katsuki leans back again and sinks a bit deeper into the tub. Y/n's hands feel good on him. He regrets pushing her earlier, but her soft hands make him remember how they feel around his dick. Quickly, he tries to shake the thought. He can't get a boner right now, not after y/n made clear what she thinks about touching him intimately. Instead, he tries to focus on the feeling of y/n's hand in his hair.

Katsuki hums relaxed and y/n can't help but notice how he leans into her touch. She tries the anger from earlier. Katsuki's been nice to her. He got her all these new, warm clothes and books. Clearly, he must've thought about her while he was away and y/n feels a little bit bad that she didn't think that much about him.

Maybe I can be a little bit nicer to him, y/n decides.

~*~*~*~

While Katsuki finishes his bath, y/n goes back to their tent and tries on some of the dresses Katsuki brought for her. They're a bit too long for her, but y/n figures she could ask the old woman for help in resewing them. It shouldn't be too hard to tailor them to her size.

The fabric feels nice and warm on her skin and y/n wishes she had a mirror to look at herself. She twirls around in the dress and when she comes to a stop, she sees Katsuki leaning at the doorway to the bath hut grinning at her.

“Ya like it?”, he asks and y/n smiles brightly at him. “Thank you, Katsuki.”, she tells him.

Katsuki's heart skips a beat. I'm being a good mate, right?, he thinks to himself and feels rather smug. He takes a step forward and examines y/n in the dress. He takes the hem of the skirt and swishes it around a bit. The fabric is rather heavy. Doesn't that bother her?, he wonders but y/n seems perfectly happy with it. He runs his fingers over her hips and y/n stiffens. He mistakes her stiffness as a rejection and he clicks his tongue. At least I can see her curves better like this, he decides.

Meanwhile, y/n grows hot under her clothes. I really shouldn't react to his touch this way, she decides, after all his touch hurt me before.

~*~*~*~

After Katsuki's hair is dried, he takes her to the bonfire. It's bigger than most nights and the smell of food and hot alcohol lingers in the air. There are men celebrating and laughing everywhere. I guess it's a feast, y/n decides. Katsuki maneuvers her to Kirishima who sits beside a pale, thin woman who keeps her eyes on the ground. Curiously, y/n looks at her. When the woman raises her head a bit and meets y/n's eyes, y/n smiles at her, but the woman quickly looks down again.

Disappointment flashes through y/n and she quickly adverts her eyes as well. Only then she notices that there are multiple younger women she hasn't seen before. They all look timid and pale. She counts 13 of them including Nadia who only slightly shakes her head when y/n spots her. Y/n walks over to her anyways.

“Nadia, where have you been?”, y/n asks. The woman glances at her husband who is sitting next to her talking to some other men. When he doesn't react, she replies to y/n: “At home, where else?”. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.

“Doesn't the tall blonde woman put you to work?”, she asks and Nadia crooks her head ever so slightly.

“They make you work?”, Nadia says in a hushed tone.

“Yes, I helped at the forge.”, y/n says proudly but Nadia only gives her a bewildered look.

“The forge? Oh, you must have it worse than us! I've told you Bakugou Katsuki is the worst of the lot!”, Nadia exclaims and winces when her husband laughs loudly and hits his own leg in amusement.

At first, y/n is surprised by that. Then, she remembers that people in the kingdom have very different ideas about what is suitable work for a woman. Her own people never made a big distinction between male and female work. Of course, hard labor often was done by men but it's mostly because they're naturally stronger than women. Nevertheless, such work was not forbidden for women. If one had a talent for a certain type of work, they were encouraged to take it up. For example, her father was exceptionally good at needlework. While her mother was good at mending clothes, it was her father who stitched pretty patterns into her clothes.

Before y/n could answer, Katsuki calls her back to his side. She quickly says goodbye to Nadia before turning to Katsuki's side. Katsuki's sitting in a circle with the same men y/n saw close to the dragon's den. One of the men hands her a cup with warm liquid which turns out to be a sort of hot wine. Y/n takes a big gulp of it. It tastes fruity and sweet. She immediately takes another gulp and the men laugh. Katsuki, however, puts a hand on her arm.

“Slow down, that shit's strong.”, he tells her but y/n only shrugs which earns her another round of laughter.

The men continue chatting among themselves and y/n watches how Kirishima offers some of the fruity wine to the woman next to him who courtly declines his offer. Kirishima gives y/n a deflated smile when he notices that y/n is watching them. Having already finished her cup, y/n extends her arm to take the cup from Kirishima.

“Geez, Katsuki! Your woman can drink!”, one of the men laughs when they see y/n on her third cup of wine. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “She most definitely will regret this tomorrow.”, he grumbles and Kirishima pats his back.

At some point, y/n doesn't remember when (probably due to the amount of alcohol she consumed), people brought out instruments and started playing music. The music of Katsuki's tribe is very different from the music y/n's people played. Since y/n's people were always on the road, they didn't bring big, heavy instruments along like drums or horns. They stuck to small flutes and light guitars. The dragon tribe's music is louder, faster and y/n can feel the drums within her bones. Eventually, people start dancing and y/n watches them for a while. While their dance isn't light-footed like her people's dances, they're still enchanting to watch. Heavy foot stomps are followed by graceful turns and rhythmic clapping.

It's been so long since I danced, y/n muses. She remembers the midsummer festival days before she met Katsuki. Even then she only could watch. Turning to Katsuki, she notices that the man is watching her over the rim of his wine cup. Immediately, an idea pops up in her head.

I bet he knows how to dance, she thinks.

She leans over to Katsuki and pulls on the hem of his sleeve. Then, she points towards the dancers and looks at him expectantly. He looks at her bewildered.

“Absolutely fucking not.”, he tells her and shakes his head. Y/n pouts and gives him a pleading look.

“I said no. End of discussion.”, Katsuki grumbles and turns away from her.

Feeling rejected, y/n stares into her empty cup. What an ass, she thinks. Then, another idea pops into her head. I bet the others know how to dance too, she thinks and takes a look at the men sitting next to Katsuki. There's Kirishima who looks a bit deflated and keeps glancing at the woman by his side. He's probably kind enough to teach me, y/n thinks. She almost made up her mind to ask him when her gaze fell on another man. It's the blonde called Denki who gave Katsuki the wiggly eyes earlier. I bet that would really piss Katsuki off, y/n thinks smugly, Good.

Determinedly, y/n stands up. Katsuki gives her a wary glance. Confidently, y/n walks over to Denki who's been watching her for some time now.

“What can I do for you, Miss?”, he asks and grins and y/n. Y/n tucks his sleeve and points towards the dancers.

“Oh, you wanna dance? Doesn't your man wanna dance with you?”, Denki asks and gives his chief a questioning look.

“Over my dead body.”, Katsuki simply replies.

“Then it's okay when I show her how to dance?”, Denki asks and Katsuki only shrugs. “Knock yourself out, Denks. Just be careful she doesn't puke on you.”, he tells his subordinate.

Denki flashes y/n a grin and stands up, leading her to the area where the people dance. Firstly, he shows her a simple coordination of steps which y/n imitates. When y/n feels confident in the steps, Denki speeds up the pace. Y/n has some trouble keeping up with him and steps on his toes. Denki only laughs and spins her around. Y/n has to laugh too and lets Denki take the lead now that she's gotten used to the steps and speed. Together they stomp and clap and Denki keeps spinning her around. Maybe it's the spinning, maybe it's the alcohol, but eventually y/n loses balance and crashes into Denki who luckily is a lot stronger than her and keeps holding her up. They both laugh at y/n's clumsiness and y/n feels fuzzy inside.

Dancing really is fun, she muses as she steadies herself. Expectantly, she looks up to Denki but he looks at something behind her. She turns to look at whatever Denki's looking at, but the man is quicker than her and he quickly pulls her in again.

“Katsuki's jealous.”, he whispers into her ear. Y/n only understands the word “Katsuki” and honestly, it doesn't need a genius or translator for her to figure out that Katsuki's probably not happy about her dancing with another man this closely.

Whatever, he didn't want to dance. It's his own fault when I dance with somebody else, she decides.

She pulls at Denki's arms who gives her an amused look.

“You're playing with fire, missy.”, he says before swirling her around for another dance.

Just when the musicians start a new song, Katsuki materializes next to them.

“Take your hands off my woman.”, Katsuki hisses at Denki. There's rage behind his eyes. However, Denki's not impressed by this.

“Pretty sure she put her hands on me first.”, Denki replies but stops dancing. Katsuki looks as if he's about to spew fire. Denki lets go off y/n and shrugs. “Not my fault you don't know how to please your woman.”, Denki says mischievously and retreats before Katsuki can reply (or punch him).

Katsuki turns to y/n who looks at him equally unimpressed. She rolls her eyes. “Men and their ego.”, she mumbles before turning around to join the group back at the bonfire. Katsuki stomps after her. Sulking, y/n sits down on a log crossing her arms infront of her chest. The men laugh at Katsuki as he joins them again. He tries to give y/n another cup of wine as a peace offering but declines sharply.

To be honest, y/n wanted Katsuki to be jealous. She hoped it scraped his ego enough to make him dance with her but Katsuki seemed to have no intention to do that. Whatever, y/n grumbles to herself, It should've been obvious that he doesn't know how to have a good time.

They stay at the feast for a little while longer. The men chat among themselves but Katsuki doesn't join their conversation anymore and y/n keeps glancing at the dancers longingly. Finally, Katsuki has had enough. He pulls y/n up and says goodbye to the rest of the lot before dragging y/n back to their tent. By the time, they arrive, y/n is still sulking which pisses Katsuki off even more.

Y/n starts to get ready for bed and disappears into the bath hut while Katsuki puts on his own sleepwear. When y/n returns, she still doesn't spare Katsuki a glance.

“I just hate fucking dancing!”, he exclaims loudly as y/n settles onto the bed. She gives him a flat look and shrugs. Then she turns around to slide under the covers.

I just can't get it right with her, Katsuki thinks angrily. He's getting more and more frustrated. A more reasonable voice in the back of his head says: You could've gotten this right. She clearly told you what she wanted and you were too proud to entertain the idea.

Katsuki stands at the edge of the bed and stares at her form. She seemed to have so much fun with Denki. She didn't even mind when Denki touched her hips or when her chest touched Denki's chest when she crashed into him.

It could've been you, she laughed with., that nasty voice says. Unfortunately, he has to admit that the voice is right. He could've made her happy tonight. He could've undone a little bit of the damage of the mating if he wasn't so goddamn prideful.

“Fuck it.”, he grumbles and leans over to y/n pulling her towards the edge of the bed. Y/n swirls around and looks up at him. “What?”, she demands and Katsuki motions for her to get up. Slowly, y/n does so.

“What do you want, Katsuki?”, she asks him increasingly annoyed. Katsuki pulls her into the middle of the tent which is still crowded due to the boxes that were brought in earlier. He stands closely toward her and puts a hand on her hip. He looks kind of embarrassed.

“So... I don't know how to do this. If ya want it, ya need to show me.”, he grumbles and laces his fingers with hers. Y/n stares up at him unsure what his intentions are. She sighs deeply and shakes her head.

“I don't know what you want from me, Katsuki.”, she says and takes a step back turning back to bed. Katsuki catches her arm and twirls her around to him. Clumsily, he starts to sway back and forth. Y/n has to laugh.

“Now you want to dance?”, she laughs, “And what is this? This is not dancing!”

Katsuki's ears turn red and he mumbles something y/n doesn't understand.

“Don't tell me the great Katsuki doesn't know how to dance!”, she says more solemnly. For a moment, she observes him before deciding: “Alright, I teach you how my people dance.”

Y/n takes a step back and for a moment Katsuki thinks she's going to lie down again. Then, she softly bows to him and raises her hand. When he doesn't react, she takes his hand and lays it flat against hers, so that their hands float in the air. Then she takes a step forward and a step back.

Katsuki imitates her embarrassedly. Y/n starts moving them in a circle and after four full circles, she steps closer to him, angling their hand sideways and pulling his other hand on her hip. They spin again.

Katsuki's face is a deep scarlet and a soft smile of amusement graces y/n's face. It's actually kind of sweet that he's trying, she thinks, he's still terrible at it though.

Eventually, y/n takes another step forward and leans her head against his shoulder and they sway back and forth, a dance move Katsuki appreciates. Y/n can hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Katsuki stops the swaying and drops her hand. Instead, he pulls her close against his chest. Gently, he strokes over her back and buries his other hand into her hair softly scratching her scalp. Carefully, he presses a kiss against her temple.

“I'm really trying, ya know?”, he mumbles before burying his face into her hair as well. Y/n hums and runs her hand through his hair which sends a pleasant shiver down Katsuki's spine.

“I really would love to be able to speak to you, Katsuki.”, y/n tells him, “Even if it's only to point out how stupid you are sometimes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Serendipity

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: happy seonghwa day ! drumroll please 🥁🥁🥁 this is the beginning of hwa and his baby's story !! holy shit am i excited to share this, this is the plot that i had in my head the whole time writing the first fics of this au and i knew i wanted to write it but i was just never satisfied until now. this has been in my head for two years, enjoy the ride !

Baby Series (this is the first part chronologically)

✃... "I didn't feel anything. Not a thing. Because he had it coming. He hurt My Baby." ... ✃

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere (lowkey a romance turned horror)

✫彡wordcount: 12k

♫"You're my baby, say it to me." Mitski, I Bet on Losing Dogs

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: hwa is CRAZY FFR, slow burn that kicks into overdrive, reader is an age regressor, ignoring red flags, they smooch, enjoy before it goes downhill 😭 panic attacks, insinuated sh(not reader), past abusive relationship, drugging, detailed recount of murder. only briefly proof read

✩index: little space- a regressed state of mind where someone feels like a child. little / age regressor - a person with a little space. caregiver - someone who cares for a little, usually their significant other. hyung - a close male friend older than you, used by other males.

♫"Since the creation of the universe, everything was destined. Just let me love you." Jimin, Serendipity

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

It was most likely a mistake on Seonghwa's part to be here. If there was a single photo with his face in it, it would most probably mean the end of his career. But he couldn't help himself. It was something he was always interested in.

    His members say he has a natural caring aura about him, and they aren't wrong. Something in his brain tells him to care for everyone and everything, especially things he finds adorable.

It's still considered taboo in Korea, but even taboo things have their place in the world.

With a mask over his face, thick rimmed glasses, and a cap; he bit the bullet and entered the convention. He saw a post about it online, urging littles and their caregivers to come and support small businesses that made things within the community.

Although he had no use for these things, no little of his own, he figured it would be a good place to get a feel for the community.

It was surprisingly busy for how much stigma was around the entire idea. People were polite to one another, treating everyone like a good friend. It was different from the rest of Korea; where people kept to themselves for the most part.

He was simply admiring the different variations of bottles made to fit in a bigger hand when he saw it —

    When he saw... you.

    At the booth next to him, biting your nail as you looked down at the array of pacifiers with a look on your face that would make anyone think you were making the most important decision of your life.

    You were... you are breathtaking.

    Against his best judgment, his promise to himself to stay under the radar, he speaks up, "big decision?" 

     You jump up a little bit, placing a hand against your colorfully striped t-shirt. You look him up and down.

    "Sorry," he gives you a bow as he steps closer, looking down at the display with you.

    "Ah, it's okay," you smile, shifting on your feet, "yeah, I'm having some trouble. I promised myself I would only get one but they're all calling my name."

   The little laugh in your voice has his heart thudding wildly, and he passes off his deep calming breath like he's thinking over it as well; bending to get a better look.

    "Do you," he clears his throat, "maybe you could ask your caregiver?" Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Pl-

    "Oh, I don't have one," you give him a half-smile, looking him up and down once more. He looks well put together and something about him draws you in. He smells like the Earth after it rains. You want to talk to him more. "Your little must be missing you." Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have one. Please, say you don't have-

    "I don't have a little." He pauses before shaking his hands, "not that I'm here to try and find one! That would probably be weird, I'm just curious! No- not curious, I know I want to be a caregiver but-"

    Your precious laugh cuts his rambling off, "hey, it's okay, no judgment here," you gesture around, "clearly."

    "Ah," he nods; thankful that his mask is hiding his embarrassed blush, "it's my first time at one of these things... could you tell?"

    "Oh, yeah, immediately," you look down with a smile on your lips.

    "That obvious, huh?"

    "You stick out like a sore thumb, man."

    He laughs along with you, resting his elbows on the glass display case. "You fit in pretty well, though. Can I ask, how long have you been... been little?"

    "Hmm," you have a thoughtful pout as you look away from the case and at the lanyards on the sides of the pop up walls. "Four- eh, five years soon. How long have you known you want to be a caregiver?"

    He's happy that the conversation flows naturally, maybe it's your bubbly aura or your sweet personality. "Long time," he thinks to the first time he ever accidentally cooed at one of his sleeping members, "seven years maybe? I've always been drawn to taking care of people."

    "That's what makes a good caregiver. Always putting others first," you giggle, tapping your baby blue nails on the glass, "eh, if I can't decide by now I probably shouldn't buy one." 

    "Do you have one already?" The question slips before he can think over his words, making his heart drop at the thought that that's probably too intense of a question. But thankfully you don't think anything of it.

   "Yeah, but it's about time to replace it. They get worn down even if you take good care of them," you explain for him, resting your cheek in your palm as you meet his gaze. "How much do you know about this stuff?"

    "Oh, well," he whispers, looking away from your intense eye contact, "not much, admittedly..." He'd only read a few articles and followed a few pages, and he didn't think he'd be in a relationship with a little anytime soon so he hadn't invested time to deep diving.

    "Do you want to walk with me? I can tell you about it, if you like."

     "Really?" His head pops up quickly, and he sees you holding back a laugh at his eagerness.

    "Yeah!" You nod, giving a last peek towards a light pink pacifier before turning away, "can't have you wondering around here lost, right?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"So you don't?" Seonghwa tilts his head as he looks at the large onsies on display, the cute patterns making him smile under his mask.

"No, my little age is a liiiiittle too big for onsies," you laugh, "see what I did there? Ah, I'm hilarious." You look around, spotting a sign for one of the small businesses you know. You jump, quickly running over.

Seonghwa blinks in confusion for a moment before running after you, his long legs catching up with you easily.

"Miss Lee?" You peek around the stand, flinching back into Seonghwa's chest as the older woman pops into view, picking up a receipt she had dropped. "Ah!"

He quickly wraps his arms around your shoulders, similarly startled. When he notices, he quickly steps back and pats your shoulder instead.

"Oh, (Y/n)! Good to see you!"

"Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack," you joke, thankfully not noticing or caring enough about Seonghwas semi-hug to say anything. You slide into the make shift store, giving her a warm hug. "I didn't know you would be here."

"Last minute decision," she pats your back as she lets go of you, looking towards the man, "who's this?"

"Oh," you smile as you remember his presence, "this is Hwa. He's new to the whole thing, I was showing him around, answering some questions."

"Hello," he bows to the older woman, and she leans forward with a questioning expression.

"Why you wearing that? You a serial killer or something?"

You freeze at the old timers suspicion. It hadn't even crossed your mind.

"No, no, no," he shakes his head quickly at your weary face, "God, no!" He laughs nervously, looking around. Thankfully, Miss Lee's booth is in a further off corner because of her last minute attendance. And he doesn't know why, but he doesn't want his time with you to end.

So, he pulls down his mask. "Not a serial killer, I promise. I'm just... shy about this."

You smile lightly as you take in his features for the first time. Miss Lee tuts her tongue and waves her hand, "no reason to be shy, you're a pretty boy."

He pulls it back up quickly after giving you a smile which makes your heart melt.

"(Y/n), I have something for you! I was going to drop it off at your apartment if I didn't run into you," she's oblivious to your small flirting moment as she quickly changes the subject, opening up a box.

"Ah, I didn't order anything," you shake your head, helping the woman lift the heavy container onto the chair.

"I know, but the person who did cancelled on me, and I immediately thought of you. Their measurements are a bit bigger than you, but I know you like things baggy anyway, angel."

Seonghwa rests his arms on the pink dresser she has at the front, looking on with curiosity and smiling at the woman's kind words to you.

"Are you sure you couldn't sell it-"

"I want you to have it- ah, here it is!" She sets a folded up sweater into your arms. It's a pastel purple fabric that even looks soft to the touch, and he can tell it is by the way you rub your finger tips over it with a happy sigh. As you unfold it, you see her delicate embroidery on the front in a thin cursive. 'Baby', it says, the y at the end curling into a heart.

You pull it over your head without another moment of hesitation and hug the woman again.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You lead Seonghwa with a new hop in your step, the large sweater bouncing with each of your excited moves. He can see why you like it, it makes you look adorable. He can tell it makes you feel that way, as well.

Your naturally happy personality is doubled by something as simple as a big, soft, sweater. It's fascinating. The psychologically behind all of this is intriguing to him.

"What about those?" He points to some plates with little separated areas, different cartoons and patterns on them.

"Hm?" You halt and come back to his side, "ah, lots of littles have sensory issues — just like kids do. When the food touches a different food it gets all icky." Your nose scrunches up at the thought, so he asks.

"Do you use them?"

"Oh, yeah. If my foods touch it's like they're contaminated. I know it's silly, b-"

"I don't think it's silly."

You look up at him, a soft smile gracing your face. "No?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

He sits facing the wall, thankful to let his face get some fresh air without the fear of anyone seeing him. Especially now that he's with you.

There's a cafe across the street that you suggested after showing him almost everything to see; neither of you ready to part ways just yet.

"Tada~" You slide into the seat across from him, offering him his drink that you kindly paid for even though he insisted he could do so.

"Thanks," he smiles, happy that you can finally see his expressions when you smile back wider than before.

"No problem!" You watch as he takes a sip and chews on the boba with a pout on his lips. "Good?"

"Mhm! You were right," he quickly goes for another, making you chuckle as you sip on your own drink.

"So," he leans forward, "besides all of... that," he gestures to the busy gathering across the road, "what do you do?"

"I work for a law firm." His eyes widen, making you laugh loudly; he clearly wasn't expecting that. "In the filing room," you clarify, pushing up the long sleeves of the sweater and groaning when they fall back down.

"Ah, okay, sorry! I didn't meant to seem so shocked," he sets his drink down, motioning for you to bring your arm forward, "may I?"

"Thanks," you lift your arm out across the table, watching his fingers closely as he rolls up the fabric neatly, "uhm, what about you?" He pauses, and bites his lip as he reaches for your other arm. "Wait, you aren't actually a killer, are you?"

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he makes the sleeves even, "I'm uh... I'm in the entertainment industry."

"Oh, why are you so-"

"I'm an idol." He finally blurts out.

You stare at each other for a long moment, your arms dropping to the table with a thunk. "Huh?"

"I'm an idol. My name is Seonghwa, not just Hwa. I'm in a group called ATEEZ and I don't know why I'm telling you all this but I can't get my mouth to stop!" He slaps a hand over his mouth with a groan, thanking his lucky stars that nobody else is in the cafe and the worker has their headphones on.

You tilt your head, eyebrows pushing together. "No, you aren't," you shake your head, "no way! I see ads for that group everywhere, I would recognized y...ooooh." Your jaw drops as he holds up his phone, a picture of their latest promotional poster on the screen. Sure enough, there he is. And here he is, too, in front of you. "Shiiiit, damn!" You thud your head onto the table. "I thought I actually had a chance with you." It's your turn to blurt something out.

