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creatingblackcharacters · 2 months

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Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Inspired by this ask

So, do Black people blush?

We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾

Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.

One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!

Colorism

Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!

However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!

My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.

Blushes and Undertones

Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones

Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.

"It looks like they're ashy!"

What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:

This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.

In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.

I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!

Put in the work to create the brown you need!

While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.

-8:05 for the list of paints

-8:05-17:29 for the process

She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)

I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!

Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)

A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)

I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.

Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!

Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.

You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.

Resources

Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.

ami0amii

Likelihood Art

Tiara Anderson

Proko

Sinix

Ross Draws

In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black art #black artists #black character design

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chuuyanakaharalegalwife · 10 months

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Bad Dream (Dazai x Reader)

Art credits to haru9033 on Twitter (X or whatever the new name is)

Look at my cinnamon bun, my sweet baby. He's safe in my bed y'all! This is 100% self-indulgent because my therapy is until the 18th so I needed a distraction after reading chapter 109.

In which we have a nightmare (chapter 109 is the fucking nightmare) and Dazai comforts us to the best of his abilities. He's trying ok!

Should I write comfort for Sigma? When I get my hands on that rat!

Bye now - Mars ♡

Your eyes shot open, big and filled to the brim with tears. You felt your heart beating out of your chest, the muscle pumping larger amounts of blood under the silly impression that you’re dying. You were dying. It felt so, at least.

This unbearable tight feeling in your chest, like someone had your heart in their hands and was continuously wringing. Tighter and tighter. Your throat, stiff and dry, made your body feel worse. You could barely get a word out.

Dreams have a funny way of feeling too real and your silly little brain confuses reality with them. But it felt so real.

An overwhelmingly dreadful feeling engulfs your chest.

Breathe. Breathe.

The man beside you sleeping peacefully, or so it looked. Your legs intertwined with each other, and his head rested up against your breast without fully being on top of you. You try to calm yourself down, not wanting to wake your lover. It’s rare he gets any sleep. His own mind a steady home for ugly thoughts.

Gently you push him away from your body and get up, making your way to the kitchen. You poured yourself a glass of cold water and chug it down.

“Bella…” Dazai calls from the doorway, his face filled with sleep and his hair messy yet he still managed to look beautiful. He’s always beautiful.

“Oh… Osamu” you said weakly with a smile. “Just got a bit thirsty” you lie. You’ve figured out a while ago that it’s impossible to lie to him. The man was simply too smart.

Dazai smiled and approached you, his hands finding homage on your waist. “Bad dream?” he asked and leaned down holding you close. He rubbed his cheek against yours.

You nod, “I can’t hide anything from you huh?” his grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly. “No.”

He hums and leads you back to your bedroom. “Come, sit” he sits down on the bed leaning against the headboard and pulls you down onto his lap, “Tell me about it” His voice low and gentle. He radiates a certain comfort, or maybe it was because you’ve grown to love him so dearly that you naturally seek comfort from him.

Dazai places a kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing your back trying to soothe you.

“Osamu…I…” You take a deep breath, “you… you died” your voice breaks and the tears roll down your cheeks. He brings his other hand up to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “I know it’s just a dream, but it felt too real and-and” you bury your face into the crook of his neck. His scent working as a grounding method, you breathe him in deeply. He smells like home.

Your home.

“I just don’t want to lose you” the tears kept flowing and your voice trembles as you speak.

“Bella I’m here” Dazai pulls you closer to his body as if to prove his point. “Right here my love” he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is slow, long, sloppy and each passing second, he presses himself closer into you. “I’m not going anywhere” he whispers against your lips.

He knows he’s contradicting himself. He knows. He knows he sounds like a hypocrite because he’s always mentioning suicide and asking you to die alongside him but right now. Right now, seeing you like this, crying and trembling he feels his heart breaks to pieces. And crying because of a stupid dream of him dying makes it even worse.

He knows it’s selfish but how he’s happy. Because he feels so loved right now. You’re crying over him, even if it’s just his dream self, you’re still crying for him. His heart does a little flutter. Still his main priority is comforting you, he’s no stranger to nightmares and you’re always there to comfort him when he’s bothered by his own ugly thoughts and dreams.

But Dazai felt so helpless, and he uttered out the most cliché words, but he couldn’t help it. Not when his love is trembling in fear right in his arms.

“Samu you” you exhales, trying to find your composure but every time you think you’ve stopped crying the minute you look into his eyes the tears start coming again. It was horrible, the image of your nightmare just replaying in your head.

Wrapping your hands around him you hug him tightly, you’re afraid he may not be able to breathe so you release it a bit. “Don’t fucking die” you threaten and Dazai can’t help but smile. This woman.

“Bella sshh” he seeks out your lips, kissing you again. “M’here, right here, yeah?” he pulls back and hold your face with both hands and rests his forehead against yours.

You’ve calmed down a bit, forehead resting against his. “Osamu, just” you found it hard to speak. Your body slightly trembling, seeking your lover’s touch. “Don’t move, just hold me…please”

He wraps his arms tighter around your form, you snuggle into him and close your eyes.

Dazai found himself humming softly and patting your back in a comforting manner. He kept doing so until he felt your light snore and the slower heartbeat. The steady thump thump thump comforting him.

“I love you very much and I won’t leave” he whispered and placed a kiss on the crown of your head.

That night Dazai Osamu stayed awake and kept his lover tightly secured in his arms, looking over and comforting them.

#dazai osamu #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai fluff #chapter 109 #bsd fluff #bsd comfort #angst?#bsd x reader #marswrites #bsd art #kissesforosamu #osamu fluff

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sundrop-writes · 4 months

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hiya! Might be a bit broad of a request but could I get headcanons with jj x autistic female reader ?

Broad in the sense if I could get hcs of her reacting to reader with autism, how she helps reader with overstimulation and struggling with social cues and noise. If you wanna throw in smut hcs (jj being the dom) i’m also fine with that!

Basically anything with jj and autistic female reader, thanks!

I love this request so much!!! If you want smut/smutty hcs with JJ and autistic reader, definitely feel free to send in a separate request - I will come back for that in another post. For now, I hope you enjoy this!!

Requests are currently - OPEN.

Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader (Headcanons)

(Warnings: typical CM themes, the reader is described as touch avoidant (with some exceptions); mentions of molestation and murder (related to a case, mentioned in passing); mentions of blood, mentions of someone being shot in the reader's presence. Idk, I don't think there's anything else. Not proofread.)

JJ was raised around everything (neuro)typical, so when she meets you, she doesn't quite get you. Not at first.

You are one of the smartest people on the team - that is why you're there. Your ability to pick up on patterns and bits of detail that others don't see is incredible, and your brain holds mass amounts of obscure information that she could never even dream of knowing.

But you are quirky. More than quirky.

You have difficulty making eye contact, you freak out if someone even motions toward touching you unexpectedly, you have very odd, specific little rituals with your snacks and meals (which JJ does come to find endearing over time) - you go from talking at incredibly fast speeds, blabbering out information to being silent and stoic for long periods of time.

When she finds out that you have autism, she is a bit surprised. She is one of those people who thinks that autism is a disorder related to school aged boys - but you explain to her how it affects your life. How it makes it difficult for you to relate to people, form close friendships, how it's difficult for you to focus on larger 'important' things when smaller details are bothering you.

(It's one of the reasons you're so good at your job - but it also makes it hard to focus on people's words if their shirt is wrinkled and it's distracting you.)

You act cold toward most people on the team, and it's one random day that JJ finally starts to figure you out. A day that you finally warm up to her.

You were helping Morgan escort a suspect out of the police station, to a squad car where he would be driven to jail to be processed. He had confessed to molesting and killing eight boys after being caught with a ninth, and when the father of one of the boys heard the BAU had arrested someone, he came to the police station with a gun.

When the suspect was shot, you were covered in his blood, and in horrible shock from hearing such a loud bang right beside your ear - from feeling the sudden dead weight drop in your arms.

You ran back into the station screaming, and JJ followed her instinct - followed you into the women's washroom, wanting to see if you had been hurt. She was surprised to see you pacing back and forth in front of the sinks, muttering something under your breath.

"L/N." She called out your name, trying to get your attention. "Y/N? Y/N? Hey? Are you hurt?"

You didn't look up, not for a second. But your muttering became louder. And it became more clear what you were saying.

