#this is entirely self indulgent and has been sitting in my notes for ages

[yuomizuu]

01. to be young & in love in new york city

꒰ kazuha x fem! reader ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ꒱

w.c: roughly 3.3k+

additional info: modern au, strangers to lovers, mention of character passing out from exhaustion, kazuha is a freelance writer and reader is a baker. just a couple of adults trying to understand and figure out well…life.

( 💌 ) yuomi’s note: aka my very self-indulgent zuha series that absolutely no one asked for, but here we are ladies and gentlemen. honestly, this first chapter ( and really the entire series as a whole ) is kind of just a shot in the dark at me rewriting what was originally intended as a smau to instead be a full on narrative. whether you join along for the ride or not, we’re happy to have you here ( me and kazuha ) and hope you enjoy! (๑>◡<๑)

A blend of crushed coffee beans and baked pastries wafts through the air. The rich aroma makes Kazuha exhale a pleasant sigh of relief, chin resting on the palm of his hand as he continues to mindlessly stir his cup of tea that has long since become lukewarm. His curious eyes wander from place to place: observing the baristas hard at work behind the counter, the occasional passerby from the window, and the cafe's patrons either tending to their own devices or engaging in light-hearted conversation.

Kazuha can’t exactly pinpoint when it was he began doing this particular pastime of his. It merely came about to him one day and hasn’t been able to leave since, sticking to him like coffee stains found on a newly ironed shirt. There’s just a strange sense of enjoyment he gets when watching others from afar simply live out their lives. Or as he often refers to it; people watching.

His innate attentiveness is often regarded as an extension of his caring nature and while that retains some truth, for Kazuha, it is a quality that reaches beyond simple character. The quizzical looks he’d sometimes receive from others each time he noted the brief subtleties of something seemed proof of that. He could share with you many things. Like how each time that one college student sitting in the more secluded area of the cafe begins to bounce his leg, he’ll take a sip of his drink. Or the way one of the baristas' eyes seem to linger on her coworker for longer than usual and each time she's caught, the tips of her ears turn red ever so slightly. All minor details that could easily go unnoticed to the average person.

An old acquaintance of Kazuha’s from university—a student who went by the name of Kunikuzushi—had once referred to this unique observational behavior of his as though he were nothing but a fly on the wall: watching everything unfold around him but yet having little to no involvement. Although a rather rude analogy at the time, it was one Kazuha couldn’t ultimately couldn't refute, lest his own actions claim otherwise.

Perhaps it was the aged poet within him, but Kazuha held no desire to make his presence known by all with each room he entered, nor did he want to. He was perfectly content remaining just as he was now. Preferring instead to submit his inner most thoughts and feelings on certain matters to the familiar black ink that stains his fingertips each time he writes. To live his life akin to that of a wallflower.

A call to his name pulls Kazuha out of his episode of habitual daydreaming, facing back forward as Beidou, the cafe's owner, slides him an iced tea beverage poured into a mason jar. "Hit a stump with your writing? Or do you simply just got your head up in the clouds again?"

"Ah, sorry," he sends her an apologetic smile, reaching out for the drink that he takes a modest sip of. "I was just thinking."

"Of course you are. when are you not thinking Kaedehara?" She’s got him there. "Although…call it a hunch, but you seem to be "thinking" a lot these past few days. More so than usual. Got something particular on your mind?"

"You could say that…"

"That landlord of yours still bugging ya?"

Kazuha tries to brush off her comment with a laugh, though the way he grimaces slightly tells Beidou more than enough to the truth behind his situation. "My offer from before still stands, you know." She reminds him, making sure the mug she's drying in her hands is free of any stains before putting it away in the cupboards below the counter. "If you need a place to stay, my doors are open. All it costs is you becoming a worker here."

He quickly shakes his head dismissively. "It’s alright. I’m sure i'll have things worked out by the end of this week." A blatant lie, one that Beidou can see clear as day. Yet despite that, she says nothing, much to the male’s relief.

"Well, we're having another open-mic tonight. It’s a bit last minute but if you want, I can squeeze you in somewhere on tonight's lineup."

At her words, Kazuha takes a small glance towards the small makeshift stage that lies not too far off from where he sits. He watches as a band starts to set up for their performance, tuning their instruments and testing the microphones to make sure they work. For a moment he's inclined to take Beidou’s offer. After all, reading his poetry aloud has always helped clear his mind and it wouldn't be the first time he's participated in the cafe's weekly open-mic nights. He’s even become a regular performer. Customers and audience members alike manage to recognize him and instantly look forward to listening to his poetry.

But instead, he lets out a sigh. "I appreciate the offer Beidou, but…not tonight."

"Don’t got any new poetry to share for your devoted listeners?" She jokes.

"I do. It’s just…" he pauses, glancing at his journal on the counter that has remained untouched ever since he arrived. A troubled look flashes across his face, one that he quickly replaces with a smile upon realization. "What I have now just doesn't seem suitable to present to an audience. If I went ahead and read what I wrote, it wouldn't feel as fulfilling and would be an insult to a writers like myself."

The older woman stares at him for a moment, almost as though she were waiting for that smile of his to crack and honestly, had she waited any longer, it probably would have. But eventually, she lets out a small laugh as she shakes her head. "Alright, alright, I hear ya loud and clear. We’ll save it for next time then, yea?” She gestures at the iced tea, tapping her hand twice on the counter. "It’s on the house."

Before Kazuha can open his mouth to deny anything, Beidou has already walked off, making her way over to the band to make sure all is working order with the equipment. He observes from afar for a couple of seconds before turning back, face down, as a defeated sigh escapes from him this time. even he finds his own false display of positiveness to be laughable.

Digging through his pockets, he manages to find some spare change, and after placing the currency on the table counter as a tip, he gathers his belongings and promptly exits the café just as the band's mellow rnb music begins to play. Outside, he’s greeted with the sight of peach colored skies and rolling clouds of lavender as the sun sets across the horizon. A comforting sight that quells a bit of his surging worries while also serving as a reminder of the time. It would appear his mundane activities of drinking tea and people watching lasted for longer than usual today.

Adjusting his bag, Kazuha proceeds to walk towards the nearby bus stop, opting to stand nearby upon arrival once he sees the several people gathered around already. This part of the city did tend to get more crowded compared to others, especially during evenings or weekends. Which was only natural, of course, due to the countless stores, restaurants, and bars that could be found.

Even though it makes his wallet empty, Kazuha frequently ventures out here—the liveliness of the place puts him in a more positive mood compared to where he lives. Stealing Beidou’s words, for lack of better terms, his part of the city was rather bleak and somber. In the beginning, he didn’t mind waking up to the sound of drunkards hollering throughout the streets late at night or the unpleasant view of a rundown alleyway from his only window in his apartment. When you’re strapped for money, you have to make the most of things.

But after about a month or so, Kazuha just couldn’t stand to handle such an environment for any longer. A strife that clearly showed in his writings as well. Therefore, in a desperate attempt to seek a change of scenery, even if just for a short while, he took a bus ride to a random part of the city. Fast forward to now, and here he was, visiting the more bustling parts of his city whenever possible or whenever he was in the mood for jotting down a line or two of poetry. It’s a shame, really—if money wasn’t an issue for him, he’d happily move to this place without a second thought. Maybe one day…soon.

His phone buzzes from within his pocket. A message? Could it be from Ayaka? Of perhaps it was Heizou asking for assistance on one of his projects…again. As Kazuha continues to ask himself similar questions, he pulls out his phone, but as the screen lights up, and his eyes land upon the name of the sender, he quickly becomes filled with dread.

No one likes receiving messages from their landlord, least of all if said message is in regard to their late pay on that month’s rent. Unfortunately for Kazuha, he just so happened to be in that exact predicament and his landlord was anything but pleased with his negligence.

But did he seriously have to go and tell him he was getting evicted in less than a day? How could he possibly find somewhere else to stay in such a short amount of time?

Not bothering to respond any further, much less reason with his landlord, Kazuha immediately shuts his phone off, his grip around it tightening.

Ayaka—though kind-hearted as she may be—was always busy preparing banquets and organizing numerous charity events. If Kazuha asked to stay over at her place for a while, he feels he'd only end up being a hindrance to her work. Heizou’s dorm at the university was far too small to fit two people, let alone offer room to someone who was no longer a student, so that was an instant no-go. And although Beidou had happily offered him a place to stay, Kazuha just got done rejecting her help not even ten minutes ago. He couldn’t just turn back and say he needed help now. Not after all that trouble he went through insisting he was fine. That would be embarrassing! As for family…well, there wasn’t even an option for discussion to begin with.

While the distressed male continues to silently curse at himself as the increasing lack of options become more and apparent, his eyes barely manage to catch sight of the departing bus, doors closing as it begins to drive off. “Shoot— no, wait!” He reaches a hand out as he hurriedly runs over, waving frantically in hopes of catching the attention of the driver or any passenger onboard kind enough to alert them.

But all that he gets in return is the sight of the back of the bus slowly driving off into the road. That was the last and only bus that stopped in his part of the city.

It’s taking everything in Kazuha to not throw his phone across the street right here and now. one thing after another. Archons, was the universe simply out for him today?

Left with no other options, he opts to simply walk his way back home. If only he didn’t live on the other side of town…

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The remaining hours of the day seemed to quickly pass by—the lingering traces of golden hour have long since faded into a veil of black skies, coated with shimmering with specs of stardust. Tucked away in the narrow streets of the city, lies your small yet quaint bakery. The golden lettering etched onto the glass door outside serving as the only indication that anything was there in the first place to the common passerby: Okashi Pastries.

You and your bakery are stationed next to a flower shop, the owner of which you know as Tighnari. Having your establishment set up next to his came with its perks. For starters, you always found it to be quite the delight to take in the smell of baked sweets mixing in with the delicate scent of roses, daisies, and tulips. Each morning you stepped out to set up the tables and 'open' sign, inhaling the lovely smell that permeated the air served as an energizing boost to start off your day.

Tighnari himself was also a pleasure to have as both your neighbor and fellow business owner. Aside from receiving the generous discount offers and exclusive access to newer arrivals, the florist was also a very considerate individual, occasionally giving you pointers on how to properly manage and promote your business. You’re almost certain that without his advice, your bakery would not have lasted for as long as it has.

“I mean, can you believe it?” Tighnari asked, allowing you to pour him another cup of herbal tea as he continued with venting out his frustrations of the day. “I had made it very clear to her that because she submitted her order to me at the last minute, that it wasn’t going to be ready on the day she needed it.”

You stifle a chuckle, carefully lifting your cup up to your lips. “Did you offer to give her a refund?”

“Of course I did! And not only that, but I even went as far as recommending other florist shops she could go to that would fulfill her order on the same day. But what did she decide to do instead? Complain to me over the phone for a whole hour about how my policies are ‘unethical’ apparently.”

Quickly swallowing the liquid down before you choked on it, you let out a laugh. “Well, no one said it would be easy running a self-owned business.”

“No they did not. Quite frankly, I would have very much appreciated the heads up about the amount of stupid customers I’d have to deal with before deciding to be a business owner.” Tighnari concluded in an exasperated tone, calming himself down by taking a long sip of his tea. After placing his cup down, he takes a look around at your bakery. “But you seem to be doing well at the very least. Have you been able to take care of the plants I gave you?"

You nod with a hum. “Mhm! They’re not as high maintenance as I originally expected them to be, so I’ve been managing them pretty nicely.” You follow his line of sight, observing the few potted plants you have scattered throughout the space. Their lush greenery and soft pastels of sprouting flowers add more life and color to the bakery. “The customers seem to like them too.”

“Hm, naturally.” The male comments, a subtle sense pride to his voice that you dismiss with a playful eye roll.

As the two of you continue discussing other topics, the chime of a bell suddenly echoes throughout the space. Pausing in your conversation, you and Tighnari simultaneously look towards the entrance. You catch sight of a white haired male almost stumbling in through the door, his hand gripping tightly on the handle as his entire body seemed to lean against it for support. You internally wince, thinking another drunkard has managed to find their way into your bakery uninvited—it’s happened before.

“Didn’t you have the sign switched to ‘closed’ already?” Tighnari questions in a hushed tone, sparing you a quick glance before fixating his eyes on the other with caution.

“I did…” you mutter back. Quickly masking a cordial demeanor, you walk out from behind the counter and carefully approach the male lingering by the entrance. “Um, excuse me…but can I help you with something?”

“Are you…open by any chance?” He speaks through labored breaths, his voice notably shaky and low.

“Uh, no sorry, I just closed up shop a while ago,” You start to explain, a hint of apprehension in your tone as you consider what to say next. You don’t catch any whiff of alcohol on him and other than his languid and unstable movements, he didn’t necessarily look completely intoxicated. Maybe he was just buzzed? “Did you perhaps want to place an order for something? If it’s small I’m sure I can still get it for you.”

He slowly shakes his head in response, attempting to push himself off the door. He attempts to speak again but all that comes out is a mixture of incoherent mutters and heavy breaths. You look over your shoulder back to Tighnari, who mirrors your equally puzzled look with on of his own.

“…Hey are you feeling okay? Hey…hey!” Letting your instincts take over, you immediately reach out and catch hold of the male suddenly falling forward. A slight panic courses through you as his body goes limp in your arms. Tighnari quickly appears at your side, leaning down a bit to observe the male’s condition whilst you glance between the two in concern. “Tighnari is he okay? Why did he just…?”

“He’s fine, just extreme exhaustion it seems.” He tells you, his voice calm as he gestures for you to follow his lead. “We need to lay him down somewhere, and also get him some water right away.”

With Tighnari’s instructions, you both carry the unconscious male up to your residence on the second floor. You manage to bring him inside and carefully lay him down on the nearby couch. You rush back in forth various different rooms, gathering all the things Tighnari requested of you while he tended further to the male’s condition.

Once everything settled down a little, you simply watched in silence from behind as Tighnari places a cool rag over the male’s forehead, adjusting his head against the pillow before standing up and taking a step back. He then looks to you. “If you want I can bring him over to my place instead.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t have a problem with him being here.” You gaze down at the male sleeping now on your couch. “It’d be a whole hassle to carry him all the way there now…”

He’s passed out like a lightbulb. Chest rising and falling with each breath he takes, accompanied with the faint sound of light snores. You’ve tucked him into a fleece blanket you managed to find buried in the back of your closet where upon doing so, his body instantly relaxed, curling himself further beneath as his face became devoid of tension. the soft lines around his lips show that he must be dreaming blissfully. He looked almost akin to a slumbering child: innocent and carefree. You can’t help but soften your gaze at the sight as you feel a slight pang in your heart.

“Besides, he looks like he’s been through a lot. The least I can do is make sure he has an easy rest of the night. I know I’d want the same from someone else if I was in his position.”

And you did—back when you had just moved into the city with nothing but a few bags and some spare cash to your name.

It’s never been easy out here for you. Even after everything managed to fall into place and you succeeded in getting all the things you dreamt of wanting, It always felt like there had been something that was still missing from it all. 

Like when you’re modifying a new recipe for your batch of chocolate chip cookies. Sure, each batch you made was certainly sweet and had your tastebuds craving another bite, but it somehow still tasted just like your average cookie—something was missing to it, a key ingredient of sorts. Many of your customers, friends, and Tighnari brush it off as just your sense of perfectionism getting in the way, reassuring you that the taste was good just the way it was. But you were never satisfied.

To this day you have yet to find what that “something” is exactly. Both in your chocolate chip cookies and in life. Perhaps this summer, you’ll finally find what it is you’re looking for.

♡︎ series masterlist. | ✐ next.

[badgerfrogs]

gaang roller derby au

the local team is called the ba sing skaters

their main rival is the flameos, who live in the next town over

there’s another local team called the kyoshi rollers. they don’t have a coach, which is unusual, but self-governance serves them well. they’re at the top division of the league and they’re very hard to join, tryouts are always super competitive (at least three girls usually end up with something sprained and the referee always ends up crying) (it’s sokka. sokka is the referee) and the training is lethal

toph and katara are on the ba sing skaters

toph is amazing at roller derby. her derby name is the blind bandit and she’s evil in the rink but teams who don’t know her will initially go easy on her because she’s blind. she uses this to destroy them and will knock people down without hesitation

toph hates the rules and will break them on purpose. at first it annoyed the rest of the team (katara) but eventually they (katara) got used to it. the rest of the team (katara) will not admit that they (katara) secretly delight in breaking rules and do it as well.

katara is also really good. her derby name is the painted lady, she’s team captain and occasionally helps the medic when someone gets hurt (sometimes by her own hand, she will not admit it but she has a LOT of pent up rage that she takes out when competing)

is it weird that a straight girl is captain of a roller derby team? yeah, but they just roll with it.

aang is at every single game katara and toph play. he hates seeing people get hurt but toph always tells him “it’s a contact sport, twinkletoes. what did you expect?” so he sucks it up.

roller derby does not technically have cheerleaders but aang can most definitely be classified as one. he is beloved by all

aang once brought appa to the rink while katara and the ba sing skaters were having a meeting. appa somehow got onto the floor while the kyoshi rollers were practicing and caused a pileup of 5 girls that even suki couldn’t prevent. appa is now banned from the rink.

sokka referees occasionally because he’s really good at getting into the thick of it and breaking up fights (and he promised katara he would do it). he only does that on the side though because he does jam skating and plays roller hockey during the season

sokka also picks up shifts helping the janitor sometimes because he’s a shopaholic and his bank account is suffering. one time he’s mopping up the bleachers while the kyoshi rollers are practicing and remarks that if they competed against a guys’ team, they would definitely lose. all the kyoshi skaters file to the side of the rink except for suki, who makes sokka put on derby gear and get in the rink to compete against her. she proceeds to beat his ass both figuratively and literally. sokka does not make any comments after that, and compliments the kyoshi rollers whenever he sees them practicing

sokka and suki date for a little bit but decide after a couple months that they’re ultimately better as friends. they stay really close, and sokka still goes to every kyoshi rollers game.

jet tries to commit arson on the roller rink (don’t ask me why i just think it’s funny)

the ba sing skaters and the kyoshi rollers, for their part, recognize that jet is going through it because he’s still dealing with the loss of his parents, and they also know that the local circuit court judge, long feng, is ruthless when it comes to punishment, even for minors. so they go and testify for jet and lie (sokka testifies too but only after a long moral lecture from katara), saying that someone knocked over a lamp and jet was in the wrong place at the wrong time. it’s ridiculous and long feng knows it’s a lie, but the jury believes it and jet is let off. jet, for his part, goes to the rink and thanks the team profusely. he hangs out with some of them sometimes after that and they’re a good influence on him.

jet encourages smellerbee to join the ba sing skaters, telling her the girls are really nice. smellerbee joins and the girls are immediately accepting, and it’s hugely affirming gender-wise for smellerbee because she came out as trans a little less than a year ago. jet and longshot go to all of her games to cheer her on.

ty lee and mai are on the flameos

ty lee’s gymnastics training from when she was young gives her an unexpected edge. her chi-blocking techniques also come in handy too

mai works really well with ty lee. she and ty lee are their team’s star pivot and jammer, respectively; whenever they play together in a jam the team is guaranteed to win

mai and ty lee have a RIDICULOUS amount of romantic tension and it drives the rest of the team crazy because every single person realizes it except them

azula got banned from the league permanently because yes, roller derby is a contact sport, but she took it way too far and three girls ended up in the hospital.

azula later starts her own team outside of the league and tries to convince ty lee and mai to join but they look at her like she is stupid

when zuko gets discharged from the hospital after being kicked out of ozai’s house, iroh tries to convince him that playing a team sport will be good for him. (zuko’s done martial arts his whole life but iroh thinks he really needs to make some friends.)

zuko refuses to join any men’s sports because they scare him and he doesn’t like being in groups of majority straight men. however, he soon decides he really wants to play roller derby and tries out to join the flameos because there isn’t a men’s team he can try out for. at first the flameos are suspicious of his intentions and reticent to let him join but a) iroh tells the coach about zuko’s backstory, b) zuko has a badass scar which the firegirls think can be used to intimidate the other team, and c) zuko’s intentions are not creepy because he is clearly extremely gay

katara is PISSED that a guy is allowed on the flameos, even if it’s not her team, because for a lot of the girls roller derby is a place when they can have fun and let loose without men being there. she tells aang as such, and even though he tries to convince her that maybe she should give him a chance, she won’t budge. however, two weeks later when the ba sing skaters compete with the flameos, she realizes that zuko isn’t even good, after which she is suddenly okay with it

at first zuko yells a lot (as he does in his day-to-day life) when there’s arguments during competition, until all the girls (including his own team) get tired of it and yell back at him that if they let him be on the team he should have the decency to not make them hear a man’s voice

zuko does not yell after that during competition. he does, however, cry a lot.

in general all the roller derby girls, no matter what team they’re on, will take any chance they can get to beat a guy’s ass (the only reason they didn’t do it to zuko when he yelled is because they knew, at least vaguely, about his abusive father and they have basic human decency)

eventually, the flameos get used to having zuko on the team and come to see him as a bit of a mascot. not being allowed to yell, he cries so many times that they decide he needs protecting, especially after he cries during a team bonding session when he tells them about his dad. he’s perfectly capable of protecting himself, of course, but it’s nice to have people who support him.

if one of the things that protecting zuko entails is keying ozai’s car, smashing his windows, and graffitiing his house while he’s away on a business trip, then, well? you didn’t see it happen.

one time zuko saw a male referee grope one of the girls when breaking up a fight and managed to overcome his fear of men in sports long enough to scream at the ref and beat him up until he was on the floor

to be clear, the roller derby girls will beat up any harasser they see. it just so happened that zuko was the one who noticed first that time

the flameos are impressed that zuko overcame his fear of men in sports to defend one of his teammates and buy him a blue slushie after the game (it was 11:00 p.m. and 7/11 was all out of cherry). zuko spills it all over himself and the team jokes that he should make his derby name the blue slushie. this is the perfect excuse to say "actually, i think the blue spirit is a cooler name," and the rest of the team agrees. no one knows that the blue spirit is actually the name of zuko's camp persona that he's been wanting to name himself for forever

toph has destroyed zuko multiple times in competition

one time sokka is refereeing and toph and zuko are competing in a jam. toph knocks him down way harder than she needs to and he sprains an ankle. despite this clear violation, the two teams get into a huge fight. sokka skates in, breaks it up, and drags zuko out of the rink

while the medic patches zuko up on the sidelines, sokka sits with him and tries to comfort him, thinking that zuko will be humiliated after getting absolutely wrecked by a twelve year old. zuko is not humiliated but he is sad because he won’t be able to play for a month.

zuko doesn't realize that the no-yelling rule doesn’t apply when he’s injured, so he doesn’t yell in pain and instead cries profusely.

sokka, meanwhile, has decided that this boy is very cute and tells him that he’ll hang out with him while zuko watches the games from the sidelines for the next few weeks. by the time he’s back in the rink, zuko and sokka are dating.

toph will not apologize for spraining zuko's ankle and told zuko he should thank her because she basically got him a boyfriend.

zuko wrote her a thank-you card and toph then yelled at him because she can’t read.

at this point, katara has gotten used to seeing zuko at derby games but hates that her brother is dating him, especially because he’s from the enemy team. every time she sees him with sokka, she says, “oh, look. it’s the boy that the flameos let on their team,” just so that he knows his place.

zuko tries to pay katara reparations via venmo and by reading audre lorde. once she realizes how earnest he is, she invites him to her monthly movie night with aang, where they watch romantic comedies and eat candy. zuko proves to be a model guest; he cries and laughs at the appropriate portions, accepts his equal proportion of the candy (and brings pastries from the jasmine dragon, which he divides amongst katara, aang, and himself), and awwws at the screen loudly with katara and aang when the main couple ends up happily together. katara and zuko are now best friends.

azula somehow manages to get her team approved (zuko is convinced there was some illegal activity involved, and he’s not wrong), so the ba sing skaters and the flameos decide to team up to take out their common enemy: the lightning wheels.

during the flameos’ match against the lightning wheels, azula almost seriously injures mai during a jam, but ty lee knocks azula down. in the process ty lee sprains an ankle, but while she’s being treated by the medic after the game, mai kisses her and the whole team cheers

the reason there is so much violence that goes unpunished is because bumi owns the rink and he thinks that as long as no one is getting killed, it’s a healthy, somewhat productive way for these teenagers to release all their pent-up anger while learning new skills and exercising. also, he finds it funny.

the only reason that azula got punished and banned while nobody else did is because bumi hates her for trying to feed flopsie chocolate (flopsie lives at the rink and roams free. no one knows what breed of dog (?) he is)

momo is an ugly disgusting stray cat that lives in the rink parking lot and feeds on roaches (zuko secretly feeds momo treats but momo will not let zuko touch him so zuko can't take him home) until one day momo decides he likes aang and follows him home

aang cleans momo up, gets him all his vaccinations, and makes sure he is neutered (he doesn’t need to be. strangely, the vet tells aang that it seems as if momo was... born that way?). aang now has another best friend to love alongside his other best friends, and appa finds a great sense of kinship with momo as well.

zuko is incredibly jealous and tries to take this out on katara, who keeps showing him photos of aang cuddling with momo, but she threatens to report him to the national league for breaking the rules re: gender so he shuts up very quickly

sokka briefly contemplated pulling a zuko and joining the flameos despite him being a man, but then remembered he would have to compete against katara who would not hesitate to bash his brains out while toph smashed his ankles and they would both go unpunished because bumi doesn’t care, so he quickly decided against it. he deeply admires zuko’s fortitude in the face of teenage girl wrath.

katara gave zuko a concussion once. she tried to blame it on toph, but everyone knows the truth.