"... What?"

"What?" You parrot him, suddenly realizing what you said and sitting up stalk straight. "Wow, that was really inappropriate of me-"

"Can I take you on a date?"

You blink in surprise, daring to look him in the eyes. He looks as sincere as anyone ever has, his eyes glimmering with hope. You take a long sip of your drink before throwing your head back dramatically, "ugh! How could I say no to that?!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

A couple of days later, your phone pings at work. With nothing to do, you bring it out from your pocket.

    HWA SENT TWO MESSAGES.

   You smile down at the device as you open them up.

    7:47AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Okay, have a good day at work!

    9:16AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Do you have plans tonight? My schedule opened up, I was wondering if I could give you that date?

   You tap your nails against the back of your phone as you think.

    9:18AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. i'm free after work ! what time were you thinking ?

    As soon as you sat it down, it buzzed again. "This guy," you laugh to yourself.

    9:20AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. I was thinking we could eat dinner together. What time do you usually eat?

  

   9:21AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. usually around 7, how does that sound ?

   9:23AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. That sounds good. Is it okay if I come to your place? I can bring whatever you like.

    You hesitate for a moment, biting your thumb. You don't know him that well. Inviting a stranger, a strange man, into your home was usually always asking for trouble.

    9:25AM. HWA SENT A MESSAGE. Sorry, that probably was weird of me to ask. We can find somewhere!

    Your anxiety is replaced by a smile as you type back quickly.

    9:25AM. YOU SENT A MESSAGE. no, that sounds good ! it would probably be hard to find a quiet place on a friday. i'll send my address to you in a bit !

    You slam the phone down and ignore the buzz as he texts you back after a few moments; staring ahead with wide eyes as you realize you just invented a man over to your home. You doubted he would try to take things further than a cheek kiss; even that was a big maybe. But it was still nerve wracking.

   But then... you think of the gentle way he rolled your sleeves, and the way he blurted out the truth to you against his better judgement. His smile, his pretty eyes.

    "Ugh!" You slam your head onto the desk. "I almost wish he was a serial killer."

    "What?!" Your coworker yells from the corner.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    "A date!" Your best friend, Yejin, repeats for the third time in thirty minutes as you both rush around to pick up any mess in your apartment. 

    "Yes," you roll your eyes as you toss the broom at her.

     "A daaaate?" She laughs at your exhausted face, tired of her teasing.

   "Yup," you turn back around quickly, fixing up the pillows on your little sofa. "I'm already nervous, okay?"

    "Why didn't you go to a restaurant? I really didn't expect to go from not knowing this guy existed to cleaning your house so he can come over!"

    "Don't worry about it," you tut your tongue, rushing to pick up your coloring books and shove them into the box in the corner.

    "Does he know-"

    "Yes, he knows I'm an age regressor."

    She nods, suddenly having a more serious look about her.

    "What?"

    "I was going to ask does he know about Namsun..."

     You throw the last book with a sigh, sitting on the floor. She knows it's a sensitive subject, but she doesn't know how much this guy actually knows about you. She really didn't know you were even talking to someone until a few hours ago. But apparently he was trustworthy enough to invite over. "No..."

    "Are you sure it's a good idea to have him over so soon, Babe?" She crouches next to you, looking at you intently, "what do you even know about this guy?"

    "A lot..." I watched some of his videos, you want to say.

     She sighs, patting your shoulder as she glances at her watch. "It's almost seven, you should get ready." She knows there's no stopping you.

    There's no stopping destiny.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

      Seonghwa sets out the multiple styrofoam boxes on your short coffee table, sitting cross legged on a pillow you offered him. "Sorry, again," you say as you come back from the kitchen, handing him his choice of drinks after you'd called them out to him. "My dining table got broke like a year ago and I haven't had the time to replace it."

    "It's okay," he smiles, any time spent with you will be perfect, he wants to say. Way too soon for that, he knows. Instead, "thanks for agreeing to eat here. We can just relax, not worry about others."

    "Yeah, I get it! It must be hard to just do normal things when you're a celebrity." You hum as you hand him a plate, setting one infront of you as well.

    "Celebrity," he snorts a laugh, covering his mouth quickly, "sorry..."

    You laugh, shaking your head, "what? That was cute." You suck your lips in as you realize what you said, similarly looking down shyly. "Anyway! Let's eat, where's this from?"

    He takes a sip of his drink to calm himself before looking up and responding as he watches you open the boxes. "It's from a place called Lin's Express, I go there a lot with- hey, won't that bother you?" He pauses as he sees the flat plate infront of you, remembering the way your face scrunched up at the thought of food touching each other.

    You look down, blinking at the dish for a second before clarity hits you. "Oh, I forgot you know about that! I usually just deal with it when I eat with others."

    The thought makes him a bit sad. You shouldn't have to be uncomfortable just for the satisfaction or ease of others who don't understand. "No," he shakes his head, picking it up and placing it in your confused hands, "I want you to be comfortable. You should use one of your plates."

    You tilt your head as you look up from the plate, meeting his eyes. "Really? I mean- that won't make you feel like you're eating with a kid?"

    He shakes his head, quick to reassure you, "I know you're really an adult. I'm in your apartment, why would I think you're a kid if you eat from a divided plate?"

    "Yeah, I guess you're right," you smile, quickly going to the kitchen and exchanging your dish. He takes the moment to look around, taking in your style and the various pictures on your walls. From his spot on the floor, he can't make out a lot of them; but they seem to be different sceneries and some family photos.

     One of them catches his eye more than the others, it's of you and another woman your age on your left. The person on your right has been torn away and replaced by another photo; one of a beautiful sunrise taken high up. You were clearly trying to remove the person from the photo. But their hand is on your hip.

     "Better," you sit with a little sigh, not noticing his gaze on the photo as you finish opening up the few boxes.

    He looks away quickly when he feels you look at him, smiling over at you. "Good," he hums, picking up the chopsticks you provided him, "I want you to be comfortable with me!"

    "Thanks, Hwa," you mirror him, gathering some noodles onto a section of your plate, "Lin's Express, you said? Smells good!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

      "You did?"

    You both lay on your backs on your living room floor, stomachs full and hearts content as you tilt your heads to look at each other.

    "I did! It was terrifying," you chuckle as you recount the day that you and Yejin swam with sharks, "I can't believe I let her convince me to do that! I mean... they were basking sharks, totally harmless, but still!"

    He laughs with you, "I would have freaked out the second I saw them. It's in our nature to be scared of things that can kill us!"

    "That's," you slap his shoulder playfully, "exactly! Exactly what I said! But she said it would be good for me to do something thrilling to feel empowered."

    "She sounds like a good friend," he thinks back to the picture, his eyes flitting to it, "is that her?"

    "Uh?" You follow his eyes, "yeah that's her! We've been friends for like... nine years now? Going on a decade."

    "Can I ask," he hesitates, "what happened to the rest of the picture?"

    "Oh," you roll over onto your stomach, folding your arms and resting your chin on them. "I guess that is kind of a weird thing to see hanging in someone's house..."

    He sees your mood faltering, so he places a hand on your arm gently, "you don't have to tell me. It can be a story for another day."

     "Thanks, it's definitely a 'another day' type of story," you lean and kiss his knuckle before sitting up. You don't notice the blush on his cheeks or the way he holds his kissed hand to his chest. You stretch your arms over your head and look at the ticking clock. "Woah, we've been talking for four hours!"

    "What?!" He sits up quickly and surely enough — the clock reads fifteen past ten. "Oh, shit," he scrambles for his phone, left face down on the table, "sorry, I promised my members I'd check in every so often."

   "Oh, crap! I told Yejin the same!" You dive for the couch, and aren't surprised to see a barrage of messages and missed calls from your friend. The most recent of which reading:

    9:45PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. OKAY THATS IT IM CHECKING YOUR BLINK TO MAKE AURE HE DIDNT DRAG YOUR BODY OUT

    9:51PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. dude, if you're getting laid right now and not DEAD IN A DITCH I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF

    10PM. JINAH SENT A MESSAGE. please don't be dead in a ditch

     You quickly reply to tell her that you're in fact alive, chuckling as you see her go back and forth with herself trying to figure out if you're dead or just 'getting the pipe' as she put it.

     Seonghwas voice pulls you from your phone, "Dude! Would you stop face-timing me while I'm trying to type?" He frowns at his phone before looking up and giving you an apologetic look.

     "Dude!" The man over the device mocks him, "would you answer the fucking phone so we know you're not being help captive?! You asshole, what were you doing for four hours?"

    "We were just-"

    "Holy shit..." The tone of his voice makes Seonghwa try to stop him before he can say something embarrassing.

     "No! No, no, Wooyoung-" Try, that is.

    "Yah, guys! He was just getting laid!"

     Seonghwa drops the phone, hiding in his hands.

     You burst into laughter, your head tilted back with the force of it. He looks up, watching with a fond glint in his eyes as you cover your mouth with your arm, sound still managing to escape.

     "Oh," the man on the phone whispers like he isn't being projected through a speaker, "oh, fuck, Hyung... can she hear me?"

    "Bye, Wooyoung!"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡ 

     The next date is a week later, and he says he's more than happy to host you as it would be nearly impossible to find a quiet place where you wouldn't be noticed on a Saturday.

    He opens the door with a big smile, relief flooding him as he sees you.

    "Hey, Hwa," you smile up at him, shifting your weight on your feet.

    "You look adorable." He says it before he even realizes it, but he doesn't regret it one bit.

    To the untrained eye, you're just in a girly outfit with your hair moved out of your face to fight off the heat.

    But Seonghwa has been reading up on everything to do with age regression, even more than before now that he's talking with you. Much more. Anything remotely little space related, he would bookmark.

    One thing he remembers most clearly is about how littles can try to comfort themselves in public. With things that could be passed off as something else if they were questioned about it. Things like coloring or drawing and saying it's meditative. Or fidget toys, you could easily say help with anxiety. Or like right now, you're wearing more 'childish' clothes that could be passed off as your style or vibe.

     "Oh, really?" You look down at your outfit shyly. You wanted a little bit of extra comfort in a new place, so you made yourself feel small with your choices. "Thank you."

    "Yeah," he sounds almost breathless as he looks you up and down for the umpteenth time.

    "Who's at the door?" Someone yells from within, breaking his trance.

    "Sorry, come in, come in." He quickly ushers you inside, "you can just put your shoes over with ours, here." He takes them for you, placing them on the racks with multiple other pairs.

    "Thanks, Hwa," you look around the apartment, unaware of how the nickname makes his heart flutter. You never stopped calling him that even after he told you his full name. "What did you have plan-"

    "Ah!" Someone yells as they exit the hallway, their eyes immediately on your unfamiliar face, "who is this?!"

    Seonghwa's body reacts before his mind again, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you to himself as you both get startled; just like the first day you met. "Jesus, Wooyoung!" He scolds the other man, letting out a sigh. "What are you doing? You scared the crap out of me," he rubs your shoulders briefly before he lets go of you, "you don't even live here."

    "Me scared you? You're the one who brought a girl over unannounced! What if I was naked?!"

    You cover your mouth as your giggles threaten to come up, looking between them as they go back and forth.

    "I told the people who actually live with me, that-"

    "Well, I didn't hear about this!"

     "Because you don't live in this apartment, Young-ie! And why would you be naked?!"

    "I'm-"

    "Will you-"

     "Hey, you must be (Y/n)," another man greets much more politely as he comes out behind Wooyoung, giving you a bow which you quickly return.

    "(Y/n)? Like first date was five hours long (Y/n)?" Wooyoung gets slapped with realization, "oooooh! Sorry, sorry," he nods quickly, smiling your way. 

    "Yeah, Hyung told me and Mingi she would be coming over." Seonghwa gives Wooyoung a look that screams 'told you.'

     "Nice to meet you," you bow again, standing by his side like you're afraid to move away.

    He's internally freaking the fuck out at the fact you're really here, even more so that you're being so nice to his members even though one of them just jump scared you and only a week ago insinuated that you slept with him.

    "Sorry about-" Wooyoung clears his throat, "yeah, sorry."

    "Are you thirsty," Seonghwa ignores the two of them and looks down at you, "I saw that you walked here, it's a pretty long way."

    You have butterflies in your stomach at the thought of him watching your location, making sure you found your way to him safely. "Uhm, a little bit."

    "Come on," he grabs your hand gently and leads you, "sorry about them. I diiid warn you."

    Wooyoung and San watch you disappear into the kitchen, the younger tilting his head. "I didn't know Hyung was into girly girls. Ow! What was that for?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Do you see this piece?"

His floor is covered in an array of Lego pieces, he sits cross legged on one side of the pile and you're laid on your stomach on the other.

You turn your instruction packet to face him, still searching.

You're making a bouquet of flowers, and he's making a vase for them to go in; talking about random things that come up as you go.

It been about two hours and you're both on your final pieces. But you can't find one of the long green sticks that the bodies of your flowers go on.

"Uhm," he looks around the few remaining pieces, pouting, "no, I don't."

"Dang," you close the book with a small huff, then a shrug, "we're missing one of the stems! One, two, three..." You count the ones in your hand again.

"Hmmm," he looks over the flowers you made and picks one up carefully. A black dahlia. "Maybe, I can keep this one? And you can put the rest on the stems?"

You slide up to sit on your knees and think for a second. "Smart! I was just going to use a straw or something, that probably wouldn't have gone too well," you laugh, gently putting the remaining flowers onto the sticks while he carefully sets the dahlia on his desk.

"Creative, I like it," he smiles as he watches over you for a moment. You move the plastic flowers into different places in your hand, trying to figure out how to arrange them.

You're doing something so simple, mundane.

But Seonghwa thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world in that moment.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Food!" Comes a muffled yell from somewhere in the apartment.

You and Seonghwa were laid side by side on his bed, his fingers tracing yours as he listens intently to your stories and shares his own.

"Uh?" He picks up his phone and looks at the time, his eyes widening, "oh, the time got away from us again," he chuckles as he shows you. It's already 8 in the evening, when you had arrived sometime around 3 in the afternoon.

It feels like time doesn't exist when he's with you. Nothing does.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry," you sit up quickly, and he comes with you.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he reassures as he sets a hand on your back softly, "uhm, since you're here, if you want to, why don't you eat with us?"

"That's sweet, but I'd feel like I'm intruding." You pick up your bag where he hung it off the back of his chair, straightening out your clothes. "I had a really good time-"

"Come on, Baby. You have to eat, don't feel like you're intruding."

You stop in your tracks, bag half on your shoulder. "...what?"

He swings his legs off the edge of the bed quickly, looking at you closely. Did he say something wrong? Did he push your boundaries? Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fix this!

"Sorry, I just meant that we'd be more than glad to have you eat here! It isn't a problem at all, I-"

"Baby?"

He slaps a hand over his mouth as he recalls his words, quickly standing and bowing to you over and over as you stand there star-struck. "I'm sorry, (Y/n), I didn't mean to call you that, it just slipped out! Please, forgive me."

He pauses when he feels your hand on his shoulder. He's scared to look up, but he does anyway.

And he's immediately relieved.

You're smiling down at him, "it's okay, Hwa. I can be your Baby." You lean and give him a modest kiss to his cheek before pulling away all too quickly and putting your bag back on the chair. "Let's eat, yeah?"

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

The table has a comfortable atmosphere around it as you all eat and talk together.

You hear all kinds of stories about the man you're now officially dating, ranging from hilarious to heartwarming.

He sits beside you, chin in his hand as he watches you talking with his members; a smile stuck on his face.

San and Mingi, his roommates, tell you jokingly to be careful about messes because their Hyung is a neat-freak. Wooyoung apologizes for his behavior and then immediately gets his hand smacked with San's chopsticks as he tries to sneak a piece of meat from his plate. Yeosang, who only came over to get a charger, ended up staying when you and him clicked.

"You seriously don't know any of our songs? You didn't look us up? I find that hard to believe," Yeosang eyes you kiddingly, "in this day and age? I bet Seonghwa Hyung looked you up. Am I right?"

Seonghwa tears his eyes from you and looks up at the ceiling, "uhhhm, no! Nope." His voice is high and clearly he's lying, so you shove his shoulder lightly.

"Yah, no way! Psh, jokes on you. There's much more information about you online than there is about me."

"So, you did Google him?" Wooyoung smirks from across the table, leaning over it.

"Well-" Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water before they start laughing. "Can you blame me?! I mean, c'mon! Look at him, I had to know if I stood a chance!" You groan, covering your face with your hand.

Seonghwa places a hand on your head as he leans towards you in his laughter, his eyes shut as he presses his forehead to your shoulder. Mingi is about to fall off his chair at the look on your face as you got caught red handed. Yeosang punches your other shoulder gently, "I knew it!"

"Okay, okay! I did look him up but I didn't full on stalk him! Just like... the basics. Like what he probably saw about me when he was doing the same thing!" You laugh with them, leaning back in your chair.

"Ah," he sighs, wiping his eyes as he leans back into his own space, "so we're on an even playing field, you think?"

"I know how to tell!" Wooyoung jumps up, slamming his hands on the table.

A few minutes later, you and Seonghwa sit side by side on the couch, a piece of paper and a pen for each of you curtesy of Mingi.

It's starting to rumble with thunder outside, so you figured you'd stay and wait out the storm. April showers. That's all it is, it should pass within the hour. Plus; you're having a good time.

"So, we're writing down the answer for each other, right?" You question, twirling the pen in your fingers, "so if you say, like, 'favorite movie' I would write what I think his favorite movie is?"

"Yup! Ready? Birthday?!" He starts slamming you both with questions, San and Mingi chuckling as Yeosang watches with his cheek in his palm; curled up in an armchair.

Birthday, zodiac sign, favorite movie (because of course he stole your question), favorite weather, parents names, the list went on until you both ran out of space on the papers.

He switches your papers, and tells you to grade each other.

Seonghwa smiles as he sees that you know the answer to almost every question besides the more obscure or personal ones.

Your eyes widen as you put check mark after check mark to his answers. Do you really talk that much? Did you really tell him your mother's name? You have been talking almost nonstop for a month, whenever you both were free almost all of your free time went to texting or calling. But did you already mention your love language or was he just that observant? When had you talked about your fear of the dark?

"Hwa..." You whisper, calling their attention, you feel a bit of a shiver down your spine but you attribute it to the air conditioning. "Are you sure you aren't a serial killer? How do you know I'm afraid of the dark?" You force a little huff of a laugh, peeking at him. The others look at him curiously.

"Hm?" He looks at the paper and blushes a bit. "Oh, I uh... I admittedly had a look at your Instagram, I saw that a lot of your pictures were taken in a light night, so I guessed..."

It's quiet for a second.

"Wow, you're a creep, Hyung!" Wooyoungs outburst breaks the thickness in the air, making it comfortable once again.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"It doesn't seem like it's going to clear up," Seonghwa sighs as he clicks off the weather channel, looking over to where you stand at the windows, watching the storm crash down on the city.

It was just you and him in the living room, Yeosang and Wooyoung returned to their own apartments and San and Mingi retired to bed.

"Ah, I should call Yejin and have her pick me up so you can get some rest." Before you can go to retrieve your phone from the table, he stands up.

"You don't have to do that, Baby," he hums, rubbing your arm gently as he sees the worried look on your adorable face, "nobody should be driving in this, it's too dangerous. You can sleep here, take the bed; I'll sleep on the couch-"

"No, no," you shake your head, looking down, "I can't possibly do that. I've already-"

"I promise it's okay." He stops you, looking down at you sincerely, "we could call it a sleep over." He cracks as smile as you giggle, gesturing with his head down the hall, "come on, you can wear something of mine to sleep in."

You thank him again and again as he gathers you something that will fit, even give him another kiss on the cheek before you close the door to the bathroom to change.

He changes while you're in the bathroom and then sits down on the edge of his bed with wide eyes. He can't believe he got you to stay. He can't believe you're going to sleep in his bed. He can't believe you've kissed his cheek... twice. He can't believe you believed his bullshit lie about Instagram.

Truth be told, the first time you hung out; he snooped. He 'accidentally' opened the door to your bedroom instead of the bathroom. He learned as much as he could in as little time as possible.

When you come back to his room, his heart feels like it simultaneously stops and beats a million miles per hour.

The sleep pants he lent you fit a little awkwardly but you look comfortable. The sweater you had brought with you just in case hides your hands as you fidget with them nervously.

His back straightens as he looks you up and down. "Wow..."

Just like before. It's something mundane. Domestic. And —

"You look so beautiful."

He only realizes that he said it out loud because your eyes widen. Then his do. It's a staring contest of sorts.

"Sorry." He blurts out. "Actually," he takes it back, "I'm not sorry. I mean it. You're beautiful."

Your ears feel red hot, "s-shut up," you laugh lightly as you set your folded up clothes with your bag.

When you turn around, he's right behind you. "Oh my!" He snuck up on you in what seems like a millisecond, quiet as a mouse. But he's looking down at you like a hawk. "Hwa, is-"

"Can I kiss you?"

The question comes seemingly out of nowhere. But it's been on his mind since the second you entered his room for the first time.

You feel sunburnt everywhere as your blood rushes, licking your lips when your eyes copy his and look at his plump lips as he looks at yours. "Ye-"

His lips crash into yours, his hands hesitating before he brings them up. His finger tips graze your cheeks softly before his palms slowly cradle them, holding you tenderly as your lips move together without hurry.

He leads you to the bed, falling on his back and letting you crash onto him as your lips refuse to part from each other.

Your hands find purchase on either side of his head, and his find their way to your hips.

Your entire body is on fire. His entire being is set ablaze.

Your bodies start to move against each other in tandem with your lips as your mouths part, allowing one another to get your first taste of each other.

He's already addicted.

So he's thankful when you pull back, panting, and whisper, "stay with me."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

April is gone and in comes May. You've been dating Park Seonghwa for just over four weeks when he shows up at your door on a random Tuesday.

A random Tuesday that you just so happen to be home sick on.

"Hwa," you whine as you open the door, "I told you not to come over. I don't want to get you sick."

He simply smiles and lifts up a plastic bag on his fingers, "Lin's Express?"

You immediately turn around and head back inside, "come in, then."

"I thought so," he laughs airily, closing the door behind him, "have you taken any medicine, Baby?"

"Uhhhh," you groan on as you fall back into the couch were you've set yourself up, "couple of hours ago, but I ran out-"

"Wham!" He grins widely as he places a bottle of cold medicine on the coffee table, from the bag that had been in his other hand.

"H- wha-" You stutter, "how in the world do you know me so well?"

He shrugs playfully, taking off the seal before handing it to you, "here you go."

"Thanks, Hwa," you down some quickly before falling back across the couch, watching as he sets out the food. "Why aren't you at work?"

"I know you haven't felt good for a few days so I asked to record my lines first, so I could come take care of you as early as I could."

The words, you don't know why, they make you tear up. When you sniffle, he looks up quickly.

"Baby?"

"You're so sweet," you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, "I think I'm still in denial."

"Denial?" He asks quietly as he shuffles to the couch on his knees, rubbing your side softly. "Denial of what?"

"That you chose me to be with. You could have anyone you want, and you're here. You- you're here. Taking care of me when I'm sick."

He pouts, leaning his head down on the armrest to mirror yours. "I don't want anyone else."

Your brows push together. He sounds so serious.