"My pen, my pen, I dropped my pen..."

JJ had no clue why you were so concerned about a pen when you were covered in someone else's blood, your ears likely still ringing from the gunshot - but she knew that you had a pen-clicking habit. It was something that often annoyed Reid and Morgan - but from what she had observed, you did your best work when your thumb was twiddling, clicking the end of your pen insistently. It meant your brain was whirring hard, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

JJ reached into the breast pocket of her blazer, and took out a pen that clicked on the end.

"Here." She offered it out to you. "You - you can borrow my pen." She said shyly, hoping it would help you calm down.

You extended out a shaking hand, and took the pen, and then began to click it harshly with your thumb. You gripped it so furiously, the skin around your knuckles so tight - but after a moment, you let out a tight breath. And then, for the first time since she had known you - you looked JJ in the eye.

"Thank you." You murmured, your voice ripe with tears.

"Keep the pen." JJ told you, feeling like it was a small consolation if it helped you calm down this much.

You reached up, petting a shaking hand over your face, and pulled back in disgust when you felt the sticky blood.

"Let me help you clean up." JJ said, grabbing some paper towels out of the dispenser and wetting them in the sink.

It was the first time you had ever let her touch you - you clicked the pen the whole time, and from then on, that sound became less of an annoyance and more of a comfort to her.

That was the day she realised one incredibly important thing:

To you, small things matter on such a big scale.

Coffee in your favourite mug instead of a random one she found in the back of the cupboard - that gets a smile out of you. Scones with blueberries instead of raisins - raisins get a shrug at best, blueberries get a giggle and a big 'thank you!'. Organising your files in alphabetical order instead of by date.

You and JJ became close after that day.

She wasn't a profiler, not in training, but she learned to read you like a book.

She knew that you bouncing your knee aggressively meant that you were becoming overstimulated - things in the room too loud, the florescents too bright, the day too overwhelming.

When this happened, she would take you outside for a break - often siting that she herself needed some air and she simply wanted your company. She knew you didn't like to be outwardly babied (who does?), but she also knew that you had a hard time self regulating. You had a hard time deciding when to take yourself out for a break, and if you didn't have one, then you would become irritable, have a hard time focusing, and hardly get any work done.

She also picked up on the fact that you just plain didn't get sarcasm.

Before, she thought you were being cool, or aloof. When someone said something sarcastic and you didn't understand, she thought that you were pretending not to get it in order to snub them or make a joke out of the whole thing.

But during one of your many conversations, you told her that you absolutely didn't understand sarcasm - you didn't get when someone was using a sarcastic tone, and you often took everything people said in its most literal interpretation.

So you and JJ developed a wonderful, silent system - if someone said something and you didn't understand if it was sarcasm right off the bat, you looked to her, and she would nod at you if they were being sarcastic, or shake her head if they were being literal. It was something people on the team picked up on, but nobody said anything about it - they just enjoyed the way you bonded with her, and how your quirky habits were spreading like a delightful little plague.

JJ knew that your life wasn't easy, living with autism, but she always tried to make it a bit easier. Because you were worth it.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #anonymous #requests #requested #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau #autistic reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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SINS OF A LAUGHING SKYLARK (XV)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XVI ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, use of guns & weapons, military operations, death, shootings, interrogation tactics, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Sitting in a guarded building halfway across the base, your ears twitch at every little sound from beyond the door.

Alex is here—so are three other men who fiddle with the guns in their hands and try not to stare at your deathly still face. You haven't spoken a word, and your mother, who sits with a medic stitching up her arm, calls out quickly.

“I-I don’t even remember what he looked like,” she breathes and Alex has a hand on her shoulder, squeezing while his blue eyes dart back from the door to her tear-stained face.

“It’s alright, Ma’am. We have cameras all around here. No worries.” He smiles tightly. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you stitched up.”

The words are so similar to what Kyle would say to you that your hands clench under your chin, your body leaning forward in the chair. Your elbows dig into your knees harshly, and your unmarred leg quivers to jump up and down, restrained only by your iron will.

It was supposed to be me.

Your tongue pokes out to lick your lips, a slow breath pushed out on tight lungs.

It was supposed to be me.

Lowe is dead—Laswell had been brief in her explanation. Shot between the eyes. Your mother's attack had been a distraction, and while people had been rushed to her location, someone had gone in and killed Joey just as you’d seen someone do in the execution videos.

He’d warned you, too.

“I’m not someone's pawn,” you mutter under your breath, only heard to your ears. It was getting harder and harder to deny that every win on your part had been a set-up. Laswell had told you that you knew the answer already, you just couldn’t admit it to yourself—what did that mean? All you had were fractions; moments that were slowly piecing together.

“Shooter coming in from the East,” Alex’s radio buzzes, just as all the others do. From what you’d learned when Kate had pushed you in here, there were a handful of hired guns that had broken past the checkpoint only minutes after Gaz’s plane had taken off.

“How are there so many threads,” you grunt. “Why is there so much going on right when I’m at the edge?”

At every instance, all progress was halted.

“Bar the door. You,” Alex motions to one of the soldiers. “With me.” All in the room are more tense than lions. Alex and the rest rush to the door frame, leaning against it as the third man barricades the door with a chair under the handle.

“It’s like I’m being…watched,” you whisper, brows furrowing. “Even down to when the reporters had shown up at the mansion right after I found the journal—”

“Sweetheart,” your mother calls quickly, worriedly. “Get away from the door.”

You ignore her, your face grim and your pulse echoing.

“Ex-military being used as mercenaries. Leverage.” Your eyelids flutter. “Lowe said Samson had girls; a family. Could that have been something to use against him? Is it being used against other people now? A trail like this leaves behind blood—was Samson killed to try and cover it when it went South?”

And again, the biting question even you turn up blank on—

“Why was he told he had to kill me? Why was he told he had to kill anyone?”

Forget drugs; weapons. If you had to guess…Yaromir Osipov and Mala Kham weren’t even involved in this as much as everyone else believed. A setup? A lie?

By who? For what?

“What does this mean,” you growl, hands moving up to grasp the back of your head, your skull tilting forward. “None of this is adding up.”

Gunshots ring in the hallways outside of this room.

Only desperate men and women would storm a military base knowing that nothing they did would assure their victory. It was stupid. Reckless.

It was utter fear of something far larger than themselves.

This was never about your father’s smuggling business. This ran deeper than you could have ever anticipated.

Your mother’s voice calls your name harshly. “Over here. Now!”

“You need to stop lying to me,” you stand and hear your cane clatter to the floor. Your leg shakes, almost sending you over when you press your full weight on it, but nothing compares to the fire inside of your breast.

You walk over to your mother and stare into her eyes.

She startles, blinking quickly; taken aback.

“W-what are you talking about?”

“You know what dad did, don’t say you didn’t.” Your face burns—lungs fast-paced. Alex calls to you from behind, but even the medic who pauses at your sudden hostility doesn’t interfere. “You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t do that to me. You fucking knew.”

“You watch your language,” she snaps, eyes going enraged. “What are you even saying to me? Your father? What does he have to do with this?”

Your hands jerk, taking the woman by the tops of her shoulders. She yelps, surprise alighting in her expression.

“What are you—?!”

“Tell me the truth!” You yell. “You knew he worked in the smuggling business this entire time—you knew about his dealings with Yaromir and Mala before I was even born, admit it! The drugs, the weapons; his damn dock with all of his goods! You’re not being honest with me, even three years after he’s gone.” Your face is hot with anger. “If you didn’t see the traces of it, you’re blind.”

The room is utterly silent.

Your mother opens and closes her mouth, face open to the air like she’d seen innocent people get shot in front of her—like she’d had to run for her life because of someone else’s sins.

“Tell me what you knew,” you hiss, grasping her shoulders tighter. “Tell me what you hid.”

“You’re sick,” she breathes, looking around at the others. But Alex will be no help, nor the soldiers. They guard the door, eyes snapping back and forth. The medic only watches, unprepared for your outburst. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

“Tell me!”

“Spitfire,” Alex’s yell makes your body pause, eyes narrowed in distrust as the sounds from outside get louder. Blinking out of whatever stupor you’d been in, your face freezes at the nickname, and your subconscious flashes to Kyle.