[starboybutler]

Little Prince | Little!Elvis x Reader

summary: you notice that elvis has strange tendencies when you're alone together. and you decide to ask him about it one day.

warnings: age regression, little space, gender neutral reader, brief mention of insomnia

word count: 1222

notes: shoutout to @thecooleralessa for inspiring me to write this! this story was entirely self indulgent and for a few close friends of mine, so if age regression isn't something you're familiar with feel free to scroll. this was written with actual elvis in mind- but feel free to imagine austin!elvis if you want! fun fact-- elvis was actually most likely an age regressor in real life. if you read the book by his girlfriend linda thompson, there is very strong evidence of this; so this fic is based off of that + a few headcanons of mine. enjoy!! 🍼🧸

❛ ━━･❪✭❫ ･━━ ❜

the king has always been a little strange in more ways than one.

whether it was his flamboyant outfits or the way he moved on stage, he always managed to stand out in a crowd.

even behind closed doors, he had strange habits. as the king’s significant other, it was only natural you kept track of these things. he would only eat things if you cooked them, despite him having more than enough cooks around. he claimed that you ‘made it with love’, and that it tasted better. he also liked when you would feed him, and pet his hair. sometimes he just seemed like a big baby.

…maybe he was.

it was almost time for bed when you decided to ask him about it. you bought some things beforehand just in case your suspicions were confirmed.

elvis walked out from the bathroom wearing a loose pair of pajama bottoms, stretching and yawning loudly. his hair was messy, and he looked like a puppy dog.

he wandered over to the bed and flopped down next to you, laying his head in your lap and looking up at you expectantly. you faked an annoyed sigh as you reached down and ran your hands through his soft hair, making his eyes flutter closed.

“i swear,” you huff, ruffling his hair gently, making him chuckle. “you're like a big old baby.” you joked, but elvis went a little stiff under your touch.

“don’ say that, doll,” he muttered, his face flushing a soft pink as your hand stilled in his hair. you leaned down, tilting your head as you spoke softly.

“why? i was just kidding,”

“it's not funny,” elvis huffed, sitting up abruptly. he looked like he had seen a ghost, his face pale yet flushed at the same time. your suspicions were confirmed. you slowly reached out and cupped his cheek, turning his face to look you in the eye. he flushes darker red, avoiding your gaze.

“look at me,” you hum, and his eyes shyly move to look at yours. there's something shy in them, small and vulnerable and childlike– and you have the overwhelming urge to protect him.

“are you…” you hum, pausing and thinking of how to word it. “do you want to be my baby, elvis?”

elvis swallows, his throat bobbing nervously as he stares into your eyes. he nods shyly, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“oh, baby,” you sigh, purring softly as you pull him into your arms, stroking his cheek as tears fall down his red cheeks. “what's the matter? why are you crying?”

“m…’m sorry,” he hiccups softly, wiping at his eyes. “i jus’... i thought you’d think it was weird,” he sniffs, looking up at you with his big, vulnerable eyes. “you really don't mind?”

“not at all, baby,” you purr, pressing a kiss to his tear stained cheek. “you can be take a break from being the king all you want,” you smile, pressing close to him. “just be my little prince for a while.”

elvis blushed at the nickname, but nodded and nuzzled closer to you as you cooed to him lowly. he never looked so relaxed in his life. he seemed content– like he was finally at peace in your arms as you gently rocked him back and forth.

❛ ━━･❪✭❫ ･━━ ❜

you had both talked about what worked best for elvis. what he liked and didn't like, how old he would regress to, what he needed done for him, things like that. most of his needs consisted of you just holding him, cooking for him, and just being there for him overall. he wasn't really a handful– most of the time anyway– and he was the sweetest little thing. he often got shy when he slipped into littlespace, and you couldn't help but tease him a bit.

tonight was no different. he was oddly quiet at dinner, and sure enough, once you two got alone in the room, he came over to you and hugged you tightly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“oh, are you feeling little, my prince?” you asked softly, and he nodded, his face heating up as his arms tightened around you. you pressed your lips to his cheek, smiling softly as he whined and buried his face into your neck shyly.

“c’mon, let's get you into your pajamas, sweetie.”

you gently took his hand, guiding him to the bathroom. you sat him down and began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off and tossing it into the dirty clothes. you made your way to the closet, looking for his pjs. you pulled out a pink velvet pair, with his initials embroidered on the chest. it had little stars on it, and it made your heart melt. he had them custom made.

you walked back over to him, smiling as his eyes lit up at the sight of the pajamas. you pick up the soft pink top and look at him, and he immediately lifts his arms. you slip it over his head, smiling as he hums at the feeling of it against his skin. you slide his pants on as well, and he already looks so much happier.

“come on,” you coo lowly, standing and leading him back to the bedroom. “let's go relax, honey.”

❛ ━━･❪✭❫ ･━━ ❜

elvis laid his head against your chest as his eyes fluttered, trying to stay awake as the cartoons played in the background. he fell asleep easily, and it made you smile at how he always fought it.

his eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks as his eyes closed, his breath slowing as he fell asleep. you slowly moved to turn the tv off, but he began to fuss and whine.

“nuh,” he huffed, his eyes opening once more. “i wanna watch,”

you chuckled softly, putting the remote down and running your hand through his soft hair. “you're not even watching,” you sigh fondly, rolling your eyes as he pouts.

“yea i was.”

“with your eyes closed?”

“mhm.” he hums, his eyes still noticeably droopy as he brings his hand to his mouth, nibbling at his thumb. “i have superpowers,”

you pull his thumb away from his mouth, tsking and shaking your head.

“i told you about chewing on your thumb like that,” you scolded gently, patting at his cheek. “you know what you need to ask for if you want something in your mouth,”

elvis blushed, but muttered under his breath. “c’n i have my paci?”

“of course, baby.” you say softly, reaching for the bedside table and grabbing the blue pacifier with stars on it, gently placing it in his mouth.

he blushes and mumbles a ‘thank you’ around it, his head settling back down on your chest as he turns his attention back to the tv.

after a few minutes, his breathing is even and steady, and he's fast asleep against you. you smile softly, stroking his hair and finally turning off the tv as he curls closer into your chest, suckling gently on his pacifier. you had never seen him sleep so soundly when he was big, and to see him finally getting a good nights sleep set your heart and mind at ease.

your little prince would be okay as long as you were there for him.

[todoscript]

SYNOPSIS: Years of memories pouring out, Katsuki and Shouto confront their feelings for you in your very hospital room.

pairing(s): bakugou katsuki x fem!reader, todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: angst.

word count: 4.5k+

warnings: really self-indulgent fic, characters are aged-up, implied sexual content, mentions of drinking alcohol, jealousy, reader identifies as female with she/her pronouns, 

author’s note: so i found this pretty old wip i wrote before i made my blog, and after reading it over, i decided hey why not publish it? so i finished it up, did some cleaning, and heres what we got. sorry if it seems kind of shaky, i did my best with what i initially had!

“Bakugou… what are you doing here?”

Shouto enters the room with freshly bought peonies in his hands—one of the many dozen he had brought to this hospital already—his steps coming to a halt at the sight of the Explosion Hero near your hospital bed. Katsuki looks up and narrows his eyes, aggravated by the offender’s question.

“What? You got a fucking problem with me being here?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to disturb the entire hospital wing, knowingly admitting to how loud he could be. But that doesn’t suppress the bite in his tone.

“Just because you’re her fucking boyfriend doesn’t mean you’re the only one that’s allowed to worry about her,” he nearly spits, and Shouto’s face mirrors Katsuki’s own irked expression.

You have been unconscious for a week now. The cause of this incident was due to your encounter with a dangerous villain who had been wanted by the police for quite some time. Months of evading capture down the drain, the villain had unfortunately ran into you as you patrolled the streets during your nightly shift.

In the end, you won the fight, but at the cost of damage done to your body and overuse of your quirk. As a result, you entered an unconscious state, recovering in this hospital bed to be monitored by medical staff throughout each day. The doctors assured them that you would eventually wake up but will need time to heal on your own through rest.

Ever since the day you’ve been admitted here, Shouto has been visiting your bedside. However, this is the first time Katsuki’s shown up.

Shouto only points a glare to the blond, ignoring him while he sets his bouquet down next to your bed. He notices the already present vase of hydrangeas, surmising that Katsuki must have brought them. He places his bundle of peonies beside them.

The dual-haired man sits on the opposite side of the bed from Katsuki, whose attention is brought back to the girl’s sleeping face, patched with wraps and bandages as a result of your tribulations with the villains.

If I had finished my jobs quicker, I would’ve been able to see you the moment you had to stay in this damn hospital. The thoughts ring in Katsuki’s head, hands clenched into fists out of frustration.

Knowing you had to deal with that whack job of a villain on your own—that your overprotective and valiant nature wouldn’t allow you to let this criminal walk away when you encountered him, and that they weren’t there to prevent you from getting like this—killed both him and Shouto on the inside. They especially hated not knowing when you would wake up or if what the doctors said about you eventually regaining consciousness would even be true.

Shouto takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. Katsuki catches him pressing delicate kisses against your lightly bruised knuckles from the corner of his eye, the young man not caring that he was performing these intimate acts in the presence of another man. Shouto especially did this in order to make a solid point:

She’s mine.

Katsuki knew very well how possessive Shouto could be while he was in their presence. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him. If he got to call you his and keep you all to himself, he’d make sure everyone knew they couldn’t have you—that your smile and attention were all his and his alone. But in this case, they weren’t, and all he could settle for were envious emotions and fantasies of what could’ve been.

•

•

•

Bakugou Katsuki’s feelings for you date back to as early as your high school years at U.A.

At first, he wasn’t entirely sure what made these feelings arise. Having his goal of becoming the Number One hero plastered at the forefront of his head made romance and love trivial concepts down his path. Katsuki had no time to be chasing after girls, going on dates, and devoting a chunk of his time to a partner.

However, at one point, things started to change. He felt ripples affect the still waters that were his life, and he noticed that only you could calm this torrent. You were the one person he sought comfort in, the one person that understood who he was and why he acted the way he did. And the one person who mended him physically and mentally without belittling his character or crushing his pride.

Through all of that, Katsuki had begun to appreciate and admire all the little things about you. Like your beaming smile and the twinkle in the lovely hues of your eyes that you’d give him as you two interacted. It was such a welcomed contrast to the fearful looks the other students would have etched on their faces whenever he so much as called out their name.

He always took note of how you adjusted his food to his preferences during times you were assigned to cook that night at the dorms. And how you’d go and try to tend to him after training, when his muscles ached and his bruises were settling into his skin.

At first, Katsuki thought of it as a sign of weakness—to accept help from someone else when at his most vulnerable state. Yet you were persistent.

He recalls a particular memory after a battle during his internship where he was reduced to resting in bed to recover. Not many of his classmates came up to check on him during that time. Mainly because they figured he wouldn’t bother to open his door for them anyway. Though one night, he heard a knock sounding from his door. He glanced up from his bed, already thinking about ignoring the visitor in favor of staying in bed to rest, but a voice spoke beyond the threshold.

“Katsuki? I hope you’re not asleep yet. It’s not much, but I made you a little something to help you get better.” He didn’t reply upon recognizing your voice, hesitating to see what you’d do if he didn’t respond.

There was a pause of silence until you eventually continued. “Well, I’ll leave this in front of your door for you to have… If not, I’ll come back and retrieve it, okay?” That was the last you said before Katsuki picked up a light clank near the bottom of the entrance. Afterward, feet padded lightly down the hallway till they returned to the elevator to descend to the bottom floors, and the blond was by himself once again.

He weighed the option of leaving whatever you left for him untouched, but knowing you made an effort to arrive at his door to check on him caused him to waver. Before he knew it, his feet treaded to the spot to discover a hot plate of curry at his doorstep, followed by a note and painkillers. The plate perched on one of his hands, he opened the letter with the other.

Get better soon! We’ll be waiting for you!

Closing the note, he tossed it on his desk before plopping down on the edge of his bed with the plate of curry in his lap. It steamed and dispersed heat on his sore thighs, piping hot and ready to eat.

He gripped his spoon between his fingers, an irregular grin surfacing his lips. He scooped up the spicy bits of curry, gobbling the dish down to its very last grain of rice until the plate was clean. And in that time, every bite he brought to his mouth made him think of you.

“Dumbass, there’s no way I’m falling behind.” Feeling thoroughly full, he transferred the finished plate to his desk, where he had left the note. Before he had even realized it, he reached out for the paper, glancing over the words one last time. He fished a pen from his drawer and scribed a reply of his own for when you would return for the dirty plate.

Thanks, dumbass. It was good.

•

•

•

The Icy-Hot Hero, Todoroki Shouto, loved you too much to let you go.

You were the girl that shaped him to become the person he is today—who taught him to embrace himself for who he was and not let his past define him and what he stood for. You were the person that brought him out from the dark hole he trapped himself in and cast him into warm light. You’ve stuck together through thick and thin throughout your journey to becoming Pro Heroes, protecting one another and watching each other’s backs. It wasn’t long before he noticed his feelings for you had developed into more complicated emotions. Emotions that made butterflies flutter in his stomach and his face unusually hot whenever he even glanced in your direction. As he began to actively seek you out for comfort and support, he thought of you differently in comparison to all of his other classmates.

Initially, these foreign feelings troubled him. Yet, he could never quite piece together why you could garner such flustered reactions.

Then after consoling these newfound sensations with his close friends and family, he realized that you meant so much more to him than just a classmate, an ally, a colleague. Todoroki Shouto was—is—in love with you.

And the feeling was mutual.

Whether it was the intense looks you two sent as your gazes naturally drifted to each other or how your hands would always brush across soft and calloused knuckles in a silent plea to lace your fingers together, it wasn’t long before he discovered that his feelings for you were reciprocated.

Interestingly, you and Shouto never had to confess anything to each other. Your feelings came almost naturally for you both like you were telepathically linked and on the same wavelength. You came to one another like magnets attracted to their opposite poles, and in just a blink, your lips had met one day, and you took each other’s first kiss.

From then on was the start of many more “firsts.”

Shouto remembers the first time he let you hang out in his dorm room, talking about simple things like school, studying, and internships.

He remembers your first date to a cafe his older sister recommended—the one with flavorful milk teas he knew you’d take a liking to, with bountiful flowers decorating the interior of the tea house.

He remembers inviting you into his home to meet his older siblings, have dinner with them, and letting his family get to know you as his significant other.

He remembers taking you to see his mother at the psychiatric ward his wretched father had admitted her to, finally letting the two most significant women in his life meet and watching as his mother took a relieved liking to the girl he loves.

He remembers the tension that hovered in the air over an argument you two had one day, which was eventually mended through communication and reaffirmations of love.

He remembers embracing you in his bed, devoid of nothing but yourselves in your purest forms, eliciting sweet sounds from your lips that intoxicated him with lust and drove him to desire more and more until he monopolized every crevice of your body—every ounce of your soul—and intended to burn your beautiful, sinful image into his memory.

He remembers so much of the little things and the significant things about your love that he could never, ever hand you over to anyone else. Less of all to Bakugou Katsuki.

•

•

•

Katsuki was one of the first people to notice that they were in a relationship.

At first, it wasn’t obvious. The two made a point to keep their romantic bond a secret among their classmates and teachers not to complicate things and be the subject of teasing. They also considered the fact they needed to focus on their studies and hero training. Kisses and other affectionate touches were done behind closed doors or whenever they knew no eyes could discover them. These sneaky tactics proved to be effective and not many questioned them about relationships, aside from the occasional girls/boys talk they’d do. They’d ask each other things like “who would you date” and “don’t you think ‘so-and-so’ is cute” and many other curious asks. Their answers to these inquiries were inconspicuous enough that most of their friends didn’t suspect much of anything. Except for Katsuki.

Katsuki was never one to pick apart details, not as much as his childhood rival, Deku, anyway. But the more he looked at them, the more he was aware of the particular hints and their subtleties of tenderness. Such as the way the red-and-white-haired boy would perk up at the sound of your name or the chime of your voice from across the dormitory’s common area. Or the way you two would hover around each other more often than you would your classmates as if maximizing the most of your time together in public. Or how you’d go on small study dates together and hold each other’s hand underneath the table in the library, thinking no one would notice.

Perhaps, the most significant indication, however, was the expressions on each of their faces.

Maybe Katsuki had started becoming very hyper-aware, unraveling your mannerisms and making out even the smallest of singularities, but he felt your faces alone were an obvious giveaway.

The looks you gave each other were ones harboring nothing but pure love and adoration. He could discern the glow you exuded simply basking one another’s presence. Those looks weren’t ones you would give to a close friend; they were something more. He would know. That look Shouto gives is the same one Katsuki has for you, after all.

Except, his is never reciprocated.

That pretty smile, the flustered expression across your cheeks, the sparkling hues of your eyes—all those little details were reserved for Shouto, not Katsuki.

It hurt to know that the gaze you give Katsuki wouldn’t ever be the same one you give to Shouto. Katsuki knows this, and yet he still can’t seem to get past you.

The moment he was aware of his feelings—reluctantly fathoming the fact that you were with Shouto—Katsuki did everything in his power to stop these feelings.

No, not just stop. He had to get rid of them. Cut any connection with them. Dealing with an aching heart was too much work and pain for a boy with heavy aspirations to bear. So he ignored you—erased you. He didn’t so much as spare you even a glance as if you were just another extra. Whenever you appeared, he made a move to leave, spouting excuses such as “I’m going to sleep,” or “I don’t have time to be around you losers,” the usual Bakugou Katsuki response to any form of unnecessary socializing. He had to act like you didn’t exist, put his mind on something else—anything else.

But darn that girl and her need to check on and care for other people.

Noticing something was wrong with the boy, you sought Katsuki out, cornering him. You asked him what was wrong, to which Katsuki gritted his teeth, unable to look at you in the eyes, knowing that those feelings would bubble up inside him again as they conjured troublesome butterflies in the pits of his stomach. Yet it was no use.

He couldn’t deny that he missed those times together—when you would patch up his wounds and bruises after training or when you’d let him try out your spicy ailments before half-and-half because you always knew he had a preference for spicy foods. He still had it bad for you.

And he continued to harbor those feelings even after you all graduated after your third year at U.A.

The heroes-in-training were ready to take on the real world as Pro Heroes and sidekicks. By then, you and Shouto had admitted to the class about your relationship. Some were surprised, while others, specifically the girls, expressed their rounds of “I knew it!” likely noticing the chemistry between the two long before. Katsuki had decided to play dumb and acted like this announcement meant completely nothing to him. Just useless news. That was what he told himself, anyway.

After that, Katsuki didn’t see much of the couple around. All of them were busy with work and trying to get their names out in the public to compete on the Billboard Hero Chart.

Which was good news for him. With his goal of becoming the Number One Hero still lodged into his head, the blond threw himself into his heroic duties. Often, he didn’t stop, persisting on job after job until the agency he was under forced him to take breaks whenever they deemed necessary for his health. In those times, Katsuki found himself slowly forgetting about you. But occasionally, he’d see glimpses of you again.

As expected of one of the graduates under Class A of U.A., you were definitely making a name for yourself and propelling in popularity. Whether he wanted to or not, Katsuki would see articles and advertisements glowing with your resplendent features plastered on headlines, covered by your hero name.

God, did you look as beautiful as always. Katsuki would think before jolting his mind back to reality, remembering that you weren’t his to ogle.

The last part was hard to bear, especially when his former class announced a reunion party at a restaurant Momo had reserved for them when everyone had hit the legal drinking age. Katsuki was definitely not keen on going. However, his friend Kirishima had convinced him to come along through relentless persistence.

Ultimately, he attended the reunion. He and Eijirou arrived together and appeared relatively earlier. Well, earlier than at least half the class anyway. Eventually, more of their former classmates trickled into the food establishment and greeted one another with boisterous cheers all around. Which, unfortunately for him, included the people Katsuki dreaded to see the most—you and Shouto.

Your hand was already laced with half-and-half’s when you two entered, resulting in some of their classmates teasing you about your public display of affection. Both didn’t mind though. Over the years, you’ve grown quite comfortable with hand-holding and even hugging in the open.

You know who did mind? A certain explosion hero, of course.

Save that shit for when I don’t have to fucking see it. He almost hissed out loud but bit his tongue at the last second.

To his luck, you had ended up sitting next to him, with Shouto at your left. Though you were sandwiched between two guys from your former class who were infatuated with you, Katsuki felt like he was more suffocated than you were.

The reunion that night went by relatively smoothly. You would chime in some small talk with Katsuki during certain intervals of time while everyone was holding their own conversations in the background. He did his best to keep his cool and not let himself act like a high schooler in love. To some degree, he thought his facade had worked as he played off his usual “Bakugou responses,” albeit with a lot less yelling and venom in comparison to how he spoke to everyone back in high school. Dare he say, he might have even softened up a bit. What he didn’t notice was Shouto glancing at him from the corner of his eye while in the middle of a conversation with Midoriya.