"I don't want to be anywhere else. With anyone else. I only want to be with you. You make me feel... peace. Peace that I haven't felt in- in... ever." He won't tell you this, but after the first night you spent at his apartment; he took a walk to the river the next day and threw his razor blades in the rushing water. You gave him the relief that they used to provide. And you did it so softly. "I don't want anyone else. I want you. I chose you."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

You don't know how it happened, but after that, you found yourself falling into your little space.

    Maybe it was a mix of his loving words and soft touches as he helped you sit up and eat. A mix of exhaustion and emotions pushing you to go to your safe space.

    You never went there with him before. But no matter how hard you fought it, you still found yourself feeling tiny.

   You've both talked about it a lot, about what you did and how you felt and what you wanted. But you were still scared to let someone in after what happened last time.

    He notices you biting your lip, deep in thought as he rinses the dishes. "Everything okay, Baby?"

    Damn his favorite nickname for you, making you shrink even more. "I think, uhm," you look around, picking at your gingham pajama shorts. They're too rough for your increasingly fragile state. "Oh, I'm having a panic attack." You realize, stating it nonchalantly.

    "What?" He quickly turns off the faucet, drying his hands on the way to you, worry clear on his face. He stops a few steps away, wanting nothing more than to embrace you as he watches your breathing get shallow and sharp, but he knows better than to crowd someone having a panic attack from his experiences with his members and himself. He crouches and tries to meet your gaze, but your eyes are going too fast from place to place. "Baby, look at me, please?"

    Your eyes stop their incessant scanning of the rooms, landing on him with tears pressing against your waterline.

    "What can I do to help you, right now?" Clear and soft questions. He doesn't want to make you go deeper into your panic.

    "I n-" You heave, fingers still picking at the rough fabric of your shorts, "I need to change." You settle on, abruptly standing up — only to get dizzy and fall back down, Seonghwa's hands outreached; having been ready to catch you.

     "Okay, okay, can I pick you up? Is that okay? You're not in a place to walk," he approaches gradually, keeping his hands visible.

    You nod without a second thought. The panic attack you forced yourself into in the midst of fighting yourself officially put your mind into little space.

    You hold onto him tightly as he gently and slowly wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. Your arms lock around his neck and your legs around his waist.

     He makes the trip to your room quickly, even though he wants to revel in the feeling of you clinging to him; he knows it's not the time.

    You hesitate to let go of him when he sets you on your bed, a small whine leaving you that makes his heart tug as he lets go of you.

    "Which drawer, Baby?"

      You point. The one on the bottom.

    When he opens it, he starts putting the dots together on what made you freak out. This drawer seems to be dedicated to childish looking clothes of all kinds. He was making you fall into your regression.

    He bites back a smile as he moves to the side and lets you point again. He knew it was only a matter of time, especially with the way you froze when he first called you Baby. Especially with the way he was purposefully being extra caring while you were sick; having read that age regressors often went to their safe place when sick or stressed. 

    He successfully gathers what you wordlessly ask for, and sets the clothes on the bed next to you, "do you need help, Baby?" Another whine leaves you, and you struggle with yourself for a moment before nodding.

     Finally, he thinks as he helps you into the Tinkerbell themed pajamas.

    Finally.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

   When you manage to calm yourself down with the help of Seonghwa's soft humming, he finally asks (though he already knows the answer), "do you want to tell me what happened?"

You're feeling so nice and fuzzy-headed when you finally stop fighting yourself, you almost don't know what he's talking about. "Oh... I was scared." You decided on a simple answer until you're prompted more.

And prompt he does, "what were you scared of, angel?"

You melt into the way he's holding you as he lets slip another sweet nickname. You don't want to think about that, but the logic in the back of your brain says that he deserves to know.

He waits for your brain to catch up and find your words, rubbing your back slowly and looking at you intently.

"I was scared that you would be like... like a bad daddy," you sigh, playing with the fur on one of your stuffed animals. "But you aren't. He was a butthole."

The way he chuckles makes you move from your place on his chest, and you giggle at the feeling. "A butthole?"

"Yeah!" You sit up, groaning as your sick body protests. You look down at him, and he can see the change in your mindset. Your eyes are a window to your soul; and right now your soul is small and putting all of your trust in him not to squish you. "But you aren't. You're... the best."

"Are you feeling small, Baby?"

You bite your lip. He notices you do that a lot in little space, even in the short amount of time it's been. "Yeah..."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Please say yes. Please say yes. Please let me stay. Please say-

"Yes. If you want to?" Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please don't leave me-

"Of course I want to."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    It's beautiful outside about a week later. The park has people few and far between because it's a weekday, you used a vacation day to spend it with Seonghwa.

    His job made things harder to work around, but you were more than willing to hop around weird schedules and hidden dates.

    The sun is beginning to set on the horizon. It paints the sky pink and orange. Birds are flocking together. The leaves and flowers blow with the gentle breeze. You're sitting on some cement steps next to a large tree.

    "Are you one of those people who bruise easily?" He asks out of nowhere.

   "What?" You look over at him with wide eyes. Lately, if something he says even has a hint of anything strange in it out of context; your body goes into fight or flight. You blame it on your trust issues, getting used to being in a relationship again.

    "Do you bruise easily?" He repeats himself as he gestures to the mark on your arm.

    "Oh," you sigh a laugh, rubbing over the bruise, "I guess I am. I hit it on a filing cabinet yesterday."

    "Awe," he leans and kisses it softly, "My Baby needs to be careful."

    "I'll be careful," you smile as you rest your forehead on his.

    These past two months have been beautiful. You're starting to think you've met 'the one'. Besides the little overbearing things here and there, or the strange look in his eye when you get too casual with Yeosang, Seonghwa is the man of your dreams.

    He even suggested that you called him 'Mommy' while in little space so that you never connect him with the 'Daddy' who mistreated you. He says he likes it better that way, anyway. He always been more traditionally 'motherly' when caring for others.

   You can't argue with that. He really is. Soft, and nurturing, and beyond attentive. And his eyes light up when you say it.

    "Give me a kiss," you implore him, fingers dragging through his grown out hair gingerly. You'll be sad when he has to cut it. He lets you put it in pigtails and braids. He lets you play with it until you both fall asleep whenever you spend the night together. It's only been a few times, but it's the best sleep he's ever gotten. He finds it hard to sleep without you most nights, now.

    "Can't say no to that," he rejoices as he cups one of your cheeks, bringing you in close and kissing you just the way that makes you putty in hands.

    You sigh into the kiss; leaning to follow him as he pulls away, making him chuckle, "we're in public, Baby."

    "Mh, let's go to my place."

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    You get a message from him during the work day the day after that. He should be busy. You are busy.

    You get another. Your phone is lying face down on your desk as you make copies.

    It goes off quite a few times.

    When you finally sit down, your eyes widen.

    HWA<3 SENT SIX MESSAGES.

    TWO MISSED CALLS FROM HWA<3.

    You open them up quickly.

   1:32PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. Baby, don't freak out

   1:32PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. Just promise you'll stay calm, okay?

   1:33PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. I swear to God, I'll take care of this

   1:35PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. You're busy at work? I hope so

   1:35PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. Don't look online. Don't read any of it, okay?

   1:37PM. HWA <3 SENT A MESSAGE. I'll meet you at your place

   "What..." You look at the time. 1:52. There was still hours until the work day ended.

    Against his text, you open up Google. You pause for a moment. He didn't even say what happened.

    You type in his name, and go to the news section. Your eyes fill with tears immediately.

    All of the latest news articles are about his girlfriend. About you. Thankfully your name isn't on any of them. Thankfully your face is blocked by his in the picture of you sharing a kiss.

    No. No. No. No. No. No.

    You almost forgotten that this was a possibility. You were so wrapped up in his love that you forgot that his entire life is public.

    Against your better judgment, you click on the comments under one of the articles. Some say how cute you look together. Some speculate if you work in the industry. Some are mean.

      You shut off your phone and walk right out of your office building.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

     "She doesn't want to talk to you yet."

    Seonghwa jumps up from his spot sitting leaning against your apartment door. He'd been there for hours. He knocked for a long time. But he didn't get any answer. Your phone went straight to voicemail for a while.

    He comes face to face with the woman who was in the torn picture with you. A few years older, sure, but that's her. "Yejin, right?! Oh my god, is she okay? Did you talk to her? Please-"

    "She's not. She called me to come over and help her with figuring things out."

    "Figure-" He stutters, "what? I'm her boyfriend, I'm the one she should be 'figuring things out' with!"

   "Look, you seem like a good guy. But she isn't used to being in the spotlight. If I had known you were an idol, I'd have smacked her silly for even thinking about dating you."

    He's frozen in his spot, eyes sad and posture slumped.

    "But... she's been really happy with you. I think she just needs some time to, uhm, process. After everything she's been through with Namsun, at least give her that." She seems to notice the confused look in his eyes. "Oh, shit, she hasn't told you..."

    Her phone pings.

    "Is that her?" He jumps, "please, tell her to answer me-"

     "Give me your number."

    "What?" He's more confused than before, but he types it into her phone as she swipes the spare key from the top of the door frame.

    "I'll text you when we're done talking. She really likes you, so you deserve a chance. I'll tell you what she says. But for the love of God," she unlocks the door and steps in, "give her some space."

    

     He only catches a glimpse of you in the living room as she retrieves her phone —

    Before the door is slammed in his face.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

    Time passes. Agonizingly slow.

   Seonghwa got a text from Yejin that said you were still trying to sort your thoughts. And that was all he got.

    Ever since you met, you hadn't gone a day without speaking.

    Now it was bordering on 48 hours.

   He was sitting on the couch with Mingi and Hongjoong, his best friend trying to console him as all he did was stare at whatever was on the television. He hadn't eaten, and he certainly hadn't slept. He'd barely moved.

   Just stared at his phone and waited.

  When his phone pings with a soft and bright tone that he set specifically to you, he throws himself off of the couch. The sudden movement makes the others flinch. He hadn't even lifted a finger in the past two hours.

     He falls to his knees as he grabs his phone, reading the message immediately.

    No...

   The words can't be real, they can't be.

   You tell him that you enjoyed every second with him, that you think he's the best person you've ever been with. But you can't be with him. Not right now. You aren't meant for the spotlight. He is, though. And he should enjoy it. But you can't be with him and have a clear conscience when you know that your very presence in his life causes issues in his career. And you certainly can't deal with the pressure of always being under a microscope. He's strong for being able to handle it, you say. You tell him that maybe in the future you can be together again, or in a different timeline. And at the very end —

    love, your baby

    He loses his fucking mind.

    His phone, which has been being squeezed progressively tighter; finally shatters in his hand. "Hyung!" Hongjoong yelps, stepping forward to make sure he's okay, "what-"

     A scream of pure heartache rips through the apartment. The building. The entire street.

    Mingi slams his hands over his ears and grimaces, looking at Seonghwa with a mixture of sadness and fear.

    He's had episodes like this before. Fits of emotion that couldn't be contained. They usually ended in destruction, but they didn't usually start with it. They didn't start this fast. It was always a slow build of moments when he would become snappy, irritable. They'd grow closer and closer together until one day he just lost it; he couldn't hold himself back anymore. And then destruction would begin.

   But he skipped all of that. A few minutes ago, he was staring blankly at nothing in particular — now he's smashing his fist against his broken phone, yelling.

   Not a lot of words manage to form on his tongue, just shouts and yells of "no" that tell Hongjoong and Mingi to back up because things are about to get uglier.

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

     You manage to drag yourself to and from work the following two days after you officially broke things off with Seonghwa. Thankfully, since your face wasn't visible in any of the photos, life continued as it did before you met him.

    You kept looking at your phone, expecting to see a message from him. You don't know what you expect it to say - what you expect him to say.

    But you guess he's just as heart broken as you are.

    It's a classic case of right person, wrong time. That's what you tell yourself over and over. Wrong time. Wrong time. Wrong time.

     On your way out of work on the third day, you get a text from Yejin canceling your movie night plans last minute. She's been your rock through it all, so you can't fault her for missing one night of plans.

    Instead, you take a long walk. A long walk. The sky becomes dark and the streetlights flick on overhead as you walk back the way you came hours before.

    You're listening to his groups music on your headphones. You weren't lying when you told them you never heard them. And it was probably a mistake to start now — because his voice does just as much to soothe the ache in your heart as it does to break it. It leaves you somewhere in the middle. But it solidifies the fact that he's born to be an idol. And idols don't date without drama. And you don't want any part of it.

    Most of the lights in your apartment building are off. The sensor light flicks on as you enter your floor, a sigh leaving your lips as you let your fingers relax around your keys.

     The lock doesn't turn when you unlock it. It's already undone. You've been a bit frazzled lately.

     "Damn it, (Y/n)," you mumble to yourself as you hang your keys, flicking the light on as you kick your shoes off. When you turn around, you scream.

    Seonghwa is there. Sitting on your couch with something sad in his eyes, mixed with something... darker.

    "Sweet Mary!" You yell, dropping your phone and bag to the floor. "Hwa?"

    "Hey."

  "H-hey?! What do you mean 'hey'?What are you doing in my apartment?!"

    He gestures to the food on your table infront of him, "Lin's Express."

    "Hwa, please... Don't make me say it again."

    "Please," he stands up quickly, tears in his eyes, "please! Can we just talk? Face to face? I need... I need to know..."

    You suck your lips in, scratching your head as you take in his appearance. He looks... well, wrecked. Like he hasn't slept a wink and he's been crying.

    You already know that you won't change your mind. But you suppose that your text message wasn't the best way to end things. You suppose it's fitting to end things where they started.

    "Fine, we can talk."

   He falls to his knees and bows to you, his forehead on the floor. "Oh, thank you, Baby, thank you, thank you."

    It's silent for a while as you eat, and you can tell he wants to say something; wants to say a lot of things.

    He waits until you're both done eating to do so.

    "I met with Yejin earlier." He says quickly. "I told her I needed closure. To know why you broke up with me."

     "What?" That must be why she canceled your plans.

    "I met her at her office. She told me about Namsun. Told me how he fucked you up so bad that you didn't even trust her for a while. Said that you were probably just relapsing with your trust issues." He speaks slowly, you can barely hear him over the thudding of your heart.

   His figure is starting to get blurry. From your tears and from... something else. Something making your limbs heavy as well. "I don't blame you for not telling me, Baby. I wish you had, but I can see why you didn't. My poor Baby had to deal with such an evil caregiver-"

    "Hwa-"

    "Yejin told me a lot, actually. She opened up like a book. I don't think she's told a lot of people, cause she went on and on. She told me how you met him in school and fell in love and let him into your safe space... your little space. And he corrupted it. Took away your comfort items when you did the smallest thing wrong. Didn't encourage you to be childish. Did nasty things to you..."

    "Hey-"

  "She told me how many times she had to patch up your wounds and help you cover bruises. She told me everything, Baby. She told me about the night you finally ended it with him. How he threw you through the kitchen table and left you for dead. She was so angry, she really cares about you. She was so angry that she cursed his full name and prayed that God burn down his place of work."

    "Why are-"

   "I went there. I went to the restaurant he works at. I got a table. And I waited. I waited until he finally clocked in. Then I sat there and watched him. When they closed, I followed him out. I followed him for a long time. I didn't know what I was going to do, I just knew it was something. He stopped at the edge of the river to smoke a cigarette. And I came up to him. He was an asshole, immediately. I asked him if he knew (Y/n). He said 'I fucked that bitch up good.' And then... I stabbed him in the throat. Again and again and again. When he finally fell over, I got ontop of him and did it more. How dare he speak about you like that, that's all I could think. I wanted to destroy him. And I... I did! I stabbed that bastards neck so many times that his head came off. There was blood everywhere. It was horrible. But the funny thing is, I didn't feel anything. Not a thing. Because he had it coming. He hurt My Baby. So I cut his fucking head off and shoved his useless ass in the river. I'm telling you the truth. I killed that worthless fuck. And I don't regret anything."

He looks you in the eyes the entire time he speaks, holding your head still by cupping your cheeks as you try to look away. He doesn't look away as you begin sobbing and hyperventilating. He doesn't look away. "Don't you get it? You told me that you believe in destiny! This is destiny. Let me love you."

You gasp for air, turning your head back and forth to shake the murders hands away from you. "Oh, god!"

"Shhhh," he kisses your forehead, squishes your cheeks gently. His hands are clean, but you know that they'll always be stained with blood.

     "Do-don't touch me!" You stand up hastily, and the world spins around you.

    "Careful, Baby. Those pills I slipped into your food can make you dizzy-"

    You fall to the floor with a thud before he can reach you. You yell and push at him increasingly weakly as your body gets heavier by the second.

    This has to be some sort of fucked up nightmare. This can't be real. This can't be happening. He can't be doing this-

    But it is. He is.

    He drags your limp figure to the couch and lays you down, wiping your tears with his thumb. "Don't worry, Baby. It's just enough to knock you out."

    "Wh-at the fuck, Hwa?" You whimper as fear finally hits you full force. Primal, bone chilling fear as your body stops listening to your commands. Your vision is spiraling and steadily becoming blurrier and darker.

    "Don't worry, Baby," he repeats himself, leaning over you. His face is the last thing you see before sleep takes you, his voice ringing in your ears —

    "I'll take care of you. Just like I promised."

❝Serendipity❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

jayvik headcanons because my heart is happy but also hurts.

these take place either in that special part of s1 act 1 where nothing went wrong with them yet OR in a special universe where nothing will ever go wrong ever <3

Viktor either talks endlessly or has periods of silence Jayce listens to every word and responds but also knows when it's just silent 'be together time".

Jayce talks a lot as well, but he'll start a subject, pause for a few hours, then continue on later as if he didn't take a break. Viktor fully understands this.

They are literally each other's worst hype man. the words "no, don't do that" have rarely been uttered in their lab. if they are it's about not eating/sleeping or something unrelated to science. these men are "yes, and" till the very end.

Heimerdinger laughs anytime someone is like "At least Talis has someone to calm him down now!" Because like. His assistant (who he should apologize to for not encouraging him more) is literally insane.

Jayce can charm the pants off of anyone in order to gain something, but only at a gala or function. Only works on the rich. He's gotten him and Viktor bigger labs, lots of funding, new things.

Viktor, however, either intentionally or unintentionally, gets free shit all the time from local owners/regular workers because his natural snark and calm demeanor (plus the looks and accent) have people eating out of the palm of his hand.

He's unaware his usual drink/breakfast order costs less then it should and is more portioned. A local bookstore owner gives him the best copies.

Viktor mentions Singed one time and Jayce was like. no wonder you failed lab safety three times. is like okay you're never seeing that man ever again.

Jayce is very artistically inclined. Musically or visually. He can sing (doesn't like to in front of many people) and sings often to only his mom, Viktor, and maybe Caitlyn. Has the best music taste. A bookshelf full of records.

Viktor is fantastic with kids to the point he has a mom fan club. (Some dads too). This is because he took over for a science lab for a week to help out an old colleague and by the end the back row was filled with parents just watching and listening because their kids were actually interested in school for the first time ever

Jayce....is awkward with kids. He likes them, but my man does not know how to deal. He likes babies because they're small and cute, will hold a baby all day. but toddlers and kids? what do you discuss with them? taxes?

both avoid older kids and teens like the plague though. it's understandable. have you meet a thirteen year old? scary.

Viktor didn't even notice until Caitlyn pointed it out (very coyly) that pretty much all the clothes and accessories he has are in Talis house colors. Jayce did it intentionally 100%.

Viktor wanders whenever theyre out traveling. Jayce blinks and suddenly Viktor is halfway up the road or a new item has caught his eye.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Could you please do Boba Fett? With a male reader who wants kids. Or when reader and Boba have kids? I have baby fever right now and Boba is one of the biggest things that helps.

Boba Fett x Male reader 

Headcanons 

Lmao, this has been in my inbox a while... Star Wars has been tickling my brain again finally. 

Its a bit of a stereotype that Mandalorians love kids and hoard them like dragons hoard gold. 

But Boba isn't technically mandalorian, at least in his own eyes. Being mandalorian is more about culture than blood, and seeing as how his only ability to learn about said culture was cut short, well. He wears the armor and respects his father's memory though. 

Doesn't stop him from experiencing the baby fever. Especially if you are mandalorian and share the same baby fever. Boba will claim it's something he inherited from Jango. 

I could imagine Boba struggling in the beginning at the thought of you wanting kids, be they adopted or either of you carrying them if you are able. This also very much depends on when you guys are together. 

If its during his bounty hunting days, then Boba would want kids, somewhere deep inside, but he would not have them. Especially knowing how he lost Jango, there's no way he would want to put his own kids through that. 

After crawling out of the sarlacc and being taken in by the Tuskens, I think Boba starts turning the idea more in his head. Hes not gonna allow it until his status on Tatooine is solid, but, it would be easier to convince him. 

If either of you are able to carry your child, then Boba starts getting very broody. Doesn't matter if its you or him carrying the child honestly, he starts pacing, huffing and puffing. 

Call it protective nature, but the castle is getting suited up for war, just in case anyone tries coming for either of you. 

If its Boba that's pregnant, then he wont say it, but he appreciates massages and being cared for, a lot. Hes already older, covered in a lot of scars, so having to carry a pregnancy really wears him out. 

If it's you, then he gets even worse. Hes never leaving you alone, and there are times where you need to call for assistance from Fennec to get some privacy. Theres no need for Boba to be in the room when you bathe, but he will try it. 

Or, you guys can adopt. Even then, Boba acts like a broody hen, no matter the kids age. If they're a baby, then they are strapped to his chest. Or, inside his armor, which he's loosened enough to hold them. Only you get to hold the baby. 

If it's a kid he tries to be as approachable and fatherly as he can. Sadly, Boba doesn't have too much experience with a stable father figure. As much as Jango tried, being a famous bounty hunter didn't create the safest and most stable childhood. 

If its a teen, then Boba still tries his best to be a solid stable person they can lean on. But no matter what I can still see him struggling when it comes to being vulnerable. He tries though. 

Youll find your kid sat on his lap or the armrest of his throne on the regular when you can't find them. They always try to scowl like Boba, but it just looks adorable.  

Your kid will want to dress up as Boba, so you two end up getting them durasteel armor in a familiar mandalorian shape, like any mandalorian who hasnt become an adult yet. 

Here Din is a bigger help, since he knows the culture more thoroughly than Boba. Din becomes the kids uncle too, where Grogu will become their cousin. Fennec is involved too, of course. 

Being a dad would both stress Boba out more, but also calm him. Some part of him would settle at having your kid relying on him, someone to take him down a few notches. 

It means he doesn't always have to be on the defense, always ready for the worst. Obviously, he allows himself to open up with you, but only in private. 

With a kid, Boba starts being more vulnerable and finds his emotions easier. In the beginning its because he forces himself to do so, as he wouldn't want his kid to think he doesn't care. 

I have a feeling that your kid sleeps between you two at night for a good while. For safety, sure. But also for comfort. Doesn't matter if they are naturally born or adopted, this kid feels the safest between their two dads. 

Having a kid also means Boba actually sleeps more and cares more for himself, since he has to be worth looking up to.  

You catch the two of them taking naps together a lot, the kid draped across his middle. It's always easy to snuggle up beside them, Boba always wrapping an arm around you even when sleep. 