Stepping back quickly, you drop your mother’s arms and look away; shame settling in the lines on your forehead. But you pointedly don’t apologize, only moving back quickly and moving to press the heels of your palms into your eye-sockets.

Kyle. The shootings. Lowe. Samson. Blood on your hands, blood on your hands, blood on your hands.

It was supposed to be me.

You take a quivering breath, spine bending forward.

Gunshots continue to boom, on and on, and you feel your mother's eyes on you; unwavering in her constant attention.

There isn’t a single part of you that can look back.

—

You stare at the phone as it sits in your hand, your limping leg walking slowly along the tiled floor. The entire building was set on lockdown—along with the base. This place, however, was now filled with trusted personnel; soldiers that had served for far longer than you’d just learned Joey had.

Only one deployment had been under his belt, but that was enough to meet Samson. It was enough to know his character.

Maybe everyone involved in this plot hadn’t suspected the Private because there was never anything to be suspicious about.

Your face hadn’t let up on its tension, not for a minute, but in this tiny instance of relative calm—in some devoid hallway—you slipped into a storage room and stopped. Taking down a deep breath, your eyes flutter as your phone illuminates cleaning supplies.

Tapping into your contacts, your thumb hovers over one of the only icons set there.

Swallowing down saliva, your fingers twitch before, without enough time to tell yourself to stop, you press harshly and move the device up to your ear.

Standing in the darkness, you let your eyes slip closed.

The ringing persists, putting you into some kind of trace the longer it goes on.

Ring…ring…ring…ring. Nothing.

You scoff, eyes opening as the phone dips down. Your hands shake over it.

“Figures.” Shrugging, your heart sinks heavily in your chest. Taking a firm step forward, your hand moves to let the device slip into your coat’s pocket before the sudden buzzing of it startles you. Head snapping down, your face blanks as you stare at the incoming call.

‘Brit’

Only a moment passes before you take a deep breath and settle the phone back at your ear, tapping at the green button.

There’s a long second of silence before a soft clearing of a throat.

“Sorry, Love. Was getting ready for bed.”

You forgot the nine-hour time difference. Mouth opening and closing, you ignore how your body sags at the smooth tone—that accent. He sounded tired, and in the background, you could hear the rustle of sheets. You had a sneaking suspicion he’d, in fact, been in the bed instead of getting ready for it.

“I can call back later,” you mutter, already pushing off the awkwardness that perpetuates the line. Hell, he didn’t even know about what happened when he left. Do you tell him?

“Woah, woah, hey.” A small chuckle. “No, it’s okay. Good to hear from you.”

“...Yeah,” you grunt, feet shifting.

Another long silence permeates like a lingering curse.

“...Everything going alright, then?” Is the slow and even question; a bead of hesitation. He wasn’t sure how to speak to you like this, and, neither did you. “No messes I need to clean up?”

Your body stills.

“Only the ones you make yourself,” you sigh, huffing. A slow infection of guilt hits you. “I don’t know why I called…this is stupid.”

Kyle makes a noise over the line. “You want me to hang up?”

“No,” you whisper after a second, head moving along the walls to look at the various items slowly. “I…I just don’t know. Things are weird.”

Feet shifting, your eyes lightly flinch at the pull of your stitches. While you’d been feeling slightly better physically, meaning the vomiting and the lightheadedness, there were still aftershocks. You were well enough to grab your own food now, and when you made your own coffee, you weren’t shocked at all to find it tasting better immediately.

“You?” Your voice asks.

“Nah,” Kyle mutters. “Have nothing to do besides talk—been running around ever since I got here. Good to see the boys, though.”

“I’m sure they’re thrilled to have you back.”

“As thrilled as they’re able to get, eh?” Your lips quirk at that. The near-kiss in your room strikes you in the stomach like a knife. “But it's been nice, minus the whole…being away part. Still don’t like how far away I am from you.”

“Careful,” you breathe. “Starting to sound like you like me over there.”

“Shit,” he laughs, and you fight the softness that washes your face at the sound. “You’re right. Better cut it off while I’m ahead.”

But the way his words still hold that serious edge makes your lips thin into a line. You wondered what your conversations would be about if you ever had the chance to calm down.

“The talk with Lowe? How’d it go, then?” A deep breath, trying to be casual. “Be honest with me here, Spitfire.”

Your eyes flinch a bit, your body shifting around as you tap your foot for a moment. People will look for you soon—you have to keep this quick. You’d just needed to hear his voice.

“It was another piece I can’t put together.” You end with that. “I feel like I’m running in circles over here, Garrick.”

Sheets rustle once more, a throaty grunt before a low breath. “I said it’ll all work out, yeah? You have to believe it will, Love. We have to keep pushing until it breaks.” A smirk is easily heard. “We all know how you like breaking things, Sweetheart.”

You raise a slow brow, smiling even if he can’t see your expression. “You know I like having you over a call—it means I can stop hearing your voice whenever I want.”

“You going to hang up on me?”

“You know, I might.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t,” Kyle teases. “You called me, remember that?”

“And now I’m regretting it,” your voice is low and sly; face hot.

Gaz chuckles, and your own mirrors before your heart slows to a steady pulse the longer this conversation moves on. You’d called him for a reason, and, steadily, whatever this was doing…it was making your mind slip back into a tranquil state. Part of you wanted to sit on the floor—roll up in a blanket and talk. About anything; about everything.

But you really needed to see his face, too.

Your tongue skates over your teeth, and you hum under your breath. “I’m thinking about asking Laswell for the USB. Try that code one last time. Think she’ll give it to me?”

Kyle’s sound momentarily stops.

“Spitfire…”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” your voice is low. “Please, Kyle, I just need someone on my side with this. Will Kate give me a chance to crack the USB?”

Perhaps sensing how off-kilter you are, the Brit relents with a tiny sigh and a slow response.

“I can call her—try to get on her good side.”

“Does she have one?” You quirk a brow.

“Classified.” Chuckling, your eyes stare off, delicate in every sense of the word. Like an arachnid, you dwell in this back room waiting to be caught—if only a few more moments to try and make your web; a small silk hammock of brown eyes and smooth words.

“Thank you,” your voice whispers. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“If I didn’t want to talk, I wouldn’t have called back.” He huffs a few laughs, sheepishly admitting to you. “Accidentally slapped the phone to the floor, actually.”

An unexpected laugh is pushed from your lungs.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Wasn’t like I meant to, Love. Startled me.”

Your eyes roll, amusement in your tone. “Startling the SAS Sergeant—I should get a medal for that.”

“Not until you get me the one you were talking about before. Still waiting for it.”

Your legs shift over the floor. “The one with ‘idiot’ on the plaque?”

“That’s the one.”

Your expression goes to exasperation, but the smile doesn’t leave. “Why would you want something like that?”

“Well, you’re the one giving it to me, aren’t you?” The deep tease strikes you in the throat, and you have to discreetly clear your throat so he won’t hear the heat rising to your face.

“Cheeky,” you, dryly, state.

“I liked it.”

“Go back to bed, Sergeant,” your grinning face is stuck to the door’s face, trying to study the woodgrain in the darkness.

“...Yes, Ma’am.” There’s a pause where you wait for the other to hang up, though the cut of the line is absent from both parties. Kyle’s voice smoothly comes back to grace your ears. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, knowing he can’t see you.

“Okay…try to get some sleep tonight, Spitfire. I’m one phone call away if you need me.”

“I—” You cut yourself off, the strange sentence being choked down in your throat like a cinder block. Eyes blinking, you partially startle at the words that nearly slipped out of you to the awaiting ear on the other side.

“Right,” you quickly move the phone from your ear and hang up.

Standing stiffly in the storage room, your blank eyes dig ahead, and with a shaky breath, you stumble forward.

Moving out into the hallway, you swiftly backtrack to your room.

—

Sitting in your room, you insert the USB into a new laptop and lick at your lips.

“I’m sorry about…before,” your mother walks over, placing a plate of food down in front of you along with your coffee cup. You blink up at her, a sheen of embarrassment layering itself like paint along your eyes. “I was just overwhelmed. It isn’t an excuse, I know, but…I,” you pause. “I feel bad.”

Your mother sighs, and her hand comes up to rest on top of your head. “I knew.”

Eyes snapping up, you freeze.