The night continued with rounds of alcohol poured across the table of twenty-one heroes. They made their cheers before helping themselves to their spirits. Conveniently, Shouto and Katsuki were very adept at holding their drinks. You? You weren’t as great. By the end of the night, you passed out from how drunk you were and had ended up laying your head on the table, head floaty and light.

By then, everyone else had left aside from maybe five or so people. Momo graciously helped the couple secure a cab home safely for the night, and Shouto had gotten up to help confirm some information. Katsuki was left to his own devices with you next to him.

His eyes couldn’t help but wander toward your form. You were so vulnerable in front of him, with your soft lips, splayed hair, and long eyelashes turned in his direction for him to see. Though a bit of that smell of alcohol lingered, he could still make out the flowery aroma you always gave off. You smelled of lavenders, daisies, roses—every fucking flower under the sun—with a hint of honey. Your scent intoxicated him. He started to wonder if this is how you smelled like at home, or if your scent became even more potent whenever you appeared fresh out of the shower and—

Katsuki hadn’t realized his hand had subconsciously gone up to brush a stray hair from your face until he managed to pull himself away from his thoughts. Thankfully, he retracted his hand back before committing himself to the act. But the gesture did not go unnoticed by the heterochromatic-eyed man who had appeared again to gather you in his arms.

Shouto had taken his coat and wrapped it around you before hooking his arms beneath you to cradle your body.

“Mm, Shouto…” you hummed against him, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you nuzzled further into him while on the verge of sleep. Katsuki’s heart throbbed hearing those half-dazed murmurs that left your lips, which hovered so close to that bastard’s neck. He wanted the privilege of holding you close and taking care of you at your most vulnerable.

“Come on, love, we’re going home,” he said fondly at your resting state. Katsuki didn’t catch the cold glare Shouto sent his way as he looked elsewhere to avoid the couple’s intimacy right in front of him. All he could hear after that was the engine of their cab rumbling in the distance, trailing back to their humble abode.

•

•

•

“...I know.” Shouto finally breaks the silence within the hospital room, eyes still trained on his beloved as he rubs his thumb across your knuckles to the base of your hand.

Katsuki looks up at his words incredulously. “The fuck is that suppose to mean.” He narrows his brows into a pressed glare.

“I know that you’re in love with her.”

Katsuki deadpanned, his eyes wavering at the man’s declaration. Should he deny it? Make it seem as if the icy-hot head was delusional? No. He knows that the signs must have been obvious coming from the one man in his way of vying for your attention, the man that would go to so many lengths for you that he’d travel to the moon and back in a heartbeat if it were in your name. Katsuki can’t pry himself out of this one.

He takes a glance at you. Was this really the place to be confronting him about this? In the presence of your unconscious state resting in this hospital bed between them?

“And what about it?” Katsuki counters his claims.

“I don’t plan on letting her go no matter what.” As if to make a point on his words, Shouto’s hold on your limp hand is firm, unmoving. He slowly shifts his gaze to the ash blond, crossing his look of anger. “So stop playing this game.”

When the words travel across the hollow hospital room and to Katsuki’s ears, his fists tighten in response. “Game? Game?!” He raises his voice, body shaking. “You think my feelings are some sort of joke to you?! That I’m only looking at her like this for fun?!” His eyes find Shouto’s blue and gray, red with ire. The young man in front of him is unfazed in the wake of his indignation.

“Let me tell you something fucking straight…” Katsuki starts, stepping forward, finger pointing fiercely in Shouto’s direction. “I won’t deny anything I feel for her at this point. I’m in love with her, alright?” he admits without hesitance and notices the subtle quirk of Icy-Hot’s brow. “And I’ll tell you that if she were mine, she wouldn’t have gotten in this position in the first place.”

Those words are what finally make Shouto’s unnatural composure crumble. He releases your hand to stand from his place and face the blond at eye level. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Crossing his arms, Katsuki scoffs at the question.

“You’d think I’d even let that villain get near her if this was gonna happen?” He gestures in the direction of your patched-up form, asleep and littered with bruises. “If she were looking at me, I would’ve already been on the scene to back her up. And just what were you doing, huh? Helping old ladies cross the street?” Katsuki is unfiltered as he hurls his insults, but three years of dealing with him as a classmate has made Shouto immune to his temperament.

“Let me get this through your head then. She was never looking at you. She was looking at me.”

Ouch. The blond would be lying if those words didn’t stir a pot of hurt inside him.

“And as both her partner and a fellow Pro Hero, I more than trusted her enough to finish the job on her own. Even if this isn’t a game to you, you’re already losing a battle you can’t hope to win.”

“Not sure why you’re the one calling the shots for her,” Katsuki quips. How ironic the girl they’re both fighting over lays comatose in this very bed between them.

The atmosphere is layered in dreadful silence afterward. The monitor next to you beeps in eery succession. It is the only thing heard in the hospital room that is wrapped in tension so taut it is bound to snap at any moment.

The knot of strife is undone by the door sliding open to reveal a nurse entering the uneasy state of the room.

“Mister Bakugou and Mister Todoroki, I’m sorry, but visiting hours at the hospital are closed for the evening,” she informs them as the two had yet to realize the sky veiled darkening orange with the setting of the sun. Eyeing the clipboard hugged to her chest, they knew it was about time for the hospital to assess your condition again.

The two make their leave, taking the time to thank the nurse before doing so, but the suffocating tension follows them even outside the hospital. They don’t speak a word afterwards, only sharing bristled looks and heavy steps until they’re forced to head off in their respective paths, not sparing any more kindness.

To Shouto, Katsuki would never understand the lengths he’d go for you because Katsuki could also never experience what the two of you went through together in the same way. All those years together, forging unforgettable memories of love and tenderness, could never be replicated.

But the blond isn’t bothered by those facts. It doesn’t unnerve him that he was unable to encounter all those firsts with you because in his mind, he’ll just create new memories—ones that you’ve never experienced and ones that will make him the last and only person you’ll ever want by your side. He’ll blow fucking Icy-Hot out of the atmosphere.

ending note: heyyy congrats if you’ve made it to the end. i think at the time i was writing this, i had an idea on how to progress the fic, but i decided to leave it on this. not particularly sure if i’m going to continue this, i may just leave it up to your interpretation. does katsuki steal the readers heart? does shouto protect his love from being severed in front of him? will the reader even wake up? find out on the next episode of dragon ball z

[kenmaskitten10]

Dilf Deku Headcanons

Midoriya Izuku x GN!Reader

warnings: swearing, NSFW themes (nothing graphic just briefly mentioned),brief mention of bullying/scars, idk this is pretty tame nothing is really described... if u don't like dilfs then don't read this :)

a/n: okay! this is my first time writing/publishing anything on Tumblr so please go easy on me haha... I've had ridiculous Deku brain rot lately and I decided I had to jot a few thoughts down. I'm playing with the idea of turning this into a writing blog, but I am undecided! If anyone wants to thirst for one Izuku Midoriya please come talk to me please anyway without further ado here are some Dilf!Deku hcs.... I'm playing around with doing a NSFW version after this so if you would like to see that let me know!

w/c: 1,498

Okay everyone today I want to talk about Dilf!Izuku

This may be controversial but I personally believe that he has the most Dilf potential out of any of the class 1A boys and no I will not be taking criticism at this time

Sorry but even when he’s younger he has Dilf energy - he’s caring, considerate, takes your feelings into account like a dad he just wants to take care of his baby

oh fuck this man no no no

And listen, here me out on this one….. he has more dilf potential than Bakugo and allow me to tell you why

We can all agree that Bakugo has been confident his entire life, so of course he’s going to be confident when he’s older?? duh

But IZUKU is a different story altogether, he’s never felt confident in his life

His whole childhood he was looked down on for being quirkless, and bullied by someone he thought was his friend kachaan

THEN he got a quirk but oh every time he uses it it breaks all his fucking bones and leaves him with all these scars, and he appreciates them because of what they represent but also he’s young when he gets them, he’s already prone to insecurity and when he’s younger ESPECIALLY i think they just remind him of previous failures

He only started to gain a little bit of confidence in his UA days, but it takes time to rebuild yourself after you’ve been torn down for so long, so I honestly imagine he doesn’t even feel an inkling of confidence until his third year or later and even then, it’s new, it’s unfamiliar, he doesn’t totally know how to act

Because yes, by his third year, he’s starting to realize, oh wow okay, I have an incredible quirk and all these new abilities that I can control better, and wow people are paying attention for good reasons , because he’s tall and attractive, probably cuts his hair undercut Izuku supremacy and he’s made some solid friends who help boost his confidence too

But despite all this, deep down he still feels like that quirkless little kid who has to work three times as hard as anyone else and still doesn’t get the recognition he deserves

But OH BOY

DILF IZUKU??? This man is dripping with confidence

he’s older now. he’s overcome a lot. he’s gone to therapy, and worked his way through the pro hero ranks until he earned his number one spot fair and square, that’s something no one can take away from him

He’s loaded now (see below because I go on a whole tangent), he has nice tasteful style that can only come with age and experience

He knows he’s hot now, because its simply no longer something that can be denied, anyone with eyes can see how attractive he is

If he catches you staring at him, he doesn’t shy away. His cheeks might tint slightly, but he stares right back with the biggest smirk on his face. “See something you like, angel?”

Probably finds reasons to show off slightly but he’s Dilf!Izuku so it’s subtle, it’s meant just for you and god does it drive you crazy

The way he’ll reach for and grab at things when he’s around you because he knows you like his hands (he wants to hold your bags and please let him he just wants to feel needed)

They way he stands behind you while you cook, or work, or read…. He sees you sitting or standing so peacefully and he’ll come up behind you to check out what it is you’re doing. He’ll lean down slowly, quietly, stopping when his breath is on your neck and your nose is filled with his scent, and take a quick peek at whatever it is you’re working on. It takes you a moment to turn around, your heart starting to beat faster in your chest due to his looming presence behind you (I DON’T KNOW WHY THIS IS HOT TO ME IT JUST IS OKAY). When you finally turn to face him, his face breaks into a small smile of victory as his strong hand catches your jaw in a gentle grip and he places an achingly soft kiss to your lips before saying “You look so cute when you’re concentrating,”. As you’re about to go in for another, he lets you go and stands up again, his eyes twinkling. “No no, you’re working so hard baby, don’t let me distract you,” WHEN ALL HE WANTED WAS TO DISTRACT YOU and he succeeded and now you’re all hot and bothered, with no hope of resuming what you were doing

Dilf Deku is a tease I know he is but it’s okay he’ll make it up to you later ;)

He’s got shorter, slightly more cropped hair with grey mixed in with the green, his face more lean and angular… not to mention years of pro hero work have toned his body into an absolute work of art I’m gonna pass out just thinking about it

Freckles splashed across his skin like hundreds of little constellations, accented by scars and marks from old wounds (which he’s come to appreciate - they show how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get to where he is now) he’s muscular but I don’t think he’s quite as big as All Might (his fighting style is a lot different so of course he would build muscle in different places) so this means LEGS LEGS LEGS

LEG MUSCLES FOR DAYS

THICK FUCKING THIGHS oh my god

And holy shit his back muscles too WHEW sometimes in the morning when he gets up before you, you watch him sit on the edge of the bed and flex his shoulders and arms to stretch out in the hazy morning light and Jesus Christ

Dilf Deku is older now, he’s spent his entire life working himself too hard and he missed out on a lot of the fun, impulsive, chaotic things young people do, so I think he wants to let loose a little in his older age, have some fun for once

And what’s more perfect than sweet, youthful, tantalizing little you to indulge in ?

He’s so doting, just wants to make you feel special and cared for

And on that note, if you will indulge me for a moment

he’s fucking RICH like

He’s the number one pro hero, he has brand deals on brand deals on brand deals

And I don’t mean to slander All Might and Endeavor, but in terms of a hot, fuckable number one pro hero, Deku has them beat by a landslide so I imagine he has a wider range of brand deals too, because he can sell the sex appeal angle

I mean can you imagine him in interviews? Interacting with fans? Confident yes, but still soft spoken and kind, almost gentle but anyone can tell he’s completely in control, of himself, of the interview, of the audience, this man has the entire country world wrapped around his little finger

All this to say he’s DRIPPING WITH MONEY

he’s like the guy that overtips an OBSCENE amount like if the waiter is really nice he’ll tip like $300 dollars and won’t even blink (I know they don’t tip at restaurants in Japan but this is more for vibes yk)

sugar daddy deku isn’t a stretch it’s a REALITY

Y’all can be officially together or not, either way Deku loves to spoil his precious little y/n

All you have to do is smile sweetly and ask, and he’s absolute putty in your hands

Complies with even the most egregious of your demands, because hey, he has the money to spare, and how could he say no when you look so cute asking so politely?

GOOD TASTE too like he has a lot of money but he knows how to spend it 😏

Additionally he’s, ya know, him, so he’s insanely charitable and donates to charities, go fund me, personal Venmo accounts of fans that need it

if a fan has like a go fund me for some reason that catches his eye, he’s going to donate and he’s going to donate a lot (A LOT)

he doesn’t even do it for the press, he does it bc he’s a good person but my GOD the press eats it up and so do the fans

These hc’s are so self indulgent but all this to say

Dilf!Deku gets what he wants when he wants it and no one is standing in his way

So when he decides it’s you he wants? Well then it’s you he’s going to get!

[lumisfiction]

Just For Tonight

Kakashi x Black Reader

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kishimoto, gif not mine found on the internet.

Warning: Black Reader Insert, fluff

Part 1

****Part Two*****

Y/n’s house was the most enchanting place in all the Hidden Leaf, four miles into a secluded forest lay a stone path with handcrafted lanterns along it. The forest that surrounded it was filled with every color of wild flower that Kakashi had ever seen. It was as if he was no longer in the village, like he’d stepped into another world, y/n’s world. A world of fireflies, sun flowers, moon flowers, roses of every color, and lilies. A pastel painting with a deep green undertone of the entire forest. All around him were arches, tall trees with branches that entwined with evening birds perched on them singing their evening hymn. The dim light of moon peaking through illuminating the walk way. If it hadn't been for Sasuke and Naruto he would have never found this place.

Tugging eagerly at his vest Naruto guided him farther until they came to a large clearing. The moon and stars were brighter as it reflected on the surface of the small pond in front of them. It seemed all matter of creatures came out tonight in celebration of y/n, the sounds around him growing louder. A pleasant loudness that blended with the atmosphere of the pond and on its surface glowing lotuses glided past. Naruto reached down and picked one up, crystal liquid pooling over his small fingers. Kakashi watches as its blue light dimly lights the boy's youthful face. He looked his age then, like a child who held the most precious thing in the world. “These are her favorite” cupping it delicately Naruto presented his hands to him. “I know you came last minute Kakashi sensei, you can bring this as a gift” Naruto grinned a mischievous glint in his eye. “A gift” Kakashi scratched the back of his neck, painfully aware of his unpreparedness. In his haste to cheer Naruto up he’d forgotten that he just returned from a mission. His clothes were dirty and his hair was grimy. “I think a gift is the least of my concern” Kakashi pulled at his filthy pants, he could fill the dirt under his fingernails. He thought about y/n then how pretty she would look and her face when she saw him. It would be their first official meeting and this is what she’ll see. Her first impressions forever skewered by his dirty attire. It made his hands tremble and he felt heat rush throughout his body, a nervousness swelling somewhere deep within him. Nervous to meet y/n, like a school boy who finally gets to spend time with his crush.

Sasuke looked behind him observing a riled up Kakashi. Even in the moonlight and a half exposed face he knew exactly what his tinted cheeks meant. “She shouldn’t be home yet, you can freshen up once we get there” his arms practically spilling over with an assortment of flowers. Kakashi looked over at Sasuke sighing, was he that easy to read? How long has it been since he was social? Was he so out of touch that he couldn't even manage to hide his emotions from a prepubescent boy.

His mind wandered off again as he began to contemplate his decision to attend. It was all too sudden, what if he made of a fool of himself? Or worse what if he isn't welcomed? Thoughts were spinning around and round his head so much so that a scowl returned to his face and his exposed brow scrunched. His inner conflict occupied all of his attention so much so he hadn't noticed Sasuke making kissing noises. Not until the boy began to tease him childishly.

"Kakashi and y/n sitting in a tree k.i.s.s.i.n.g" Sasuke relentlessly teased Kakashi with a child-like twinkle in his eyes. It was perplexing, the cool headed vengeful Sasuke was the polar opposite of his former self. Laughing and smiling as he bent down to pick even more flowers along the water. Stopping to look them over and disregard the flowers he no longer wanted.

It was so out of character for him that Kakashi hadn't noticed he was gawking. “He always brings her freshly picked flowers” Naruto came into view with a smug look on his face. Kakashi hadn’t noticed until tonight how different with her in their life they had become. How both of them practically morphed into children right before his eyes. Naruto was feather light and cheerful while Sasuke was playful, thoughtful, and happy. They look so innocent he almost forgot they were shinobi, genin who’d soon participate in the chunin exams. He recounted to himself a time when he looked like them. When he too was happy and innocent. Just a boy and his father.

All of them fell in a silent stride as they began walking again. Crossing over a small bridge that brought them to their destination at last. Willow trees and what seemed like a thousand fireflies greeted them. There at the foot of the path stood the most beautiful wooden arch with yellow flowers twisting around it's bark. Dangling loosely from it a chipped wooden sign that read "Happy Birthday y/n. “I made that” Naruto’s face gleamed with all the pride of a not so masterful craftsman as he pointed his finger in the direction of if. Sasuke scoffed as he remarked how tacky he thought it looked. With an ego as big as his competition he stated how much better his lanterns were in comparison. Naruto glared at Sasuke, his eyes sharp as he retaliated with an insult of his own. There was no end to it, both of them going on and on about what y/n liked best. It was driving Kakashi a little crazy, having to go on missions with their insistent contest was one thing, but this was a whole other sort of annoying. The kind that made him so irritated that all the cool level headed temperament in the world couldn’t prevent the annoyed look on his face. He thought about home and his warm recliner. The green hardback book that he so often read to indulge his perverted mind. The faint feeling of heat coursing throughout his slightly reddening cheeks. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and stick to his original plan. A plan that didn't involve two rowdy brats.

The house was a deep oak red with hints of a darker brown. It was large with a stairway above it that led to a smaller house. It had flags and a large telescope pointing toward the eastern sky.

The entire estate was homely and welcoming, the yard embedded with an even more alluring green. Fresh cut grass and lanterns that spread about it illuminating everything in its path. Nothing could make this scene before him more stunning he thought to himself as he looked all around in awe.

She descended from the steps, the most beautiful sight of all, Y/n. Her raven coils shining in the moonlight and her skin glistening like the surface of a smooth diamond. She was most certainly magical, the tail of her white dress flowing behind her when she walked a smooth glide only a goddess would have.

"Y/n" as fast as their feet would carry them Naruto and Sasuke ran to her open arms ruining her pretty dress even though she didn't seem to mind. She embraced them with a hug that only a mother would give her beloved children. When they parted Sasuke was the first to present his gift, a bouquet of wild flowers "Happy Birthday y/n". Her face lit up as she leaned over to kiss his exposed forehead and his face become even more redder than before.

From the distance where Kakashi stood he saw the pearls her pretty teeth, her full lips lifting the bones of her cheeks. The way her breast sat prettily in her clothes and the playful glint in her almond eyes. She seemed to get prettier as he came closer and his eye drifted downward and then up again taking in her full form. All of his former reservations escaped him,his heart thudding in his chest as he made his way closer. Yes, Just for tonight he'll indulge himself.

Author Notes: Trying to decide if this should just be a three part or more series. Next chapter will be released soon and it will contain light smut. Thank you for all your support!

[aveegrex]

What now?

satosugu angst, no comfort, just purely self-indulgent piece on how I think gojo felt when everything between him and getou just ... stopped.

genre: pure angst

word count: 0,8k TW: manga spoilers, character death, lots of self-doubt and reminiscence, unresolved issues. READ IT IF YOU ENJOY BAWLING YOUR EYES OUT.

author's note: this one is to my own twisted little brain that has no idea what it's doing at likes to bask in pain and "what if's"

_____________________________________________ the chosen one, the honoured one

the incredible and the omnipotent, the awaited and the feared

silly little kid with his six silly little eyes, filled to the brim with tears, clutching on his silly little pillow and grinding his teeth so hard they threatened to start a fire.

gojo was hiding in a hotel room at some dumpster neighbourhood in tokyo. he could hear raindrops bombarding the streets, heavy unwavering walls of rain shutting him off the world entirely, muffling down all traffic and human noise outside of the tiny room that he chose as his hiding spot.

normally if he wanted solace he would have gone to some fancier establishment, the one where they provide guests with spa access and fine dining on the house. But as he was wandering around tokyo, his nerves on fire, his feet dragged him to this specific place, where sheets still smell like one night stand cum and ac units cry of old age.

they once had a mission nearby with suguru, and gojo then was shocked to realise the building was in fact inhabited.

he has no idea how much time has passed, nor that he cared. no, now his whole undivided attention was dedicated to beating himself inside. to asking himself the same questions over and over again

what if I stayed by his side? was it necessary to turn my back to him? could I have been more patient?

gojo was always a lonely kid - that's what happens when one's family makes sure that not a single drop of a child's talent goes to waste. he didn't have friends, didn't have his first love, first kiss, first anything remotely social. he wasn't human to his family, merely a tool, a weapon of mass curse destruction, the one to be always perfected and updated, but not loved.

suguru told him he was human. he made fun of gojo, he had fun with gojo, he joked around and smiled and shared his music tastes with gojo. suguru slapped gojo across the head when gojo asked if 1 000 yen is enough to buy chips, and was the first one to shove a donut from 7/11 in gojo's mouth as they ogled at stolen playboys behind the corner.

and now suguru was a shaman gone rogue, a mass murderer. dead, on top of all that, completely and utterly gone, nonexistent in any percievable universe. gojo wondered, if he himself is still human after that.

maybe if I stayed by his side? would I still have a friend if I stayed? would everything be back to how it used to be?

a new wave of sorrow and despair washed over him, and gojo tried to lift himself up to sit, but uncontrollable sobs shook his form and he bent down, grabbing his disheveled locks and screaming.

was I too selfish to walk other way? am I a traitor to not save him from himself?

his mind split in two, or so it felt. polar opposite narratives, polar opposite lines of thought pounding in his brain and gojo wondered if it was his punishment.

coward, traitor, egotistical moron. - visious whispers of billion voices expolding in him, and gojo hit his head, nearly knocking himself out.

he chose his demise, you'd just fall deeper after him if you stayed, - a voice of reason joined in to the choir. was it reason though, or was it self-preservation? his brain trying to keep him at least somewhat sane, avoiding an ugly truth.

alone, alone again, with no hope of finding anyone to fill the giant suguru-shaped hole in his soul. Suguru must have been a true villain to show Gojo what soulmates are. He must have been a true villain to stomp on Gojo's principles and ideals, on his boundaries and limits, and at the same time show him the joy of human intimacy. Suguru, this monster, made a strong bond to Gojo's heart out of razor sharp steel, and each tug gave Gojo the purest pleasure and horrible pain.