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Hear me out…

2nd part of that time travel thing you did today except reader and current James end up going back in time with 90s James and 90s James getting much better at sex and properly fucking the reader how she likes it just for her to accidentally call him “daddy” instead which gets current James jealous and pissed so he just practically forced 90s James off reader and fucks her like he actually means it

A/n: Going through every era of James with this prompt /j unless

Warnings: Smut, size kink, daddy kink, jealousy, possessiveness, oral (m receiving), spanking, age gap, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 1 Part 3

Oddly enough, it wasn't your first time bent over a table, not even your first time bent over a table in James's dressing room, but it was still strange to have the boyfriend you recognized watching over you while a younger version of himself rammed into you.

Your naked body bounced on the plastic table beneath you, one of James's hands was in your hair, bunching it in his fist so he could move you however he liked. His other hand was on your hip, only letting go to smack your ass. There were sure to be some confusing bruises to explain... not that anyone should be looking.

"Fuck, she's so tight." James grunted, snapping his hips at a brutal pace, a melodic groan leaving him. He just got off stage and found you in his room with some guy -it was strange to see your older self sucking face with your future partner, especially when they're so fucking hot, he couldn't keep his eyes, or hands, to himself with you.

James wore that black t-shirt and matching black armbands, jeans bunched at his ankles. His long hair had less volume now, that with his new facial hair, something about it made him look like a lion, one who was ready to ravage you.

"Not usually tight." The silver headed man said with a chuckle. He sat on the couch not far away, it wasn't a very big room. He wore a white shirt, blue jeans pushed down while he palmed himself through his boxers.

The younger snorted, staring down at where your bodies connected, watching how you kept sucking him back in for more. "Yeah, well, maybe you're just not doing it right."

James shot him a look. "If she's tight it means she's not fucking enjoying it, dumbass." He stated, hand momentarily stopping on his length. The other ignored him, head falling back in a groan.

Your body was heating up, neglected clit pulsing as tightening the knot in your gut. "Hah-ah! Oh, fuck, so-so fucking- god!" You moaned, gripping the edge of the table so tight your knuckles went white. Finally, he angled his dick just right and you gasped, brushing that high that was quickly approaching. "Daddy!" You cried.

James, the older of the two, paused. The other let out a loud laugh, letting it add to his already above average ego. "Sweetheart," the silver fox spoke, voice low and gravelly as he took a few steps nearer, "say it again."

"Oh, I'll make her say it again." James nearly punched himself, but that seemed like a bad idea in multiple timelines. Instead he took advantage of the fact that he was much bigger and stronger, yanking the younger off of you and knocking him to the wall.

You whined at the sudden lack of friction, that high being ripped from you when you were so incredibly close. You stood up, leaning on the table to keep yourself standing after your knees buckled.

The older grabbed James by the collar of his shirt and held him to the wall. "Fucking bitch, thinking he's better than everyone, thinking he can fuck anything close to right." He spat, eyeing the man. "You look fucking pathetic right now."

"Jamie," you spoke breathlessly, "your dicks are touching and I don't wanna find out how incest babies work in this universe." They both stared at you like you just turned into a cow in front of their eyes.

"C'mere." James said, dropping his younger self and going to you. "Lemme show junior over there what it is to be a daddy." His voice got gradually lower as he leaned into you, lips connecting with your.

He lifted you back onto the table, pulling you right to the edge. He pushed into you slow, letting you get used to the stretch, not that it was much different to younger James. One hand went to your hip, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you tight to his chest.

He held the kiss as he started moving, keeping a steady and rough pace. It's just what you were used to, and you preferred it because he knew where to hit every time, how to make you vision go white. You moaned and whined into the kiss, arms wrapped around him and clawing at his tatted back, broad shoulders marked with battle scars from you.

The younger kept trying to push his way back but James would just elbow him away, effectively silencing his complaints until he was left with just his hand and the view of your sweat slicked body trembling from another man.

The hand on your hip moved to your thigh, thumb going to your clit and rubbing you. You gasped, heading falling back and ending the kiss. James didn't care and moved to your neck, nuzzling into you and marking up the side, sucking and nipping until you were screaming for him. "Daddy! Oh my fucking god, I-ah, cah-! Can't!"

"That's it, that's a good girl, come for daddy, be a good girl and cum on daddy's dick." He encouraged. Your eyes rolled back, a wave of pleasure crashing over you and your body shook, that high you'd been chasing finally hitting you full force. "Oh, there it is, that's good, isn't it?" He mused, kissing your temple and cheek, holding you up right during your post-sex ragdoll stage.

"Fuck, just-just gimme a-a minute or something." The younger asked, tone bordering begging, hand rocketing up and down his achy, leaky length.

James chewed his cheek, thinking it over a moment before picking you up and carrying you over to the couch, getting you on your knees but you face planted into the leather cushions.

"Perfect like that, isn't she?" The blond mused, caressing your cheek with his fingers. He got on the couch in front of you and lifted your head so your lips were pressed against his tip.

"Definitely pretty like this." The older said in agreement, smiling down at you, pushing back into you from behind.

You always told yourself your wanted to be surrounded by James, filled with him. You'd rather be more conscious when it happened, at the same time you don't know if you could handle it, feeling this stuffed.

[tizeline]

Giggling at the fact that Donnie probably has a lot of only child habits like only getting food for himself and eating it Infront of them and getting genuinely annoyed if they try to steal some. Astonished when they borrow anything of his without permission (WHO MOVED MY PENS?!). Being genuinely perplexed when one of his chores gets done randomly 😭

Poor Donnie isn't in on any of the inside jokes probably 😔

LMAO yeah I've been thinking about Only Child Donnie a lot XD

For example, Donnie having no idea how to differentiate between normal sibling bickering and genuine fights. After Raph starts hanging out with Donnie and Leo, he'll get to see way more of that classic sibling bickering in action. And considering Leo's tension with the rest of his family during this time because of the whole Dark Armor incident, he'd worry that Leo and Raph still feel some actual resentment towards each other. Leo and Raph are arguing with each other to the point they start play-wrestling and Donnie is all like "shit shit what do I do they're gonna hurt each other" and the next second Leo and Raph are laughing at random some joke and Donnie is just left confused over the whole interaction because what even was that?? Weren't they mad at each other just a second ago??

I will say though, me and my sibling weren't the type to just share each others stuff freely. Well, we did when we were young, most of our toys we both played with. But maybe because of that we got a bit possessive over our own stuff as we got older (we also shared a room until I was like 10-ish, so we were probably both a bit desparate to become separate induviduals at that point). Point is, if my bastard of a sibling even DARED to step foot into my sacred abode (my room) without my express permission, they would be forced to face my unbridled fury (I'd gently beat them up with pillows)! And if they were to steal as much as a single pencil from my treasury, my wrath would lead me to even more drastic measures (I'd snitch to our parents)!

That being said, I have no idea how The Drax Bros behaved regarding this when growing up. IF they were the type to just yoink each others stuff constantly (which I definitely think is possible) you are completely right that it would drive Donnie up the wall if they did the same to him XD

In my experience and from what I've observed with others, when you have siblings close in age to you, you tend to develop a very intense obsession with everything always needing to be 100% fair and equal. For example, if you're cutting up cake and your siblings piece is as much of a millimeter wider than your own piece, it's basically the end of the world. I can see Leo and Donnie sharing a pizza and afterwards Leo's all outraged over Donnie getting more pizza than him. Donnie's confused cuz they each got an equal amount of slices, but then Leo accuses Donnie of getting all the SLIGHTLY bigger slices and as such got a LITTLE bit more pizza than Leo! Completely unfair!

Actually, Donnie being a math nerd would be good at measuring food in this scenario, his brothers would constantly try to get him to divide any food they're sharing to make sure it's as even and equal as possible. Donnie quickly gets tired of this, but the alternative is the other turtles all arguing with each other over who gets which piece which is even more annoying so he just goes along with it lol.

And oh yeah, Donnie definitely feels quite left out whenever his brothers joke about or even mentions something they did growing up that he did not get to partake in (little does he know that his brothers feels similarly whenever he and April do the same thing and references stuff from their shared childhood that they did not get to be part of)

[dont-tell-anyone-im-here]

Obsession

You may be attracted to your career counselor, but he was obsessed with you.

***TW: Power Imbalance; Stalking; Obsessive Behavior; Breaking and Entering; CNC; Choking; Dirty Talk; Rough Oral; Forced Penetration; Afton/Raglan are not good people so they're written as such***

Tags: Reader Has No Specific Genitalia; Oral M Receiving; Masturbation; Sex Toy; Pet Names (White Rabbit/Bunny); x Reader; Blowjob; Penetration; Cross-Posted AO3

It was hard looking for jobs on your own. Especially in this day and age with the classifieds drowning in ads that aren’t even job listings. You are known as a, “job-hopper”, and in the somewhat-small town that you lived in, it was starting to get difficult to find a position that you hadn’t already filled. Luckily, you were the ideal customer for Mr. Steve Raglan, “Career Counselor Extraordinaire”. (At least that’s what he introduced himself as when you had first met.) Other career counselors had given up on you, not seeing a reason to try to get someone employed if they’re just going to quit within a month. However, he saw dollar signs with you. Why would he push away someone who’s a repeat customer? He’d be more than happy to help you, as long as the checks cleared.

You sought help from this man to find work and it was unfortunate that things had to be professional. Steve Raglan wasn’t the usual type to be the object of your sexual desires. It was rare to find yourself fantasizing about older men that weren’t celebrities that littered magazines and the big screen. Silver foxes of the real world were few and far between, and most didn’t age as gracefully as your career counselor. You admit, you weren’t attracted to him when you had first met. He seemed to be like any other middle-aged man trying to get by with an office job that he hated. The second time you met, he was surprised to see you back, joking that he must be losing his touch if you were back so quick. You found that this dry sense of humor was something that you would look forward to hearing at your appointment by the fourth time you had met. It was during the fifth appointment that you noticed how intensely he looked at you from across the desk when you spoke. You noticed the veins in his forearms as he would hand you paperwork. He had strange, patterned scars burned into his skin that sparked curiosity within you, but you never dared to ask. You noticed how he studied every move you would make, like he was dissecting you in his mind, trying to figure out what exact muscles were used to make your body move like that. After you started to notice the little things, you couldn’t stop. Every time you’d come into his office, he’d shake your hand, and every time you’d try not to pay too much attention to how easily his hand enveloped yours. You’d try not to stare as he would look over his files, even though it gave you a moment to watch him when he wouldn’t notice. You’d try not to squirm in your seat when he’d stare you down from across his desk, tutting about only staying two weeks on the last job.

As much as you had a little crush on your counselor, you were also a little afraid. That intense stare sent shocks to your core but it always left a part of your stomach churning. Those scars made you worry about how strong he had to be to survive what caused them, strong enough to do something to you. Him studying your body as if for dissection could very possibly be the reality of what was going through his mind. His hands were a reminder of how much bigger he is than you. You weren’t sure if your infatuation gave you rose-tinted glasses to ignore those feelings of danger when with him, but it had seemed that way, because what you felt for your counselor was pure lust. It was becoming near impossible to be able to sit through those meetings, to be under his scrutiny and not beg for him to take you on his desk.

This was now the tenth time you’ve met with Steve Raglan. Or, it will be the moment he calls you back to his office. Your knee bounced as you waited, impatience starting to eat away at you as you looked around the waiting room, seeing that you were the only one in the lobby, the office secretary the only other body in the room. The secretary told you that your counselor would see you in ten minutes when you had arrived, and when you checked your wristwatch, you saw that a half hour had passed. You weren’t upset, moreso annoyed. Why have you show up at a certain time if he’s not even going to abide by it? You fidgeted in your seat, switching the bouncing knee to tapping your fingers on the armrest of your chair. The door to your crush’s office opened and the crush himself stood on the other side, extending an arm to hold the door open for you as you as he called your name. You tried not to look too eager as you jumped up from your chair. You quickly made your way into the office, trying to keep your eyes on your feet as you ducked under his arm to get past. You saw in your peripheral that he held out his free hand for a greeting and you expertly ignored it. There was a subtle frown when you passed him without a handshake, putting his hand into his pant’s pocket without a comment on how much he didn’t like that.

“Late for somethin’, white rabbit?” Mr. Raglan asked as he closed the door behind him, watching you take your seat in front of his desk. He went to his coffee maker, and began pouring himself a cup. He looked over his shoulder at you, raising the coffee pot with a quirked brow. You wave your hand, dismissing him as you got comfortable in your seat. Steve sniffed, putting the carafe back in its place then turning, a mug in hand. You shook your head, ‘tsk’ing as you pulled an exaggerated disappointed look.

“You’re the one that’s late. We were supposed to meet 20 minutes ago.” You chided, picking at your nails. A part of you liked being the one to tease him for once. He let out an, “Ah!” as he understood, taking a brief sip of his coffee before explaining himself.

“Last appointment was rough- desperate for a job and can’t even do nights? You’re makin’ me push a camel through a pinhole.”

Odd. You didn’t notice anyone walk out of the office when you were called back. Maybe you just hadn’t seen them- you were looking at the floor when walking in, they must’ve just slipped by. As rational as you found that explanation, something still seemed off. There was a slight unease in your stomach that you fended off with your rationalizations. You were so busy figuring out your thoughts that you didn’t notice your career counselor place himself between you and his desk, leaning back on it and sipping his coffee as he turned his torso to open your work file, angling it so he could read it better at the position he was in. You came back to reality when you felt his leg press against yours. You couldn’t help the wave of heat that rushed through you upon seeing how close he was. His desk was no longer an island keeping you away, he was right there, you could take him, right then. You wanted to, but kept your face to your lap, still picking at your nails. You didn’t want him to see the growing blush on your cheeks, feeling embarrassed at the thought of him seeing how much you worked yourself up over something so insignificant. He frowned. He didn’t like that you weren’t looking at him.

“So-“ He started, taking a quick glance back on his desk to read something on your file then turning back to you, “- serving drunks ‘til 3 am wasn’t the dream job?”

“More like a nightmare job.” You said as you inched your leg away from his. He didn’t like that either, but his quick flame of anger died out when your eyes finally met, able to look at him without a blush caused by his limited touch. He had raised a brow at your comments, waiting for you to elaborate as he took a sip from his mug.

“It would’ve been different if the drunks were at least cute.” You joked, when the counselor didn’t laugh, you sighed. “But the real answer is that I was tired of the bouncer walking me to my car- most nights he’d try to take me to his car instead.”

“Sounds like the perfect gentleman.” Mr. Raglan muttered, taking another sip of his coffee then setting it down on his desk. “So, cross ’bartender’ off future lists?”

You bobbed your head side to side, thinking, “… All the ones with creepy bouncers and customers.”

“That’s all bartending then.”

You slumped back in your seat, caught up in your own defeat as yet another job became unattainable to you. You slipped further in your chair as you thought of anything else you could possibly do as a career, your mind so preoccupied that you didn’t notice your legs interlock with his. But he did. You were advancing his touch, clearly you wanted him. Images and scenarios clipped through his brain of all the terrible things he wanted to do to you. Bend you in half over his desk, tie you to your chair with your legs spread, push your head into the coffee stained carpet and pound into you until your rug-burned cheeks bled. The things he wanted to do to you just in his office.

“Is there anything like stocking? I could put stuff on shelves.” You broke the quiet of the room. As Steve took a couple extra milliseconds to answer, blinking a few times to bring himself back to reality, you finally saw how your knees had pinned him to his spot.

“Sure- we’ll just trade in the pervy bouncer with a pervy grocer.” He said once he got the image of your crying, naked, marked body out of his imagination.

“I feel like a pervy grocer would be more mild-mannered.” You sat back up, freeing his legs from yours, trying to get rid of the sexual power you felt keeping him in his place. He really didn’t like that. You had somehow managed to piss him off for the third time and you’d only been in his office for five minutes. He was going to have to do something about that.

“Seriously though, do you have any stocking jobs? I can ignore whatever awful thing there is about the place- I just need a job.” You sounded desperate. Oh, that was what he was going to do about that, perfect.

“I don’t think I have anything like that.” Mr. Raglan said flatly, knowing damn well that he had about five different offers of exactly what you were asking for. He just wanted to see you beg, something that he could take home with him for the late hours when he can’t sleep.

“Could you check?” You asked, just as flat, annoyed that he seemed to not care. When he just brought his mug to his lips and drank the last few gulps of his coffee, you added a, “Please?”, as sweetly as you could. He sucked air through his teeth, holding a now empty mug, looking at the coffee remnants pool at the bottom, debating whether he wanted to get another cup or not.

“C’mon, for an old friend?” You joked, adding another “Please?” that dripped with melted sugar. He could listen to you say please like that for the rest of his life and not get enough. He hummed as he weighed the nonexistent options. You looked up at him with clasped hands and a slight pout. You were only being silly, you didn’t know that it was just what he wanted. He wanted to see you pout and beg, give him puppy-dog eyes and look up at him pathetically. It would’ve been picture perfect if you were on your knees. He hid his mischievous smile behind a hand as he pretended to rub his face in thought.

“Lemme take a look.” He ended his sentence by putting his mug behind him on his desk. As Mr. Raglan stepped away from his desk, he patted your knee as he passed. It was something subtle, but it was an action that you’d be thinking about for the rest of the week. The counselor went to one of his filing cabinets, flipping through the files until he found what he was looking for. He closed the cabinet then opened the file, glancing through to make sure it was the right one. It was full of blank applications for a grocery store in town, just what you had asked for, but he wouldn’t let you get them that easily.

“Looks like things are already full of hard-working employees.” He said, flipping the applications about in the file as if he was reading documents. You felt that the ‘hard-working’ bit was a jab at you.

“Is there anything you can do?” You asked, your hands still clasped, your pout a little more severe. He wished there was a way to get you on your knees without outting himself as the actual perv that you should be worried about.

“I may be able to pull a few strings.” He gave a small smile and he closed the file, moving to his desk and taking a seat behind it. He picked up his phone and he dialed the number on the applications.

“Let me make a call.” He winks at you as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he listened to the ringing line. No one would pick up though. The number he put in was nonsense, he just wanted you to think he was doing a huge favor for you.

“The number you’re trying to reach is unavailable-” The automated message began, but Steve carried on conversation as if someone was on the other line. You squirmed a bit in your seat, his gaze not leaving you as he began to talk into the blaring receiver.

“Yes, this is Steve Raglan, the career counselor? Yeah, how’re you doing today?”

As your career counselor spoke on the phone, convincing this imaginary person to hire you, you tried to look around his office. Your eyes went from each object in the room. The coffee maker, the little table it sat on, the little trash can under it. But his eyes felt like they were burning into you. Your gaze was magnetically drawn back to him whenever you tried to focus on something else, you felt like you couldn’t look anywhere else but at him. When you finally gave in, making eye contact, he grinned. A chill ran down your spine.

“I know- I know you said that you’re full of stockers over there but I got a very hard worker here that is in a bind.” Mr. Raglan sat back in his chair, uncrossing his legs to push back a bit from under the desk to make room for his long legs. You immediately looked at how his legs spread apart to get comfortable. You could fit perfectly between his thighs, hide under his desk and quietly suck him off as he tried to keep a straight face as he met with his clients. You looked back to his face and he was still staring at you, his grin growing. You looked down to your lap, embarrassed, beginning to feel like it was too hot in this office.

“They’re very experienced with dealing with authority, they take orders well.”

You couldn’t help but think that he meant more than what he was saying. You took a glance back up to see that his eyes never left you. You felt like you were sweating buckets at this point. You started to pick at your nails again, needing something to focus on besides his searing gaze that somehow still felt so dark and cold. Mr. Raglan’s voice picked up, your ears perking to his tone, yet you kept your gaze to your hands.

“I’m willing to put my reputation on the line here- if you can’t hire them, you can take me off your call list.” 

There it was. He was putting his credentials on the line for you. He almost felt too prideful when he saw your eyes widen hearing him. You were convinced that he was willing to go so far for you. He watched you fiddle with your fingers, knowing you were trying not to look at him.

“Yeah, send a fax of the application and I’ll have them fill it out, and I’ll send it right back.”

Steve put the phone on “hold”, pushing a button and setting the phone back on the receiver. His elbows propped up on the arm rests of his chair and he raised hands up, giving the air of a humble brag for his technique of negotiation.

“Am I good, or what?” He said, flashing a smile before getting up, picking up the file of all the applications he had and leaving the room. He had to kill a few minutes to make it look like he was picking up the fax from the secretary. He walked back to the employee common area of the offices, going through the cupboards for the sake of doing something, saying a quick hello to the coworkers that passed him. He walked back out and went into the bathroom, the file still in hand. He felt too clever for this, feeling sinful for being so proud of himself for how smart he was. It was the little details that made the lie all the more believable. Taking out one of the applications, he tucked the file of remaining papers under his arm. He activated the hand drying machine, holding the paper underneath the fan that loudly roared hot air onto it. He ran each sheet of paper under the fan for the allotted time of the machine, getting off-looks from the other employees who had come in to use the restroom or were leaving, (who opted for drying their hands with the paper towels).

When your counselor handed you the application for your new job, it was still warm off the printer.

“Oh thank you, Mr. Raglan, thank you!” You said as you quickly filled the papers out, thanking the counselor over and over in a mantra of gratitude. He took in your thanks, wanting to remember you thanking him repeatedly for when he’s by himself with wandering hands. You have an excited grin when you hand back the papers, his smile felt so genuine as he took the application to fax back out to the employer. You still couldn’t believe that he had stuck his neck out like that for you. You watched as he got up and left the room once again. Your eyes wandered as you waited. You noticed the counselor’s desk phone, and that there wasn’t the usual blinking light of a call on hold. Odd. That unease in your stomach returned. It felt like a primal sense of dread. It disappeared when the door opened, Mr. Raglan smiling as he came in and sat back down at his chair, following your gaze when you glanced at the phone again.

“Ah, looks like they hung up on me.” He frowns, but his smile returns when he gives you his full attention.

“I’ll have to give him a call back.”He placed his hands on top of the files on his desk, folding them neatly as he looked you in the eyes. “I’ll let you know if you got the job or not when I can.”

“Thank you Mr. Raglan! You don’t realize how much this means to me.” You say, slightly bowing your head in gratitude. “Please, if there’s anything I could do for you to repay you- let me know.”

That chimed in his head like church bells. Oh, he could use that. You probably thought maybe a fruit basket or a cheap ticket to a game, but he had other ideas.

You got up from your seat, seeing that now was the right time to leave.

“I know you kinda put your reputation on the line for me, I’d really like to be able to show my gratitude somehow.” You add with a smile, making your way to his office door, him following you to it.

“Oh, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He smiles, opening the door and holding out a hand. You gladly took it, shaking it with a newfound giddiness that could only be from getting a chance that was undeserved. You didn’t know how much he would be thinking about this, going over every single second in his mind over and over, reading too deeply into how grateful you were. You were indebted to him now, and you were going to have to repay that debt, whether you wanted to or not. He watched you walk out of the office, and you could feel his hot gaze on your back as you did, you tried not to shiver.