“I never told you about it, because I knew it would ruin how you saw him.” She breathes lowly. “You don’t get to choose who you end up loving. It happens and then it sticks until something else pries it loose. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

Watching her, your fast words fumble over themselves. “But what about the drug—”

“I only knew the surface,” she backs up, shaking her head. “I would appreciate it if we left it at that, please. Even if we had our problems, he was the love of my life; when he died, I shut it all out. I had to.”

You look away swiftly, but it’s a long time before you can answer her. You had no reason to think she was lying about this. All of it added up to you.

A kiss is pressed into your scalp. “Eat up. Keep your strength.”

Watching her walk out of the room, your attention is torn away by the laptop booting up, eyes darting to it.

Questions on questions on questions.

Taking up your coffee, you sip at it slowly. Setting it down, you cringe at the taste. Stifling a cough haggardly into your arm, you rub at your thigh before getting to work.

—

Kyle rubs his face, sighing deeply. “This is all we've got?”

“And that’s being generous,” MacTavish mutters, sending a slow glance. “Laswell wasn’t lying to you—we have shit-all.”

“How is that even possible,” the Sergeant mutters, standing straight once again. He’d been bent over the countless mission reports for more than an hour, all fruitless beyond thin leads to individuals connected to your father’s business dealings.

“Rats are used to staying in their holes,” Ghost grumbles from the other side of the table, dark eyes shifting to where their Captain comes in from the main door to the meeting room.

A hand is slapped on Gaz’s shoulder.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant.” Brown eyes glance at him, a smirk flickering Kyle’s lips.

“Good to be here, Sir. Let’s get this finished.”

Price nods firmly, a hard expression on his bearded face. With strong legs, he moves to the head of the table and grunts his orders.

“Current HVT is in Tula,” he utters in that gruff accent. “It's the only lead we have—this isn’t something we can miss.” Gloved fingers reach out to the interior blueprints of a small townhouse. “Two teams will move interior and connect the dots. If this target is in possession of any intel involving Osipov and Kham, we need to find it. Soap, you’re with Ghost, Garrick you stick with me. Total, we’ve got two teams of five involving local assistance.”

The Scot knocks forearms with his silent counterpart, and Gaz nods at the Captain in understanding. “Time frame?”

Blue eyes glance at the Sergeant. “We have a window of thirty minutes for prep and transport. We need to move fast.” Price huffs, fixing his hands onto the collar of his combat vest. “There’s the possibility of non-combatants on site. Check your shots.”

The debrief is quick and thorough, and that night everything comes to a head.

Kyle’s body soon sits in the back of an armored vehicle, a night-vision rig on his head, rifle in his arms, and his body hunched forward on the seat. In the back of his pocket, his phone sits—set to mute even if he yearned to take it up and see if you’d called him.

Being away made him nervous for you. Such relentless pursuers…but he had to believe that the actions he’s taking here will make all the difference in the end. Keller can watch after you and your mother; he placed his faith in the Agent before, and he can do it again.

But there was an ever-present pressure on his chest that won’t leave. A weight. Some kind of fishing hook stuck into the back of his brain that pulls every so often, dragging him back to the pole.

He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible and try to find a way to get back to you. Even that first phone call had been layered with hesitation—you weren’t telling him something.

That only made him more worried.

“Garrick,” Price’s voice snaps him out of it, brown eyes snapping up from where they’d been spacing out. His Captain’s voice is low. Steady. “On you.”

The vehicle had come to a stop. Blinking, Gaz nods quickly. “Right.” Hand reaching out, it settles heavily to the side door and pushes after a glance to everyone in the seats.

Boots hit to concrete in muffled thumps, bent knees taking weight as eyes scan relentlessly like wolves.

It was deep night—a night where the air is even still in slumber. Mist hung like a pale shroud, and over puddles in the potholes, Kyle’s focus instantly hardened as he splashed through them.

Now wasn’t the time to think, it was the time to act.

He hurries down a long stretch of alley between the target’s house and the one beside it, slinking along with his rifle’s stock pressing into the clutch of his shoulder. His cheek rests against the side, breathing slowly.

Adrenaline overtakes his heart.

Conforming to the side entrance of the townhouse, he waits as Price moves past him to the other side. They look at one another, the bodies of the other soldiers surrounding them. Over the coms, Ghost’s voice comes through.

“In position.”

“Let’s do this,” Kyle grunts, intent on Price’s expression. A moment of silence passes—only the anticipatory carnage that’s to follow; unthinking minds as fingers pull triggers. Instinct.

The Captain gives a quick nod, and the hunt starts.

After a quick breaking of the door, they all move interior. The skeletal-faced Lieutenant and the Demolitions Expert take the upper floor working down with their team, and below, Garrick and Price do the same, going up.

Sneaking nearer to the kitchen, Gaz lays eyes on two men taking near the dining room. Body flattening against the door frame, his Captain mutters to him as he passes the opening undetected. “Drop ‘em.”

It’s a quick end—the only sound is the metallic clink of shell casings and the thump of bodies. Behind the Sergeant, one other soldier follows at his six.

Dead eyes stare ahead as Garrick passes, and he glances at them only once before moving on.

Waiting at the stairs, Kyle re-joins the main unit, and after a quick once-over, they all begin ascending as more sounds from the level above are picked up on twitching ears. The sharp hushing of civilians—the drop of bodies. It’s all familiar, but somewhat jarring after being away from it for so long.

Part of him had gotten used to the trials of VIP work.

There’s a shout from just above, and the rush of the job comes in a fast wave. The coms alight.

“We’ve got the bastard.” Soap’s sharp voice bounces off the walls and their ears, going through the house.

“Good,” Price barks. “Stay where you are.”

Cautiously, yet quickly, all of the men regroup where their HVT is being held—in his office near the South corner.

“Shura Makarovich Agapov,” the Captain’s voice is a low rasp as his body thumps forward. It was plain to tell that this game was getting on his nerves. Lead after lead drying up more than water in a desert.

This man was all they had.

Gaz blinks at him as the other soldiers move about the office, grasping papers with quick fingers and looking through them—looking for anything of importance. Lowering his rifle back to his chest, the Sergeant studies the walls; eyes slipping over hung-up maps.

“You’re going to tell me about your superiors,” Price’s voice lowers to a harsh whisper as he nears the man.

Shura Makarovich is a large man. Sure of his body so much so that Ghost had tightened the restraints until he saw the Russian’s hands start to go blue. Johnny’s grip never leaves his weapon.

“I do not speak to men who follow orders,” the man eases out casually as if not at all disturbed by the death of his friends and the arrest of his family. “Only the ones who give them.”

“I’d say I’m giving more orders than you right now, eh?” Price taunts, head tilting as he addresses the squad. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, Sir.”

Price’s jaw clenches. “Yaromir Osipov. Where is he?”

“Yaromir Osipov?” Shura Makarovich’s face twitches. He seems confused for a moment, and Gaz clocks it instantly. The Sergeant’s brows pull in slowly as the hostage flips his tune. “...Why would I tell you that?”

He doesn’t know him, Gaz knows.

Price kneels down as papers are tossed and pushed to the floor; Kyle’s brain working overtime.

If he doesn’t know about Yaromir, then why was he an HVT at all? Why did the thread lead to him? His boots take him across the floor, moving to the papers on the desks, moving them as Soap asks a low question as to what he’s doing. Kyle shrugs him off, looking for something that could explain things.

“Ghost,” Price mutters, and the Lieutenant moves out into the hallway quickly. The Captain looks deeply into Shura Makarovich’s eyes before standing.

There’s a commotion from outside; yelling, before Ghost returns with a woman in hand, harshly pulling her over the ground until her feet stumble.

Gaz’s eyes shoot up, and he goes deathly still.

The woman only speaks in Russian, glancing at her confidant quickly and calling his name. Shura seems taken aback, blinking rapidly.

“What are you doing?”

“Where’s Yaromir?” Price gets up and moves back. Shura makes a play to bolt up, but Soap’s hand shoves him harshly back down.

“Stay the fuck down,” the Scot growls.

“What is this?!” Kyle watches, stiffly standing from a few feet away. All of it was…your face flashes through his mind, and before he can tell himself to stop, he’s moving over to Price on heavy legs.

“Captain,” he slips beside the man, his voice nothing but a murmur but the sharp shock is no trick on the senses. “What’s the play here?”

Blue eyes move slowly his way, face twitching.