Gojo cried, and the skies cried with him, as he fisted the damp sheets, in order to at least somewhat ground himself. To focus on what now, not countless what if's shredding his soul to pieces.

The AC unit creaked and cried, sending cold air to Gojo's sweaty back.

I don't deserve to give two shits about myself now.

I only deserve to be alone

Gojo exhaled and took a peak at the clock. 6:42. He has to pick up some Zenin bastard kid in twelve hours.

His thoughts drifted again, and he mentally slapped himself. No solace yet, he's not yet allowed to think of anything worldly.

6:43

What now?

[1kook]

subdued

— good boy joon on his bday x fem reader

summary; He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way. tags; birthday boy joon, solo rapper joon, college student reader (unspecified year/age lol), this entire fic is based off THIS joon everyone look and never forget him warnings; kissing, blowjobs, grinding, unprotected, birthday sex, sub!joon word count; 5k

notes; hoooo boy, if you think my other fics were self-indulgent, this one is straight from my 3 am thoughts... anyway. i actually have the same birthday as joon so this fantasy plays off very different in daydream universe no. 794 lol but i understand not everyone is as lucky as us sept 12 babies so i adjusted it 😌

The stoplight down the street from his building takes the longest. He had warned you of its faulty mechanics the very first time you visited. It lingered on red a beat too long, wasted precious seconds you could be spending with him. It’s been the sole challenger to your patience this past year. Every time you wanted to visit him, it was this same stoplight that held you up— made the sugar in his coffee cup settle, the food in its container go cold. It absolutely dampened your mood.

Today, it’s from the back of an Uber that you watch the red glow of the light, gaze fading in and out of focus. It’s raining, the rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the wind shield hypnotizing you. There’s a styrofoam box of takeout beside you falling into the same fate as all its predecessors, tucked inside a plastic bag. It’s his favorite today, the black bean noodles down the street from your university paired with a sickeningly sweet fizzy drink. (There’s a cheap bottle of wine too, but he was never one for getting shitfaced so it had a slim chance of consumption.)

The longer the light stalls, the more nervous you become. One glance at your phone tells you it’s nearing eleven forty-nine, your last message to him just a few minutes before. It was a slew of sad faces as you apologized for the fifth time that night. Another minute ticks by and you’re suddenly hit with the overwhelming fear that you won’t make it on time.

It was Namjoon’s birthday.

At least it would be for the next ten minutes.

You hadn’t seen him all day, your usual Saturday morning brunch postponed by your conflicting schedules. You had a huge group project coming up, and the other students in your group all had lives of their own, jobs, sports, dates, that made their schedules hard to work around. Namjoon, too, was busy gearing up for the release of his mixtape, a collection of songs he had worked hard on for the better half of the year.

He had been planning for this since you first met, around this time the previous year. It was all he ever spoke about these days, which was both endearing and worrisome. Regardless of how you felt about his avid dedication towards his mixtape, you would continue to support him through it all.

You were supposed to drop by after your last class, but one thing led to another and suddenly you were babysitting your neighbor’s kids as she ran off to the hospital. You had felt bad for her, something about a relative in an accident, and had said yes without thinking through what exactly that meant. Two overexcited children and a kitchen lined in cake batter, is what it meant. Your neighbor had returned a little before eleven, and by then you were really cutting it close.

The order you placed had been ready when you got to the little restaurant, and, deciding to forgo bus stop waiting times, the Uber came quickly enough. Because things can never go your way, there was a small accident on one of the major streets that set you back, leading to your driver taking an abrupt detour that you doubt was helpful, and now you were here.

You bite down on your lower lip for probably the umpteenth time, flipping your phone around to check the time. 11:52.

The light changes a second later, your chauffeur for the evening slowly easing his foot off the break and sending the two of you one step closer to your boyfriend. The movement doesn’t ease your nerves in the slightest, foot tapping wildly against the carpeted flooring of the backseat as you think of that creaky elevator. Will it be on your side today? Or will it force you to run four flights of stairs up to his floor?

You won’t know until you get there, absentmindedly tipping the poor soul who bore witness to the rolling waves of tension that had swamped your body tonight. You can only hope it’s an appropriate bill, taking off toward the front doors of his building. The water on the sidewalk splashes beneath your frantic footsteps, tickling your bare ankles. The black boots you wore that day did nothing to save you, a small gust of cold air trying to sweep up beneath the thin material of your dress, luckily to no avail.

The front area is as empty as it usually is, though you doubt the late hour would change that. Knuckle jammed harshly against the flickering elevator button, you wait impatiently for it to descend. His small label takes up the entirety of the fourth floor, studios squeezed beside meeting rooms and offices. It was by no means a monster record label, but it had gained enough fame from the quality soloists it produced over the years; Namjoon was quickly becoming one of those. The carriage is on the fifth floor, right above his, the digital panel beside you says. It passes his floor, passes the fourth, and then… nothing.

You curse every deity in the universe as you watch it freeze on the second floor. You had been so close, you groan, kicking the tip of your shoe against the metal doors. It does nothing to fix the broken elevator, and with one heavy sigh, you turn to the flight of stairs. It was 11:54 now.

The stairway is silent, off-grey concrete walls mocking you as the time continues to tick down. Holding the plastic bag to your chest, you start up the stairs in a hurry. The rustling of the bag grows annoying quickly, your thighs aching half way up. The platforms between floors provide nearly no reprieve before you ascend the next level of stairs, heaving for air as you turn onto the final platform before his floor. Your hair sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You can’t fling the door open fast enough, heart hammering between your rib cage. The hallway is filled with blissful air conditioning, nothing like the stuffy air of the staircase. You relish in it for a second before taking down the winding halls, torpedoing straight into the room your boyfriend’s in.

“Happy birthday,” you gasp, only hoping you made it in on time. Your sudden appearance has him whirling around in surprise, dark eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at his surprise intruder. The digital clock above one of his speakers blinks back at you. 11:59.

The surprise wears off soon enough. Namjoon melts back into his puffy chair, easy going smile taking over his features as he regards your ruffled appearance. “Jesus, what’ve you been up to?” he teases playfully, standing up to relieve you of the bag in your hand, still warm against your chest.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead, placing the plastic bag somewhere off behind him before enveloping you in your arms. “Thank you, baby,” he hums, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Almost immediately the tension in your body melts away, oozes out of your skin as you bury yourself against his chest. It feels good to be there, the faint cologne from that morning clinging to his white zip-up.

“Sorry I’m so late,” you murmur. Feeling comforted enough, you pull away from your hiding spot against his chest. The arms hanging loosely around your waist don’t let you get too far, low-lidded eyes staring down at you over the straight angle of his nose. “So much happened today— I’m sorry.”

Namjoon waves your apologies off as he guides you towards his computer chair. He plops down first, pulling you over to sit on his thigh. The clock ticks by, and suddenly his birthday is over. The scent of the noodles fills his dark studio, and you become acutely aware of the soft melody drifting from his speakers. Nothing too developed yet, just a simple piano with a bass drum kicking in.

“Another year, another grey hair,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat. You laugh at his dramatics, running a finger through the head full of silver hairs he’s rocking this time around.

“I fail to see the issue,” you muse, shifting about until you can loop your arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough to yours to kiss. He lets you, opening his mouth when your tongue prods against his plush, doll lips. He tastes of that energy drink you know is bad for him, the one that keeps him up way past his nonexistent bedtime. You should scold him for it, but there’s something about the way he molds his mouth against yours that makes it difficult to pull away and do so. You kiss him for a few minutes, lips casually molding against each other.

The enticing scent of the food you brought over has you pulling away with a soft smack of your lips, lazily grinning down at him. “You should eat,” you encourage, attempting to move out of his grip. If anything, the hands on the small of your back stiffen, keeping you comfortably pressed against him.

“Don’t want to,” he whines, half-lidded eyes gazing at you with that tender look. He leans back in, nudges his nose against yours until you’re moving to accommodate him again. His lips catch yours a second time, a soft sigh released on his end. His body feels like a furnace, swaddled up in that nice white tracksuit, some fancy brand he’s an ambassador for. There’s something about him that’s different today, cherry lips catching you in a daze. He seems totally aware of the pull he has over you, moving his mouth against yours like he knows he’s won you over and was now ready to dedicate the rest of the night to you.

You weren’t having any of that, at least not tonight.

Knitting your hands in his hair, you tug. You tug and tug until he’s releasing you with a whine, swollen red lips shiny from your lip gloss. It’s certainly a look on him, and as he pants beneath you, you’re left wondering why he’s chosen to be an elusive rapper when his doll-like face could easily blend into the idol world.

Another mystery you’ll never solve.

“Missed you today,” he admits bashfully, lips pulling into a shy smile he tries to hide from you. You reward his confession with a soft peck against his cheek, hands cupping his soft cheeks between your palms. Despite how easily you’d been forgiven before, there’s a tinge of a whine curling around his next words. “Who blows someone off on their birthday?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckle, tracing your thumbs over his skin. They just barely brush against the corners of his mouth, the soft flesh begging to be touched. “Who spends their birthday cooped up in a tiny room?” you reply teasingly, leaning in to kiss the mole beneath his plump lips.

Namjoon inhales softly, head lolling backwards as you kiss down his chin, over his pulse point. “Was inspired,” he weakly defends, the grip around your waist growing tight. “There was a pretty girl in my dreams last night.”

“Oh?” You hum, slithering off his lap. The floor mat he has beneath his rolling chair to protect his hardwood floors is cold. There’s ridges on it that press uncomfortably into your knees. But all that is forgotten when you roll your hands over his shoulders, kiss his neck tenderly, and he groans. “How pretty?”

Your back is straining from being awkwardly stretched over him in a desperate attempt to kiss the entire column of his neck. He doesn’t make it easier, hips wiggling before you as you nip against the side of his neck. “Joon?” you coo, sliding your hands down his chest. The muscles jump beneath his zip-up, one shuddering exhale escaping him.

“R-Real fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, hands circling your shoulders. He wants to pull you close like he always does, but you can tell he’s equally as conflicted by the need to push you down onto his cock.

The front zip of his sweater gives with one tug, the clicks of the teeth coming apart following your hand down. He’s wearing a plain white shirt underneath, the beginnings of sweat clinging to the flimsy material. You place your hands around his waist, let the fabric catch over your knuckles as you glide them upwards. The sinewy muscle quivers under your touch, Namjoon’s breath catching in your throat.

When you reach his pecs, he barely contains the whimper in his throat, hands releasing you in favor of clutching at the armrest. “Please,” he huffs, the white zip-up halting you from pushing any further. “Off.”

“Of course,” you purr, pushing it over his deltoids. He doesn’t shake the sweater off completely, the sleeves catching over each other in his haste to feel you closer against his body. The t-shirt remains tugged up to his chest, held up by your wandering hands. “Relax for me, okay?” you croon, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. The plush skin bounces back, redder than ever. He nods shakily, chest rising and falling.

You place a kiss directly on his sternum, his heart fluttering wildly just a few inches away. You feel it beneath your palm, the way it beats wildly out of rhythm for you. The music loops back around, the same melodious tune mixing with his airy sounds. You trail your mouth lower, letting it mold against the faint ridges over his abdomen.

He’s been putting on muscle these last few months. It’s a sight you only get to appreciate in moments like these. Namjoon wasn’t a flashy performer; he was too shy to wear revealing outfits, not that they particularly fit his onstage aesthetic anyway. He liked it simple and dark, wanting his words to capture people more than his looks.

It was a humble approach, really, because you don’t doubt for a second someone with looks of his caliber couldn’t pull fans with that alone. But as you said before, Namjoon didn’t like that sort of thing, and you suppose that’s why he’s declined invitations to join rookie boy groups time and again. He had worked hard to make himself known on his own, frequenting various hip hop scenes until he picked up steam. By the time you’d met him, he had his own contract, with this same company you’re currently in.

Now he was freshly twenty-six, on the cusp of releasing his first full mixtape, completely of his own creativity. His first mini-album had done extraordinarily well, but there had been a lot of outside partners and producers that pushed it along. This mixtape was one hundred percent him, a fact you couldn’t be more proud of.

What better way to treat him than to shower him in attention like this?

You press a soft kiss to his belly button, glancing up just in time to see those plush lips pull into a smile, pearly white teeth appearing in between, eyes fluttered shut. The waistband of his matching bottoms stretches easily enough, giving you a brief view of the dark underwear he’s got underneath. You let it snap back into place, relishing in the tiny gasp he gives. “You’re acting extra sweet for me today, aren’t you?” you smirk, running a palm over the bulge beneath his pants. His knuckles tighten dangerously against his armrests.

“I’m the same,” he chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you give his outline a teasing squeeze. “Just… lower please.”

His statement is followed with one hand on the back of your head, tentatively urging you closer to his stiff member just an inch. He’s so polite and shy tonight, cheeks tinted a nice rosy color as he looks away from your lewd expression practically salivating over the prize hidden beneath his clothes. His bottoms come down around his thighs, throbbing cock bouncing up to tap his stomach.

“Oooh,” you say appreciatively, taking him in your hand. Namjoon flinches, a groan catching in his throat as you trail your fingers over his cock. They end at the tip, swollen and red; you can’t help yourself as you duck down, kissing the tip softly. Namjoon full on shivers, hips bucking against your touch.

“Please, just... touch,” he begs, wiggling around underneath you.

You nod, pulling away to plant your hands against his hips. “Have to sit still for me, big boy,” you remind him, pushing down until his bottom glues itself firmly to the leather padding of his chair again. He does so with a huff. Clouded eyes meet yours, so beautifully framed by the blood that rushes to his face.

Despite calming him just moments before, the first kiss against his tip makes him squirm and buck like a wild stallion, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Eventually he calms down, labored breath fanning across his chest as he watches you lower your mouth down around his cock. It twitches in your hand, one perfect pearl of cum oozing from the tip. It’s barely rolled down past his head when you strike, the tip of your tongue scooping it up quickly.

A little on the salty side, but it still makes you shudder. Above you, Namjoon isn't faring that well either. He groans, hands clenched over the armrest as he tries his best to be good for you. “More,” he says hoarsely, silver hair dangling over his eyes. It creates a curtain between you two, his beautiful expression hidden from your view.

You ease his cock down your mouth. It feels just as good as you remembered. Your knees ache from being on the ground, but you wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now. An inaudible moan resonates from above you, his back going stiff the further down you swallow him. You could practically feel yourself drooling, excess saliva making his entrance into your mouth so much easier. You get about two thirds down before it becomes difficult, lips pulled taut around his swollen member. The tip is reaching dangerous territory now, nudging against the soft spot in the back of your throat.

You could gag, but that would only startle him away, make him worry about you. You don’t want that, not when he’s melting into his seat with every inch you swallow. So you push the discomfort away, focus on feeling the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whines, shaking his silvery locks away from his eyes when he leans forward to look at you. You take extra care to bat your lashes up at him; he obviously likes the sight, his lower lip catching between his teeth for the umpteenth time that night.

When you finally surpass that initial discomfort, his cock wonderfully resting in your mouth and throat, everything becomes so much better. The drag against your lips feels almost heavenly, never mind the fact it would certainly leave the skin around there soft and tender tomorrow. It’s something you’re willing to overlook, running the flat length of your tongue against the underside of his cock to distract him.

You make one hand busy, reaching down to cup his balls. The skin is soft, but tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to bust right now. The other situates itself loosely against his hip, thumb drawing slow circles against the skin. He’s grown hotter since you’ve gotten here, like your own personal furnace.

He’s a good boy, through and through.

It had admittedly taken a while to tame his wildness; there had been a time where he would push your head down his cock the second your lips touched his mouth. Now, he fared pretty well against his own carnal instincts, blunt nails digging into the armrests in order to stop himself. Thanks to this, you’re able to pick up a comfortable pace against his cock, bobbing up and down between his thighs.

“M-More,” he pants, muscles trembling from the exertion it takes for him to hold himself back. “Please,” he throws in.

You appease him, letting go of his balls to grip the base of his cock. He hisses at the touch, hips unconsciously jumping. You hold him tight, squeezing his cock between your palm until his thighs are quivering too. The descent down his cock is easier too, no longer trying to swallow him up whole every time.

It only calms him for so long before that same plea is falling from his lips again. This time, you pull off completely, lazily jerking him off as you rest an elbow on his thigh, chin falling into your open palm as you analyze his figure. “Always need more,” you sigh, the slippery sound of your hand mingling with his little moans.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, head falling forward until his chin touches his chest. “Would like to fuck now,” he seethes, his t-shirt growing damp at the collar from all the sweating he’s been doing.

“Is that so?” You smile. As you say this, you loosen your grip, letting your hand fall away much to his dismay. “Your clothes, Joon,” you explain, using his thighs as leverage to push yourself to your feet again. There’s creases on the skin over your knees, skin and joints tender from the position. That gets pushed to the back burner as you watch Namjoon finally fight his way out of his clothing, hands stuck in the sleeves of his zip-up.

“Off, off,” he huffs, eventually tugging it off all inside out. The shirt is next, neck hole stretched huge as he peels it away from his body.

You muffle a giggle behind your palm, placing a hand on his bare shoulder when he’s done. He’s looking at you with those same, desperate eyes, stealing your heart without even realizing. “Adorable,” you tease only to watch the blood crawl over his ears and down his neck. You throw a leg over him, his thigh pressing against yours. Before you can mount him you’re tugging off the thin jacket you’d worn that day, pawing it off until only the thin barrier of your dress is between the two of you.

With both knees pressed to either side of him, you finally show him what he wants to see. The sundress you’d worn that day makes everything so accessible. The flimsy material stretches over your ass, sits pretty around your waist to reveal your sheer panties. The sight makes Namjoon groan, eyes downcast as he fights to see your pussy. You return his gaze with a hand against his jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” you murmur, looping your hands around his head, finding their place on the nape of his neck first. Your fingers instinctively run through his locks, drawing an airy gasp from him.

“Yes,” he breathes, lower lip brushing against yours from such close proximity. You smile down at him, easing your core down on him. His cock pressed against your clothed panties, leaving a wet trail against the exterior side of them.

He fits snugly between your folds, hesitant hands resting at your hips like he wants to grind you down but knows better than to attempt such a bold move. You reward his behavior with a faint kiss against his cheek. “Good boy, Joonie,” you praise, barely containing your own gasp as you wiggle over his cock. “Being so nice for me today,” you sigh, grinding down against him.

Namjoon shivers, cock throbbing against your soiled panties. “Always good for you,” he groans, a trail of sweat running down from his hairline.

Another kiss is pressed against his face, this time against his cheekbone as you begin grinding back and forth. “That’s right,” you confirm, hugging him tight to your chest, until his face is practically buried between your breasts. “Even on your birthday,” you sigh, stretching a hand behind you to tug your panties to the side. The first glide of his cock against your folds has him bucking against you, a choked gasp escaping both your lips.

“I-Yes,” he cries, hands wrapped tight around you.

You bite down a whimper, his length running over every inch of your folds. It makes your toes curl when he stimulates your clit. Your attention had been solely on making him feel good tonight, that the barest amounts of pleasure to your own body was enough to make you shake. “Tell me,” you pant, moving back to grab him by the shoulders as you run against his length. “What you would do if you weren’t my good boy.”

Namjoon cries at your sudden pace, head lolling back as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to just fuck right into your inviting heat. “Can’t,” he sobs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joon,” you growl, snapping your hips forward roughly. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head with another whimper, thigh muscles jolting beneath you. It makes you shift forward, clit running hard along his cock. “No, you’ll—“ he wheezes, fingers digging deep into your sides now. “You’ll… think I’m bad. Dirty.”

You lean forward, shove your tongue into his mouth with no warning. He moans, letting you push his tongue around until yours is halfway down his throat, licking and slurping every inch of him you can reach. You yank his head back by the hair, catching those watery eyes. “Tell me all your dirty thoughts,” you croon, lips trailing down his jaw. “Tell me them and maybe we’ll make them come true.”

Namjoon moans. “You,” he hesitates. While he does that, you reach down to align his cock with your hole, throbbing to be filled. His tip brushes along the tightened lips surrounding your entrance, reducing him to a stuttering mess. “You tell me I’m dirty,” he cries, “dirty and messy, and-and you make me beg for forgiveness just to cum, s-sometimes you don’t like it and make me d-do it again,” he babbles. “I-if you’re feeling mean y-you just edge me. Until I cry.”

You sink down on his cock, your shared arousal making the glide slippery and so wet. It’s almost too easy how he fits inside of you, your back arching as the head of his cock runs deliciously against your walls. The sensation of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock has him gasping for air.

“Until you cry?” You repeat through clenched teeth. “Like you are now?”

Namjoon trembles, hips and thighs twitching every few minutes. He nods his head, but he’s become overwhelmed by his thoughts and your touches, so the movement ends up looking more dazed. There’s a couple tears that escaped and painted pretty trails down his cheeks, one catching on the corner of that pout of his. The rest pool in the corner of his eyes, glassy just like his sweat-soaked skin.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble, brushing his hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead. Namjoon groans. “Fuck me, baby,” you purr, wrapping your hands around his neck again. “You deserve it.”

Namjoon lets out a loud cry at your permission, hands tightening around your hips. He wastes no time, bucking into you like a wild animal that’s desperate to cum. You don’t blame him; he’d been close to cumming down your throat, and recounting his demeaning fantasies while stuffed deep inside you certainly didn’t help.

You let him jostle you to and fro, dick slipping in and out of your pussy with an unreal amount of force. He was grunting all kinds of sounds against your shoulder, biting down on the skin like it would calm him. It doesn’t, and you already know there will be a big bruise to attend to tomorrow.

With every thrust, the head of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot in your pussy, back arching at the angle he pushes in at. It makes every hair on your body stand, the animalistic sounds he’s releasing reaching deep into your core.

It’s a brief reminder of what this man was truly capable of, buff arms and thick thighs lifting you around like you’re nothing. He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way.

Well, you liked it that way too, especially if it meant having this big strong man so pliant under your touch.

“Fuck,” you moan, holding the back of his head closer to where he’s seemingly set on bruising your entire shoulder. “Just like that.”

Your walls clench around his length, squeezing him so tight that it becomes difficult for him to move. A wail catches in his throat, his body beginning to burn out from the initial burst of energy he’d received when you gave him the go ahead. “I-I,” he pants, weakly and unevenly bucking into you. You know he’s close from the cute wavering of his speech, his usual eloquent speaking style reduced to a stuttering mess. You take pity on him, gearing your muscles up again to see him to completion.

It doesn’t take long. A few slow rolls of your hips later and he’s spasming beneath you, your name rolling off his tongue in a series of soft whimpers. He continues groaning even afterwards, hands falling limply to his sides as you finish yourself off.

The thing about this big strong body was that it burned out extremely fast, his head rolling back to give you a clear view of his fucked out features. He was tired, absolutely drained from your little moment, and such was exhibited on his lax frame. Your orgasm rolls around right after, stomach clenching. Despite the shock of pleasure that swallows you up, you can’t help the endeared smile that takes over your features at the sight beneath you as you cum.