When you had completely gone, Steve looked at the clock and pretended to debate in his mind, acting like he was trying to make a tough decision before telling the secretary that he’ll be in his office the rest of the day, so he’ll see them tomorrow. They bid their goodbye, giving a small smile and wave as he closed the door and locked it behind him. He reached to his neck and loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, and stood in front of his desk, leaning back on it as he had done when you had first walked in. He stared at the empty chair in front of him, imagining you sitting there, naked, legs spread, and mouth open. He shuddered a breath as he couldn’t help himself undoing his belt buckle and reaching into his pants. God, he was rock hard. He replayed in his mind you begging for him to help you, hearing your pleads echo in his ears, only now asking him for help to make you cum. He didn’t realize he was so close until it was too late, cumming on the empty seat and imagining he had done so on your face, once again, your voice echoing in his head your repeated gratitude of before, now thanking him for his seed decorating your body. His grip on his desk was hard as he panted, your figure fading away as he came down from his high. He rubbed his face with his clean hand, taking a deep breath before finally calming down and out of sheer curiosity, he checked his wrist watch. You had only left his office 7 minutes ago.

As he cleaned up, the inner cogs and mechanisms of his brain began to turn and devise a plan. A plan on how he was going to get that payment out of you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a beautiful day outside, perfect for a nice walk in the neighborhood with a dog on a leash and nothing but the sun and the birds to tag along. Yet Steve Raglan sat in his car, parked at the side of the street in a suburban neighborhood. He looked down at the file in front of him. Its papers were unorganized but he easily found what he searched for, as if he’s been studying the pages for months.

That was because he had been, and it was your file.

Since you’ve become a repeat client of his, he’d become more intrigued by you with each meeting. The intrigue became a dark obsession, and it has now come to a head. He was parked about a block away from your home, feeling that overwhelming self-pride at figuring out when your neighbors were usually out, leaving a suspicious car to go unnoticed in your neighborhood. (At least for the amount of time he predicted he would have with you.) He really was too clever. 

As he glanced at the sidewalks around him, seeing how many people were around, he thought of how long it had been since he had last seen you, and how it was because of the absence of you that he was there. It’d been over five months. You’ve been excelling at your new job at the grocery store. The store manager had called him to say that “he had sent a great employee to him”, and that if “he had any others like you to send them right over!” He scoffed after he had hung up the phone. There wasn’t anyone else like you. That’s why he was obsessed with you.

He got out of his car, closing the door and locking it before pocketing the keys. He began a walk down the block, something he’s grown familiar with. This wasn’t the first time that he’s walked your streets. He preferred to do it at night, memorizing the walk to your house in the dark and taking peeks into your windows from the view of the sidewalk, not wanting to draw too much attention if anyone happened to be looking out the window. He wanted to stare into your windows desperately, to watch you, but he couldn’t hurt this good thing he had going. He could walk past your home at night and see you lounging in your living room, completely unaware he stared at you as he passed your home, it was bliss.

Today, however, was different. He was going to actually go into your home. He really was too smart, he knew everything about you and today he would finally get to execute on his plan. From the outside, it would look like he knocked on your door, and that you let him in. But he was actually going to pretend to knock on your door, and act out you letting him inside. He was going to overstay his welcome, whether you liked it or not, and he was going to get away with it. He knew that you would be home today, he had gotten your schedule from your employer, as an old favor for an old friend. He knew from small talk that you lived by yourself, and that you didn’t have a dog. He had even suggested that you should get a dog, you’re all alone, who knows what could happen.

Steve finally came to your street, holding back his urge to run the rest of the way to your house. As he approached your home he took a quick glance through the windows. You weren’t in the living room. Perfect. As he stood on your front porch, he took a deep breath, taking a final moment to prepare himself for what he was about to do. With the lightest touch, he knocked on the door, his knuckles barely registering on the wood. No response from inside the house. Perfect. He tried the door knob. He hadn’t expected for it to turn with a soft click- he had a screwdriver to jam into the doorframe if it wasn’t- yet the door was unlocked. Perfect. Swiftly he opened the door, peering inside carefully, no one in sight. Perfect. He stepped into your house, closing the door behind him, and locking it. He dropped to a crouch, untying his shoes and leaving them neatly by the entrance, carefully placing his keys in the shoe so as not to make any unnecessary noise. He crept further into your home, sticking to the walls to not creak your floorboards, taking every precaution to not let you know he was there. After checking the kitchen, which was empty, he made his way to the halls, starting to hear a sound he couldn’t quite place. It sounded sloppy, wet. A door in the hall was ajar, the sound coming from there. Another sound joined the wet slapping and he grinned. He realized he actually knew what that sound was. As gently as possible, he opened the door more, slinking inside and quietly closing the door, locking it before finally turning to what was in the room.

He could’ve fallen to his knees seeing the state you put yourself in. Your naked ass in the air, your face pressed into your mattress, unbeknownst to you, giving Steve Raglan full view of you masturbating. One of your hands clawed at the edge of the bed as the other worked between your legs, pumping a dildo in and out of you, desperately trying to get yourself off. Your muffled whimpers could still be heard through the blankets, pulling your head up only to breathe and plead to the open air to make yourself cum. Your arm ached, but your need to satisfy yourself overpowered what fatigue ailed your muscles. You found a compromise by slowly pulling the sex toy out, your moans drawn out like a song, before slamming it back into you with a guttural cry.

“Misterrr...” You drawled from deep in your throat. Steve’s ears perked. He was more than interested in knowing who you were imagining as you fucked yourself, jealous bile rising in his throat at the thought of you thinking of someone else. He could easily walk forward, spread your ass apart and have his way with you, teach you a lesson for thinking someone else could make you like this. His envy quickly changed to pure hunger when you continued your lustful ramblings.

“Mr. Raglan, please…” You begged into the bed, repeatedly pulling the dildo then bottoming out, each squelch punctuated with your helpless whimpers. His mouth went dry when his name left your lips, your words going straight to his cock. He was already erect seeing you in this position, but now knowing that you were in the throes of ecstasy because of the mere thought of him? He couldn’t take his dick out fast enough. His grip was hard on the metal of his belt, not wanting to alarm you of his presence. He didn’t want you to know he was here, not yet. This was a surprise for him, and he wanted to return the favor with a surprise of his own. He felt he could already burst watching you lose yourself over him. He wanted to make you never forget him, no matter how hard you tried to fuck yourself, it could never be him. He was more than happy to remind you. He carefully took off his belt and set it aside, rarely taking his eyes off you, especially when your pace began to quicken. His hand wrapped around his hard cock, swiftly pulling it over the waistband of his boxers and matching your pace, watching intently how tightly you wrapped around the sex toy. He bit back his own moans as he imagined it was his cock you were rocking back into, his teeth scraping his bottom lip to hold himself back.

Your hand became erratic, your rhythm lost to the coil in your stomach tightening to a point you felt sore. You planted your face into the blankets as you pushed your arm through the last bit of energy it had, you cried out. A warm liquid coats your legs as you finally came, your back arching as you rode out your euphoria, panting as if you haven’t breathed in hours. Your hand fell to the bed, leaving the dildo to slowly fall out of you and thump to the mattress. Steve could’ve screamed watching your relaxed muscles push the toy out of you, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and with a long stride, he was directly behind you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, finally out of your stupor enough to feel like you were being watched.

But it was too late.

A cold hand slapped across your mouth and you felt a weight on your back as someone leaned onto you. You could feel something hard rubbing against your ass and you whimpered against the strong hand, feeling tears begin to prick your eyes as the situation settled in. Who is this? How’d they get in? What were they going to do to you? Were you going to die before or after they were done with you? Your nose stung as the tears pooled in your eyes, you felt so vulnerable, so scared, starting to feel sobs build in your chest as you found yourself begin to pray to whatever higher power existed to save you from this. You felt there was no other option. You were cornered and you were alone with someone who had intentions that you didn’t even want to fathom.

“Aww, what’s wrong, white rabbit? I thought this was what you were fantasizing about.” A voice cooed into your ear. Your eyes went wide, your tears sliding down your cheeks as you recognized the voice. You knew who was behind you, and you were sure you didn’t find  that comforting. You looked over your shoulder to see Mr. Steve Raglan. He was so close to you, your lips could’ve met if it wasn’t for his rough hand muzzling your lips. There was something in his eyes, something that made fear shoot down your spine to the bottoms of your feet. You felt disgusted with yourself as a tinge of excitement pooled in your groin as you saw he was naked from the waist down. Of course this would turn you on.

But, he wasn’t wrong. You were fantasizing about him, wanting him behind you in this exact position, fucking you. It could become a reality now and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As much as you wanted to fight against this, a part of you knew he didn’t have to take you by force. You wanted to say something, to tell him all he had to do was ask and you would’ve let him have his way with you, but his hand was firm on your lips, muffling what little noises you could make. You watched him as his other hand started trailing up your thigh to your ass, spreading one of your cheeks apart for his dick to slide right in between. 

“Perfect fit.” He grunts, leaning back for a brief moment so he could take in how neatly your ass wrapped around his cock. You couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into him, an animalistic instinct wanting him to be pressed against you once more. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned back down, it felt degrading.

“So quick for your next fix.” His teeth ran along the side of your neck before placing a chaste kiss behind your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “But you want the real thing, don’t you?”

You nodded, whining against his hand as your ass ground his hips. He let out a breathy moan, desperate, wanton. He was as needy as you were, his free hand beginning to roam your naked body as if he couldn’t feel enough of your skin. It was as if he was starving, a crazed man who couldn’t be satisfied. Your fear, though still very present, ebbed away at the edges, feeling a wave of authority surge through you as you realized just how desperate Mr. Raglan was.

You could control this situation if you wanted to.

But right now, even though you knew how fucked this was, what you really wanted was for him to do whatever he wanted with you. His free hand came back up your hips, slowly reaching around, calloused fingertips tickling your skin as he teased you, only touching your pelvis, somehow scraping past without actually touching you. You felt his dick pulsing between your ass cheeks and you moaned against his hand. He let go of your mouth, moving down your jaw, down your neck, gripping your shoulder tightly as a new way to keep you in place underneath him.

“Mr. Raglan, please-” you breathed, pulling your hips away from him to allow his dick to slide right against your entrance, getting onto your elbows to ready yourself. You heard him laugh aloud at how ready you were to have him in you. “I want you to-”

You didn’t even finish your request. He grabbed himself and was pushing into you. You gasped. It was burning. It was burning inside of you and you loved it. Fuck, you wanted this burn to overtake you, to completely consume you. As you caught your breath, Steve groaned, blinking hard as he gathered himself. His plan was going perfectly. This was everything he wanted and more. (Well, he kind of wanted more of a fight, but beggars can’t be choosers.)

He was the perfect size for you, fuck, his dick felt exactly like you had imagined it would, if not more amazing. He filled you completely and you couldn’t ask for anything better. His fingers drummed once before gripping your hips, finally back in his own body after the thrilling experience of just entering you. You felt better than he had imagined, if not more amazing. He had been dreaming about this, obsessing about this for months on end, never leaving his train of thought, and he finally had it. He leaned forward against your arched back, one hand moving slowly up your body from your hips, and wrapping lightly around your throat, his lips by your ear, breathing lowly. You felt his fingers begin to squeeze your neck, your breathing hitched into a moan.

“This is what you get for teasing me with that body of yours.” He says into your ear, his hold on your hip growing tighter. “You come into my office, sat there with your legs spread- god, you wanted me to fuck you right then and there, didn’t you? You’re such a slut.”

Steve began to move his hips.

He wasn’t slow or gentle and it didn’t matter if you weren’t ready, he did as he pleased and you were meant to just go along for the ride. His grip was tight around your throat and you could feel your face growing hot with blood gathering in your head. You felt amazing. Your eyes rolled back as you wasted what little air you had on uncontrollably moaning. You choked out a whiny, “Please,” that he rewarded by releasing his vice, allowing you to take a few deep breaths before his grasp tightened once again, earning a moan that he found particularly delicious.

“Listen to you whine- it’s pathetic.” He grunts under his breath, slowing down for a moment so that you can actually hear him over the sound of your skin slapping together with each thrust.

“I knew you wanted me to destroy you the moment your skin touched mine- that first handshake was enough to tell me just how desperate you were for someone to show you how it’s done.”

You can’t respond with words, only able to whimper and groan the more he choked and fucked you. He released his grip around your throat and as you gasped for air, his fingers massaging the sides of your throat. It was almost a nice feeling, especially coupled with the quick pecks he left at the corner of your jaw. But then his hand moved up under your chin, his fingers digging into your cheeks to force your mouth open.

“I want to hear you. I want to fucking hear you tell me how desperate you are for me.” He demands, his pace picking up again, throwing you into moans. Your jaw hurt from being pried open, his nails stabbing into your skin, but you still couldn’t give an answer. Not getting what he wanted, you felt his hand on your hip let go, then his arm wrap around your waist. You felt yourself being lifted off your elbows to an upright position on your knees, his dick reaching a new spot inside of you. The moan that escaped you was almost unnecessarily loud. You felt a chuckle rumble against your back, he was laughing at you, though it was between his own quiet, breathless moans.

“That’s not what I told you to do.” He hisses, though he didn’t let up, knowing you’d struggle to get anything out other than sounds of ecstasy.

“Hng- I was- fuck- so des- ah!- ‘perate,” You’re finally able to spit out. He slowed, allowing you to speak more. “I wanted you- fucking christ, I want you so bad-“

Steve took a hefty bite into your neck, sucking and grinding his teeth with your skin between, your groan mixed with the sound of his pelvis hitting your ass over and over in an unrelenting fuck that made you feel as if your body would soon give out. When he pulled away, it was already beginning to bruise. He thought the hue of red looked wonderful on you.

“If you want my dick so bad-” Without warning he pulled completely out of you, making you cry out upon feeling an emptiness you’ve never experienced before. He let go of you, your body collapsing onto the bed, you hadn’t realized he was the only thing holding you upright. As you collect yourself, whining about how close you were to cumming, you looked up and found him standing at the edge of the bed, hovering over you. You licked your lips at the sight of his treasure trail to his erect cock, glistening from being inside you, now inches away from your mouth.

“Why don’t you choke on it.” He finishes, grabbing the back of your head and forcing your gasping mouth around him. For the first time you heard him moan. Really moan. It was intoxicating, you instantly wanted to make him do that again, you needed to hear him make that noise again. Maybe if you were good, you would. His dick tasted like you and you hated how much you loved it, living up to being a so-called “slut”. You opened the back of your throat, doing everything you could to take him in entirely. You let him hold your head in place as he fucked your mouth, more moans escaping him that you rewarded by taking him even deeper. Your teeth dragged along his shaft and you heard him hiss- the sharp sting of his hand slaps your cheek.

It wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark, but it was hard enough to tell you to, “Knock that shit off.” The sudden slap did, however, cause you to lose focus on keeping your airway open, and you were now choking on the dick that was halfway down your throat. Your chest seized, but he didn’t let you move, still deep in your mouth. It seemed your struggling only made him more excited, his grunts increasing the more you gagged. You were able to wiggle your arms out from under your body and reach for his legs, tapping one of his thighs twice as if asking for a tap out in a wrestling match.

Surprisingly, Steve listened, pulling out of your mouth, letting you cough and catch your breath. You could feel tears streak your face as you looked up at him with bleary eyes, and he grinned. The very same grin you saw when he had gotten you the job at the grocery store. That familiar feeling of unease churned in your stomach, if it was anymore intense you would be nauseous. It was then the fog of hormones cleared and the reality of what was currently happening came upon you.

Finally, it registered to you that he had been planning this.

What was happening right now, at this moment, was all part of a scheme he designed. Him getting you the job, him breaking into your home, him fucking you. You weren’t sure what the outcome of the plan would be. You hoped it wasn’t with your dead, naked body in bed.

But you’d be damned if he murdered you because you were a bad lay.

Not knowing if you were doing this out of your own will to survive, (or if you were just so horny you couldn’t help yourself,) you looked him in the eye, and took his cock into your mouth to the hilt. You saw his eyes roll back, and the moan that emitted from him was enough to tell you that you would not be dying tonight.

“Oooh, white rabbit,” He purred, his eyes returning to yours, watching as you drew back and pressed the flat of your tongue to the underside of his dick, allowing him to easily slip in and out of your throat.

“You’re everything I’ve dreamed,” He continues, holding the sides of your head as he gently rocked into your mouth.

“Keep doin’ that an’ I might just keep you with me forever.” He managed to wink at you. You weren’t sure if he meant that as a life partner or as a prisoner.

Your spit collected in his pubes, your chin now coated with a mix of your spit and his pre-cum, not breaking your eye contact with him. Your tongue wrapped around his dick, enjoying the sweet noises he was making. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him more, the grunt he made was almost primal. His grip on your head grew and his pace quickened, you knew he was going to cum, and this time he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Your lips pressed tightly around his cock, keeping it in your mouth when he finally came down your throat. You took it completely and compliantly, gratefully swallowing all of his cum. You licked your lips and upon realizing that some had dribbled out of the corner of your mouth, your tongue darted out to finish your meal. But Steve’s strong hand grabbed your jaw, stopping you. He leaned down, pulling you up to meet him and the flat of his tongue licked away the cum before you could, continuing its stripe onto your lips, and into your open maw. You moaned into his mouth as your tongues curled around each other and he sucked yours as he pulled away. He finished with a quick peck on your pouting lips, still keeping you a centimeter away, his words brushing you as he muttered, 

“You’re such a good bunny-” He kisses you again, this time leaving you dizzy- “Swallowing without even asking-“ He kisses you a third time- “Oh, you’re everything to me.”

You weren’t sure you were just playing along with his plan anymore. All the things he was doing, all the things he was saying to you were only making you hornier and hornier. Your core felt like it was on fire, begging to be touched by him, wanting to be fucked, wanting to finally cum because of him. You didn’t care that he had set all of this up, you didn’t care that he had broken into your home, you didn’t care that he was taking advantage of you. You just wanted him to make you cum. So you begged for it.

“Mr. Raglan…” You breathed against his lips, letting him kiss you between your statements, “Please- I need you to make me cum-“ Another kiss, lingering longer, his harsh lips making yours feel pillowed when he pulled away.

“Please make me cum.” You pleaded. The grin on his face looked maniacal.

“White rabbit, you only had to ask.” He drops you back down to the bed, pushing your shoulders down, your back flat against the mattress. The air hitched in your lungs when Steve harshly grabbed your legs and pushed your knees damn-near either side of your head, bending you in half as he leaned on top of you, pinning you in the position.

“I’ve been wanting to hear you beg for me to make you cum for so long.” He sighs. “Oh bunny, you look so good under me like that.”

You hissed as he bit into the backs of thighs as one of his hands left your knees, skimming down your body until it fell off, leaving your mind to race as to what it was doing. You were quickly distracted by his sharp teeth in your flesh again.

“It’s too bad that gorgeous mouth of yours sucked me dry.” He tutted. You felt his hand return, along with a familiar feeling of silicone.

“I’ve been dreamin’ of cummin’ in you,” The dildo you were masturbating with when he arrived was in his hand, the tip playing at your entrance, making you whimper.

“Ya know, I should punish you for taking away that pleasure.” He pulled the toy away completely, your whine choked back when his other hand grabbed your throat swiftly and squeezed. Fear pumped your blood, unfortunately only making you want him more. You lifted your chin as much as you could in the position you were in, giving him more access to your neck, your eyes half-lidded and watching him, waiting for him to do what he saw fit. He chuckled, knowing that he had you wrapped around his finger, that you would do anything for him now, just as he had planned.

“But I think makin’ you wait this long is punishment enough.”

The dildo was slammed into you and the noise you let out was garbled between a cry and some noise an animal would make. In the position you were currently in, the toy reached a new spot in you that you’ve never felt before, and each pump drew a whiny moan out of you, you windpipe still being squeezed by his strong hand.

“Those noises you make- I could get hard again just hearin’ ‘em.” His hand let go of your throat, his fingers now playing at your hairline at the nape of your neck, his thumb on your bottom lip, playing with how swollen it was. He bit into your thighs again, leaving behind dark marks that made you cry out in pain that sank down into groans of pleasure the more he fucked you with your toy.

“Oh, make those noises for me, white rabbit.” He says against your skin, his hand moving the dildo faster and harder into you. You had found the more you heard it, the more you loved the pet name he had given you. You didn’t know why he called you ‘white rabbit’ or ’bunny,’ but you didn’t want to bother asking. You loved that it was yours and it was something that you could always be for him. What you loved the most about it was how he always said it so adoringly, bordering on obsessively- and you realized what this was all about.

Obsession.

Steve Raglan was obsessed with you and he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had marked you, until he had claimed you, needing you to only be for himself. No one else will be able to fuck you again. Not only because you knew that he would never let it happen, but also because you knew that you would only be thinking about him. Considering everything, that wasn’t a shock. How could you ever be with someone else after this?

His thumb on your lip dared to enter your mouth, marveling how warm and wet it was and how soft your tongue was as it lapped the calloused pad of his thumb, the ridges of your teeth biting into it. He sighed dreamily as you sucked on his thumb, a whine in your throat when you felt like your body might give out.

“Are ya gonna cum for me? So soon?” His voice was in a mocking tone yet you still answered with a whimpered, “yes,” and screwed your eyes shut to focus on the knot in your stomach growing so tight it genuinely hurt.

He thought that your head might explode from how red it was getting. From the position he forced you in, the blood collecting in your head was enough to make your face glow and grow hot to the touch. The current image he was seeing of you was something he would take with him for the rest of life. He knew he would be thinking of this encounter on his deathbed, feeling nothing but bliss at the memory of taking advantage of you. (Though, with the way you were moaning, he didn’t really think this could be considered taking advantage.)

“Look at me, bunny. I wanna see you come undone.” He demands. You’re able to roll your eyes open and lock your gaze with his. His eyes bore into your very being and it felt like it was setting your very soul on fire, finally sending you over, the knot releasing. His grip was hard on your face, making sure you kept your eyes on him as your orgasm took over your whole body. Your groan was long and drawn out with a mumbled version of his name, your eyes struggling to keep open from how hard the waves of pleasure hit you.

As you struggled to catch your breath, he pulled you towards him and kissed your forehead tenderly, then allowed you to lay back on the bed, letting your eyes close. His body slowly got off yours, allowing your legs to drop unceremoniously onto the mattress with a slight bounce of the springs. The dildo was still inside you, and Steve watched with a hungry eye as your relaxed muscles pushed it out for the second time today. Fuck, he could never get used to that.

Your breathing finally slowed, your body sore from holding positions for him despite lack of flexibility. You felt him get off the bed and upon hearing the jangling of a belt you lazily opened your eyes. He rolled his shoulders and neck as he tucked his shirt into his pants. He looked back over his shoulder at you, and he broke into a grin seeing you still a sweaty mess on the bed. He came over to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning back to capture your lips with his in a breathtaking, passionate kiss. He pulled away with a soft groan, feeling a raising anger that he couldn’t stay longer, but unfortunately he had business at a certain abandoned pizzeria to take care of, (the new security guard was getting too comfortable to his liking,) and he knew if he left his car any longer it would look more suspicious than it already does.

He looked at you and put a hand on your cheek, kissing you again, more softly this time, as if that was a sufficient enough goodbye for what you just endured. His hand taps your cheek before it slips off your face and he stands, heading for your bedroom door. You watched, dumbstruck that he was just going to leave without saying a word, without saying anything about what just happened.

“Will you come back?” Your voice is so soft you thought he wouldn’t hear it, but he does, stopping briefly to answer you before closing the door behind him.

“Oh, white rabbit,” Mr. Raglan smirks over his shoulder, “I always come back.”