“Sergeant, set aside,” Kyle’s expression tightens, dark eyes darting to the woman that Ghost holds.

“Price, I can’t—”

“You can leave if you need to, Garrick.”

“This isn’t the way we have to do things,” Gaz’s voice lightly raises, and that’s all it takes for Price to grasp his shoulder and take him out of the door firmly.

Getting lightly pushed out into the hallway, the Captain’s grim face swivels as the door is tapped closed with a boot.

“Are you in or out, Sergeant?” Is leveled at him without emotion. “We don’t have time to play morality games. You’re either in that room with me, or you aren't. Which is it?”

“We can’t have a repeat of three years ago,” Kyle’s expression is troubled, his once sure mind fracturing.

This wasn’t right.

“Price, there has to be another way.” Blue eyes don’t blink at him, but the Captain’s low sigh and the fix of his feet are all the words needed.

“Stay out,” Price eases, eyes moving over the Sergeant’s face. A hand pats Gaz on the arm, and soon the Captain disappears back into the room, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t disappointment that the man had given Kyle—it would never be that. But some things had to be done.

Some people had to get dirty to keep others clean.

“Fucking…” the Sergeant trails, head moving in aggression and his legs shifting. His hand comes up and rubs at his chin, eyes half-closed in concern.

You’d gone and messed with his head.

Kyle’s mind flashes to you—the way your eyes had gazed into his as your lips had been so close. Your breath over his face. Even the pound of your pulse when he’d put his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.

How your body would melt when he pulled you out of nightmares.

This wasn’t right.

It had all been his fault. It was the type of guilt that he’d carry to the grave with him; one that would never leave for as long as he tried.

What he’d done to you…

“It’s fucking unforgivable,” he whispers under his breath, fingers tapping his rifle’s stock. He can’t let it happen to someone else.

“What am I missing,” Kyle urges himself, feet shifting along the floor. “There’s something there—what is it?! He doesn’t bloody know Yaromir, what does that mean?”

But what if Yaromir was never involved in this cell in the first place?

Brown eyes spark as a sharp scream echoes from under the door. Barreling through with a slam of wood, the words coming out of Gaz’s mouth are loud, but oh so steady.

It’s as clear as day.

“We know about the location in China.”

Wide eyes from all around jerk back to him, and Price’s face slashes from shocked to enraged in a mere second.

“What the fuck are you—?”

“Chiyou,” Kyle barks, moving closer on fast feet until he’s taken Shura by the collar of his shirt and forced him to his feet. The Russian’s eyes are jumping, his mouth opening and closing.

Gaz’s face leans in close, searching for it—for the one emotion he needs from him to prove the lie he’s spewing from your hypothesis is correct. Behind him, the tiny sobs from the woman are muffled by her hands.

“We know all of it is centered in Eastern China.”

At the fast sweep of fear, Garrick already knew he had won.

You’d been right.

Without another word, the Sergeant lets Shura drop and walks out of the room—already on the phone with Laswell.

TAGS:

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prismaticfaery · 1 year

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Summary: Some comfort scenarios for a few of our Modern Warfare boys! Might post a part two for Ghost and Graves soon because omg this was fun.

TW: Mentions of some sickness, hurt, death, and depression!

Rating: T+

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! If you have any requests, check out the pinned post on my page! Love you all!

König:

It was an especially nasty day, droplets of rain and sleet hitting the glazed window overlooking the street. You sat quietly on the nook of the windowsill, a fluffy blanket covering you from the waist down, your fingers interlaced between themselves as your eyes followed the droplets that slid down the glass. Days like this made the world feel slow and the atmosphere of your new apartment was quiet, almost muffled.

Boxes sat around the new apartment, but you were having trouble unpacking them after your big move a few days prior. Your partner happily supported putting things away at your pace, even asking if you’d needed his help setting anything up, to which you had shook your head, turning his offer down with a small smile and a “thank you, though”.

Speaking of your partner, you hadn’t heard from him in quite some time. He mentioned stepping out to take trash outside, but that was a while ago at this point.

“König?” You called out for him, but there was no answer.

Just as you begin to take the blanket off of yourself, the front door swings open, the large form of your sweet partner’s body stood there with two coffee cups in his hands, and a paper bag resting inside the bend of his elbow. He kicked his wet combat boots off immediately, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind him.

“My love!” His voice went up an octave behind his black surgical mask, no smile was visible of course but his crystal blue eyes showed so much emotion that it warmed your heart.

“I was curious where you had gone off to,” you laugh, crossing your legs and placing your hands in your lap.

The mountain of a man walked over to your spot on the windowsill, sitting next to you and handing you one of the cups of coffee he was holding, ”well, I wanted to get you something to warm you up, it’s a cold day. Plus, you can never go wrong with fresh, warm pastries in Vienna,” he rustled through the paper bag, pulling out a still warm apple strudel.

Holding out the pastry for you to take, you thank him, splitting off a piece to eat immediately. König watched as you indulged in the sweet, but caught the somber look on your face when you looked out into the new living room, seemingly overwhelmed as you spot the boxes that have yet to be unpacked. Shrugging his raincoat off, König placed it softly on the wooden floors. Scooting over to you on the windowsill, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing your head to rest on his chest.

“I know that this is overwhelming— moving to a new country, and having to unpack so much, but you don’t have to do any of this alone.”

“I know, I just don’t know where to start,” you sigh, placing your hand on his much larger one.

Grasping your hand in his, he gave a reassuring squeeze, ”I can give you a head start.”

“Okay.”

Keegan:

It was often that the familiar line of “I’m sorry” had to be delivered, especially in your line of work. You had to say it almost every time you came back from a mission, your hands curled into balls, the white free edge of your nails digging into the plush flesh of your palms. You would give the recipients anything and everything you could from their deceased loved one— a patch, dog tags, whatever.

This is what being a Ghost was like— you were an elite soldier but not immortal unfortunately. Your numbers had been dwindling quickly, and the promise of new recruits was not in the books often.

You were accompanying a squad of five, one being the person to lead you, Keegan, then three other Ghosts and you, a medic. One of your squadmates had met their end in chasing down someone of importance in the Federation. Ghosts needed more information to press forward with matters.

The breath in your throat had turned to smog, choking you as you stood covered in blood, your worn hands shaking, clutching a patch from the fallen squadmate. Their wife stood with her hands outstretched and ready to receive the patch, tears welling in her eyes and soon pouring down her reddened cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” your voice shakes, but not enough for it to be noticed by the grieving woman.

That night, you locked yourself away in the med bay, your hands still crusted in dried blood, the brick red substance serving as a reminder that you couldn’t do more to help your teammate.

“Ajax said you were here,” the familiar voice of Keegan came from the doorway, his steel blue eyes fixed on you sitting on the circular rolling chair.

Making his way to your spot, his eyes never left your form. He had long since changed out of his field clothing and stood wearing his casual fatigues, camo pants and a black t-shirt.

“Let’s get that blood off of you before you get an infection,” he grabs your forearms, and pulls you up onto your feet.

You silently follow him to the stainless steel sink at the counter, the water faucet turned to its hottest temperature. He grabs paper towels and soaks them, bringing them up to your trembling hands, the sticky red stains slowly coming out.

“You did all you could,” Keegan’s hands worked quickly, rubbing your hands under the running water now, the hot water soothing away all of the tenseness in your body.

“I could have done more,” you speak up over the running water, a sigh heaving from your lips.

“Don’t speak nonsense, Y/N. You’re damn good at what you do, their wounds were not able to be treated so far from base,” Keegan turns the faucet off and hands you dry paper towels.

The taller male reaches his hand out to place on your shoulder, close to your neck, giving you a reassuring squeeze before pulling you to his hard chest, his arms engulfed you in an embrace, the side of your head resting on his pecs. You could hear his heartbeat clearly as he tangled his calloused fingers in your hair.

“Thank you,” you wrap your arms around him, the doubts and the negative feelings that swam in your brain soon melting away slowly.

Alex:

“You have a fever.”

“No I don’t, I’m fine,” you sniffle, your body shivering under the blanket that was wrapped around your shoulders.

Earlier on in the morning, you woke up feeling absolutely horrid. Your body ached, your head pounding, and your nose so stuffed that you could hardly breathe. Then the chills and the cold sweats started. Your partner told you that the flu was making its way around but you absolutely refused to believe you were even sick.