“So proud of you,” you murmur afterwards, cupping his face in your hands to deliver a brigade of kisses against his skin. He groans in faux annoyance, letting you turn him this way and that as you shower him in affection. “My baby did so well today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, though the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What’s there to eat?”

You snort, pushing yourself off of him. You wiggle your panties and dress back into place, tossing him his discarded shirt as you make toward the noodles. They’ve probably gone cold by now, neglected in favor of fucking like two bunnies in heat. Still, you give them a poke. Just as you’d predicted, they’re way too cold to be edible, a fact which greatly saddens Namjoon.

You weren’t having any of that, especially not on his birthday (it was 12:49 now, but technically, it’s still his birthday until he goes to sleep), which is why you make him pack everything up right away. “I’ll heat them up at my place,” you assure him, patting his bum as he whines at the sudden relocation. He’s tugging his zip-up on, the collar tugged all the way up for him to hide the lower half of his face behind.

It doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss over where you know his mouth is.

“Come on,” you grin, waiting for him to lock up his studio. He falls into step beside you, grudgingly throwing a hand around your shoulders. You beam up at him, leaning onto your toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make you cry at my place,” you promise, relishing in the dark flush that floods the apples of his cheeks.

Copyright © July 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//fatherhood headcannons//

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou / Bokuto Koutarou / Daishou Suguru

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1.7K (~550 a piece)

Notes: don’t come for me and my self-indulgence. Also >:C if you’re of age and living in the United States, go fucking vote.  i am not asking. 

Kuroo Tetsurou

He goes into this whole fatherhood thing with complete and utter confidence.  Kuroo Tetsurou is convinced that he doesn’t need to have a single parenting book.  How hard can it be?

It’s all just making sure his kid doesn’t die, right? R I G H T?

He tries really hard to understand all of your discomforts during the pregnancy, but wowowow he’s bad at it.  You were complaining that your feet were sore and he just looked at you weird.  You had just gotten out of bed?  How did your feet already hurt?  Your back hurts? How? You’re laying down?

He recognizes that you’re in discomfort and he, of course, doesn’t look past that.  He’s going to do whatever he needs to do to ensure your comfort, but he just struggles to comprehend it.

I promise that Kuroo was so calm and cool and collected throughout the entire pregnancy and honestly, even during delivery, he was there to tell you how great you were doing, holding your hand, letting you crush his fingers in your tight grip.  He would pat your head and occasionally give you little kisses on your temple.

But when the nurse asks if he wants to hold his new little girl and places her in his arms, oh he’s crying.  He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels the tears stream down his cheeks.

It was in the following weeks that he realized just how hard this whole parenting thing would be.  Sleep?  Kuroo didn’t know her.  The baby religiously started crying every night at 2:27 a.m. and it would take nearly an hour to get her to fall back asleep.  By the time that hour passed, he was already back to being wide awake and would just lay in bed, unable to fall back asleep for hours.  

The first time he ever had to change a diaper, he had to pull up a YouTube video to figure it out, but he’s not about to tell you that.  

He has no idea how to dad, but Kuroo ends up being a really incredible father.  While he may be lacking in the basic skills like knowing the correct formula temperature or how to properly hold his daughter, he makes up for it with his constant companionship.  

You’ve walked in on him in the nursery so many times.  He’s really not even doing anything.  He’s just leaning against the crib, running his fingers across his little girl’s skin, still not believing that this is real and that that little baby is his, something that he helped create.  Oh, it just makes him so soft to think about.   He talks real quietly to her, telling her about his day, like she has any idea what he’s saying, but he still smiles so wide when she looks at him.

His little girl is his entire world and I just know that he’s an incredibly protective father.  He knows that the world is a scary place and he wants his daughter to be able to grow up having the best life possible, even if it is difficult.

Bokuto Koutarou

It was an accident.  It was 100% an accident.  But, the absolute joy that lit up his features when you told him your happy news, well, you don’t think you had ever seen him smile so wide.  He had picked you up to spin you around and covered your face in kisses.  Bokuto had set you down and immediately squatted down to place a kiss on your non-existent baby bump, telling his little baby how excited he was to be their papa.

Bokuto does prepare, well, at least a little. He owns one book, but he has read it cover to cover.  When he was reading through it, he would stop at something that he found particularly interesting and show it to you.

He didn’t really know how best to take care of you, but he tried his best!  He would rub your shoulders or feet when you asked.  He would make dinner after practice.  He is absolutely running to the store in the middle of the night because you had a sudden craving for Cheetos and vanilla ice cream.  Bokuto thought it was best not to ask what the hell you were doing when you proceeded to dip the Cheetos in the ice cream.

Bokuto forces you on walks.  He read in that one pregnancy book that walks can help induce labor, so in the time leading up to the due date, Bokuto was taking you on strolls around the block multiple times a day.  

But, he gets really busy with MSBY ;-; like. . . a lot.  He wants to be there every step of the way, but he just can’t.  Even after the baby was born, it seemed like there was rarely a day off for him to just spend with you and the baby.

Nothing hurt more than seeing the video of his little boy taking his first steps, knowing that he wasn’t even there to see it for himself because he was stuck on a bus in another city for a game.

This boy B R A G S about his kid all the time.  Sakusa might just beat his ass if he has to hear Bokuto coo about his son one more time.  

Games that happen at home are Bokuto’s favorites because he knows that whenever he looks up into the stands, you’ll be there, the baby in your arms, a tiny black knit hat with gold detailing pulled over his head.  It always made his heart so warm and he seemed to always be on top of his game just so he could secure a win quicker.  He just wanted to rush to you and cradle his little one in his arms.

He likes to toss his little bean up into the air, but he has absolutely bonked his son’s head on the ceiling and then proceeded to fail to catch him because he was so in shock that he just hit his son’s head on the ceiling.  Insert one (1) bokuto koutarou suddenly regretting every life decision that he has ever made.  

Surprisingly, he’s a really good parent?  He understands the balance between being caring and supportive, but also having a firm hand on discipline.  He isn’t much for punishments, because he’s going to feel bad, but he won’t hesitate to sit his son down and have a talk if he needs to.  

God Bokuto is such a good dad please i’m so soft i just know that he would sob his eyes out the minute the baby is on its way

Daishou Suguru

please i don’t even want children, but i would make an exception for daishou suguru

Suguru is so?? stupidly?? prepared?? 

Like the two of you decided that you wanted to have a baby and this man went to the bookstore and asked one of the workers which pregnancy books were the best.  The poor high school student had no idea

He took notes and was just constantly studying up on things.  You’d think he was back in university again with how much he poured himself over these books.  

While Daishou may have all of the technical stuff down like knowing the exact female reproductive anatomy and how it all works to produce the baby and he can definitely change a diaper with his eyes closed by now, but-

When the time came to put together a nursery- oh the boy was lost.  He had no idea what to do.  He’d never built a crib before.  He wasn’t really sure why he was expecting it to just unfold or magically form together when he took it out of the box, but now he was just sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by bits and pieces of a baby crib, pouring over the instructions, only to get more confused.

Please go sit with him in his time of need.  He’ll rest his head on your shoulder and rub tiny circles over your bump.  

Suguru probably jumped a foot in the air when he felt that itty bitty kick against his hand.  It took him by complete surprise and his eyes were as wide as saucers, but this really slow smile took over his face and you don’t think you had ever seen him so happy, a complete smiling and laughing mess.

He takes the best care of you b y e 

Morning sickness?  He’s right there to pull your hair away from your face and get you a glass of water.  

Too bad he spent all this time looking up information on the actual pregnancy and had no idea what to expect for actual childbirth.  Overnight bag?  He said, “How long does this take?”  He had no idea what to do during delivery.  His dumbass just stood there until you demanded that he give you his hand and definitely screamed when you nearly crushed his bones in an absolute death grip, nails digging painfully into the back of his hand, but who was he to object.  He wasn’t the one pushing a child out of his body.

Oh, did I say child?  Try children.  Suguru nearly fainted when the nurse said that there was “one more.”  He didn’t remember seeing a second little peanut on the ultrasound, but maybe he just forgot in the overwhelming panic of the moment?

He was so good all throughout the pregnancy, but the minute the kids are born?  It’s like he completely forgot everything that he read over the past nine months, but the softness in his eyes and the gentle smile on his lips the very first time he got to hold his kid?  It made it all worth it.  He didn’t know that it was possible to love someone so quickly, but he looked at the faces of his newborn children and he couldn’t have been happier.

Daishou has fallen asleep in the nursery chair more than once when he was up with the babies.  You’d get up to see what was taking so long, only to find him leaned back, his head lolled to the side, two tiny bundles held securely to his chest.

In conclusion.  I love daishou suguru and he would be a really good dad once he figured it all out

{Taglist: @moncymonce​ @nicka-nell​ @celosiiaa​ @kuronekomama​ @lovinnoya​ and @nekxrizawa​ @boosyboo9206​ bc you both got me thinking about them as d a d s and now i can’t get it out of my head onyx please take this as a bribe to receive the daishou suguru hip dermal edit you made i need it}

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you. 

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father. 

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here? 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time. 

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee. 

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father. 

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

-

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months. 

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised. 

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived. 

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful. 

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you. 

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of  calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift. 

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud . 

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me.  He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid. 

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth. 

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it. 

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people. 

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

-

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose. 

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm. 

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands. 

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually. 

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling. 

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall. 

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. 

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities. 

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix. 

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder. 

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur. 

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind. 

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though. 

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 1

Neil x Reader

Chapter 1: Don’t kill my vibe

summary: all days blend into one, and as your friend brings back an unusual challenge, you are more than happy to accept it

warnings: 18+, explicit language, some violence, blood mention

author’s note: Woot woot, new series hype!  

This setting has been brewing inside me for months now, and what started as an idea for a one-shot, turned out to be a fully fleshed out series (f!Reader again, for more gender neutral one check out StuckInReverse series!). And a good chance to introduce this brand new dynamic. Aaaand to play with some rogue tropes - because guess who's gonna teach Neil all he knows about locks and how to pick them? (canon what canon or at least let’s forget the implications for a moment and let's enjoy all the HAND CONTENT instead)

I’m really excited to share this story with you all!

The song for this chapter is Sigrid - Don’t Kill My Vibe

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

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

Tag list: @vaneilla @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway

----

You absent-mindedly swirled your coffee and ice cubes clinked against the tall glass as you watched a gutsy pigeon searching for crumbs under a table right next to yours. The green and purple feathers on its collar were shining in the morning sun, not as merciless as it was about to get in just a few hours, but still heating the crowded plaza to barely acceptable levels.

“I don’t know, man, all days blend into one, maybe it’s time to skip town again.”

Mahir leaned back on his chair, his glance sliding through the swarm of tourists pouring from the alley nearby.

“No new gigs?”

You mirrored his pose and shrugged.

“Some, but they just lack… pizzaz.”

“Pizzaz?”

“Yes,” - you sighed and gestured vaguely - “that certain oomph, that sparkle, excitement, when your heart starts beating faster at the sole thought--”

“You sure you’re not looking for...would say love but I know you too well, so... a good shag?” your companion chimed in with a sardonic smile plastered on his face.

You scoffed, amused by that insinuation.

“First of all - thank you,” you started, your eyes lighting up and your grin getting wider with every word. “Second - that thrill is better than a good shag, and after a job well done, you can ride that high much longer than even the best orgasm.”

“Forget I said anything--”

“And finally,” - you continued, ignoring his distressed groan - “you skip all the awkwardness of the morning after.”

Mahir raised his hands in defeat, and even though he looked as if he took a mental note to never tease you like that again, you were sure he knew exactly what you meant. After all, he was your favorite partner in crime, and even though he’d come clean (...or at least slightly cleaner) a few years ago, you still could count on him whenever you needed to pull off a spectacular and/or a straight-up batshit crazy stunt.

“How’s Paddsy?”

“Grand, as far as I know, but haven’t heard from him in years, why?” you asked, tilting your head.

Your friend looked at you with impish sparks in his eyes.

“I remember how you kept yourself amused during your teenage years.”

“The challenges?” You raised your brow and laughed at the memory. “Ha, petty theft is one way to fight a dullness of existence, all right.”

“I bet you’ve gotten sloppier with age.”

That taunt in his overly casual tone was clear as day. Were you really that bored, though?

“Please, I could do it right here and now without any prep.”

...yes.

He sent you a smug smile and started browsing the crowd for a possible target. “Okay, what about... that guy over there?”

You followed his gaze and your eyes laid on a pair of men, lost in a conversation, keeping to the peripheries of tourist groups as they walked through the square. One of them was gesturing with enthusiasm, a wide smile brightening his tanned face, the blond hair in complete disarray combined with a slightly unbuttoned white linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves and beige trousers completed a disheveled look. Couldn’t be older than thirty. He was accompanied by a more composed middle-aged Black man, a maroon polo shirt and grey suit pants complimented his fit and refined posture.

“The yellow mane or the polo shirt?” you asked and Mahir snorted in response.

“The polo one.”

You looked the stranger up and down as you assessed the case. Even from afar, you could see an outline of a wallet in the pocket of his trousers, and the short sleeves meant easy access to the watch.

You smacked your lips and pouted. “Too easy.”

“Okay, so both of them,” he said, watching with satisfaction as you perked up at the suggestion.

“Now we’re talking!” you laughed, clapping your hands. You pointed at Mahir’s camera sitting on the table, internally blessing his choice of hobbies. “Mind if I borrow this for a moment?”

“Sure, whatever.”

You bounced at your feet and grabbed the camera and its case, securing both straps on your shoulder. A sudden rush mixed with a familiar coldness as you got your head in the game.

“Be right back.”

Circling the crowd, you positioned yourself on the path of your targets, blending in with the crowd. Right then, nobody would tell you from other slaphappy sightseers, mesmerized by the architecture of the Old Town district. Stopping abruptly every few steps to take yet another photo. Too preoccupied to pay attention to your surroundings. Making it way too easy to bump into someone, you know? Or, if you were clumsy enough, two people one after another, in a little live-action pinball moment.

You raised the camera and stepped back right into the polo guy, yelping at the impact.

“Sorry!” you squealed, jumping out of his way. Straight into the blonde man. “Oh gee, I’m terribly sorry!”

“You all right?” he asked as he caught you, placing hands on your arms for a split-second hold, enough to prevent you from bouncing back and bumping into someone else.

You turned around and met the bright blue eyes studying you curiously.

“Yep,” you mumbled through sheepish laughter. “And you?”

He beamed, raking his unruly hair with his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Your gaze flitted back to his companion, who was looking at you two with polite interest, visibly eager to continue his stroll.

“Sorry again! Have a lovely day, gents!” you chirped, sending one more apologetic smile and squeezing between them to walk away in the opposite direction.

Ten steps later you twirled around. Aiming the camera at a statue nearby, you checked on the men with the corner of your eye. The blonde guy glanced over his shoulder for a moment, but he didn’t seem suspicious. Good.

You made your way back to the cafe and fell back on your chair.

“No sweat,” you said and smirked, handing the camera back to Mahir and placing the case on the table. You turned it around so he could see what was inside - two watches, some mileage card you pulled out of the polo guy’s wallet, and something you grabbed from the other one… an Oyster card for public transport in London? What a combo. And of course, you could have picked the entire wallets instead, but what would be the fun in that? You didn’t have to make their life that much harder, after all, you just wanted to prove a point.

Mahir peeked inside and smacked his tongue.

“Okay, you still got it.”

“Damn straight!” You reached for your abandoned coffee and emptied it in one swig. “But I’d better get going.”

“Wait, what about the loot?”

“Keep it,” - you shrugged, leaning in to place a small kiss on the bearded cheek - “and tip that nice waitress well, will ya?”

“Sure,” sighed Mahir and patted your hand on his shoulder. “Be careful out there, mate.”

“Always.”

You stepped out on the sunny square again. There was nothing particularly interesting on the agenda for the day, so you decided to take a longer and more scenic route to your apartment. You put on the headphones and with your usual playlist on shuffle, you maneuvered between groups of people on your way to one of the alleys. And just as you were about to cross the road, someone blocked your path. You glanced up and it took all your self-control to maintain a neutral expression, despite all the warning sirens blaring at the full volume inside your head. How even--

“Darling! Long time no see!” said the blonde man you’d just robbed gleefully and grinned, his arms spread wide as if you’d known each other for years. Without dropping a jovial face, he leaned in and gave you a chaste hug, using the opportunity to utter straight into your ear. “Don’t make a fuss and come with me.”

Bloody fantastic.

The stranger linked your arms together and started walking down the street, pulling you with him in a little too rushed version of a friendly stroll. It wasn’t your first rodeo, though.

“Where are you taking me?” you squealed, faking badly covered distress and scouting the area in search of his partner, but the polo guy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, we need to have a little chat,” he said nonchalantly, securing a grip on you with another hand on your arm. “And the streets today are awfully loud, don’t you think?”

He dragged you into a back alley, losing the chummy demeanor with every step further away from the crowds. Lucky for you, the new setting worked in your favor. You’d been indulging him long enough, anyway.

Shifting your balance, you stomped hard on his foot, using the element of surprise to break free. Grabbing the blonde strands, you pulled his head down to meet your flying knee. A muffled groan escaped the stranger’s mouth and his curses followed you when you dashed to a small back street to your right. These few seconds of a head start were more than enough though, especially since you knew the area like the back of your hand. And that’s why you didn’t hesitate when you reached a chain-link fence. You jumped and bounced off the wall, pulling up on the edge and vaulting through the obstacle with ease, then gracefully landed on the other side and turned around just to see the man hitting the fence with frustration. He glared at you, wiping the blood from his face, and you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“See ya!” you giggled and blew him a kiss, disappearing into another alley.

You emerged on the main street at a reasonable distance from the place you’d left the stranger, weaving between people on the busy pavement, making sure nobody followed you. After a few blocks, you grew quite certain that you’d lost the unwanted tail. You smiled to yourself. The day turned out to be way more exciting than you could have expected. And it wasn’t even noon yet. 

You noticed a dark grey SUV pulling over next to you, but by the time you realized what was going on, it was already too late. The next thing you knew, you got dragged into the backseat and trapped between the blonde man and the polo guy. Shit.

You glanced at the driver, searching for clues about what you’d gotten yourself into. The woman behind a wheel gave off a paramilitary vibe, but you couldn’t be sure. Anyway, there was no point in trying to escape - you needed to wait for a more suitable moment. You didn’t have too much room to squirm around, so you just fixed your gaze on the road ahead.

“Well, this is awkward,” you said, breaking the silence as the car started moving again.

“As my colleague said - we need to talk.”

You looked to your right at the polo man. “Abduction is such an underrated conversation starter.”

“So is theft,” he noted, a shade of smile tainting the corner of his mouth. “I really liked that watch.”

“I have no idea--”

“We’ve checked the square’s surveillance system,” he interrupted you, but his statement was so ridiculous you just had to laugh it off.

“Now you’re insulting me.”

He raised a brow as he studied you with satisfaction. “You’d rather admit that you’re guilty?”

“No,” - you bridled, slowly getting tired of the whole charade - “but there’s no way you got to the feed so fast, and with how crowded it was out there, there is no way you’d find anything incriminating in there.” You hesitated for a moment, then narrowed your eyes. “Speaking of-- how did you even find me?”

A sudden movement to your left made you switch focus to the quiet blonde man. Still pressing a bunch of bloodied tissues to his face, he showed you his phone - a red dot was blinking steadily in the middle of a screen.

...tracking? You opened your mouth to ask a follow-up question, but then it hit you and your eyes flared up. That hug.

“Sneaky. I like it.” You grinned and nodded at him. “How’s your nose?”

He lowered his hand with the tissues. It was bruised and swollen, but you couldn’t tell if you’d managed to break it or not. Still - ouch.

“Never better,” he said and grimaced slightly.

“You should put some ice on it.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t say.”

Biting your lip to stifle a giggle, you glanced back to your right. “So? What do you wanna talk about?”

The other man shook his head.

“Not in the car. We’re almost there.”

You looked out of the window to find out you were driving into an industrial zone, and not the nice part of it. You didn’t mind, though - abandoned and creepy factory buildings were your jam, and they made excellent locations if you ever needed a chance to escape.

After a few minutes, you reached your destination. You got out of the car parked near the entrance to an empty hall. The sunbeams were pouring inside through the broken windows near the ceiling, lighting up a small metal table and a pair of chairs.

“Kudos for prepping such a dramatic setting, gents,” you laughed, taking a seat at the table. The polo man sighed and sat in front of you, sliding a folder with documents your way. You peeked inside, only to confirm your suspicions. They got some serious dirt on you, all right.

“Let’s start again, properly this time. This is Neil,” - he said, pointing at his companion, who was standing nearby, leaning against a pillar - “and I’m The Protagonist.”

You gaped at him and slumped your shoulders. “The Protag--...you’re shitting me,” you huffed, but the man was staring at you indifferently. “Dude, your parents must hate you,” you snorted, not even trying to keep a straight face. “What’s wrong with-- ...I don’t know, David? Or some of the classics, like John?”

“That’s how everyone here addresses me, and I’d like you to do the same.”

“Do I have to?” you groaned as you looked at Neil. He simply nodded, so you had no other option but to roll with it. For now. “Ugh, fine,” you said, shrugging. “You guys are spies or something?”

“Or something,” said The Protagonist. “We use certain espionage techniques to our advantage.”

“Sure,” - you scoffed - “next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you need my help to save the world.”

Neil’s amused snort made you glance at him again. “Well, maybe indirectly.” Playful sparks lit up his eyes as he gave you a half-smile. 

Are they for real? If that was an elaborate prank, this would be a good gotcha moment, but the men seemed serious enough.

You shifted on your seat, laughing nervously.

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the wrong gal.”

The Protagonist pointed at the folder in front of you.

“We need someone with your skills.”

...right. “Such as?”

“Lockpicking.”

You arched a brow. “Why? You need me to crack something for you?”

“No.” The Protagonist shook his head and took a deep breath. “We need you to teach our agents how to do it.”

“Hard pass,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not a tutor material.”

All of a sudden, a familiar voice rang behind you.

“Show her the lock.”

And then you connected all the dots.

“Mahir, you asshole!” you fumed, glaring at your friend as he joined you by the table. “Sloppier with age, I swear, you’re the main reason I have trust issues!”

“Main?” - he sent you a skeptical look - “What about--”

“Okay, you’re in top three, but mind you, today’s stunt alone got you five places up the table.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna cry myself to sleep tonight,” he mocked in his usual deadpan manner.

You huffed - “You better,” - mentally kicking yourself for falling for his ruse so easily. Maybe he was right. Maybe you’d lost your edge. That’s what you got for staying in one place for too long. You blinked rapidly, getting out of your head to focus on an item The Protagonist placed on the table. A small metal lock, pretty basic. No security pins, but you knew this model was made with sloppy tolerances that could give any beginner a headache.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Give it a try,” said The Protagonist and waved his hand in encouragement.

You reached to the pocket of your pants for a compact set of lockpicking tools you always had on you. Nothing fancy, rather a handy emergency set than anything serious - those were safely stored in your apartment, ready for the real work. Unlike the one you were about to do. Or so you thought.

You placed a tiny wrench at the bottom of a keyway and applied a minimal amount of tension, trying to set the first pin inside using a short hook. Trying and failing. The feedback from the tools was bizarre, like the regular laws of physics no longer applied to the lock’s mechanism.