[alillenn]

I feel like I'm the only person who doesn't headcanon Jimmy and Curly as childhood friends. Idk why but I see them as meeting later in life as adults. Maybe it's that Curly says "I've known him for a long time," instead of something like "I've known him forever," or "I've known him my whole life," or something along those lines. I just think Curly would say something to allude to an even bigger chunk of time that they've known each other if that were the case, but maybe that's just how my brain works.

I think they'd be in their mid to late 30s with Curly being the older one by a few years when canon takes place and probably in their early 20s when they meet for the first time.

I think the way they meet is something like a mutual friend introduces them. They do share a friend group so that's not unlikely. Jimmy is standoffish and intimidating because he's never been good at meeting new people, and who was this dork that his friend was trying to introduce him to? In reality, Curly is way cooler than Jimmy and he can feel that. It makes him insecure about his place in the friend group.

Eventually, Jimmy realizes Curly isn't too bad. They even become closer friends with each other than either of them were with the mutual friend that introduced them.

Curly's surprisingly good at handling Jimmy's irrational thought process when he's having a bad day. He's a grounding force that can absorb the strays that Jimmy throws at him and guide him toward something more productive. To an extent, of course. Jimmy also knows how to hurt someone with surgical precision that even Curly has no defenses for. Jimmy knows when he goes too far, though, and has his ways of apologizing. None of which ever include the words "I'm sorry," of course, but Curly is generous enough to read between the lines. More generous than Jimmy deserves sometimes.

Jimmy may not be great with words, but when Curly can't muster the strength to get out of bed or leave the house, Jimmy has no problem hanging out on his couch or at the foot of his bed just to keep him some company. He knows what it's like to want to crawl into a hole and not come out, and sometimes another person just existing around you in silence is enough to help you snap out of it.

Both of them drink and smoke pretty heavily, and they enable each other horribly in that way. Constant shot challenges and trying to out-drink each other. Weekends become a blur from 5 pm Friday night to 6 am Monday morning. They grow out of this for the most part by their late 20s but not before both of them spend a night in the drunk tank and Jimmy loses his license once.

Curly is the first one to clean up. He wants something more out of life than his current reality. Luckily for him, he meets a recruiter for a long haul space freighter company who's hiring and offers (unpaid) on-the-job training, no college degree required! What an opportunity!

It's hard, being away from everything you've ever known for months on end, traveling to planets and space stations you never get to actually see for customers you never get to know carrying unknown cargo that must be valuable, because it's protected better than your own sleeping quarters.

There's a distance between Curly and Jimmy the first time he returns. Their friends throw a party, and Jimmy is genuinely happy to see him again, even if he is pissed that he decided to leave for some stupid job. Things are almost like they were before. Almost. Curly doesn't drink as much, and he doesn't smoke at all, not wanting to get addicted again before his next mission and all that.

It's like Jimmy's meeting him for the first time again. Sure he's still the same in the ways that matter, but... he's different. He's changed. And Jimmy hasn't.

Things never quite go back to how they were, but nothing ever does, right? They're both in their 30s now, they can't keep living like they're 25. It's a miracle neither of them ended up with a kid amongst all the other dumb shit they've done. Curly's always been a romantic, waiting until he finds "the one," whatever that means, before he ditches the condoms. And Jimmy's sperm count is too low to make unprotected sex a meaningful risk. Juvenile behavior aside, they still make the most of the time that they do get together.

It's during one of these "off seasons" that Jimmy isn't able to pretend. He got fired about a month or two ago, and his unemployment is going to dry up soon. A lightbulb goes off in Curly's head. Turnover is pretty high at Pony Express, and another crewmember just quit after this most recent mission ended.

It takes a lot of convincing and breaking through Jimmy's reinforced walls, but Curly finally persuades his best friend to join him. Living on a spaceship is better than living on the streets. For the first time in years, they'll get to see each other more than a few times every other year. Who knows, they'll be seeing each other every day, maybe they'll even get sick of each other.

Just because Curly's co-captain now doesn't mean his best friend can jump the line. Jimmy has to climb the ladder the same as everyone else did. But connections do matter in this business, and Curly has always vouched for his friend. It's only a few more years before Curly gets the captain's seat, and he has just the person in mind to fill the chair to his left.

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

A while ago I posted about how one of my favourite part of reading canon jily is when they're a bit older and Lily is looking back in retrospect. The part where James shows her how he gets that this war that's looming over them, it's bigger, older, than they are and even though the world feels like it's ending his top priority is that they remember to enjoy the happy moments. To live in those moments.

Jily has always been a hot cup of tea on a cold and rainy day for me. I hope these fics give you a short break from life, even if it's just for a moment.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries.

These first few fics are all by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Abi's characterisation of Lily and James as individuals are so special to me. How she writes jily is perfect - I mean the banter, the tension, the overall dynamic between them is just on point!

basic maths

Euphemia cuts Sirius off sharply. “I was simply verifying whether this is indeed the same Lily Evans whose name is written under my dining room table with a heart around it.”

or: Lily meets the parents and James tries not to hyperventilate. over and over and over again.

we suffer in silence

"It's fine, Evans," James interrupts, waving off her apology and offering a reassuring smile. "You've always been an exception to the rule." A hint of warmth spreads through Lily at his words. "You've never liked rules." He chuckles softly, his lips quirking up in a lopsided grin. "Which is why I never had a difficult time liking you."

or: James has had a bad day and Lily gives her best go at cheering him up

I've already made a whole post about how much I love this fic with my favourite quotes and everything, but god please if you read anything today let it be Abi's jily fics because they are legendary.

star light, star bright

It's seventh year, somehow, that clinches the case, claiming the grand prize in the annals of Lily Evans's misfortunes. Because, as it turns out, harbouring feelings for James Potter while also navigating the precarious terrain of friendship with him is a fate crueller than death.

or: James keeps accidentally touching Lily and she's about to lose her mind

amenable parameters

“Truth or dare, Lil?” “Dare,” she replies without hesitation, leaning back into the worn leather booth. “Obviously.” Hestia’s eyes gleam. “Go snog Potter.”

or: lily gets brave and james's patience is rewarded

here lies

James can't hold his drink, or his affections

the start of (something) new

“Oh, really?” Petunia crosses her arms. “What’s his name then?”

Lily pauses here, but only for a moment as her mind flashes back to the field at Jubilee Gardens. “James,” she says confidently. “James Potter.”

TW: this fic does depict a slightly descriptive panic attack.

Lily you are so valid for looking. For those of you who've seen the AU rec list I just posted, please know that this fic is the reason why I added all those footballer!james fics (well this fic and the euros).

common ground

Lily pauses, suddenly aware of James’s intense gaze. “What? Why are you…” Heat rushes to her cheeks, and she hates it. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just…it’s a good look on you, Evans.” “What is?” she asks, self-consciously. His grin widens. “Mischief.”

sidewalk chalk, covered in snow

She didn’t mean to get used to any of them.

or: Lily Evans is strictly anti-Marauders…until she isn't. one by one.

waiting for the light to take us in

James removes his glasses again. “Evans…” He searches for something to say and settles on, “You don’t even like flying.”

“I could like flying,” Lily says, shrugging. “I like you.”

He doesn’t take that bait in the way she wants, and her heart sinks just a bit more. Instead, he chews at his lip, considering and considering and considering some more. Lily wants to scream.

A reminder that even though it seems like others may have it harder, you deserve a break too.

Questions and Answers by lizardcookie (on ao3)

The simple question of whether or not they're dating doesn't exactly have a simple answer. Seventh Year Jily.

A Very Sick Dear by Nostalgicdragonfly (on ao3)

It's a very rare disease, but James gets it anyway and he has to endure the pain of having the favorite flower of the person he loves growing in his chest. He's been hiding his struggles. Lily loves roses yet James is the one getting cut by their thorns. But when a new healer arrives and things get out of hand, a lot would depend on whether or not James accepts his only treatment.

or James has hanahaki disease

Thank You For The Music by @thelighthousestale

Lily Evans is homesick during her first year of Hogwarts. Then she hears a familiar tune.

Erasmus Lovegoods’s Guide to Brewing Love Potions also by @ /thelighthousetale

At the start of every school year, the Ministry of Magic distributed leaflets to all students taking potions classes regarding the regulations and legality of highly controlled potions.

Lily Evans thought the Ministry would probably have more success in decreasing illegal potions brewing on the castle grounds if they didn’t give such detailed instructions about the potions in its published propaganda literature.

Of course, every year's most popular leaflet was the one warning about the dangers of brewing love potions.

Or how an accidental explosion in NEWT-level potions finally forced Lily and James to confront their feelings.

falling into place by @charmingwillow

Lily overhears something that maybe she shouldn't have.. things sort of happen from there.

Limbo by Random-Musings (on ff.net)

Lily's sour Hogsmeade weekend takes an unexpected turn.

The next few fics are all from it's about the Gazing collection by @firefeufuego. I recommend this collection to my friend who doesn’t read jily and the first fic alone had her texting me "I get why you love them so much and I also get why you want James Potter"

(get on out of your seat) all eyes on me

As James stops to catch his breath, he also catches Lily’s eye, already fixed on him in the blatant, unblinking way he hasn’t seen since she used to verbally eviscerate him for minutes on end. It hits with the same mortifying heat as it always did then, when he used to stand there watching her yell at him and imagine her mouth doing everything else. He’s ridiculously grateful for whoever throws the ball straight towards his face for saving him from the fate of just standing there, watching her watch him with his dry mouth open for the rest of eternity.

In a movement of pure reflex, he grabs the ball out of the air and starts back towards the end of the pitch before Orie comes out of nowhere and takes his legs out from under him. Winded and disoriented, James sighs at the universe’s rather unsubtle visual metaphor. Is it even worth getting up again when he just keeps falling and falling and falling for her?

(soft spoken in the dead of night) all eyes on you

Lily has watched him do this multiple times before and it’s just tea and it’s just James and there should be nothing special about this particular moment, except that the sight of him, the fact of him, is suddenly earth-shattering.

Something like nostalgia fills her in a flood, only it’s the future she’s longing for, a future she can see with absolute clarity. The features James inherited from his parents are so faithfully recreated on him that it’s easy to imagine him at their age, with a shock of white, still unfairly thick hair framing a face lined by a lifetime of laughter, making her a cup of tea exactly the way she likes it and smiling as she teases him.

Don't be fooled by the summery, this is pure self indulgent smut. I complain a lot about pretentious people but the Austen and Keats reference had me swooning. The myth of Eros and Psyche is probably one of my favorites so…

in the morning when i wake or the morning after

With trembling hands, James brings the smaller piece of parchment closer to his face and starts to read.

To the love of my life,

You idiot. Get back here.I’ll be in your room.

Lily.

Surface Pressure by @eastwindmlk

Lily dealing with the weight of her own expectations in 7th year

no, i could never give you peace by @kay-elle-cee

James blinks. “Are you breaking up with me, Evans?” he jokes softly, resting his hand on hers. It’s a joke, but her body tenses and it immediately puts him on edge. The silence that follows is excruciating.

“I’m not doing anything.” Her nails begin to tap on the mug again—a nervous habit that James spots immediately. “I just think we should have a conversation.”

Trust Kels to serve Order!jily angst and pair it with one of my favourite songs of all time

bury it and rise above by @startanewdream

"James? Do you believe in magic?"

Or Lily is a Witch. James is a Muggle. It's not easier.

When It's You by idreamofjily (on ao3)

James is naturally affectionate and Lily really isn't. But maybe she can make an exception, if the way her stomach drops every time James touches her is any indication.

desiderium by @missgryffin

Sometimes all it takes is champagne and a slow dance, and then there's no going back.

The Vow also by @ /missgryffin

When he was thirteen-going-on-fourteen, James Potter did something truly, unbelievably stupid. Now that he’s seventeen-going-on-eighteen, he has to deal with the consequences.

Accidental Magic also by @ /missgryffin

What else is there to do after confessing feelings in the middle of the night than spend a lazy Saturday in bed?

Are You Experienced? by @annabtg

James Potter decides to ask Lily Evans to a Muggle live music show. This noble mission, however, requires a series of steps he is entirely clueless about: from procuring the tickets to finding the correct outfit, and most importantly, to spending an evening with Lily Evans without making an absolute fool of himself.

Also including the gorgeous cover art by @constancezin

by the lake by @possessingtheproperspirit

james finds lily by the lake.

not in need of a knight by @thejilyship

“If they start something, I’m going to finish it.” James said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And if it ends with you in the hospital wing?” “What do you care?” “Do you really think I’d bother to argue with you so much if I didn’t care?” Lily said, breathing sharply through her teeth.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Wrapped In Red [Commander Fox x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: When a long-time friend of yours in the Galactic Senate invited you to one of the upcoming galas, you envisioned a night of lavish apparel, drinking, dancing, and dodging the attempts of too-friendly senators. Added security had not been a part of it, but it’s non-negotiable following an attempt on your friend’s life. Fortunately, you can make the best of a bad situation by making friends with your bodyguards — Clone troopers of the Coruscant Guard, including Marshal Commander Fox himself.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader, save for the color of her dress and accessories. Reader is the friend of an unspecified senator nicknamed “Aspen”. Political assassination attempt [off-screen, more focus is on the aftermath]. Brief reference of a riot and (civilian) violence against Clones. Elements of the ‘Lady/Knight’ or ‘Bodyguard Crush’ dynamics. Forced proximity. Reference and allusion to alcohol. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Some use of Mando'a. Prompt is highlighted in red. Requested by @returnofthepineapple from her previous account. 

Word Count: 10,817

For the past couple of years, you’ve been living a quiet life on one of Coruscant’s neighboring planets. Though you were born there, the hustle and bustle of Coruscant proved more than you could handle as you grew older. You longed for some place less choked by pollution, politics and power-mad bastards. 

So, just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, you spread your wings and left the labyrinth-like nest. 

People dear to your heart still lived there, so you never left Coruscant completely behind you. 

One such person—a childhood friend—you’ve managed to remain quite close with in spite of your relocation, and their involvement in the Galactic Senate. Rising through the upper echelons in the political scene to make it into a senatorial position had taken time, but the friend you knew best as Aspen had never been the type who could be easily swayed from their goals, or their sense in doing the right thing. 

Thinking of you often, Aspen liked to send you invitations to some of the millions of events taking place on Coruscant at any given time. Mostly small things, like seasonal markets or something related to various hobbies and interests. 

“A certain someone I know would love the concert they're holding in the entertainment district this coming Zhellday!”

“Blast… I’m going to be busy that day! But you’re the best, Aspen.”

On rare occasions, the invitations Aspen gave you were to much bigger things than crafting workshops or concerts. 

The most recent of these larger invitations is to an upcoming gala being held at the very end of the month, meant to cap off the long proposal period of very important—yet divisive—bills and other legislation to the Republic. You knew from past experience this would be a very, very long month for Aspen with no shortage of headaches. They were probably ready to beg you to attend the gala if it came down to it. 

It took only a short moment of thought before coming to a decision upon receiving the electronic invite; hoping to surprise them with good news, a message was left with a member of their senatorial staff. 

Hey, Aspen, just thought I’d let you know I got your invitation to the upcoming gala. I know you’re busy, so you don’t need to convince me to attend. I’d be happy to come and see you. The gala sounds like fun. Already looking forward to it! 

You’ve attended a few parties with Aspen in the past, but you can’t recall one of this scale or importance. There were the small fundraisers where you ate so many jogan fruit tarts together you were nearly sick. Promotional campaigns where bets were made on how many flutes of champagne Aspen’s competitors would end up sucking back before the end of the night. Public appearances where you stood beside (or in place of) your childhood friend’s family to support and celebrate the hard work they’ve put into the planet you called home for a long, long time. 

Making the kind of differences Aspen hoped for in the galaxy would often be an uphill battle. You’ve regularly joked it was a good thing that they’ve always been a fan of climbing in all the time you knew them. 

By the time you made it to Coruscant, less than a week before the gala, you were faced with the horrible discovery of just how close Aspen had come to falling from those lofty heights.

You’re planet-side for all of five minutes—busy wrestling your things together in the spaceport terminal—before you find yourself face-to-helmet with a pair of white-armored men. By the way they had begun marching in the direction of the baggage claim from the moment you got there and the deliberateness of their stride, you had the feeling they were not simply on patrol. 

These soldiers—Clones—part of the Coruscant Guard, judging by the red paintwork, had been waiting for you.  

The rest of your luggage continued to sit on the revolving conveyor belt as you spoke with the shocktroopers for the next few minutes, trying to figure out what was going on in spite of the travel-fatigue. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time on Coruscant has seen more than their fair share of regular commuters and far-away travelers getting stopped by terminal security forces, so that in itself is not out of the ordinary. 

Getting stopped by members of the Guard, those who dealt with riots and political escorts… That was more unusual. It meant whatever was going on was pretty karkin’ serious. (You’re not in trouble, are you?) Comply. Be polite. They don’t sound angry yet when they start asking basic questions to confirm your identity. 

Starting with your name and date of birth, one of the troopers brings up his datapad clipped to his utility belt to verify your answers against information in their database. The other silently gathers the rest of your baggage from the carousel the next time it comes around, preventing some petty criminal from getting their hands on whatever's inside. Between giving the troopers the requested information, a million thoughts race all at once while wondering whether or not you’ll be asked to come with them soon enough. Unless the Corries are hurting for work so badly that they’re now working spaceport security, whatever this is about is undoubtedly serious. 

In a shaken voice, you try to find answers once there is a suitable lull in the questioning.

“Can I ask what this is about…? Am I in trouble?”

The trooper with the datapad in his hand turns to the other, saying nothing, but raises his shoulders and gestures with his free hand as if to say “How much do you think we can tell her?” to his partner. You grow all the more nervous as the silent exchange continues, the partner shaking his head at the first. 

“Not here.” the second trooper says, his head wagging sharply to suggest it isn’t a good idea. 

The first makes a hurried promise before he’s interrupted by the second. “You’re not in trouble-” 

“But you’re not safe, either. We can explain more once you’re about the gunship. We need to ask you to come with us.” (Gunship? Safe? Oh fuck.) The same trooper, nodding to a bag by your feet now says “Sayber, take the duffle bag. I’ve got the suitcase.” before instructing you to follow them. 

Struggling to match their militant stride, you want to do little more than shrink out of discomfort feeling hundreds of eyes trained on you as you march back the way the shocktroopers came through the crowded spaceport. Doing your best to ignore all the many faces glittering with curiosity, you instead focus on the LAAT/i emblazoned with the crest of the Guard lazily bobbing in place as it hovers over a part of the terminal’s platform. 

Aside from the pilot, there are three more soldiers. Two are waiting in the craft itself; another waits on the ground, hands planted firmly on each hip. 

He must be who Sayber and the second, nameless Clone now walking beside you report to, judging by the stance and differences in his armor. On his helmet, you see stylized wings painted above a black visor guard, framing the visor itself. Two ‘capes’ of flexible armor hung from his utility belt, swaying in the downdraft of the ship just behind him, and the left shoulder armor has an antenna of some kind. 

If you had to guess his rank, he’s either a captain or commander. “That didn’t take long at all.” he calls to his soldiers, tone neither impressed or surprised. “Have you and Naran verified she’s who we were sent to retrieve?”

“Yes, Commander Thorn. She matches the descriptions we were given.” Sayber, the trooper on your right, replies confidently. 

All the same, he and Naran show their superior the datapad, allowing him to look at the information for himself. Confirmed with the commander, you’re given the go-ahead to board. Naran and Sayber board first, one securing your luggage while the other helps you into the gunship. 

As soon as you’re aboard, the commander orders the blast shields closed. The sound of which makes you wince, but being so on-edge, you’re grateful for the feeling of extra security it brings soon after. As you’re being shown an overhead handrail to use in case the inertial compensator isn’t enough to keep you from being wobblier than a newborn bantha, you’re advised not to lock your knees once the military repulsorcraft takes off. 

“Flight shouldn’t be too long, but, because even the most routine escorts have surprises we have to ask: do you get airsick, ma’am?” Having met them just a short time ago, you can’t yet tell Naran and Sayber apart, but you’re pretty sure this is Naran who’s rooting through the on-board medical kit for something. 

“O-oh, I-”

Your hesitation and the commander’s interruption is enough for one of them to toss an airsick bag your way, just in case. “Nothing routine about this escort, boys. We’re gonna be wrapped in red tape for a while, so we should start getting used to it.” The pilot is signaled to take off from the spaceport and begin making his way to a coded location a few moments later. 

The word ‘escort’ is nothing unfamiliar to you, having gone through this song and dance one of the last times you came to support Aspen’s senatorial workings. But red tape creates enough dread to ice over your veins before it begins pooling hot and sour in your guts. 

“C-can I ask what’s going on now?” 

What’s happened that’s made all of this a necessity?

Naran, remembering the promise he made back at the terminal, begins to carefully explain the situation with a slight halt in his voice. Each word is chosen carefully, like perhaps he’s unsure just how much he can say, or how you might react. 

“Someone—we’re not sure who—tried to end your friend Senator Aspen’s life shortly before you got to Coruscant… They’re shaken, but ultimately unharmed. We were asked to bring you to the same secure location by one of the other commanders.” 

The remainder of your flight aboard the gunship goes by without another word. The troopers know this is difficult information to process, and you can’t think of a single thing to say about any of it. It’s hard to be afforded a moment of silence to reflect on any of this with the guttural drone of the engine eating up any sound below a stage whisper, but the soldiers around you do their best. It’s a small act of kindness to you. 

Until you step off the gunship, this will be your last opportunity to have any kind of time to yourself before you’ll be so caught up in red tape you would practically be wearing the stuff.

Upon arrival, Sayber and Naran once again wrangle your luggage for you to speed up the process of disembarking. 

The less hindrances you had the better. You needed to see Aspen. And Aspen needed to see you. Having a friendly face by your side made confronting calamity a little more bearable, someone wise once told you. (Or, maybe you read that somewhere on the holonet…) In this state of heightened adrenaline, thoughts become muddled and disjointed as Commander Thorn ushers you past several armed security guards down a long hall. 

You can only imagine your friend will be in a far worse state. 

“Senator Aspen is in here,” Commander Thorn explains, stopping in front of a modified blastdoor. “The two of you will be kept here until a security detail has been finalized.”

“That’s fine… Thank you, Commander Thorn.”

Commander Thorn wastes no time, waving you in ahead of him once he’s completed keying in the clearance code. Inside, you find your friend crumpled into a low multi-seater, face in their hands as the person seated on the other end of the couch appears to be explaining something either to them, or to the other armed guards posted in the corners of the panic room.  

From the armor kit, you know the man is another Clone like Sayber, Naran and Commander Thorn with a singular glance. But you’re less concerned with who he is right at this moment, never having been more relieved to see your friend than you are right now. 

“Once she’s here, I would like everyone to-”

“Aspen!”

The other Clone immediately falls silent as Aspen gets on their feet in a flash, all but vaulting over the caf-table in order to meet you half-way. Mutually crushing the air out of the other’s lungs in the strength of your embrace, neither of you can properly express just how grateful you are to see the other. Jumbled, rapid words give way to tears seeping into one another’s shoulders before long, so occupied with comforting each other that no attention is paid to the troopers being swapped out with Naran and Sayber once they have brought in your belongings. 