Hunched over, you rub the sleep that was still heavy in your eyes, the exhaustion of the fever washing over your body in a sudden wave. The morning sun’s rays came through the white curtains and landed on the glass coffee table in front of you, sparkling and radiating prisms on the rug below.

“I never get sick,” you whine, curling up like a little lump on the couch.

“Well, the thermometer isn’t lying,” your partner, Alex, holds up the thermometer, pointing to the screen that reads: “102.6F”.

Alex had forced you to eat and take medication to help with the aches and fever, and as much as you weren’t wanting to eat, you had gotten that disappointed Alex look that knocked you into submission immediately— like a mother giving her child a look to get them to cooperate in a social setting without verbally saying a thing. Needless to say, you ate your whole bowl of homemade oatmeal with the cinnamon apples Alex sautéed just for you. You know what they say about “an apple a day”.

“Can you just cuddle me? I just want cuddles,” you reach your arms out, using grabby hands to express your need.

“The flu’s made you so needy,” Alex laughs, scooting closer to your spot on the couch.

Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, you let out a content sigh, although with how stuffy your nose was, it was sounding more like a pitiful wheeze. Alex laughs, his face burying into the crook of your neck as he gets himself more comfortable. You roll your eyes, wrapping him up inside the Sherpa blanket with you and bringing him down with you to lay his head on your chest.

“You’re really sweaty— it’s like a furnace in here,” he flaps the blanket out to release some of the heat.

“You know you like it,” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, sucking in a deep sniffle.

“Oh, you bet I do.”

You go quiet for a moment as Alex’s head rests on your chest, his upper body settled in between your thighs. Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers through his fluffy auburn hair, looking up at the ceiling fan twirling above you both, cool air circulating inside the small living room of your shared apartment.

“I hate being sick.”

“Oh, now you’re admitting you’re sick,” Alex moves his head to rest his chin on your chest, his baby blue eyes looking into yours.

“Mm, maybe,” your words sounded nasally and you wince as your voice cracks,”can you make me tea with honey?”

“Anything for the sick person.”

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katerina-marie · 1 month

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The Hot Mic Incident (Feel Like Falling in Love)

Sukuna x Reader

A sequel to this and part 2 of a larger (unnamed) series. I do recommend reading part 1 first to be able to understand certain references in this one.

If someone asked you who was most likely to accidentally spill the beans about your new (and still secret) relationship with Sukuna, your answer would have to be your white-haired co-star. But when an unintentional hot mic reveals to the world what wasn't ready to be shared, let's just say it wasn't Gojo Satoru at fault for once.

Notes: A continuation of my Sukuna x Reader celebrity!au inspired by music (though only loosely, so don't look too closely at lyrical meaning). In this case, it's Feel Like Falling in Love by MeloMance. I'm writing this series as inspiration strikes, so these fics may not always be posted according to the series' linear timeline. I will make sure to note when each chapter takes place in relation to the others (this one takes place a couple months after part 2). I will also get around to making a master list of them in chronological reading order as more comes. I hope you enjoy:)

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo, other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, innuendos, illusions to sexting, but no actual sexting occurs (sorry), so please read accordingly, out of character and fluffy Sukuna. Please let me know if I miss something!

WC: 4.3k

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Isn’t it a little early in the morning to be sending naughty pictures to your boyfriend? It’s like 7:00 am.”

You jumped half a foot in the air and clambered to juggle your phone in your hands before it tumbled out and slid four feet across the backstage floor of the talk show studio.

“You need to be wearing a bell, Satoru,” you hissed over your shoulder at the menace that had appeared behind you so suddenly, “and it was not an inappropriate photo. I was completely dressed.”

You teetered over in your heels to grab your phone off the floor and prayed that it wasn’t cracked down the middle, lest you make Satoru cough up punitive damages to make up for it.

“In my experience, being fully clothed is not a prohibiting factor.”

Satoru snickered at the look of disgust on your face and gave you a small shrug, “Who knows, maybe Sukuna’s into th—,”

You threw yourself forward to try and cover his mouth with your hands, but even in heels you still lacked the necessary height to make contact. You settled for pinning him in place with a glare.

“Will you keep quiet please? I swear, if you and your fat mouth reveal this to anyone, I’m going to have Toji leak that photo of you from one of our nights working on that period piece last year!”

You watched with glee as Satoru’s eyes widened in abject horror, and he reached out to grip the tops of your arms and drag you close to his face. A quick peek from your peripheral confirmed that the staff lingering around the studio probably hadn’t been close enough to hear, but they were certainly watching with poorly disguised interest.

Were you and Satoru contracted into a false relationship in order to help promote the upcoming movie the two of you were co-starring in? No, that only happened in fiction. Was it firmly implied by the producer that some offscreen tension and chemistry during the course of the film would promise to be advantageous to you both? Yes, and you presumed that in the pursuit of a paycheck some simple flirting couldn’t hurt anyone…though that was a year or so ago, and you were now closer to sending Satoru to an early grave than jumping in bed with him like fans and media were hoping for.

“Suguru swore he made you delete any evidence of that!”

You stuck your tongue out at him and pulled back against the hold he had on your arms, but he didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest.

“He did, but didn’t bother to check with Toji. Looks like that weird phobia you two have of him is coming to bite you in the ass now.”

Satoru released you with a shiver and took a large step back, his eyes roaming the expanse of the studio as if he expected your bodyguard to be summoned out of thin air at the sheer mention of his name. You didn’t blame him, however, because Toji had a habit of doing just that.

“It’s not a weird phobia,” Satoru muttered, rubbing his throat absentmindedly and pouting down at you, “it’s PTSD.”

You snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was too!” Satoru cried, “He punched me in the throat and nearly sent Suguru through a wall!”

“You and your idiot manager were trying to break into my house at 2:00am, drunk as skunks I might add! What did you think was going to happen? We barely knew each other then.”

Satoru looked down at you aghast, stunned that you didn’t sympathize with his emotions. You considered it even more bewildering that he seriously thought that you would pick his side. You were about to let him know such when your phone dinged twice in quick succession, effectively capturing your attention.

“Look,” you huffed at him, waving your phone in front of his face so he could catch a glimpse of the time (and hopefully ignore who’s name had popped up under it), “we only have like thirty more minutes before we have to get out there and I need some time to decompress, so I’m going back to the dressing room.” You started to turn away before throwing over your shoulder, “Don’t get into any trouble in the meantime.”

Satoru rolled his eyes at you, and—in that intolerable way of his—couldn’t let you possibly have the last dig at him and jerked his head to the phone in your hand.

“It’s not me I’m worried about. Have fun sext—,”

“Goodbye, Satoru!” You made yourself scarce before he could say anything else, eager to find the privacy of your dressing room so you could fawn over your boyfriend in peace.

By the time you made it into the safety of your dressing room a few minutes later, your heart was pounding—and not just from getting lost in all the maze-like hallways—and you tried to decide if hiding in the attached closet to talk with Sukuna on the phone or sitting on the couch in the open with a lovesick grin on your face would look less suspicious should someone walk in. Neither option promised much.

Before you could make up your mind, your phone was ringing, so in order to be able to answer the call as quickly as you could, you dove for the couch and tried not to sound completely breathless when you answered with a quiet, “hi, good morning.”

“Hey,” Sukuna replied back to you, voice equally soft but tinged with a dry hoarseness that usually followed him out of sleep. It made your toes wiggle uncontrollably against the floor.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I wake you with the picture? That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to keep you up to date with my day,” you murmured to him.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t. And besides, even if it did, it’s not a bad way to start my day.” His words made you melt back into the cushions and you kicked your feet in silent giddiness before tucking them underneath you. “You look stunning, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you giggled, “though getting here to get ready while it was still dark outside was borderline torture. I’d say that it’s an unfair slight against women, but I’m pretty sure Satoru’s hair and skincare routine took just as long.”

Your boyfriend let out a disgusted scoff at the mention of your costar’s name, “Please tell me that q-tip is behaving himself.”

“Sukuna!” You chastised, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your throat at the comparison, “You can’t call him that…even if it is somewhat accurate.”

“It’s one hundred percent accurate,” he argued, “but I won’t call him that to his face…probably.”

You shook your head in exasperated amusement, nibbling on the bottom skin of your lip before continuing on, “He’s behaving for the most part, aside from his two insinuations that our conversations this morning were of a sexual nature.”