“What in the fresh hell--” you uttered through gritted teeth, pulling out the tools to examine the peculiar lock.

Mahir smirked. “Enough pizzaz?”

“Shut up, I’m still mad at you,” you waved at him dismissively and focused back on The Protagonist, who was watching your attempts with polite interest. And a hint of a satisfied smile. “Where did you get that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” he replied, leaning back on the chair. “At least for now, that is if you’d like to reconsider our proposal.”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, drumming the fingers on the table. Mahir, you bastard. Of course he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist an offer like this. Even if that meant a certain commitment, and that wasn’t something you were particularly fond of.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m gonna teach only one person.”

“Deal.”

As you shook on it, Neil left his spot by the pillar.

“That will be me.”

You nodded in agreement and asked, “What about the lock?”

“Keep it,” said The Protagonist, standing up. As if he’d share the secrets straight away. “I want to hear your thoughts on it the next time we see each other.”

“And when is that gonna be?”

He just smiled enigmatically. “Soon. Mahir - a word?”

“Is he always like that?” you asked Neil as you got up, watching the others making their way towards the exit, but he just shrugged in return.

“He’s a busy man.”

You eyed your soon-to-be student curiously, and he responded in such, although suddenly losing some of the confidence he’d had before. Even with the bruised face, he radiated with this natural charm, a soft smile and the blonde strands falling into the bright blue eyes only adding to the overall appeal.

“Sorry about the nose.”

“Thanks,” - he smirked - “can’t blame you for that though, right?”

Grinning, you extended your hand in an informal truce offering.

“No hard feelings then?”

“Not at all,” he said as your palms clapped together and you smacked each other’s arms playfully.

With any leftover tension gone, all you had to do was to discuss the schedule and a few other crucial details. Neil took some notes and promised to get everything ready over the next few days. He even offered to drive you home, but you politely turned him down. A long walk, even slightly longer than previously anticipated, seemed more tempting.

Your fingers brushed against the weird lock in your pocket and you smiled to yourself.

For the first time in months, your heart started beating a little bit faster.

(next chapter->)

[dudeandduchess]

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Levain (Fluff, Modern AU, Slight NSFW Scenario)

Note: I wrote down something self-indulgent from the Coffee Shop AU prompts. 🥰 Hope you like it, bbys. Also, yes, I’m coming out of hiatus since I’m 90% done with the things that I have to do. 🍉🍉🍉

Summary: Kyōjurō attends a baking class that (Y/n) has started at her coffee shop. Despite being so horrible at cooking in general, he still comes to her classes every weekend— all so he could get closer to her.

Warnings: Making Out, Adult Themes, Language

***

Kyōjurō’s heart was pounding so loud in his ears, as he continued to knead the dough in front of him as suave as possible. It wasn’t that he was trying to attract the eye of all the other females in the class— no, that wasn’t it at all.

He was trying to catch (Y/n)’s eye from where she stood a few ways away from him. He had been for the past few weeks; hell, he’d been at it ever since she’d first opened her coffee shop a year ago.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t even muster up the courage to just ask her out— because, well… because she was (Y/n). She was too pretty, too smart, and too smart, and too kind for him; at least, that’s what Kyōjurō thought of her. She was the epitome of his dream girl that even just being in the same room as her always had him choking up with nerves.

So, when she had told him that she was opening up a couple of baking classes on the weekends, he didn’t even hesitate to grab the opportunity to get closer to her; and maybe even finally strike up a conversation that was more than him laughing too loudly, or her having to be pulled away for business-related things.

What he didn’t expect, however, was how hard baking was going to be— especially for him, whom had no cooking skills whatsoever.

Hell, he had never seen a brownie that looked like coal— not until he had made them last week. It disheartened him a lot, but (Y/n) had been really supportive; and he had even earned a comforting hand on his arm for that blunder.

Not to mention the sweet smile that she had aimed right at him, as well as that soft “It’s okay, Kyōjurō, I can teach you one-on-one next time.”

It was shameful for him to admit it, but his mind had taken a deep dive into the gutter with those words of hers. And he had kept replaying them in his head, over and over, when he was all alone in his room and doing… extra-curricular things.

“Okay, everyone, if you feel like your dough is ready, it’s time to let it rest— before we all portion everything out and then proof it,” (Y/n)’s voice rang out through the quaint side-room where they were at, making all seven of the other women— as well as Kyōjurō— look up at her from their work.

However, the blond was immediately awestruck when his gaze immediately connected with (Y/n)’s; his jaw falling a little slack as he watched her lips quirk up into a warm grin— with her eyes crinkling up at the corners. That alone had his heart racing even faster in his chest, and before he knew it, his fingers had unknowingly buried themselves in his dough ball.

As subtly as possible, the young woman motioned to him gripping his dough so tightly— that the excess bits were oozing from the gaps between his fingers— giggling softly, and making Kyōjurō blush profusely as he let go of it as if it had burned him.

He felt like such a goofball for making such a mistake in front of (Y/n) but, little did he know, that she found it— and him— so cute.

“Damn it,” The young man cursed under his breath, ducking his head all the while— if only to hide the fact that his cheeks were burning so red with a blush.

“Would you like some help with that, Rengoku-san?” Kyōjurō all but jumped ins surprise at the sound of (Y/n)’s voice so close to him. And when he looked up, the fact that she was already standing across from him— granted, at the other end of the table— had his heart leaping into his throat.

Up close, she looked even prettier than ever; never mind the fact that she looked so cute, even with that tiny smudge of flour on her cheek.

Everything in him was yelling at him to reach out and wipe it away— if only to get a feel of that soft-looking skin of hers— but his morals, as well as his nerves, were telling him to keep his hands to himself.

“Yeah…” The blond whispered, a little bit breathless at first, but managed to compose himself after a couple of seconds. “Yes, please. I’m… obviously failing at this.”

His words were offered sheepishly, with an equally sheepish smile that— (Y/n) would never admit aloud— made Kyōjurō so damn kissable. And if it were up to her, she would have already pulled him in for a smooch— or more— weeks ago, if it wasn’t for the fact that she wasn’t sure if he was just embarrassed at his lack of culinary talent, or if he always got flustered around her for different reasons.

She almost wanted to sigh wistfully, on the chance that the man in front of her really was just flustered for reasons that didn’t have anything to do with liking her. But she schooled her features to show a pleasant and innocent smile, as she reached forward and boldly laid her hands on top of Kyōjurō’s.

To say that the blond was startled would have been the understatement of the century.

He felt his entire body come alive beneath her touch; warming up in places that should not have been getting warm in view of so many people, along with his muscles tensing up as he resisted the urge to take his hands back.

Not because he hated her touch; not at all. But more so because her mere touch was driving him wild. Hell, he already couldn’t get the feel of her hands out of his head.

“When you knead, you have to use the heel of your palm,” (Y/n) guided softly, all while gently guiding his hands to follow suit with her verbal instructions. “Personally, I like to rock my hand at the wrist, so that it’s easier.”

With her words, the young woman glided her fingers up to wrap around Kyōjurō’s wrists— deliberately pressing the pads of her digits up against the veins at his pulse point, and gliding them up and down. She watched his face get even redder then, while his lips pursed themselves into a thin line.

He was so flustered that he could barely move.

However, the pair was pushed out of their little bubble when the sound of sheet trays and other pans clattering to the ground cut through the quiet air within the kitchen area.

The annoyance in (Y/n)’s expression was brief, but Kyōjurō had caught it; which had his mind reeling… that maybe— just maybe— some part of (Y/n) liked what had been happening between them then; whatever that had been.

And, the moment that another one of the class-attendees had poked their head back into the prep area, he had never been more irritated at a middle-aged housewife in his entire life. All because the other woman’s presence had (Y/n) letting go of her hold on him, so she could attend to whatever the others had messed up in the main kitchen.

***

(Y/n) leaned back against her perch on the high chair right by the counter, sighing softly as she set her cup of coffee down next to the phone that had been left behind after her baking class for the day had ended. Her staff had been nice enough to volunteer to wait for its owner— but she had given in to her more selfish desires, all because she knew whom the owner of the phone was.

So, there she was, waiting for Kyōjurō to turn back up to get his phone; sitting in semi-darkness, since she had already turned off a good number of the lights; enough to let everyone know that her shop was closed, but also enough to let Kyōjurō know that there was still someone inside.

With another wistful sigh, the young woman reached her index finger out and tapped on the phone’s screen— biting back a small smile when it lit up to show her the picture of Kyōjurō and his little brother.

Had she not known better, she would have thought that the boy was his son; but she had seen the pair before at her shop, and she had overheard the boy calling Kyōjurō ‘ani-ue’. So, that immediately quelled her thoughts of him being married already.

‘Maybe he’s not coming back tonight,’ The young woman thought to herself, as she picked her cup of coffee back up and took a sip of the contents. And she was about to throw in the towel, right when the quiet chime of the bells at the door rang within the dead silent coffee shop.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” Instantly, (Y/n) perked up at Kyōjurō’s voice— making her get up from her seat and quickly clutch his phone in her right hand.

She then walked out further to meet him halfway, smiling when their eyes met in the dim shop. “I’m taking that you forgot something?”

A blush colored the blond’s cheeks at that, as he bashfully nodded. He didn’t want to admit it, but the reason why he had forgotten his phone was because he had been rushing home— all so he could ask his father how to court a woman. Because he was done admiring (Y/n) from afar.

He wanted to freely touch her; hug her, kiss her, everything. And he couldn’t do that without asking her out on a date first; but, as he was coming to realize, she always reduced him to a flustered mess with just her presence.

Just seeing her closing the distance between them— especially with the overhead lights illuminating her features in such an ethereal way— had his heart practically skipping in his tight chest. It was like he was falling even more head over heels for her; so breathless and lightheaded, as she stood in front of him with that beautiful smile.

Gingerly, (Y/n) reached a hand into her back pocket and pulled the phone out— handing it to him. “What took you so long to come back for it? Class ended hours ago.”

Kyōjurō floundered around for a response, almost grasping at straws, until something in him clicked and he decided to just go with the truth. He had mulled over it long enough, and if she didn’t like him back… then he’d just have to find another coffee shop to frequent.

It wasn’t like he was a huge fan of coffee, anyway. The only reason why he had kept coming back to (Y/n)’s shop was to see her, and to possibly talk to her when she wasn’t busy.

“I was… nervous,” The young man admitted softly, all while lifting a hand up and accepting his phone. His gaze then flickered briefly down to it, before going back to meet (Y/n)’s. “Because I wanted to see you, but I also didn’t want to see you. It’s a mess, I know. But what I’m trying to say is that you make me nervous.”

(Y/n)’s eyebrows furrowed a little at that, but she couldn’t deny the hope that had flared up within her at the tidbit of information. She was extremely curious whether she made him nervous for the romantic things that she wanted.

A thick silence stretched between them then, and Kyōjurō wanted to hit himself for making it awkward between them. Still, he found himself speaking once more.

“Anyway, uh, I don’t know to thank you for keeping phone safe for me. I owe y-”

“A kiss,” (Y/n) blurted out abruptly, cutting him off and making her want to scream for being so forward. It was evident that she had taken him by surprise too, because his eyes had gone wide, and his mouth had gone agape before he managed to close it back up. “A kiss would be good.”

She was just about to salvage her pride and tell him that she had been joking, but the way that Kyōjurō swallowed thickly as he closed the minuscule gap between them said everything that she wanted to know.

Every nerve in her body buzzed with excitement, as she let her eyes flutter closed the moment she felt his breath fanning across her lips. However, there was a moment where she had to wait with baited breath— as the blond’s lips hovered just a few centimeters from her own— while Kyōjurō tried to calm his nerves down.

Everything within him told him to just close the distance between them, so when he finally made his mind up, he captured (Y/n)’s lips with his own and felt his body practically melt into hers.

She pulled away after that first touch of their lips, reaching up to cup his face— with her expression looking a little dazed and flustered. But it didn’t take long at all for her to pull him in for a much deeper kiss; tilting her head and gently nipping at his bottom lip to tease him.

Kyōjurō responded in kind to her actions, letting himself be swept up by her pace; and parting his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. The first touch of her tongue to his had him moaning softly into her mouth; relishing the taste of coffee on her tongue, and the heady warmth of her mouth against his.

All he could do was wrap his arms around her middle and pull her up against his body; a little irate that he hadn’t pocketed his phone at first, but working with his current circumstances.

And before both of them knew it, they had ended up in a position where (Y/n) was sat on one of the tables— with Kyōjurō standing between her legs, and her hands still tenderly cupping his face.

However, the young man pulled away from their lip lock after a while; eyes still closed, and forehead pressed against hers. Then slowly, almost reverently, he began to press numerous butterfly kisses against (Y/n)’s lips— relishing in the feeling of her smiling even wider with every peck she received.

“You’re too good to me, (Y/n),” Kyōjurō admitted softly through more and more kisses, only to finally pull away from her and look right into her eyes. “I’ve always been in love with you.”

[jimlingss]

Moirai [5]

Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

➜ Words: 5k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Anastasia.”   Lucienne sits across the rounded table from you, oblivious to the blossom petals that have drifted down and tangled itself into her hair. The tea party invitation rests beside her teacup, neat and crisp like she held and opened it with the utmost care.    “Yes, thank you.” The other lady beside her pipes up. “It’s an absolute honour.”   “The Royal gardens are lovely this season,” another adds. “I’m glad I can enjoy it like this.”   “It’s not a problem, everyone.” A friendly smile stretches across your face. “It can get quite lonely being the only lady in the castle, so your company is welcome.”   More like Lady Devon and your other tutors was pretty damn insistent that you build a good reputation and inner circle, but whatever. What they don’t know, won’t hurt them.   But you do remember that in the original game, Anastasia used this opportunity to shame the heroine. She invited her to a tea party and made snide remarks about how she danced with the Prince. Of course it seems petty now but it’s understandable that Anastasia resented the heroine so much. Even if she didn’t intend it, she humiliated Anastasia by stealing her fiancé.   And the fact of the matter is that you’ll also become the laughingstock for what she’ll do.   “If I may ask, have you started the wedding arrangements yet, Lady Anastasia?”   You nearly choke on your tea, sputtering for a moment until you’re able to set the cup down on the saucer and cough into your napkin. The ladies around the table appear concerned, but you plaster on another smile. “Well, there’s been no discussion yet. The Royal family and the Devereux house are in no rush. There’s still quite a bit of time, so who knows what could happen.”   “What could happen?” One of them catches on quick and you cordially nod.   “The engagement was made when both Prince Jungkook and I were very young, but now that we are older, we can voice our own opinions on the matter.” You choose your words carefully and your smile widens. “I am not opposed if changes are made. If the leaders of the empire cannot exercise their own freedoms, then how can the people?”    They nod in agreeance, a few in awe at your deep thought process. “That is very mature of you, Lady Anastasia.”   You laugh stiffly and lift your tea cup for another sip.   “Oh, but the Crown Prince is so wonderful.”   You choke. Again. You wonder if you’re going to die at this tea party from the warm liquid constantly going down the wrong pipe.    “I am sure he wouldn’t change his mind with how lovely you are, Lady Anastasia.” The girl beside you smiles, laying it on thick to win your favour. “You two are a very fitting couple.”   “I agree.” Lucy smiles softly. “Prince Jungkook is very courteous.”   “And very majestic.”   You remember when you dueled with Jungkook, he lost within a minute. He threw a tantrum in the following days and gave you the silent treatment. Or that time you went horseback riding, you decided to race each other and he fell off his own horse into mud and started crying.   Uh-huh. Majestic indeed.   You chalk up your wheeze to nothing and dab the corner of your mouth with the tablecloth napkin. “Yes, well, Jungkook will make a fine King someday.”   “And you’ll make a fine Queen,” a soft-spoken voice pipes up and your eyes connect to Lucy’s. Unlike the others surrounding you, you know her words are genuinely spoken and you shift uncomfortably in your seat.   “I’m not so sure about that,” you honestly admit as you fidget with the edge of the porcelain saucer. “A queen must be kind and generous and know the suffering of the people. I’m afraid I have a lot left to learn.”   Your gaze meets Lucy’s again.   Her smile is all too gentle for high society and its naturally cunning, heartless nature. She’s awfully naive, but that aside, you know her benevolence will make her beloved in the empire.   //   Once the tea party is over, you’re able to breathe a sigh of relief. Christ, thank god that’s over.   You escort most of the ladies towards their carriages, bidding them goodbye with polite waves as the palace servants clear the dishes, chairs and table away from the garden. And you turn around to head back to your room to sneak in a break, but your name is frantically called—   “Lady Anastasia!”   You turn and a girl in her purple, simple gown comes barrelling down the open hall. Her chest rises and falls, completely out of breath even when she only ran two meters. It makes you laugh unabashedly. “Is everything okay? You don’t need to run.”   She hunches over, lungs probably burning, but she fixes her posture a moment later. “S-Sorry, my lady.”   “Anastasia is fine.”   Lucy nods. “I...just wanted to thank you again. I was very excited when I received your invitation. It’s an honour….Anastasia.”   “There’s no reason to thank me so much.” You walk alongside her. Your hat with pinned pink peonies, matching your gown, shields the sun away from your face.   “It’s just that I don’t get invited to these sort of events often considering….considering I’m just a baron’s daughter and adopted one at that.”   She doesn’t need to tell you — you know her backstory well. You’ve played through it from her perspective. Her father abandoned her mother who died of illness when she was five and she was picked up on the streets by the sympathetic baron. It seems like every character in this game has some tragic backstory. They are defining moments that make that person.   But you suppose life itself is like that.   “Can I give you some advice, Lucy?” you ask after a quiet moment and she nods. You stop walking and the girl halts beside you. “Your humility makes you likeable, but be careful not to self-deprecate yourself. Your worth is more than what you consider yourself to have.”   Her eyes widen and you add, “Plus, it’s not good to thank a host more than once like they’ve done you a big favour because they’ll start to think you owe them for it.”   Lucy nods and you smile, resuming your stroll. “I’ll be inviting you to more tea parties in the future.”   “Thank—” She catches herself. “Yes, I will be looking forward to that.”   A grin spreads into your cheeks. “On a different note, I never got to ask you how your dance was with Jungkook at the debutante ball.”   “Oh, yes, the Prince was very kind. But I’m sorry if it was inappropriate, I know he’s your fiancé—”   This time, your laugh is unrestrained. She looks up at you in surprise. “Do you think I’m getting jealous?” Lucy opens her mouth and then closes it, not sure what to say and you bat the air with your hand. “Jungkook is like a little brother to me.”   If she was surprised before, now she looks entirely off guard. “It thought the Prince and you were the same age.”   You laugh stiffly. “Yes, we are, but I guess that’s what childhood friends are like.”   “Oh, I’ve never had a childhood friend.”   “Have you ever had a friend?” Your eyes meet her’s and you smile. “Because I’d be happy to be your first.”   The conversation soon ends and as Lucy walks away, you breathe another sigh of relief and pat yourself on the back at the positive interaction. Even if she’s just a countryside girl, it’s nerve-racking when you’re supposed to be the villainess. You like her and you even offered your friendship, but with each interaction, your demise is always lingering at the back of your head.   “I didn’t take you for being such a mentor.”   You whirl around, nearly startled to death by the voice and you discover a tall, dark-haired man leaning against the marble pillar with a sly smile.   “How long have you been there?”   Taehyung grins. “Not long. I was just passing by. It was a coincidence.” He turns in the direction where Lucy went. “I heard you had a tea party, how did it go?”   “It was exhausting.” You stretch your arms over your head and walk over to lean against the stone ledge next to him. “I don’t think I’m quite fit for the palace life.”   Taehyung smiles and you look up at him. “Are you going to the garden again?”   He nods and there’s a strong urge to ask him if you can come along. Just for a small break before they find you and you’re swept up in another lesson. But you’re not sure if you should—   “Would you like to come?”    Taehyung asks the question for you and your eyes meet one another’s.   There’s no one around. Not a soul in sight who could stop you from going or leaving.   You know you should keep your distance from him. You know. But…   “Okay.”   You take him up on the offer, following after him, just for a moment of indulgence.