In a tight, choked voice your friend begins apologizing to you once they’re calm enough to speak. “I’m so sorry that we had to meet like… like this… but it’s so, so good to see you.” Pulling away, you get a better look at their face for the first time and your heart clenches painfully. They look so scared. So deeply shaken. Yet here they are, apologizing to you for something that’s hardly their fault. 

“Had to be the longest hour of my life, waiting here with the Commander for you to get to Coruscant…” Aspen continues, taking your hand to guide you to sit beside them on the multi-seater where it would be more comfortable than standing. “I wanted to talk to you. So badly. Just to hear your voice and find a little solace after- After everything.”

“I’m guessing you couldn’t?”

Your friend shakes their head no. “Not exactly. We weren’t sure if it would be safe to. I’m sor-”

It’s you who shakes their head this time before explaining why a second apology is not necessary. “Hey. I understand. The important thing was trying to keep you safe after you were almost… hurt. Or worse.” The simple fact your friend was unharmed—still living and breathing in front of you—was an incredible blessing.

“Your friend sounds like a smart woman, Senator Aspen.” 

Reminded of his presence after you’ve been paid a compliment, your friend quickly begins the process of trying to compose themself in order to begin proper introductions. “Y-yes, she very much is… Commander, this is my very dear friend I was trying to tell you about earlier when explaining who your men needed to find.” The second Commander nods in polite greeting, refraining from saying anything until introductions have been finished. 

“And this, my dear friend,” Aspen says in a well-practiced this-is-important tone of voice, “is Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I believe he’s been tasked with security after what nearly happened.”

At this point, Commander Fox has gotten to his feet and taken a look at something on Commander Thorn’s datapad before consulting his own. “That would be correct, Senator.” Holding himself with purpose, this second commander standing beside Thorn differs from him in more ways than just the color-inversion of his chest armor, and the additional Corrie Crimson on his armor alone. “I am here by order of the Chancellor to create a strong security detail for you, and your friend, in light of the attempt on your life almost an hour ago.” His voice, while not too different from the Clones you’ve met today thus far, had strong tonal qualities of duty and seriousness that commanded a great deal of attention from everyone in the room. 

You’ll ask about “that” detail in just a moment. Right now, you’re more surprised there’s no fear or unease when he says he’s here to enact the Chancellor’s will. This comes naturally to him.

“Sorry, I just want to make sure I heard you correctly: you said by order of the Chancellor?”

Nodding stiffly, Commander Fox confirms his orders. “Yes ma’am. As the Marshal Commander, I’ve been asked by Chancellor Palpatine to personally ensure your safety at all times until it is no longer deemed necessary. While he understands the upcoming gala expects to see many high-profile guests, he was rather disturbed to hear what had nearly happened to Senator Aspen, and insisted upon a constant security presence.” 

“I may or may not have tried politely refusing the Chancellor’s offer.” Aspen explains to you, chuckling somewhat shamefully. “And he was right to insist upon my refusal; it was fifteen minutes after the attack and I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly… I… Well, I think Commander Fox or Thorn has the pictures.” 

Nodding less stiffly than before, Commander Fox takes one of the datapads and shows you a collection of the holo-stills and frames taken from nearby security feeds of the destruction left by the attack. While you look at the horrible state of Aspen’s senatorial office, the main window broken with thick shards of transparisteel strewn across the floor, your friend explains that they managed to escape the attack unharmed by sheer, dumb luck. 

“I survived because I tripped, if you can believe it.” 

Blaster marks have burned the back of Aspen’s chair and several spots in the floor. The main desk, made from a much heavier, more-solid material, is riddled with blaster burn in comparison. While you’re not an expert by any means, the window pane’s shatter pattern suggests that the weapon used by the would-be assassin was likely high-powered, or of uncommon caliber. 

“It was just a split second before the first shot. After that, I hid in front of the desk as best as I could until members of the Coruscant Guard showed up. All that Corrie Crimson surging into my office must have scared them off because the firing stopped almost as soon as the Guard got there.”

Dumb luck. Dumb luck saved your friend before the Corries came to protect them. 

Facing the whole emotional gamut as you view these stills, Commander Fox puts the datapad away the very second you cannot stand to see more, shaking your head no, no, no. 

Outrage and disgust blooms in your chest, acidic and bitter-hot. You had too many questions to ask all at once. Crime scene analysts had cordoned off Aspen’s office, currently combing over everything for the most minute of clues. Would they be able to figure out who could have possibly wanted to kill your friend? Did anyone see who it was before they got away?

What was the motivation?

Uncertain of the answers to the other questions, Aspen could only offer partial answers as to ‘why’ someone might have tried to kill them with much hand-wringing. 

On one of the planets the Republic has been hoping to change the neutrality status of, there had been a riot almost a month ago now that’s still so tightly wrapped up in red tape largely in efforts to keep details away from the press while investigations are still on-going. Because of that, Aspen can’t say who they believe started the riot, or for what reason. But they can tell you that several Clones were nearly beaten to death as a result, and the rioters responsible have been charged with destruction of government property for the time being. 

Aspen was spearheading an effort to re-file those charges under a different crime that they believe more accurately reflects the rioters’ intentions that day. Attempted murder. While the effort has seen a lot of support in the Chambers, there are a fair number of senators still dragging their feet on making a decision. 

A small handful of influential senators have had a far less positive reception to this effort the longer Aspen has encouraged these changes. Matters that were becoming complicated when some of them were beginning to react in ways that suggested hostility have now become even more complicated with the introduction of a botched assassination. 

Planning for the gala has gotten a whole lot more complicated as well. If it’s even going to happen at all…

“Did the Chancellor say anything about cancelling the gala at the end of the week?”

“Too many high-profile guests coming from across the galaxy to change anything at this point, I imagine. Some of them have been making preparations for half a year, or more.” Aspen explains, fruitlessly massaging their temples over the thought of it. “Great galaxies, I do not envy whoever is in charge of organizing security for that mess…” 

Commander Thorn politely clears his throat. “Will likely be me, now that Commander Fox is overseeing your security, Senator.” He quickly adds, “Or, it could be Commander Thire. We’ll get it sorted.” after sharing a fleeting glance with his fellow commander. 

Aspen winces sympathetically. 

“I’m so sorry…” 

“Don’t be, Senator.” Commander Thorn says. When he speaks again, his voice is a little softer than before, careful sympathy lacing every spoken word. “We’re sorry that your plans to get ready for the gala are going to have to be changed.”  

“How soon will that be?” Aspen wonders.

“Once Commander Fox has your security detail finalized.” 

Your friend makes a low sound in their throat, smiling grimly. “Very soon then, I imagine… May I ask what we can expect, Commander Fox?” 

In a calm and deliberate voice, Commander Fox explains that as investigations are being conducted, he and other members of the Guard are going to be accompanying the two of you everywhere leading up to the gala. They’ll be your security as well as your escort force; you’re going to be spending a lot of time under their watchful eyes and ready hands.

So if there are any reservations, now is the time to say something. 

You look to your friend and make a quiet offer after considering the Commander’s words. “You’re the one who invited me here, so I’ll follow your lead, Aspen.” You’ve known each other long enough to trust their judgement. If it was decided it would be safest for you to go home, then you would take a rain check on this visit and come back to Coruscant another time. 

While you’re prepared not to create more trouble for everyone, Aspen’s selfless nature rears its sweet head even in the wake of an attack. Turning to Commander Fox, who stands straight-backed as he is patiently awaiting a verdict before the two of you, your friend asks one final question of him. 

“I know plans will change, but will the security detail mean I can still help my friend prepare for the gala, Commander?”

Commander Fox takes less than a moment to think before deciding that would be a reasonable use of the service. “If that’s what you wish, Senator.” He nods politely not only to Aspen, but to you as well, you notice. A small gesture of professionalism, as well as respect. 

“Then we accept.” Aspen says, sealing your shared fate for the rest of the week leading up to the gala.

Though the two of you have only just met, the feeling that you’ll come to like this man has already begun to spark.

From the moment Commander Fox put the security detail into action, you decided for yourself that you would make the most of this situation and make conscientious efforts to get to know everyone making up this task force better going forward. Not only would it be polite, but it would make it easier to remain in close-quarters with these men for a long period of time when they were no longer strangers. 

The full team consisted of two parts: Clones who had been hand-picked to be stationed with Commander Fox full-time, and those who would be rotating through the force on an as-needed basis. That meant there would likely be more than a few soldiers you would get to know very well by the end of the team’s lifespan. 

Maybe even become friends. 

Already, you and your friend were making great progress getting to know Naran and Sayber in particular. These two soldiers—who were part of the permanent assignment—are not merely patrol partners like you had initially assumed when you first met them. They explained they were batchmates, meaning they had been created and trained together at the same time on the world known as Kamino, out in Wild Space. 

Naran and Sayber completed their training six months ago; stationed on Coruscant for five. It explains why their armor looks so new, and why the paint lacks much chipping, fading or transferring. They’re young, and have only begun breaking it in. There’s a term Clones like to use that pretty much means the same thing as “rookie”. 

“We’re not exactly a couple of ‘Shinies’ anymore, but we’re still fairly inexperienced compared to other brothers in the Guard… I’m not exactly sure why Commander Fox assigned us permanently.” Sayber confesses to you in a moment of quiet. 

Commanders Fox and Thorn are busy, following protocol to secure the room where you and Aspen will be sleeping; the batchmates are supposed to be focused on keeping their eyes on the two of you in the meantime, but Sayber’s curiosity is stronger than his worry over being “caught” bothering you by his superiors. 

Something that Naran quietly fumes with frustration about. (“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, di’kut…”) He much prefers to stay on task and engage only when addressed. It might take more time before he opens up to the two of you compared to his brother and patrol partner, who happily does more than enough talking for the two of them. 

You can expect to meet more of the Guard starting tomorrow; the rest of the day will likely be focused on getting the two of you settled in before any of the pre-gala preparations and errands can be conducted. Some will have to be done separately. Others can be done together, such as the shopping for a dress (on Aspen’s insistence), given that they are performed during set hours. 

And they will always involve an escort of no less than two troopers. 

You will not be permitted to wander around Coruscant, alone, at any given time. 

“Dammit. Sounds like getting some Hyellian musical noodles around two in the morning is out of the question, then.” you remark softly in jest during the first review of the safety plan once the Commanders have completed their protocol, shrugging animatedly in an oh well fashion. Won’t be the end of the galaxy. 

His review disrupted, Commander Fox’s dark T-shaped visor lifts from the screen and fixes itself upon you, quietly regarding you over the top of the datapad in his free hand. 

The thought that you just karked up strikes you in an instant. 

Thinking you’re being serious, Fox speaks seriously in turn. “I was unaware this was something I needed to account for. Forgive me, ma’am.” Your hammering heart skips a beat rather uncomfortably as he begins to pull up the keyboard on the device’s HUD, and your face grows hot with embarrassment. 

“No, I-! I was only making a joke. I’m sorry, Commander, I shouldn’t have.” 

Asking him to accommodate a silly little tradition of yours every time you made the trip to Triple Zero would create more work for everyone. Taking unnecessary risks. It would be selfish. 

Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about making fewer jokes just because Commander Fox has a stronger no-nonsense personality than you might be accustomed to for very long. Members of his own Guard have a way of softening the tension to keep things from getting quite so abrasive. 

“Grizzer and I could always make that run for you, ma’am.” There to listen in on the review, the ARF trooper that was assigned to guard the perimeter of the ‘safe house’ by the name of Sergeant Hound drops the lead to the massiff in question after issuing a command word. “Su!” The quadrupedal reptilian settles on their hindquarters, long tongue lolling between dagger-sharp teeth. 

“It’ll help her earn a turbodog once this is all said and done. Tradition of ours, for the big jobs.” 

Maker: it will take some getting used to being called or considered part of a “big job” like this. 

After a long moment, you decide to accept. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” Since he was kind enough to offer, you make sure to give Hound an especially grateful nod. 

Commander Fox adds the offer to the approved actions he’s compiled once the exchange has finished, and moves swiftly on. There has been a lot of ground covered, and he intends to cover more before someone will be sent to collect that night’s dinner order. It’s evident enough that he’s a serious and hard-working man. He would have to be, seeing as he’s the Marshal Commander appointed to lead the Coruscant Guard. so…

So it comes as little surprise that any offer or invitation for a breather, a single moment off his feet has been turned down time and time again as the afternoon bleeds into the evening. Even in the securest of spaces, Commander Fox turns down reprieve and refreshment with the same four words. 

“No thank you,” either followed by Senator or ma’am. 

Your kindness refuses to falter in the face of his stoicism, but you’re smart enough to recognize when to let it go at the same time. 

“Okay. May I offer it to Naran and Sayber instead, then?”

Dinner had been sourced from 79’s in the entertainment district; largely finger foods made in outrageous portion sizes, meant to be shared between large groups. Aspen had ordered a slider for each of you, and a basket of protato wedges to share. There had been a slight mix-up, and the two of you ended up with a third slider and more than double the wedges that you could possibly hope to eat by yourselves. Trying to sort out the error was met with the offer to go ahead and keep the food as they were pretty slammed tonight. 

“If you wish, ma’am.” Fox replies, voice as politely disinterested as before. “I’m certain they won’t object.” 

True to form, the batchmates eagerly unseal their helmets before gratefully accepting the offered food, granted unspoken permission by their commander. It’s the first time you see any of the Clones’ faces since the start of all this unfortunate excitement. “Thank you, sir. And thank you ma’am!” Sayber exclaims. His broad grin brings out a dimple in the tanned left cheek, adding to how he looks far, far too young for this armor. 

He and Naran carry the food to the only other table in the room in order to eat, wasting no time in coming up with a way to halve the slider and wedges between them. While his men eat, Commander Fox discreetly consults the datapad he has clipped to the utility belt from which his dark kama hangs. What he’s reading is a mystery, but you could probably assume it had to do with either you, Aspen, or his shocktroopers. Maybe it was the safety plan and security detail for tomorrow. Maybe it was unrelated. 

Regardless, this seems to be the only sort of reprieve he allows himself. Once he’s finished, the tablet returns to the Commander’s hip and he reassumes position. 

His posture is meticulous, yet somehow almost elegant. Hands folded behind his back and chest high, the crimson commander does not budge so much as an inch from his post in the time it takes Naran and Sayber to put everything away. Only once they clean up and reseal their helmets will Commander Fox drop this extra rigidity. 

Fox’s earlier refusal now appears more purposeful than before when this time it is Naran who thanks you and his superior for the food. The shocktrooper’s words are met with a “Don’t mention it.” so softly spoken, it would be hard (but perhaps not impossible) to mistake it for a command. 

From this singular display of momentary tenderness, Fox has told you more about himself that he might realize: if you hope to have a better chance of befriending the commander, how his men are taken care of will likely be very important over the coming days.

Following that first night on Coruscant, you fell into a routine within a short couple of days. 

Waking up an hour (sometimes more) before Commander Fox arrived with the day’s security detail, you would quietly prepare for the day ahead of you just to have a small bit of time to yourself. Just you and Aspen. Together, you’d take this opportunity to have more intimate conversations without your second shadows in red and white armor present; to reflect on the days behind you.

And puzzle out a curious pattern beginning to develop… 

It was hardly surprising that there would be the most to say of Commander Fox out of all the Corries. You spent the most time with him. Not only was Fox the lynchpin to your collective safety, but the only time he was ever away from your side (save for using the ‘fresher) was to allow each of you to sleep for the night. 

He was by far the most reserved member of the Corries you’ve had the pleasure of meeting; the most aloof and strictly professional, all for good reason. Not only was he dealing with the Chancellor’s orders for a very serious situation, there was so much red tape for him to navigate through on a daily basis. It wouldn’t feel right to either of you to ask Commander Fox to behave in a more-friendly manner for the sake of protecting your own feelings. 

But more recently he was starting to become more warm with you, no longer just his soldiers. 

You’ve seen how he is with the younger soldiers in particular, like Naran and Sayber. Reminding them again and again to not tense their shoulders quite so much. Answering their many what-if questions. Encouraging the two of them to play a bit of holochess against you or the senator in his stead. 

Now Commander Fox was thanking you for your offers when turning down the invitation to take a short break or have something to eat. He was no longer passively listening to conversations you would have with the other Clones, but joining in on the rare occasion. You were no longer just ‘Senator Aspen’s friend’ or simply ‘ma’am’ when speaking of you, or being addressed. 

When Commander Fox began to use your name, that’s when things became a little more interesting. 

Aspen started to gently tease you after that, suspecting you were becoming somewhat charmed by the crimson commander. The gala was in two days. Your friend had promised to help you buy a formal dress here on Coruscant in order to save you luggage space. Neither of you certainly expected to have an audience, and Aspen wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with potentially being seen by Fox and a dozen or more Clones in a fancy dress or two.

Yes, the Guard was always, always very respectful of you both, but perhaps it might be a bit embarrassing. Or feel strange. Maybe you would feel self-conscious in front of Fox in particular… Something they promised was perfectly normal while you were busy getting ready together this morning as you waited for Fox and the Guard to arrive. 

“You’re saying that you think I have a crush on the commander?” 

You take a brief pause from tidying things on your side of the room, wondering whether or not you’d heard your friend correctly. Commander Fox was by and large what you might consider a “strong and silent” type of man, slow to let someone into their comfort zone, teasing the other person along inch by inch. Did Aspen really think that’s what was going on with you? That you were intrigued by some kind of thrilling mystery in interacting with someone like that?

“Well… Sort of.” Aspen admits with a soft laugh. “This kind of thing happens a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s Baby’s First Bodyguard, or you’re a seasoned professional when it comes to dealing with armed escorts. A lot of senators and diplomats tend to form some kind of feeling for the people who are there to protect them.”

You try to mask your doubt with a joking accusation. “Are you trying to feed me banthashit right now?” Is this truly as common as Aspen says it is, or are they trying to help you feel better in their typical selfless fashion? 

Sensing your doubt, Aspen promises they are telling the truth. “It really does happen all the time, sweetheart. It’s happened to me too! You know I wouldn’t lie about that. And you know I’m not going to judge you for feeling things for the commander, or possibly having a crush, either, right?” Before you can answer, you hear the sound of a distant LAAT/i, followed by several soldiers speaking at once. 

You’re going to have to wrap this up, quick. “Of course. I’ve known you for a long time, Aspen. I trust you.” They’ve always been a good friend to you; there’s never been a reason for doubt or distrust. 

Briskly getting up, Aspen helps you tidy and put away the last of your things not a moment too soon. Just as everything has been put away, Commander Fox makes himself known with four firm raps on the other side of the door. Here forty-five minutes exactly before the first of the boutiques is set to open, as discussed. 

The usual pleasantries are exchanged after Aspen has gone to answer the door. The ‘good morning’s and asking if the two of you slept well. Asking if there was anything either of you needed before joining the others back at the gunship and getting on your way. 

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Nice to see you, Commander.” 

Perhaps surprised by your choice of greeting, Commander Fox has a brief moment of pause before he’s able to reply. “You as well, ma’am. Very well. No need to inform our pilot of anything, then. We can be on our way.” Nearly positive you’re not imagining it, while still rather factual, there seems to be more warmth in Fox’s voice this morning. 

He’s still all-business, encouraging everyone not to waste any time getting to the gunship, but now his tone is less stern and terse compared to the days before. He almost sounds… friendlier. Maybe Fox just needed three days to thaw out before warming up to you. Could be that he’s in a good mood because his men are in a great one this morning, most of them comfortable enough around you by now to talk about last night’s boloball victory in whispers. 

Whatever the case may be, it makes you a little less nervous about the prospect of going shopping with such a large security detail. 

Commander Fox’s brightened demeanor hardly changes for anything. 

Even Sayber can’t ruin it by forgetting his training and speaking out with excitement while you and Aspen steadily shop around the first of the formal boutiques for a suitable dress. His reason for doing so was more than forgivable: right around the time you began reaching for a gown in a sort of pomegranate red, the young shocktrooper cried out “HAH! Eat your heart out, Police Inspector Dan Tivo! I knew the Corries would find a lead in the investigation before him!”, much to the disturbance of the other patrons. 

There would be much apologizing to do—Sayber for breaking protocol and to the shop for causing any additional inconveniences—before this would start to become the point where things really began looking up. 

The red tape would not yet loosen itself from you, but with any luck it should soon begin to lift.

Whether you believed it was a curious coincidence or not, you decided to go with the red gown you had been reaching for around the time news broke of the lead in the investigation. By cleverly pairing it with a few ivory accessories, you curated an overall image that would come close to matching with much of the Coruscant Guard. 

This way, you could quietly sort of “mark” the time spent in their company in the week leading up the gala without outright wearing any one Clone’s personal markings, or the iconography that belonged to both the Guard and the Senate. 

You also can’t pretend it was no small relief to have so many of these big decisions taken care of so quickly, or all at the same shop in a busy fashion district. What had been planned to take nearly all day was completed in the span of less than two hours. 

And the next two days went by in a feverish blur with Commander Fox working harder than ever to truly make sure your security at the formal event would be nothing less than ironclad. 

His men even claimed he was aiming to be better than beskar: creating plans for every possible situation and even going so far as to form redundancies. Mapping out where and when you would arrive at the gala venue. Choosing who would be watching over you and Aspen separately, and who would be watching both of you. How he can continue to take care of your needs. Until the time comes and the suspect behind the botched killing has been caught, Commander Fox has sworn to remain at your service, no matter how trivial the request. 

Or how foolish you feel to ask. 

With hours to go and anxieties rising, there are times that involving him in the hustle-and-bustle process of getting dressed up becomes simply unavoidable. With every instance, your gratitude for this man only continues to grow stronger than before. 

Dropped an earring under the dresser and it’s too far for you to reach? Naran and Sayber will need to lend him a hand, lifting the furniture aside so he can search for it on his hands and knees.

Hands shaking too much, and the clasp on your necklace giving you trouble? He’ll help you put it on - he only asks that you hold your hair out of the way for him. 

Turning over the string of delicate Castilon pearls, you move to stand in front of the commander. The most straight-forward way to secure the necklace will be to turn your back to Fox and allow him to fit it from behind. “Thank you, Commander. I can’t seem to get my nerves under control at the moment...” you explain, grateful he won’t see the soft flush breaking across your face as his dexterous fingers latch and unlatch the tiny set of claw clasps with relative ease. 

In his voice you hear the very same tenderness he imparts to the youngest of his brothers as he softly encourages you to relax. By the time you take a deep breath and count to five ‘battleship’s, he’ll have this taken care of. You’re going to be just fine. Ordinarily you would be, were it not for the electric ripple in your skin every time you feel the smooth material of his raven-dark gloves brush against you. 

Understanding the tensing under each feather-light touch is only a reflex, the Marshal Commander casually remarks that you’ll be hard-pressed to find a senator, dignitary or diplomat that isn’t a bit on edge or nervous about the gala. Fox says it in hopes of it serving to soothe you, rather than make you more nervous. 

“There you are,” he concludes once he’s finished securing the three-strand necklace. You allow him to check the matching earrings to make certain they won’t come loose for good measure. “I admit I may not be the best man when it comes to these kinds of things, but I give it my best effort.” 