Sukuna was silent on the other end for a moment before replying back in a low voice with something that had you choking on your spit, “Would you like them to be?”

He could be heard laughing as you nearly coughed your way into a premature death.

“I’m about to go in front of a live audience and on live tv!” You exclaimed.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Sukuna pointed out hopefully.

“No.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and you reached over to a nearby coffee table to unscrew a bottle of water and chug half of it down in the hopes it would help cool you off.

“Speaking of,” he said, sounding just a tad hesitant, “I’ll uh, tune in to the show to watch if that’s okay with you.”

You heart skipped a silly little beat at the idea that he wanted to watch some cheesy talk show just to get a glimpse of you.

“I don’t mind,” you told him, “but it’s going to make me a little nervous knowing you’ll be watching as I stumble through this interview.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled, though something in his voice sounded just slightly wicked, “now you’ll get an idea of how I feel when I have to perform.”

The innuendo had whatever sweet reassurance you had poised at the tip of your tongue fly out of your head, and you scrambled to come with a response that could be said back without implying anything further. The swinging open of your door, however, saved you from the task.

“Hey, Princess,” Toji called as he leaned his torso around the door, “you need to be out there in five.”

You startled from your spot on the couch, surprised to realize that your leg was bouncing from where it was propped up on your knee and your finger was twirling a piece of your hair.

Love made you stupid.

“Toji,” you snapped, “have you ever heard of knocking?”

Your bodyguard rolled his eyes, “I did. Twice.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, especially because you could hear Sukuna cackling through the phone, confirming he heard what Toji just said.

“Oh…I’ll be right there, okay?” You shooed him off with a flick of your fingers and Toji smirked at you as he began closing the door.

“Don’t be late or I’m sending Gojo in to fetch you.”

The door closed shut before you could get a word in and you leaned back with a heavy sigh before returning your attention to your phone call, “I’ve to go. I’ll call you when the whole thing is over and I’m back home, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll be waiting for you. Good luck, okay?”

You weren’t sure if it was all in your head, but you swore you heard a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Thank you. Bye, Sukuna,”

“Bye, Princess,” he sing-songed, and you couldn’t help but smile as you clicked off the call.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Twenty minutes later found you and Satoru sitting next to each other on a platform stage surrounded by bright lights, a large live audience sprawled in front of you, and an all too perceptive interviewer who had started the interrogation just a couple minutes prior. You wiggled in your seat, uncomfortable from the various wires and clips that secured your mic to your back under your dress.

“So,” she began, nailing you with a look that promised nothing good, “you and Satoru were supposed to film an advert on the beach early this last summer, but it ended up being you and the so-called ‘King of Curses.’ Tell me, how did that come about?”

You hesitated a moment, thankful the question wasn’t anything too invasive, but you were still hoping to avoid talking about Sukuna altogether. Usually Nanami would heavily emphasize what could and couldn’t be spoken of before these appearances, but since he wasn’t here, you assumed it had been left to Geto. In that case, you knew he couldn’t be bothered since predicting whatever was going to come out of Satoru’s mouth during these things was an art not yet mastered.

“Well,” you started, clasping your hands together so they didn’t shake, “it really just came about out of well-timed convenience and a favor to the director. We didn’t want to waste any of the crew’s time or have to worry about re-aligning schedules, so Sukuna saved the day by offering to help. Plus, ‘The Curses’ new song at the time got to debut in it, so it was a win-win for everyone! Except for maybe Satoru, of course.”

In an effort to divert attention from your answer, you threw Satoru a faux-friendly smile and urged him with a widening of your eyes to explain his part.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, adjusting himself in the seat and setting a convincing pout on his face. “I just happened to get pulled into something personal last minute and was going to be late to the shoot. I’m appreciative that the “King of Curses” was able to step in and save the day.”

You didn’t miss the obvious sarcasm dripping from Sukuna’s nickname when it came out of Satoru’s mouth, and you had to hide a giggle behind your hand at the thought of your boyfriend cursing at his TV at home.

“But,” Satoru continued, jolting you into awareness when he turned to you and ran a long finger down the bare skin of your arm, “I’m super bummed I missed our chance to get wet together.” The smirk on his face was downright evil, and you just knew your face was a picture of stunned disbelief. The audience was tittering with amusement.

“You wear me out, Satoru,” you hissed at him, batting his hand away from where it still traced slowly over your skin.

Satoru laughed and threw his head back against his chair before taking a quick look at the camera and then leaning in towards you until your noses nearly touched, “I’m flattered you’d admit that on live television.”

Your jaw, and everyone else’s for that matter, fell to the floor and you could only gawk at him. Over the interviewer’s shoulder, you could see Toji backstage laughing his ass off as Geto stood at a respectable distance next to him shaking his head.

We better get those damned bonuses from the producer.

“Well!” The interviewer laughed a bit nervously, breaking the tension in the room and turning to the main camera in front of you all, “That was surely something. We have to go to a commercial, but we’ll be back with these two in just a couple minutes!”

The outro music sounded over the speakers and you and Satoru were released from your chairs to scurry backstage. In between sending friendly waves to the audience and starting the walk backstage, you flipped the switch on your mic off.

“I’m going to kill you, Satoru,” you spat under your breath as the two of you left stage.

The idiot had the gall to laugh, and in your frustration you took a couple large steps to get a head of him. And because the universe didn’t hate you enough, you felt the toe of your heel catch on a stray cable on the floor, pitching you off balance. In your flailing, you reached out to grasp at whatever object could possibly break your fall, and in doing so latched on to Satoru’s sleeve, jerking the poor bastard off his feet and onto you as you both tumbled to floor in a heap of tangled limbs.

Your back hit the ground first, your mic digging painfully into your back with a suspicious crack of plastic followed by Satoru landing on your front, pushing all the air from your lungs with a painful “oomph.”

You stared at the ceiling of the studio, wondering how quickly things would go if one of the giant studio lights fell from above and crushed you under it. You were never going to live this down, especially since it happened still in view of the cameras and the audience if the raucous laughter was anything to go by.

“You know, I never imagined I would actually get you under me,” Satoru mused, staring down at you for a second before lifting his giant self off and then pulling you up to follow. He held a hand against your lower back as the two of you made it to the cover of backstage.

“Honestly,” you admitted, still a little dazed, “I never would have thought so either.”

Staff fluttered around you a minute later, offering water, smoothing your hair out, and ensuring neither of you were hurt…at least not physically. Your pride was a whole other matter.

“Oh no,” you groaned, catching Satoru’s attention once everyone had cleared out around you, “he was watching. He just saw me eat it on live television.”

Your co-star cocked a confused eyebrow at you, “You mean Sukuna was watching?”

“Oh please,” you muttered, “like you didn’t guess. And yes, Sukuna was watching, and now I’m not going to be able to look him in the eye this evening.”

There was a general increased noise coming from the front of the studio, but you were too preoccupied with your own embarrassment to think much of it.

“And why is that?” Satoru asked.

You threw your hands up purely because you didn’t know what else to do with them, “I don’t really know exactly, but there is still something supremely humiliating about doing something embarrassing like that in front of my new boyfriend. He makes me nervous enough as is.”

There was a sudden outbreak of hollers and clapping from out front, and you swung your head around to look and see if anyone had a clue as to what was going on. It took you a minute before you could see Toji running at you with a wild look on his face.

“Toji, what the hell—?” You didn’t get to finish your question before he was spinning you around by the shoulders, yanking down the zipper of your dress, and ripping the mic from your back. You shrieked in disbelief as you whirled back around to figure out what in the world he had been thinking.

“Toji!”

“Your mic has been on this whole time,” he growled, showing you the blinking green light on the cracked plastic box. You swore you had turned it off, but seeing as how it took the brunt of the impact when you fell on it earlier, you supposed it wasn’t unlikely that it had turned back on.

With sudden cold rushing through your body and a sick ball of dread settling into your gut, you looked between Satoru’s dumbfounded expression and Toji’s face of pure exhaustion and immediately decided that if the ground wasn’t going to swallow you up whole, you were going home.

“Get me out of here!”

——————————————————————————————————————————

After finally making it to some undisclosed back alley across from the talk show studio, you were assisted out from your crouch in a trash bin by studio security and ushered to a small nearby out-cove to wait for your bodyguard.