With the arrival of Spring also comes the Hunt. It’s a rather eventful time in the castle considering it's generally symbolic of the harvests of this year, thought to prevent famine if those attending can bring back large game. An irony that isn’t lost on you. But it’s an undoubtedly lively time and one that you don’t mind.   “You better bring back a whole moose,” you mumble as you tie the blue ribbon on the belt of Jungkook’s armour, making sure it’s tight and secure. The ribbon is a gift of good luck and one of affection. You’re obligated to tie one for Jungkook considering you’re his fiancée.    “I’ll bring back a dragon,” he declares brazingly and you lightly scoff.   This is his second time participating after winning last year, but you remember he was practically shaking back then out of fear and pressure.   “Okay then. Just make sure you don’t fall off your horse this time.”    “That was only once!”   You take a step back when you’re done tying the ribbon. “I should be the one going on the hunt instead of staying back for idle chit chat. I’m pretty sure I would be able to catch something bigger than you.”   “Probably.” Jungkook grins. “You’re good enough with your sword to be a knight.”   “They’d never let me.” You sigh. God knows your mother would be mortified and probably faint and die.    But while staying back and waiting for the men to return with their kill is boring as hell, at least you’re removed from the pressure of having to hunt large prey in the first place. It’s a competition after all and one that can get quite competitive from your knowledge.   You follow Jungkook to his prized white horse and watch him caress its muzzle.    “If you win, you should give the prize to Lucy.”   His brows furrow and he turns his head to you. “Lucienne? The girl I danced with at the ball? Why?”   You shrug half-heartedly. “Because she has no one and I feel bad for her. I already have a few knights who are going to dedicate their game to me.”   Jungkook hums, not thinking much about it. “Fine by me.”   He puts his foot on the stirrup and swings himself over, sitting on top of the majestic horse.   Preparations almost complete, you turn to the King who’s seated at the top of the stands in a throne-like chair. He looks across the field with an approving expression.   Your parents are beside the King and you spare them a mere glance before turning away. You haven’t spoken to them since the end of the debutante ball and you don’t plan to. It might be childish to give them the silent treatment, but you wonder to what end they’ll try to force you.   The attendant steps up. “Is everyone ready?”   At that exact same moment, as if he was called upon, a familiar dark-haired man with eyes the hue of deep honey enters your peripheral vision. Taehyung emerges onto the field filled with knights on horses and soldiers in armour. His navy cape draped over his left shoulder sways with each movement, twinkling in the sunlight as if there were stars sewn into the fabric. He’s grasping onto a steel pole, a magical staff and his presence garners whispers from all.   “Isn’t he the bastard son?” — “The first son of the King.” — “The one born from the maid.”   They’re all startled to see him — the nobles sitting in the stands, women murmuring underneath their breaths, men watching with their eyes wide, knights and guards. And most of all, you’re stuck at a standstill.   Heart thunderous in your ears — blood drained from your face — you can’t look away when all Taehyung is looking at is you.    He comes close and his expression melts into a tender smile, a softened gaze when he reads your eyes’ fixation on him.    Jungkook, on the other hand, grins and mounts off his horse. “Taehyung?!” The Prince welcomes his brother warmly — an action not unnoticed by the crowds watching. He hugs him and lets go a moment later. “What are you doing here?”   “What can I say? I’m here to steal your victory.”   The younger laughs and you can tell he’s genuinely excited. Jungkook’s cheeks are practically pink and bulging, and his eyes have brightened. “Do you want to put a bet on that?”   “How much are you willing to wager?” Taehyung quips back.   “My pride and dignity.”   He scoffs playfully. “How about your private library collection?”   “Deal. And if I win, I want you to come to the feast tonight.”   Taehyung grins. “Looks like this year’s going to be difficult for you, Your Highness.”   “I’ll keep up.” Jungkook laughs again and gets back on his horse.   A stable-boy comes rushing over with a horse for Taehyung and before the King can utter a single word or you have a chance to speak to him, the games have begun. Taehyung glances over his shoulder at you for a single beat and then he’s off into the woods with the rest.    In the original game, Taehyung never participated in the Hunt.   He looked on from the window of his tower and even sabotaged Jungkook.    In the original game, Jungkook became injured but still conscious enough that before he fated, he declared he would give his prize to the heroine since Anastasia was so overbearing. It sparked the girl’s jealousy and was the reason why she decided to conspire with Taehyung. It was the first domino in the chain — the beginning of the villains working hand in hand.   But none of that is happening.   You wonder how far your choices will continue to deviate from the story. How many more mistakes—   “Are you alright, Anastasia?”   You jolt, torn out of your deep trance by a worried gaze. Lucy has leaned in towards you, her brows knitted together and you smile. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.” You quickly change the subject. “Have you given your ribbon to anyone yet?”   The pair of you are walking down the castle hall, heading towards the dining hall where you know the noble women will be having tea and making small talk while waiting for their sons and husbands.   Lucy shakes her head and unties the blue ribbon she had around her wrist.    “Why not?”   She stares at the soft satin for a second and then looks up at you, mustering a small smile. “I wouldn’t know who to give it to.”   “Well, you still have time to decide. You can give it to someone when they get back.” You hum to yourself. “How about giving it the Crown Prince?”   Lucy’s eyes are as large as saucers and she blinks thrice.   You’re a bit endeared with how surprised she seems at your suggestion. “Don’t you admire Prince Jungkook?”   “I...I do,” she admits quietly and peeks at you again. “But I wouldn’t want to overstep—”    “Not at all!” You reassure her. “Prince Jungkook likes the admiration. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind whatsoever. He might actually appreciate it.”   The girl smiles to herself and nods.   Evening sets in after meaningless conversations, cordial expressions and polite responses. The only interruptions are the horns that ring as each participant in the Hunt slowly arrives back.   Jungkook returns sweaty and out of breath, but with a whole moose like he promised. There are cheers and applauses, but more importantly, silent gasps when he beelines straight to Lucy to give her the prize. She blushes, a stuttering mess full of ‘thank yous’ and ‘it’s an honour’, and you discover Jungkook’s bashful behaviour at her sincere gratitude.    He scratches the back of his neck, diverts his vision, mutters ‘it’s fine’. It’s fascinating to watch considering he’s always been arrogant and bratty to you since the day you met him.   But you don’t get to observe their moment for long.   Not when the horns ring again and a figure appears over the horizon.    This time, no one moves. Truly stunned. Breaths hitched. Holy shit. Taehyung arrives back with a bear and he doesn’t even look like he’s broken a sweat.   “Wow!” Jungkook is the first to react, moving out of the crowd to his brother. He’s genuinely amazed and impressed, jaw dropped and brows shot to his hairline. “You did this?!”   “Didn’t I say I would win?” Taehyung grins languidly.   “This...is incredible!” Jungkook’s admiration for his brother causes the unsettled crowd to finally calm. It starts off slow, a clap here or there and then it’s applause, cheering and murmurs of acknowledgment.   “Has anyone ever brought a bear back before?” — “Did he use magic?” — “Why didn’t the eldest son participate in the Hunt before?”   And you know that it’s the first time people have clapped for Taehyung.   The attendant rushes forward, sputtering on his words. “T-The winner for this year’s Hunt is His Highness, Prince Taehyung!”   Taehyung wins a chest of gold, worth more than fifty commoner’s lifetimes and you watch as he bows his head as he receives it. You watch as he holds it and strides towards you. You watch until his arms have extended and a smile draws upon his features.   “What are you doing?” you ask, a whisper that’s befallen off your lips, spilled past the astonishment.    His gaze and smile never wavers. “I’m giving my prize to you.”   The crowd’s stirred to silence, watching the two of you, and you receive the wooden chest.   The attendant quickly announces the feast in the hall and servants begin ushering the people inside. But you continue watching Taehyung, your eyes connected to his, both grounded in the private bubble.   No one notices the King sitting on top of the stands, his brows tightly knitted.    //   The dining hall has shifted.   No longer are there laced tablecloths, towers of pastries and teapots from the afternoon. It’s large plates that have stretched along the surface, meats and cheese, breads and butters that have begun the feast. There are grandiose chairs all around three different tables, arranged based on importance and connections, conversations that have filled the enormous room.   The darkness of the night is casted away by the chandeliers overhead, illuminating the room in a golden hue. Yet, while each is high on the atmosphere, drunk by the wine, you can’t swallow the food down.    The tapping of utensils on glass has you looking over. The room simmers down.    By the coaxing of Jungkook beside him, Taehyung rises from his chair and clears his throat. It’s customary for the victor of the Hunt to give a speech and you’re guessing this is it.   “Thank you all for coming.” Taehyung appears unfamiliar and awkward addressing the crowd, quickly rushing over his words as if to get it done and over with. “I have never participated in the Hunt before this year and it was only because of beginners luck that I won. That—”    Suddenly, Taehyung looks right at you. “—and the support of those most important to me.”    Then, as quick as he stole his glance, he turns away. “I hope the harvests of Ashea will prosper this year.”   There’s thunderous applause and the feast resumes.   You’re overwhelmed, dizzy, the celebrations of the room getting to your head — laughter, questions, comments louder by ten decibels until it feels earsplitting.   You look over at Jungkook, finding that he has two blue ribbons pinned on his left side. He’s smiling widely, oblivious. Then, your head whirls over to your parents sitting down the table. They might have friendly smiles plastered on their features, but you can tell through their eyes that there’s seething anger. They’re unhappy, most likely with you, most likely with what happened earlier.   “Anastasia.” Lady Devon, who sits beside you, calls you out of your thoughts, disapproving at how your listening skills could be so poor.   You blink, pretending you were in deep thought about her discussion of silver forks and the corner of your mouth tugs. “If you’ll excuse me…”   After a delayed moment, she nods and you push your chair back, blurring into the massive paintings on the wall as you slip out to the terrace.   The night is cold.    Each exhale of yours is visible and you tug the soft pink shawl around your shoulders closer to your body for some warmth as you lean against the railings. You look up at the star-filled sky, finally able to calm yourself from the noise inside. You’ve always been glad that no matter where you are, what universe it is, there’s always the same sun, stars and moon. A constant.   One thing you don’t have to worry about.   “Is there something wrong?”   You know who it is before you’ve even turned around.    It’s a relief. You’ve waited all day to be able to speak to him, to be away from prying eyes and in a private moment. It’s easing. Your nerves take comfort in the familiarity, somehow finding his very presence soothing. Yet it’s unsettling at the same time. You have too many questions, too many suspicions and you don’t know if you want to uncover the truth.   But you gather your strength and face Taehyung. “I’m just thinking.”   “About what?”   Taehyung approaches your side. The warm light from inside the palace spills out and your shadows cast onto the grass beneath the terrace. There is not a soul in the hall when they’re all inside the dining hall, celebrations and conversations muffled through the many walls.   You inhale a breath. “Why?”   Taehyung frowns.   You ask again, “Why did you give me your prize?”   “Should I not have?”   Half of his face is illuminated, the slope of his nose and dip of his cupid’s bow sharp against the glow of the chandeliers, reminiscent of the chiaroscuro of a painting.   “That’s not it. Just…..” Why does he treat you so kindly, why does he want to go out of his way to talk to you, why does he look at you like that— “Why?”   In the original game, Anastasia was Taehyung’s chess piece and nothing more.   “Does there need to be a reason?” The corner of his mouth tugs gingerly. “I wanted to, so I did.”   “But there’s so many eligible bachelorettes you could’ve them them to, like Lady Myoi or Lady Paxton—”   “None of them matter,” he injects without needing to blink or think twice. “Not like you do.”   Your head snaps up and your eyes meet. Taehyung gazes at you tenderly, searching your irises with a small smile and he swallows hard. His voice lowers when he asks, “Are you cold?”    Oddly enough, even with the chilly wind whisking through the branches and swaying the leaves, you aren’t cold if he’s here.    Yet suddenly, Taehyung snaps his fingers and you’re engulfed with the warmth of an embrace. It’s the heat of a winter fire crackling underneath the mantle, the Summer sun casting down on your cheeks, and it travels from your toes to your head, and you can’t help the giggle that spills from you.    “What did you just do?”   He grins and leans closer to you. “It’s a simple warmth spell.”   Your brow cocks. “How much magic do you exactly know?”    He even managed to get that bear without looking like he had to fight. Your efforts to get him not to tap into magic all those years ago were in vain, but you have to admit it’s pretty cool.   Taehyung looks away, smile easing. “It doesn’t matter how much magic I have. It’s not enough for what I really want.”    Your breath hitches in your throat. The implications of his words welcomes the tension back into the air that had snuck itself away for a simple moment. But it isn’t uncomfortable. It isn’t the kind of tension that comes when you’re speaking to the Duke and Duchess, not the stiffness that arrived when you were being scolded by Edith. No. It’s different. It’s….intimate.    Especially when he sneaks a glance at you and you hold it, eyes fixated into his.   None of you speak, breathe, bat a lash. Not when Taehyung starts to lean in close. Not when you begin to feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin, when you can hear the thunderous noise of his heartbeat bruising his rib cage. His lash tickles yours. But before your lips can brush—   You push him away.   Taehyung stumbles back, nearly falling over, but he grasps the railings.   Your breath heaves and you stare at him in shock, in horror with what was about to happen. And before anything can be said or done, you turn away.   “Wait! Anastasia!” Taehyung calls after you. “I’m sorry!”   “I….I need to leave.”   You can’t deviate from the story more than you already have. This is a mistake.   In the midst of your panic, you return to the dining hall and cut through the room. It’s the quickest way back to your chambers, so you don’t hesitate to move your steps, never once looking behind your shoulder. Luckily, Taehyung doesn’t follow after you. He can’t.    But while each is celebrating and distracted with their company, a certain girl notices your distraught and frantic form beelining to the massive doors.   Something doesn’t sit right in her, so she immediately stands and bows her head to the woman she was speaking to. “If you can excuse me, thank you, I’ll be right back.”   Lucy follows after you, eyes pinned on your backside.   The only people who pay any mind is your mother, the Duchess of Devereux. Her senses are sharp and she taps your father on the shoulder until he follows her line of sight to the girl.   The castle grounds are dark, the moon waxing but not yet full enough to provide a bright light. But enough is shed for you to see. It’s enough for shadows to cast along the stone walls. You would never walk outside at this time of night, but you need air. More of it. Something you can breathe in and hope will clear the cloudiness inside your mind, the noise that’s earsplitting.   A gentle tap on your shoulder has you screaming.   “It’s me!” Lucy puts her hands out, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”   You catch your breath, steadying it and you swallow hard. “W-What are you doing outside? I thought you were still celebrating the feast.”   “I saw you walking by and I thought something was wrong and I got worried, I’m sorry.” She looks at you when the silence is ongoing. The concern is evident through her knitted brows. “Are you alright, Anastasia?”   It seems like everyone is asking you that question today.   A question you don’t know how to respond to yourself.   But you manage a nod and a smile. “I’m fine. I was just tired. I was thinking of retiring to my room early.”   “Oh, okay.”   You step towards her and grasp her hands within your own. “Can you do me a favour, Lucy, and keep Jungkook company tonight? He might be looking for me too and I don’t want him to be worried.”   “I will.” She nods. “But do you want me to escort you to your room? I could call someone—”   “No, it’s quite alright. I’ll be fine.” You smile and let go of her. “You should go back now before someone goes looking for you.”   Lucy nods for a second time and she bids you a goodnight as she walks back.   You’re left by yourself and you turn to tread your own way. The weight of so many decisions lie upon your shoulders and slow down your steps. You wonder why you have to bear the heavy burden of knowing your future, of knowing all of theirs while trying to escape your own fate.    It feels like you’re a pawn trying to control the whole chess board.   You exhale a breath, watching the cloud dissipate and unbeknownst to you, there’s a rustle in the garden’s bushes.   “That’s her, isn't it?”   Two shadows emerge from the darkness and before your ears can pick up on the noise, before you can turn around and meet the figures, a cloth is clamped over your mouth. Your shout is muffled and arms begin to drag you in the opposite direction of the castle.   What the fuc—    Immediately, your elbow juts out and the man behind you sputters, cowering over with a curse. You manage to slip out of his loosened grip, about to sprint and yell. Until another overtakes you and grabs hold of your wrists, yanking you back.   “Wench!” A cold blade sits at the juncture of your throat and you freeze, breaths tearing out of your throat frantically. You can fight him. Years of swordsmanship didn’t render you useless after all. But his threat delays you— “Shut your mouth if you don’t want Baron of Liza dead too.”   What?   Your mouth is stuffed with cloth and you’re roughly ripped into the darkness.   At the same time, Taehyung, still at the terrace and about to leave, turns around.

[parcoeurs]

Extremely fascinated by your wag AU tag 👀.

thanks bestie so am i.

okay lmao so this isn't an actual fic that'll ever be written but. i was talking to my friend about it who still hasn't finished dts season 3 unfortunately but it means that i've switched around ages and years etc. i promise this has the potential to be a fun and sexy time but there's just s o much background shit that needs to be discussed. tw for mentions of irl deaths etc:

but pierre & charles meeting when they're 5-6 (which is what i think charles actually says irl but someone said it might've been closer to when they were 10-11? regardless.) and charles' dad passes away when they're 9-10, and jules when they're 13-14 and charles quits racing then. (fyi i know that irl jules passed away first)

he thinks about quitting when his dad passes away but keeps going with help from jules. so when the accident etc happens, it's not even like an active decision he ponders. he just knows there's no way he'll race again.

and pierre's been with him throughout everything, his best friend who he can talk to when he can't bear looking at his own family. so he doesn't understand when pierre tells him he's going to keep racing. when charles had told him he was never going to get into a kart ever again, pierre had nodded, grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. important to note that they're barely teenagers rn so yes charles feels betrayed that pierre isn't feeling the same things he is and isn't choosing the same future for himself etc.

they have a huge fight, lots of crying, lots of dramatic teenage angst. but it ultimately ends with charles shutting pierre out of his life. which is easier said than done when it's your best friend whose family is super close with yours. but it works because pierre is off racing around the world and charles has done all he can to never have to think about that stuff.

so charles goes to school, is doing uni somewhere in europe. studies something generic like business or maybe if i'm feeling suuuuper indulgent i will have him major in environmental studies like moi <3 pointedly does not come to monaco during grand prix weekend or the week before or the week after.

and then anthoine passes away too. (they're 20-21 now)

they see each other again at the funeral but don't talk, they meet up afterwards. pierre breaking down in charles' arms, clutching at his back, telling him he was right. pierre should've quit, he can't do this anymore either. they haven't said a word to each other in 7 years but charles still knows pierre, and knows that this isn't actually what pierre wants. or what he should do. (charles vaguely knows pierre's in f1 but doesn't know he's with redbull, doesn't know redbull's the top team etc)

"you can still do this, you will," charles tells him.

"not without you again."

so then comes the challenge of mending their relationship while still working through the shared trauma, and the Layers of past trauma. and also just the general awkwardness that comes with a friendship breakup/makeup situation you know! they can't just act like nothing happened but would it be easier that way?

they start texting first, then they play fifa or cod together. (sometimes pierre's british friend lewis joins too.)

slowly slowly slowly, they become friends again and then inseparable too. maybe even closer than they were before and charles only now realizes how much he missed pierre. while pierre still can't believe he has charles back now, it's as good as he let himself imagine.

the part i'm unsure about is if i would want pierre's career trajectory to be the same or not. because i think the demotion adds SUCH a painful but interesting aspect to his ~storyline. but ultimately i think maybe he just doesn't get the second seat immediately. spends more years with toro rosso/alpha tauri before getting "called up" (sorry i have no idea what the proper terminology is haha ignore the nba/nhl terms).

he invites charles to his first race in the red bull and charles says no. immediately. pierre's quiet on the other side of the phone, internally thinking he messed this up somehow. he thought things were going well and he takes this as charles doesn't want to see him. but he knows there's a lot more that's stopping charles and he also knows charles will definitely pull back if pierre asks about the other stuff. so he moves right along, asking charles about school, the weather, and tries not to let it show in his voice that he misses his best friend and needs him too.

"i'm going to try to watch," charles says, after pierre's yawned goodnight through the phone and is waiting for him to hang up. because you know pierre's not going to hang up first.

"what?"

"the race. i'm going to try. goodnight!" mentally charles slams the phone shut but really he just smashes at the red button before shoving it under his bed and looking at his hands trying to get answers for what he just did.

his only relief is that he didn't promise pierre he would watch, just that he would try. couldn't even choke out a, "good luck." (insert long paragraph about charles letting pierre down or thinking he has).

he only watches qualifying. pierre p3. already knows on saturday that there's no way he can watch the actual race.

but on sunday when he's supposed to be going over his notes for his climate change science & policy course (yes.... i did it...) he finds himself with his heart in his mouth refreshing formula1 dot com. watches the random names move up and down while keeping his eyes on 10 - gasly. (starts shaking for a second when he sees pierre's name drop until the IN PIT sign comes up across his name. fellas the thing about triggers is-- anyways.)

the scariest part is that by the time he's scrolled through all of red bull's socials to look at pictures of pierre on the podium (he finished p2 sorry i know this truly does not matter), he's forgotten about the race. the anxiety sits small in the back of his throat, his happiness for pierre is bright and loud in front of him. charles sends him a message, asking him to call whenever he can and adds a blue & red heart emoji which feels like a Big Step. but basically pierre calls and acts like nothing has happened since the last time they talked. mentions the breakfast he had in detail as if he didn’t get a podium in his first race with red bull. finally with a big team. but charles embarrassingly realizes that maybe his text didn't exactly imply in literally any way whatsoever that he knows the results of the race and was trying to congratulate pierre with this call. charles probably feels so embarrassed at this point but somehow still can't manage to say anything about the race until the next day maybe.

maybe texts pierre, good job. or, you were great. or something about him and not the race. or maybe reposts a picture from red bull but not one of pierre in his car, pointedly. only one of him on the podium. and pierre probably reposts it with the squid emoji and/or my favourite sentence in the world, merci petit calamaro.

charles cries when he reads it.

not to be lazy now but [insert 10k words of them building their friendship. meeting up in monaco with both of their families. meeting in milan or london or paris idk where pierre would live. but he flies charles out. not on a private jet because charles flat out refused lol. not because he's an environmentally conscious king he's just too, embarrassed? overwhelmed? by pierre doing Things Like That for him. even though he wants it lol. like when he graduates he's soooo annoyed that pierre couldn't come celebrate immediately because it was race week. but when he comes home his apartment is filled with flowers (roses, his favourite) and balloons and a giant teddy bear as tall as charles. and he DOES post 12 instagram stories to go with the other 30 from his other friends congratulating him. so yeah charles goes through a lot of personal growth and therapy. to the point where he's watching pierre race again, and waiting for him to invite him to a race again!!! do not even think about actual dates i'm fucking begging you but the one he goes to is monza :))))]

ultimately charles' path to understand/accepting/moving on from, his trauma, happens once he has pierre back in his life. it's also encouraged by pierre, but it's also not entirely because of him. not sure how to word that but yeah. these things are happening at the same time but charles still has to go through them by himself.

pierre takes him on romantic dates all around the world and charles doesn't realize that's what they are. fully in his bestie vibes only mood while pining for pierre in a way he doesn't even quite understand. almost a self deprecating, jeez whoever gets to date pierre is going to be so lucky :/

fanpage on ig: met pierre's alleged bf he's so pretty and sweet, i complimented his shoes and he was so nice. charles reading that: i didnt know he was dating someone :( why wouldn't he tell me :( well at least someone complimented my shoes today :(

pierre doesn't necessarily think they're dating, but he does know charles doesn't quite realize what they're doing so he's just waiting for him to come to terms with it.

not to give this au 10 different subplots but yeah that miscommunication plot becomes our prize for surviving through the first part of this.

but yeah at the last race of the year, that pierre wins because i said so? charles finds him before he goes on to the podium, kisses his helmet. says i love you, i'm so proud of you.

THEN, finally, charles does become pierre's wag. we made it kids. we did it joe.

[ibijau]

Futures past pt3 / On AO3

Nie Huaisang meets a potential new friend, all thanks to Lan Xichen

The Cloud Recesses were impossibly boring and extraordinarily fun at the same time, Nie Huaisang decided roughly a week into his stay there.

The boring part was the lectures, of course. He frequently fell asleep during those, drawing the ire of Lan Qiren… and apparently asking that the old man speak in a more lively manner was not the right reaction to being caught like that. Nie Huaisang had already been punished to copy Gusu Lan’s rules a few times in just those first few days. It didn’t bother him too much. If anything, he counted that as part of the fun. Back at home being punished meant running around the courtyard a hundred times, or carrying heavy buckets, or some awful boring thing like this. 

Copying rules, by contrast, wasn’t so bad, especially after the first few times. Once Nie Huaisang knew them well enough, he stopped paying attention to the words and was free to focus entirely on his calligraphy skills. After a year of this, he was sure he’d have the best handwriting in the world, which he felt was more important than whatever Lan Qiren actually intended to teach him.

Other fun things to do included fishing (technically forbidden), catching birds (forbidden), exploring the back hills (forbidden), and chatting with other bored people outside of class (tolerated, though Nie Huaisang’s loud laughter was forbidden). Nie Huaisang had already found several places he couldn’t wait to paint, as soon as he found a way to escape punishment for a day. The light just wasn’t good enough for it when he went into the back hills too late, so that was a concern, but he was sure he’d manage sooner or later. He just needed to figure out how to fall asleep inconspicuously, and that would solve most of his problems.

During the middle of his second week, Nie Huaisang finally managed to go through a full day without getting scolded at all. It was, in all honesty, not thanks to anything he had personally done. But Jin Zixun had been particularly unbearable that day, attracting all the attention of the substitute teacher, who’d had to replace Lan Qiren at the last moment because sect business had needed urgent care. So Jin Zixun had been the one punished, and he’d made such a huge deal of it that very little teaching had happened after that, meaning that Nie Huaisang hadn’t had a chance to get in trouble as well.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the lectures for the day, Nie Huaisang ran (forbidden) to the little house he shared with the other Nie and hurriedly grabbed all his painting equipment, eager to make good use of the lovely light they had that day. He then made his way toward the back hills, only to hear his name called out just as he was about to leave the last set of buildings behind him.