Fetching your ivory clutch, you can at last turn to thank him once Commander Fox reports the ivory accessories are both secure. “Thank you, Commander. Fortunately I’m not looking for the very best, only a bit of help. I would say that it’s hardly a contest that you’ve been among the very best in providing an immense amount of help this week.” Your favorite pair of shocktroopers share in Aspen’s giggling amusement as Commander Fox maintains his professionalism rather than fully internalizing the compliment you’ve tried to pay him. 

“Thank you, ma’am: but I don’t believe I can take all the credit. My men have shown around-the-clock commitment to this assignment that I couldn’t be more proud of.” 

With a boisterous laugh, Sayber bravely advises his superior officer on what to say. “Now’s not the time to be all modest and humble, sir! No buts – just tell her thank you!” He’s close enough to still being considered a Shiny that Sayber can get away with speaking to a brother of higher ranking in a semi-teasing manner, and he knows it. 

Commander Fox knows it too. “You’re right, you’re right…” he relents, beginning to fix parts of his armor in a bid to stall for more time. Starting with the vambraces, he straightens them out like he’s adjusting a pair of cufflinks. “Thank you, ma’am. It is my hope that both you and Senator Aspen have felt nothing less than complete assurance in the security force I have tirelessly maintained.”

Finding it satisfactory, Sayber quickly concludes with “That’s better, sir!” after you and your friend confirm there have been no concerns in your armed escorts at any given point. 

There isn’t much time you can afford to waste, having to take alternative transport that would be kinder on any formalwear than a gunship. While helping you board the other transport, Naran politely comments on the care you’ve put into your appearance for tonight and offers his hope that you have a nice time. Doing so now just in case he doesn’t get a chance later. The same sentiment is then offered to Aspen as they are helped aboard after you. 

Fuck. You’re really gonna miss these guys when all of this is over. 

You’ll miss Naran and Sayber’s playful bickering, the way they shout “Ulyc, di’kut!” at each other when the other does something foolish. You’ll miss the pilots who have flown you over the more beautiful parts of the upper-city when there’s been time to kill; like Umate and Monument Plaza, even some of your old haunts from before. 

Miss the games of fetch with Grizzer to reward her for a good job, the meals that have been shared, and the stories of how these boys got their names. 

But most of all, you’ll miss the crimson commander.

It didn’t matter that he was rather aloof and distant. How he kept things almost strictly business. That he’s never once taken off his helmet in front of you. Only ever nodding, never showing you if his smile dimpled his left cheek like most of his brothers. Or that he never told you how he came by “Fox” for his name. Whether it had been one he claimed, or something he earned. 

Because that wouldn’t be what you’d miss Commander Fox for. 

You’d miss him for never drawing more attention to himself than he had to, shying from such spotlights in the interest of giving them to his brothers instead. Miss him for the unwavering politeness he’s had for you, treating you no differently than he would for another galactic senator, or even the Chancellor. 

All this security, all this red, had been the most reassuring feeling you’ve had all week. And it won’t be easy to say goodbye, to any of it. 

Or to Commander Fox. 

Between the sound of spirited chatter, ceaseless pop-and-chop of photographers’ camera shutters and lively, swelling music, entering the formal venue before the official start of the celebration proves easily-overwhelming near-instantaneously. 

Getting here early offers you time to acclimate. Elation and excitement should eventually find you, but there will be time to find somewhere to cool off, if necessary. It also serves as a chance for the Chancellor to visit with Aspen, hoping to speak and hear how they’ve been since Commander Fox had been appointed for protection, as well as to ask about his performance. 

The visit is kept brief, but your friend stresses the shared satisfaction you have in all Fox—and the rest of the Guard for that matter—has done for you before agreeing to speak more privately and at-length the following morning. The Chancellor is not here to detract from the hopeful enjoyment of the occasion for either of you; soon enough you are left free to enjoy the entertainment and pursue the available catering. 

It became apparent most of the music played tonight came from Naboo, much like the Chancellor - written by some of her people’s most respected and well-known composers. And much of the food was extravagant, tables showcasing what your own credits could never hope to see with plate after plate of hors d’oeuvres beyond your ability to even name. Same went for the drinks when you were unable to locate any cards or signage. 

The Commander quickly proves rather knowledgeable when you blindly select a sparkling crystal flute, scrutinizing the bubbling contents with a puzzling expression after it fails recognition by smell alone.  

“What’s this…?”

“Prized champagne provided by Pantora, ma’am. It’s recently proved rather popular.” Fox explains, hands moving from carefully held at his side to folded neatly behind his back as he approaches closer to the table. 

“And what about the tall and skinny glass, or the one with a short stem and large bowl?”

An erroneously-named Mantell mixer in the highball glass, supplied from a different planet in the Mid Rim. The snifter is a robust brandy reportedly of Wayyl origin. Commander Fox can only tell you what he’s heard when it comes to if they are any good, refraining from making any kind of decision for you or presuming what you would like. There are other drinks reported to be stationed throughout the venue, if none of them appear to be to your liking. If you would prefer something non-alcoholic, he knows where the sparkling cider can be found. 

You decide you’ll be starting off safe with the cider, for the time being. Less decision fatigue than coming up with an unfamiliar, strong drink to try. He again helps with identifying the human-suitable foods for you and Aspen to sample. That’s when you realize Fox is utilizing sensors and scanners built into his ‘bucket’ rather than strictly being knowledgeable upon a sharp pause in his explanation. 

“The cured meat is supposed to pair best with… no, wait. Damn artificial intelligence pulled up a recipe blog.” 

And rather than pressuring you to engage every instance, Aspen encourages you to go explore the venue instead of listening to them catch up with many of their fellow senators. Knowing who you’ll likely prefer for company (but might be too bashful to openly say), they give you their “blessing” to take Fox as your escort in the meantime. 

“Why don’t you go exploring for a while, dear friend? Just so I don’t bore you; I promise I’ll let you know if Senator Amidala or Chuchi are able to stop by before I catch up with you so you can decide if you want to say hello. I’ll ask Naran and Sayber to stay with me in the meantime. Perhaps the Marshal Commander can go with you… If he doesn’t mind?” 

The commander offers a cordial nod prior to replying. “Not at all, Senator Aspen.” He would be happy to, in fact. And though he will not be leading you, Fox is even offering to take you by the arm. 

You can attribute it to his work ethic and find it applicable etiquette for such a grand event. Considering there is both a chivalrous and protective tone to such a gesture, this is not a measure of control through the imbalance of a power dynamic. He is not here to dictate where you are permitted to go. 

Simply put, he’s here with no other intentions but to accompany you no matter where you go, and to comment as necessary as he listens to whatever you have to say. So when Commander Fox finds you quiet after some time, he surprises you by asking what’s on your mind. 

“Thought you would be making a small amount of commentary, ma’am. Something weighing on your thoughts?” 

Blinking in surprise, you chew over the thought of how honest you should be. “Well… there is something.” Unable to see through that impassible visor and faceplate, the hope of seeing this particular Clone’s face flickers anew. 

“S-someone…” comes the clarification. 

“Senator Aspen?” 

It’s less of a risk for him to hazard this guess, but it doesn’t make the mark. 

“No. No, not my friend.” 

After a pregnant pause, you confess that it’s him that weighs on your thoughts when he does not ask. “I can’t… I can’t get you out of my mind.” Your reasons are innumerable, and strange even to yourself. You’re not sure what explanation you can give Commander Fox that would likely not be found comforting, innocent or even sane. 

So you expect him to politely pull away. To put up walls of professionalism stronger than before. To kindly but firmly establish some boundaries. (Hell: it would hurt, but you could understand if he didn’t do it so kindly.) If you were slowly stoking the fires to a potential friendship, you might’ve just gone and done the one thing to completely stomp it out. 

And by hearing yourself say it, it sounds far more romantic than you might have intended it to. “Wait, sorry- I… I meant that very generally.” Attempting to clarify this now feels like a weak excuse to cover up that you’re backpedaling, but it’ll keep you up at night far longer if you don’t at least try. 

Commander Fox, surprisingly, does not suggest he is the least bit perturbed. Not by your admission. Not by your apology. Not even by the way you try to create distance from him yourself and begin to anxiously attempt to pull your arm free. 

An earnest “I believe you.” is all that is needed to stop you in your tracks. The gala, now well in full-swing, feels as though it is slowing down around the two of you as you feel very foolish – just staring at the red-armored commander. “I know what that sounded like. But I believe you.” he continues, now with insistence. 

“You-? You do?”

Starting with the soft use of your name, he again promises that he does - even going on to say why. 

“I’ve spent all week watching how you treat and interact with my brothers. Hearing how you speak to my men. And you’re always kind. You make honest efforts to remember their names and have a friendly word to say. Always expressing appropriate gratitude. All of it shows that you care about them, that you’re a good person.

“And good people are often honest people.” 

The work Commander Fox does for the Chancellor, the Senate, all of Coruscant… it’s thankless. What work he is thanked for is done with insincerity, often disingenuous and callous and empty. Senators like Aspen are a rarity. Ordinary people, people like you, are the most likely to thank him for his work outside of his bonds within the GAR. 

But you’re different even among ordinary people. You have truly meant your thanks each and every time he’s done what’s been asked of him. And you wouldn’t yet know it, but it has led to Commander Fox becoming so hopelessly wrapped around your little finger in the reddest thread in hopes of tasting such genuine kindness. Such a response couldn’t be conditioned or trained out of him. 

He may be a Clone, but he was not a perfect copy. Not of Jango Fett. Not of any of his brothers. It was part of that Factor H as described by Fett more than a decade ago to the Kaminoan cloners, likely before the commander’s own creation. 

‘H’ for ‘Human’. And humans… they have a base, instinctual need for forming connections with the people around them. It’s why isolation proves so detrimental. As a soldier, it was an unspoken expectation to simply not acknowledge those kinds of consequences to his formative years. 

Created in a high-tech petri dish. Decanted from a tube. Together forged by fire with a living sea of brothers. Getting planted on the singular-most crowded planet in this entire kriffing galaxy, where his failure to protect the heart of the Republic meant having to listen to more reports of dying vode. 

But tonight, he’s here, thinking of asking to dance in all of his blood-red armor with one of the most beautiful women at the gala. Having lost a complete sense of elapsing time, the two of you had been standing just on the inside to a respectably-sized dance floor when the venue appeared to be cueing up for either the first, or another of the largest shared dances. 

There’s no time to be coy about asking if you want to join your friend waiting off to the side, now that they and his shocktroopers have found the two of you. It appeared Aspen intended to have joined you, but it was now too late to step into the designated floorspace. There would still be time to step out. 

“Would you like to join your friend?” Fox politely offers. 

Historically, you and Aspen had platonically partaken in these duo-dances together owing to your closeness and long-stand friendship. Usually at some point during the night if Aspen was preoccupied with other senatorial attendees, but often at the first available opportunity. Dare you ask for another of their blessings to break a long-standing tradition?

“Aspen, I think I-”

“Go. There’ll be other dances!” Aspen urges, interrupting. They’re smiling, a promising sign you had worried for nothing. 

Hopeful, Commander Fox extends his hand out to you. A quiet offering. An implied invitation. If you’re going to accept, it has to be soon. “Another dance, then.” you promise to your friend, carefully trading off items like the ivory clutch in order to free up your hands. 

Naran suggests a crucial change before you can take the commander’s outstretched hand and join him further into the showfloor. 

“Sir! Your helmet!” 

“Right, right.”

This song with a famously long lead-in allows for the ordinarily simple unsealing and removal of the commander’s headgear to transform into something a bit more preformative, if rather hurried. With a polite doffing befitting of the high-class nature of the event, Fox removes the recently-polished helmet and allows you to see his face for the very first time since meeting earlier that week. It is then directly taken by Naran away from the dance floor, surrendered to his care and subsequently forgotten not long after. 

Following Fox, he leads you slightly deeper into the dancing crowd with a rhetorical “Shall we, ma’am?” where the two of you assume the appropriate starting position just before the lead-in concludes, and the dance number finally commences.

As a ballroom piece common to the Core Worlds, you’re given more than enough time to study the charming face of your dance partner as the two of you step through the poised and elegant choreography. 

While there is perhaps some truth to the erroneous adage “If you see one Clone’s face, you’ve seen them all!”, you are wholly committed to determining what little traits set him apart from his brothers while you have the chance. And kindly, the commander allows you to do so, encourages you to do so. 

“Do I look like you imagined?”

Mostly yes. But also, no. 

While he had the same round ala to his nose, there was faint scarring across the bridge you hadn’t yet seen in any of his brothers. (You would find others; one cutting into the arch of his right brow, and a freshly-pinked nick that tucked under his jaw on the left.) Fox’s eyes were the same, soulful brown; with an additional intensity that was hard to completely identify. A soft five-o-clock shadow along his jaw, now that you hadn’t expected. Or the touches of gray blending out in the dark waves and tight curls of his hair. 

You admit you’re starting to wish he’d taken off his helmet sooner, even though he was only doing his job… A long-suffering job that allowed you to even be here to begin with. If it wasn’t for him, your long visit home just to see Aspen would never have happened. Not the way it did. Without him, without the Guard, your friend would have asked you to take the first shuttle returning to your new home. 

You can’t even begin to fathom how you could possibly thank him enough for everything they’ve done to protect Aspen and get you to this point. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Fox pledges, both his voice and his smile tender. The dimpling in his left cheek is the most pronounced amongst any of the Guardsmen. A golden warmth that softens the watchful depths in his eyes. All of it brightens your heart with euphoria, pulse already keeping time to the soaring peaks of the strings’ music. 

When the song calls for those assuming the position of the dance’s “gentlemen” to pull their partner close, the Marshal Commander fits you so perfectly against his armor in order to make himself heard. 

His voice becomes softer—fonder—in the delicate shell of your ear. 

“But I know you’ll probably try...”

As the music begins the winding-down, Fox’s vambrace begins to squeal - an abrupt, demanding tone disrupting the pleasant, vulnerable moment between you. Needing to answer it, you assist him by depressing the instructed buttons after lowering the volume per his instructions. 

“CC-4477 to Commander Fox! We have the suspect behind Senator Aspen’s attempted assassination in our custody!” 

Fox does not reply right away, but rather he eyes the open comlink with a degree of great pride. But there is also great reluctance. After everything you’ve told him, after everything he’s told you, the long-shot he’s taken in asking to dance with you amidst all this formality and decorum, he has to leave now?

“Well done, Thire. Tell Commander Thorn-”

No. 

No, maybe just this once, he can get away with not answering a summons instantaneously. His duty may be to the Republic, but as a man of his honor his duty is also still to you. As of now, he is still charged with protecting you and the senator. It becomes socially acceptable to leave the gala without staining one’s reputation fifteen minutes from now, after these large, shared dances. His men can handle the suspect until then. 

Fox will not allow your standing to suffer now simply because of him. 

“Sir?”

“Tell Thorn I’m still wrapped up pretty tight here. Might take fifteen minutes to disentangle her and Senator Aspen from the gala. Maybe more.” Fox’s focused expression changes to one of warmth when the word “her” parts his lips, while his voice retains its authoritative tone. 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the comm before Thire comes up with a reply. 

“Understood, Commander. Thire out.”

Breathless and head light, you’re reeling with relief and elation that they’ve captured their suspect. This is the beginning of the end of Aspen’s nightmare. Your nightmare. But where there is joy, there too comes sorrow, knowing your time in Commander Fox’s company is coming to an end. Maybe not tonight, maybe not in the morning. But soon enough, you will part ways and return to your regular lives…

“I can’t believe they got the guy… Thank the stars, it’s finally over. If we need to leave so you can-”

“No, mesh’la,” Commander Fox interrupts you before his voice turns almost pleading. The song may now be over, but there is still music that can be danced to. Still time that he can spend with you. “Let me be a selfish man for once… Fifteen minutes is all I ask.”

Maybe fifteen minutes… can be a good place to start. 

Everything will still be there after fifteen minutes. The suspect, his men, the senator… but the clock will start to run out with you after fifteen minutes. And he’s not ready for that. 

“Okay. Fifteen minutes. We’ll… work out what comes after that.” 

When you’ve spent most of your service dealing with red tape, it’s going to take more than fifteen minutes to unwrap all of it. 

So you’ll make those minutes a very good place to start…

Thank you for making a request for my 200 follower event, Pina! Ended up longer than I initially anticipated even after everything I cut out of it, but I hope you enjoyed it! I apologize for the unexpected delays, so I hope this was well worth the extra time it took me to write it in order for you to read it! And in case anyone is curious why I chose the name "Aspen" for the name of our senator friend here, I took inspiration from the Greek word for shield, 'aspis'. I thought it felt fitting for a story focused around Fox working hard to protect even a complete stranger, being the dutiful and brave man he is. ❤️

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[karlachismylife]

My linear algebra class got moved to tomorrow and I have the terrible urge to post, so here are some speedrun headcanons (yes I'm aware that it's been done a few times, and I agree with the takes I've seen, but lemme just have my fun). It's something along the lines of favourite body part, I guess? But not quite.

I wouldn't say they're explicit, but there are suggestive parts.

Also these aren't strictly x reader, cuz I feel these can be applied to character x character relationships too, but I won't tag them cuz there's a lot of them and I don't wanna get yelled at by people who hate seeing even hints of x reader content. But I have very much been thinking GhostPrice, NikPrice, Ghoap, SoapGaz and a fuckton of others in the process. Just something cozy and loving to start the week since it's snowing (no they are not snow-related).

Price is a tits man. First of all, research shows that older men prefer boobs over ass (I KNOW that he's not actually an old man, it's a joke), but second - he just gives off vibes of someone who can spend hours holding his partner in his lap and just groping and kneading them breasts - doesn't matter the size, doesn't matter whether those are real breasts, implanted, just pecs; whether you have big areolas. mastectomy scars, absolute flatness, doesn't matter in the slightest: John will latch onto them, mouthing all over the skin, sucking hickeys and lovebites dangerously close to the area usually visible under their clothes. If there's not enough flesh to fill out his palms, he'll just hold what he gets while he sucks on those nipples eagerly, beard prickling sensitive, wet skin. John is also a tits man outside sex: his partner's chest is his favourite pillow, so he rests his head there or nuzzles between for a nap regularly. It's about the intimacy, the heartbeat and the sensual symbolism, not tits in particular.

Ghost is a lap/belly nuzzler. Nothing feels safer than being able to rest his troubled head on them soft thighs and hide in the softness of one's stomach from the world. He might be so much bigger than his partner's lap, or they might not have that much meat on their bones, but Simon still feels the safest when he's cradled like a baby and surrounded by the warmth of one of the most vulnerable parts of a human body. Hug his shoulders, shield him, push him into the folding between your belly and thighs - that keeps his demons away. And gives him a nice opportunity to tickle/blow raspberries when you least expect it. Probably finds delight in those occasions when yout stomach grumbles right above his chipped ear - you can feel his scarred lips stretch into a wide smile against your skin and you can rest assured he will let some little joke slip. But even more probably he will ask to stay for five more minutes before you can grab a bite to eat.

Soap is an ass man and he also has been ashamed 1,5 times in his life, so he will put his grabby paws on his partner's butt in all circumstances, beware. Sneaks a squeeze every time he passes by, slides his hands down during kisses, holds a posessive handful when he has his partner in his lap. It's just nice to look at and also very fidgety for his restless hands - so good for squeezing, kneading and pinching! Is a menace and will slap that arse - with a palm or, after he almost injured himself with the change/keys stuffed in your back pocket, a towel. Will be a coward and run away from revenge, but actually can take a rough spanking and give one too if you're into that. Absolutely uses your ass as a pillow, good luck shaking him off if you need to move - he somehow gets heavier when he's relaxed, but keeps a steel grip on your hips. If you wake him up by trying to escape, he'll just drag you back and bite. Oh yeah, he bites. He'll do anything with your ass, really, make out with it, take it out to candlelit dinner, tie a knot... are those sex metaphors? Yes. But also if he could marry someone's butt, he probably would.

Gaz feels like he would be into thighs, but also into hands. Like, every one of them isn't a straightforward character, but Kyle's duality strikes me the most for some reason. Probably because it's so trixter-y in its nature, he's such a romantic, moral man, very much focused on doing the right thing and serving as a compass for everyone around him, even if his views and principles evolve with time, but he's also such a little shit at heart - a real prankster and chaos agent. Incredibly clever and sly. So it feels right that while he loves just holding hands, be it out on the street or while lounging at home in a cuddle heap, tracing patterns on the back of his partner's palm and brushing his thumb over your knuckles, he is also a feral fox, gripping, biting and kissing those thighs, ogling the way they move when you walk, leaving marks and tracing those with his tongue... he's also a big lap napper, but he prefers his face stuck in the lap itself, arms wrapped around your thighs tightly. Or even better - one arm hugging your thighs like a comfy pillow, and the other resting peacefully with your hand clutched in his, fingers intertwined tenderly.

Nikolai is a waist grabber. He probably prefers tits over ass, yeah, but he's more focused on keeping his arm wrapped around his partner's waist - or at least pressing his big palm on the small of their back. Is a big tease and likes to keep everyone around him on their toes, so expect sudden pinches of tickle attacks on your sides. Comes up from behind to hug you and lock his huge paws on your stomach, probably interrupting whatever you were doing, but he just wants to hold what's his properly, arms full and securely tightened. Also he likes to kiss those spots behind his partner's ears (and tickle those too). He's not overly possessive since he very well knows only the dumbest of the dumb will try to steal from him (and also he's pretty sure he's doing enough to keep his partner with him willingly), but he just likes the feeling of having something he likes so much. Might stem from his strict upbringing, soviet scarcity of everything or maybe he's just a lil' bit greedy by nature. Either way, his preferred sex poses usually include him holding you by the waist a lot.

König is there to be the little spoon. Not only is it safe since he trusts his partner more than anyone, it also frees him from the necessity to hold eye contact - it's just tiring and a little anxiety-inducing for him, even if you say you're okay with him avoiding it. He feels like he's just expected to do it, but when his back is turned to you, he kinda isn't. And finally, it's just fun: he has quite a sense of humor, actually, and he won't deny that him being the "little" spoon with a partner who's smaller (doesn't matter if your size difference is comicly huge or you're actually not that far, you're definitely smaller than him). He also very much enjoys taking his partner's palm and placing it over his heartbeat - it's soothing and romantic, and also will help you notice if his anxiety spikes before he has some upsetting reaction. Never happened while you two cuddle, actually, but knowing you're there to just be with him and keep him safe is enough for this big boy. Will repay the favour by seating you between his legs, chest pressed to your back, and cuddling you like that - but only when seated for some reason. Might be spine problems, I dunno.

Valeria is a throat grabber, squeezer, biter, kisser and everything else you can imagine. She likes power, she's not ashamed of that, and she can handle having it. Marks her partner up with bitemarks and hickeys, and maybe even knife scratches and her name carved into the soft, vulnerable place between their collarbones. Likes to just run her fingers over your throat, feeling the pulse, stretching her grip to accomodate as much of your lifeline as she can into her threatening palm. But it's not always such obvious powerplay, she also enjoys kissing the soft skin gently and innocently, simply because it's sensitive and intimate. Her fingertips dance around your nape and throat while you're cuddling, sometimes they stop to feel your voice vibrating as you're telling her something, sometimes she flicks your earlobe plafully or scratches that nice place at the base of your skull. It's possessive and warm, and she would never actually threaten your life (probably), but the thrill gets both of you.

That's my random character speedrun for now, might add someone with a part two (feel free to request), and now back to my other things to do.