He turned around, saw Lan Xichen walking his way, and almost cursed. So much for his much desired painting session.

“Were you going somewhere, Nie gongzi?” Lan Xichen asked. Noticing the painting equipment, he smiled indulgently. “Oh, I see. The light is truly lovely for it today. Are you going to the Plenitude Creek?”

“I don’t know if it has a name,” Nie Huaisang replied. “But there’s a nice little clearing when you follow the river long enough, and from there there’s a lovely view of the mountains.”

Lan Xichen nodded. “I think I see the place you mean, and it is quite nice as well. But if you would allow me, I really think you might enjoy the Plenitude Creek. It is hard to find when you don’t know where it is though, so I could guide you there. It’s not far at all, and I believe you might enjoy it as a subject.”

It was very tempting to refuse, if only because Nie Huaisang already had a plan, and he wasn’t sure at all when he’d get another chance to do as he pleased. At the same time, his future self had insisted on the need to be on good terms with Lan Xichen, hadn’t he? And everyone said that Lan Xichen was a very skilled artist already in spite of his youth, so he would know how to spot a nice scenery.

“If Lan gongzi has time to waste on me, I’ll gladly take this offer,” Nie Huaisang said. “Please lead the way.”

Lan Xichen did just that, careful to match his pace to Nie Huaisang’s, just like he had during that tour of the Cloud Recesses a while ago. It really was considerate of him, and Nie Huaisang appreciated it more than he should have. He was used to trailing behind others because he just couldn’t make the effort of walking fast enough, so having his speed taken into account for once was nice. On the down side, it felt quite awkward to be side by side like this in silence. It was probably fine for Lan Xichen, because Gusu Lan preferred the quiet, but Nie Huaisang didn’t like to be around others and not chat. Silence was only for birdwatching, or when he focused on something for once.

“I’m surprised you’re not scolding me for this,” Nie Huaisang said after a while, only to immediately want to slap himself. It was such a stupid thing to say, only made worse when he opened his mouth to add: “Your uncle gave us all that homework to do, I probably shouldn’t be thinking of painting. Da-ge would surely be scolding me. Poor da-ge, he lost the didi lottery, and you won it.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that at all,” Lan Xichen objected.

“Oh, he does. He told me as much. I almost forgot my sabre at home when preparing to come here, you see, and he got angry, and he said Wangji would never be such an embarrassment, and how I need to grow up already and all that. But the way I see it, it’s not my fault. I think your brother stole all the accomplishments there were to be had in my age group, so of course I was left with nothing at all.”

“Now you’re unfair to yourself,” Lan Xichen scolded, his voice oddly detached all of a sudden. “I’m sure… I’m quite sure Nie gongzi is skilled at many things, and just needs the chance to show it off.”

Surprised to hear something that very nearly sounded like a compliment, Nie Huaisang pondered a moment on that as they followed along the path.

“No, I don’t think I have any skill at all,” he decided at last.

Lan Xichen frowned, and motioned for Nie Huaisang to leave the path with him.

“The other day, you said your father used to compliment your ear for music,” Lan Xichen noted. “And you paint, don’t you?”

“Oh, very poorly. It’s just something I do because it’s fun. If you were to see it…”

“I would like to.”

Off the path, the ground was rougher, with roots everywhere. Nie Huaisang told himself that he tripped for that reason alone, and not at all because the request surprised him so much. Lan Xichen caught him before he could really fall, but that just made it worse, and Nie Huaisang quickly pulled away, puzzled by that sudden goodwill. Lan Xichen had never taken notice of him before, or only to nod along when Nie Mingjue scolded his unruly little brother in his presence, so why the change?

“Did da-ge ask you to keep an eye on me?” Nie Huaisang bluntly asked. “Is this… are you just going to lecture me, or to take me somewhere to meditate instead of paint?”

His brother used to do both, when he was younger. He would agree to take Nie Huaisang out to admire a landscape, then turn their outing into a cultivation lesson, or make him meditate in a place that was supposed to be particularly rich in energy. Over time Nie Huaisang had learned to run the opposite direction if his brother offered to go for a walk, and apparently he might need to do the same with Lan Xichen.

“Of course he asked me to look after you,” Lan Xichen said, looking puzzled. “He is your brother and I am his friend. But I really just want to show you a place I think you’d enjoy to…”

“That’s what da-ge would say too,” Nie Huaisang retorted, deeply annoyed now. “Thanks, but no thanks. Have your own fun meditating, Lan gongzi, but I have better things to do!”

Nie Huaisang bolted away, running as fast as he could in what he vaguely believed was the direction from which they had come from. He thought he heard Lan Xichen calling his name after the initial surprise had passed, but the older boy made no effort to run after him. Possibly because it would have been undignified for someone as elegant as Lan Xichen to run, and also because it might have been against one of those rules that Nie Huaisang still couldn’t be bothered to remember. Nie Huaisang, meanwhile, was only concerned about getting away from this heinous trap. 

He ran until he found the path again. Then, fearful that he’d be too easy to find if he returned to the Cloud Recesses or followed the path deeper into the mountain, he decided to keep running into the woods on the other side of that path, and find a quiet spot where to wait. If Lan Xichen was anything like Nie Mingjue, it might take him a shichen or more to accept that Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be so easily manipulated into behaving.

Worried about being pursued and forced to study, Nie Huaisang kept glancing behind as he ran. That was how he only noticed too late that he’d stumbled into a clearing, one in which there was already a person present.

To be precise, he discovered this other person due to running into them at full speed, causing both of them to fall on the ground. Nie Huaisang initially counted himself lucky, since he’d fallen on top of the stranger, but that sentiment didn’t last long when he was roughly pushed aside, knocking the breath out of him.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” the other person snapped as he sat up. “Look at that, I’ve got grass stains now!”

It was a boy roughly Nie Huaisang’s own age, dressed all in white… or in robes that were originally white, anyway. A Lan disciple then, but not a member of the Lan clan: the ribbon on his forehead wasn’t embroidered, marking him as an outer disciple.

“Sorry, I was trying to escape,” Nie Huaisang said, sitting up as well and rubbing his back. “If you want, you can blame me for the robes, just as long as you don’t tell Lan Xichen you saw me if he comes here.”

The Lan disciple squinted at him unhappily.

“What did you do to Lan gongzi?”

“Nothing! He was the one trying to trick me, so of course I had to escape!”

The Lan disciple squinted harder, unconvinced.

“Lan gongzi is too boring to even think of tricking anyone, you must have misunderstood.”

Nie Huaisang gasped, delighted that finally someone else also realised Lan Xichen was so very boring. Delight, though, soon gave way to guilt and a little bit of shame.

Whatever defects Lan Xichen had, his personality was honest and straightforward. If he had wanted to lecture Nie Huaisang, he would have said so, just as he wouldn’t have lied if he thought he knew a place where meditation would be more effective. Someone like him just didn't have the imagination needed for trickery. Which meant that Lan Xichen had probably really just meant to show him a nice scenery to paint. Which, in turn, meant that Nie Huaisang had just behaved in an impossibly rude manner toward the person he was supposed to befriend if he wanted to save his brother.

"You're not going to tell anyone?" the Lan boy asked, his face contorted with terror. "I shouldn't have said that about Lan gongzi, please don't…" 

"Don't worry, I think he's boring too," Nie Huaisang distractedly retorted, waving his hand. "But damn, even someone with as little personality as him might take offence… ah, what a bother." 

The Lan disciple squinted at him. 

"Who are you exactly, to speak like that of Lan gongzi?" 

Nie Huaisang winced. There was a rule against rudeness, he vaguely remembered, and maybe also one against disrespecting one's host. 

"I'm Nie Huaisang. And you are?" 

The Lan boy frowned, then paled and bowed deeply before Nie Huaisang. 

"This humble one apologises for not recognising Nie gongzi. This humble one begs for forgiveness, and…" 

"Please don't bow," Nie Huaisang complained. "It's not necessary. And don't worry, I'm not important, so nobody ever recognises me. Listen, just don't tell anyone I was running, and I won't tell anyone that you…" he hesitated, and waved his hand toward the other boy. "That you have an actual personality, unlike everyone here. Actually, I think it’s nice!”

The Lan disciple winced, and remained bowed until Nie Huaisang grabbed him by the elbows and forced him to stand straight again.

“There, no need to be so formal! What’s your name, by the way?”

The other boy hesitated a moment longer than was truly polite, and glared down at his feet when he finally answered.

“I’m Su She. I am a disciple of Gusu Lan and… and I should report both of us for punishment for being rude about Lan gongzi.”

“But you won’t do that, right?” Nie Huaisang begged. “Please, you’re the first Gusu Lan person I’ve met that sounds even a little cool, please don’t ruin it?”

Su She hesitated, which Nie Huaisang took as an excellent sign. So far, he’d never seen any Gusu Lan disciple even consider breaking their precious rules. Then again, they usually always moved in groups, meaning they couldn’t be properly negotiated with.

“I suppose I can let it slide for this time,” Su She pondered. “And you really won’t tell that I was… not perfectly polite either, right? I’m doing my best, but apparently I have a bad temperament.”

“I think you’re just fine,” Nie Huaisang replied, feeling very generous now that he was certain not to be punished. “But why are you here anyway?” he asked, before noticing a book of sword forms carefully laid on the ground which they’d very nearly fallen on earlier, as well as a training sword, the sort that wouldn’t even cut through congee. “Oh, were you practising?”

It was an odd place for it, Nie Huaisang thought, because Gusu Lan had a few perfectly fine training grounds, where seniors were usually hanging out and could provide help and advice to improve one’s posture. But maybe those same seniors were the reason why Su She didn’t want to practice on the training grounds. If his personality was judged unpleasant, or if his skill was deemed insufficient… Nie Huaisang understood that too well, having the same problem. Even on those occasional moments when he’d considered training for real, he’d ended up discouraged when he’d felt everyone judging him for his low level.

“I prefer to be on my own,” Su She announced, before quickly adding: “Not that… not that Nie gongzi is bothering me of course. You can stay if you want.”

The offer sounded so forced that Nie Huaisang snorted. “I might stay,” he said, mostly to tease, and Su She looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “Oh, don’t worry, even if you were the worst swordsman in the world I wouldn’t judge. No matter your level, I’m worse than you.”

“I’m not that bad,” Su She proudly retorted, bending down to pick up his sword. “Just because I’m not as good as those who were born in the sect… but I didn’t start cultivating until four years ago, and my parents are… well, I’d never picked up a sword until they tried to get me into a sect, that’s the only reason I’m a little behind.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “Those born in sects or from a rogue cultivator have a bit of an advantage.”

“A lot, you mean!” Su She snapped, before taking a deep breath and making himself smile. “But that just means I have to work harder to catch up, and of course I’m grateful that I was allowed to join at all.” He glanced at the manual on the ground, then at Nie Huaisang. “Are you really going to watch me? I… I don’t do as well when someone watches me.”

“I’m just going to sit here,” Nie Huaisang replied after some consideration. “I promise not to look too much. But if I go back right now, then I might stumble upon Lan gongzi, and I’ll have to apologize, and… I just don’t feel like doing that right now.”

To show how little he would be watching, Nie Huaisang sat against a tree so that he’d have to look over his shoulder to see the clearing. Su She glared at him for a while, unhappy with this arrangement, but in the end he gave in and resumed practicing.

At first, Nie Huaisang really tried to respect the other boy’s shyness. He looked just anywhere but toward Su She, wondering how angry Lan Xichen might be (not much, he’d need a personality for that), whether this place might inspire him to paint (not particularly, there wasn’t anything striking to it) or if he might see some birds (he wouldn’t, Su She was scaring them away). All too soon, Nie Huaisang became bored, and decided to check just how bad his new friend was, anyway.

Turning around to look, Nie Huaisang was surprised to discover that Su She was, in fact, very decent with a sword. His posture was good enough that even Nie Mingjue wouldn’t have found much to criticise, he had good balance, his movements were measured and elegant while still demonstrating strength. For someone not born in a sect, Su She was pretty good. Even if he had been born among cultivators, his level would have been more than decent. Nie Huaisang had expected so much worse, and ended up watching the other boy until he was finished with his set of exercises

Su She frowned deeply when he realised he’d been watched, and sheathed his sword with an angry movement.

“I know I’m not good enough yet,” he grumbled. “I’m trying.”

“I think you’re doing very well,” Nie Huaisang said.

“Not as good as Lan gongzi and Lan er-gongzi, though.”

Nie Huaisang snorted and shrugged. “Well, you’ve got to be realistic. They’re on equal footing with adults, those two. I’ve seen Lan gongzi spar with my brother and they often come to a draw, and da-ge is a damn monster.”

Su She’s frown only deepened.

“Someday, I’ll be that good. Better, even. I’m going to catch up and I’ll show everyone!” Su She proclaimed.

Having no ambition whatsoever, save maybe to collect as many pretty things as possible and try to make sure his brother didn’t die too soon, Nie Huaisang found this need to prove oneself a little odd. Still, it seemed to be important for Su She, and Nie Huaisang had decided he liked this weird Lan disciple.

“I’m sure you’ll show them, yeah,” he cheerfully agreed. “If you’re already as good as this with a sword, it’s just a matter of time. How do you do with other subjects? Music and archery?”

Su She grimaced, and bent down to pick up his manual, avoiding Nie Huaisang's eyes when he stood up again and checked the book hadn't been dirtied.

“I got into Gusu Lan because my music skills were judged passable enough,” he muttered. “But that’s all I had for myself. And there’s only so much time in a day, and the sword is more important, everyone says so, and… I don’t have time to practice archery outside of classes, so my skill remains very poor. There’s just a lot to learn, I can’t work on everything at once!”

“It’s really too much to ask,” Nie Huaisang agreed, as if he hadn’t given up on trying years ago. “I’m curious to hear you play the guqin now, though. Saying someone is ‘passable enough’ in the Cloud Recesses, that’s saying they have out of this world talent by anyone else’s standards.”

“You’re mocking me!”

“I’m not! Oh, do you know any fun pieces? I mostly only hear such boring things…”

“Melodies for the guqin are meant to be slow and reflective,” Su She dryly informed him. “But… I play the dizi too, and there are less… formal pieces of music for that. My younger siblings liked it, anyway, and they're too young to care about real music.”

“Great! Then you’re going to play for me!” Nie Huaisang decided, grinning so triumphantly he didn’t notice the other boy’s grimace. “Oh, but it’s getting late, I should head back… I really don’t want to be late for dinner. If I have to copy the stupid rules another time, my wrist will fall off. Let's walk together?”

Su She rolled his eyes, but didn’t make any comment, even though Nie Huaisang was sure that another less interesting Lan disciple would have scolded him for not showing proper respect to the rules.

He was so glad the two of them had met. Surely, this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and one far more interesting than the one he was supposed to pursue with Lan Xichen.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Rachel Nobel / Rae Lynn

Rachel Nobel, aka Rae Lynn, has 2 fics at Gossamer, but she’s written many more X-Files stories than that. You can also find fics by her at AO3 and various other archives. She’s one of the rare, special authors who’s posted numerous fic during the show’s original run and again in recent years. Big thanks to Rachel for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)? Absolutely. I joined a Facebook group for fanfic writers where someone recognized my name and asked about some of my stories that have disappeared from the Internet, and I almost fell off my chair. On the other hand, I go back and read original-run fanfic all the time - the Wayback Machine is my best friend for all the late great fanfic archives. Like fine wines, they get better with age! What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? I was fairly young during the peak of the fandom - I was only 12 when I started watching the show and discovered the fandom online. A few years ago, right around the time we learned the revival was coming, I wrote an essay I called "How 'The X-Files' defined my adolescence," in which I wrote: "If you think about it, 'The X-Files' is a lot like adolescence: You start out thinking it's going to be a little hokey, NBD, and then you end up in its thrall, captivated and occasionally hugely let down. A lot of people behave strangely, and no one gets out unscathed. Mulder, in his own weird way, is the perfect mirror for an adolescent: He doesn't fit in; his life careens between being utterly consequential to the fate of the known universe and being completely pointless; he's socially awkward and can't quite nail it down with the girl of his dreams."

So for me, the fandom is inextricably bound up with adolescence, that feeling of vacillating between desperate loneliness and being on the verge of something enormously significant. Take romance: I was a bit of a late bloomer, and when all my friends were exploring their first relationships I was watching Mulder and Scully navigate this beautiful, complicated, soulful relationship without ever even kissing. That was deeply affecting for me as a teen.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? I started out on mailing lists - there was an EMXC mailing list and one that I think was called X-Angst. [Lilydale note: There was a mailing list called XAngst Anonymous.] This was back at the dawn of the Internet when I only had 10 hours of AOL access a month, and I remember using what AOL called a "FlashSession" to log on, download all the fanfic from the mailing list and log off to read it. I vividly remember the excitement of watching all that new fanfic flood my inbox! Later on I was on atxc. During the long summer between "Gethsemane" and "Redux," it felt like fanfic was at its peak. There was a group of about a dozen women who got together (virtually) to discuss a work in progress by Lydia Bower called "Primal Sympathy." We called ourselves the "Primal Screamers," and we had our own website with fanfic recommendations and other discussions (it cracked me up to locate us as an entry on Fanlore.org). I was still in high school at the time and I was the youngest member; I felt like I had been accepted into a cool underground club. I worshipped these women, who were fanfic writers themselves. They taught me everything I knew about how to be a decent, respectful, enthusiastic consumer and writer of fanfic and fandom. [Lilydale note: I’ve talked enthusiastically about the Primal Screamers here before, including their fanfic primer.] What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general? In the '90s, I would have been embarrassed to tell anyone I read fanfic, let alone that I was writing it. Now, I look back on it and realize how talented and smart and passionate we all were. It's something to be proud of. What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? The first episode I ever saw was "Shadows," which was on in reruns between the second and third seasons. I don't think "Shadows" is an episode that anyone today would consider thematically significant, but something about seeing those office supplies float spookily through the air - it wasn't like anything I had seen on television, and I wanted in. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic? I've always been a person who, when I am interested in something, seeks to learn more about it. So I guess I got online as a 12-year-old with this new interest and discovered fanfic. It was thrilling to find out that so many talented people were taking characters I loved and bringing them to life for me. When the screen faded to black each week and I wondered, "That's it? What next?", fanfic was always there to fill in the blanks and take Mulder and Scully to the next level. As a teenager, I was self-indulgent enough to think I had something to contribute, too. Most of what I wrote in the '90s would today make me cringe. I remember literally paging through the dictionary in search of erudite words I thought Mulder and Scully would say! But occasionally I'll feel brave enough to read an old story and I feel encouraged to see a spark: a turn of phrase or a fragment of dialogue that I still feel proud of. I write professionally now, but I've never written fiction that isn't X-Files fiction, so it's something that has really allowed me to hone my creative juices in a different way. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Sometimes I feel like the Statler and Waldorf of the fandom, like I'm sitting up in the balcony grousing "Back in my day...!" Because the fandom is remarkably robust, and I've gotten involved with it to an extent on Twitter and AO3, and now all these young whippersnappers idolize Mulder and Scully just as much if not more as I ever did! Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? Not really, no. I've of course consumed a lot of media since The X-Files that I wanted to discuss with others - I'm a huge "Harry Potter" nerd, and I was outraged when Netflix canceled "The OA" - but strangely I've never had the urge to read or write fanfic about anything other than "The X-Files." Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Every Thursday night! I watch a chosen episode with a group of fans on Twitter and tweet about it - #tbtXFiles. That's great fun. There are episodes I've seen dozens of times over the years and episodes I think I only ever watched once, and it's always enlightening to watch them again with a certain critical eye. When I was a fan during the original run, I really idolized Mulder; I loved episodes where we saw him in all his cracked genius glory. Scully was a trailblazer of a character, of course, but I think the fandom has evolved over the years to give Scully her due. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I was fairly stunned when the revival came around and I realized that people were still writing X-Files fic, and that a lot of it was so good. So yes, I do read fic on Archive of Our Own. But my heart is always with the early days of fanfic. In the revival when Mulder says "I've always wondered how this was going to end" - that felt to me almost like a love letter to fanfic authors who had been trying to answer that question for 25 years. Surprisingly, I've never had the urge to read fic in another fandom. Every time I try, it just feels like I'm cheating on Mulder and Scully. Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors? My favorite author back in the day was Kipler. Her stories were just like real episodes of the show I could vividly imagine in my mind. I adore syntax6, particularly "20" and "The Birthday Stories," because of the way she perfectly and poignantly captures vignettes that span the entire series. Another favorite is Dawn and her "Blood Ties" series - I started out as a "NoRomo," and Dawn was one of the authors who made me believe Mulder and Scully could have a romantic relationship that really worked. And I always had a soft spot for Profiler!Mulder stories, so to this day I mourn the unfinished state of the great Kronos fic "Ascent to Hell." One fic I always come back to that captures profiling Mulder really well is "Domination of Lies," by cslatton. And then there are stories that I consider classics: "Corpse" by Livengoo, "Oklahoma" by Amperage and Livengoo, the "Revelations" and "All Hallow's Eve" series by Windsinger. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise? I have a soft spot for a story I wrote called "Human Credential." I was attempting, a quarter-century after the first season of the show, to set a story in the very early days of the partnership (which these days is one of my favorite kinds of fanfic to read), and I felt like I nailed it. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? I have been doing both of these, as a matter of fact! Or in my case, they are oldies that made it online but vanished when Geocities went belly-up, for example, that I sometimes go back to and reshape. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work? As the swallows return to Capistrano, I seem to always return to writing fic at periods of transition in my life. The first time I "retired" from fanfic, I wasn't even in college yet! If one can be nostalgic at 21 years old for something one gave up at 17, I was nostalgic for fanfic, and I picked it back up again in grad school. Then I became a teacher and a wife and a mom and years passed, and the revival seduced me back into it again. But the vast majority of fanfic I've written is firmly planted in the first seven seasons of the show - poor Mulder and Scully never seem to get to grow up in my stories. What's the story behind your pen name? I wrote under a lot of pen names over the years! When I first started writing fanfic, no one knew anything about Internet safety and it didn't occur to me that it wasn't wise to use my real name. There was a period when I would have been mortified if anyone discovered my stories under my real name - now, at least I can write it off as a youthful indulgence! When I finally grew into a more mature writer, I started using the name Rae Lynn, which is almost-but-not-quite my real first and middle names. Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? As far as I know, unless my friends and acquaintances have done some sleuthing, only my husband knows I still write fanfic. And he's never read it, though he's kind enough to give me a glazed-eyes indulgent smile if I ever talk about it. Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? I am xraelynn on AO3! I have about a dozen stories there - some of them I wrote 15 years ago and some of them are brand spanking new. Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Fanfic is a true labor of love. Fanfic authors don't write fanfic for money or fame; they do it because they love it. Sites like AO3 and Tumblr have made it so much easier to show your appreciation to writers (::gruff reminiscing voice:: back in my day, you had to send them an email, and now you can just click the "kudos" button!). I can only speak for myself, but I really thrive on that feedback - otherwise I'm just Mulder in his cramped hovel of a home office waiting for Scully to nag me to shave my beard. Every so often I think about the fact that there is so much high-quality writing about these characters I've loved for decades just available on the Internet for free and it feels like a true gift.

(Posted by Lilydale on May 4, 2021)