And you just wanted to be famous soooo bad. Glamorous life, my ass.

As luck would have it, you were made aware today of just how famous you, and especially Sukuna, were. For all the grief you gave Satoru about not accidentally spilling the beans about your newly minted—and still secret—relationship with Sukuna, you were the one that had the unintended pleasure of doing the grand reveal. So now the world was free to stir whatever frenzy they saw fit, from the intensely devoted fangirls of Sukuna’s band, to the entire acting community, and the worst of all…your mother. You suspected you were a couple minutes away from an angry phone call demanding an explanation as to why she had to find out from the internet that you were dating a boy with pink hair and face tattoos and how much longer it would be until she had grandchildren.

All of this chaos and Nanami just happened to be in a whole other country.

You suddenly regretted sending him on that vacation.

A sharp squeal of tires caught your attention and you looked up to see a shiny sports car peal around the corner and come to a rumbling stop a couple feet in front of you. Before you could even begin to guess who it could be, the head of your bodyguard appeared as the tinted black window of the passenger side door rolled down.

“Get in the car,” Toji hissed, eyes darting to and fro.

You wasted no time and nearly dove through the open window in your haste to escape broad daylight. You had just finished buckling your seatbelt in the back when Toji mashed the gas pedal and the car leapt forward.

“Christ, Toji!” You gasped, clasping the headrest of the seat you were just flung into, “Whose car is this? It’s certainly not yours.”

He snorted. “Yeah, cause you don’t pay me enough.”

“Rude,” you muttered back to him, “and not true.”

You tried to squint out the front windshield to determine where you might be, but brick buildings towered on either side of you still, and you assumed Toji was taking some alternative route home. “Seriously though, whose car is this? It’s not one of mine.”

“Does it matter?”

You rolled your eyes at his bored tone, “Yes, it does. Toji, I’m not your wife, but—”

“Thank God.” He sounded entirely too relieved about that.

“Still rude!” You yelped, but brushed aside the sting of offense to figure out whose leather seats your dress was currently dropping glitter all over. “I’m not your wife, so I don’t particularly care to know what unscrupulous activities you get up to when I’m not keeping you busy—,”

“None,” he deadpanned, shooting you a glare through the rear view mirror.

“—which I’m pretty sure I had you sign a non-compete, but that’s besides the point. I really need you to tell me where you got this car. In case you aren’t aware, my name is going to be plastered on every social media post, blog page, and headline in the next 24 hours and I’d rather that not include my mugshot with “accomplice to grand theft auto” under it. So tell me who this car belongs to right now or I’m jumping out.”

Toji had the audacity to chuckle at you before reaching back to pat your knee.

“Relax a bit. You know I wouldn’t ever put you in harm’s way on purpose. This is Gojo’s car. Ours was being swarmed by the media out front after your little slip up, so I threatened Geto for the idiot’s keys cause I knew it was out back and the quickest way I could get to our little rendezvous point.”

“Oh,” was all you managed to get out. Letting your racing mind settle down a bit, you snuggled deeper into the plush leather seats and kicked your feet up onto the center console. You got two seconds of peace before Toji opened his mouth again.

“I’m going to have to call Nanami.”

“No!” You gasped, springing upright again and feeling a warm sting creep to your eyes as your throat began to tense up. “He’s on vacation! I promised we wouldn’t bother him unless one of us was dying. I’d never forgive myself if he had to come home to clean up my sloppy love life!”

Toji shook his head and shot you a sad smile over his shoulder as he reached for his phone sitting in the front cup holder.

“We may not really have an option, Sweetheart. Not only is Uraume going to be a huge pain to deal with since this could affect Sukuna’s band, but you’ve also got contracts and appearances promised that may get shaken by the fact it’s been revealed to the world that you've been secretly dating the music industry’s favorite ‘hate to love’ rockstar. We can’t fix this without Nanami.”

The panic that had been brewing in your stomach this whole time was starting to make your head spin up, so you blamed it on that when you lurched out of your seat and nearly over Toji’s shoulder to snatch the phone out of his hand before he could hit ‘dial’ on Nanami’s contact.

Your bodyguard swore when you knocked him in the face with your elbow in your clamber and his hand gave a vicious jerk of the wheel that had horns blaring from either side of your car as Toji swerved to correct it. You were thrown back into the seat you had just previously been in and you waited with heaving breaths as the car jolted sideways once more before continuing on straight. The fact you barely missed crashing was a testament to Toji’s reflexes.

“Don’t you ever do stupid shit like that again, you hear me?!” You’d never heard Toji raise his voice at you and it did nothing to help quell the tears about to start pouring from your eyes, “I know you’re stressed and something big has just happened to you, I get it, but that’s no excuse to do something dumb! You just about gave me a heart attack,” he finished, his voice still at a higher volume than normal, but it was softened by the edge of panicked concern and the worried glances he was giving you.

That was enough to push you over the edge.

“I-I’m sorry, Toji,” you sobbed, upset at yourself for messing up again, “I wasn’t thinking, and I don’t want Nanami to feel like he has to babysit me for the rest of his life, or you to think I’m an airhead or something. I also really like Sukuna and I don’t want him to hate me because of what I did!”

You let your head fall into your hands and hiccuped through another shuddering cry as you struggled to get ahold of the overwhelming-ness of it all. You felt Toji’s hand on your knee again.

“Hey, hey, take deep breaths for me. No one’s thinking that, I promise you. And I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. It was wrong. It’s no excuse, but that scared the crap out of me and I thought we for sure were getting into an accident,” he admitted. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You nodded through your tears, unable to respond to him in any way that was legible.

“Look, we’re almost home. Try and deep breathe for me. Once we get there I’ll help you get comfortable and we’ll figure this out together, okay?”

As was frequent with Toji, you valued his ability to keep you calm when you got into the worst of yourself and you were grateful for his steady confidence. You reached out and clasped the hand he still had stretched back on your knee to give it a squeeze, hoping it could convey all the thanks you had for him. The two of you kept driving in comfortable silence until you felt the car slow and saw a flash of a familiar gate out the front windshield.

“Hey,” Toji started, his voice suspiciously light, “you think Gojo would realize if we never returned his car?”

——————————————————————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! I've got ideas for parts 3 and 4 already, so I'm hoping to work on those in the next coming days.

I'll also be posting this series on AO3 under Katerina_Mar if you would prefer to read there:)

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you

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vibrantbirdy · 1 year

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You are so incredibly talented! I love reading all of your works! : )

Could I request a Cal Kestis x female reader (or OC, no preference really). I’ve been super into the game recently and just love his character. Maybe a really strong female character, but she gets flustered by Cal’s confidence, and how much she has grown to like him more than friends. I totally see him being a complete flirt (but still sweet). Haha. I’ve always had this idea that it would be cool for a force user to show someone what it’s like by holding their hand and pulling something to them (like aiding them in using the force). Stupid maybe I don’t know lol, basically Cal being suave and laying it on thick. Fluff, crack, little spice, I’m here for whatever creative piece you get going ❤️

Firstly, thank you for your lovely words! Secondly, yay, Cal! Thank you, I'm glad someone's asked for Cal, this is a cute prompt.

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Proximity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order/Survivor Games Setting: Prior to events of Jedi Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Fluff - This is tooth-rotting fluff with a little added spice as requested ;) Warnings: This fic is 18+ so please heed and respect the adult rating. Descriptions of sexual longing/arousal; one scene of strong consensual sex - nothing too descriptive but probably on the borderline of (hopefully still sweet) mild smut. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 5.5k (Because I have no self control) Summary: You are an accomplished Coruscanti thief who has been recruited by the Rebel Jedi, Cal Kestis. As you join him and his crew on their adventures aboard the Mantis, you and Cal have to navigate your growing feelings for each other.

You are standing in some Imperial-worshipping Senator's private vault in a bank nestled deep in the heart of Coruscant's palatial financial district. You've just located your prize - a data stick containing the names of high standing political and military figures within the Empire who have Republic, perhaps even Rebel leaning sympathies.

It's the Senator's insurance policy, his get out of jail free card - something he can produce at the eleventh hour in case his unwavering loyalty to the Empire turns out not to be enough to save him from the pull and push of the Imperial tide of oppression swelling across the Galaxy.

You'll sell the data stick to one Rebel faction or another, whoever is willing to pay most for your service in getting information out of Imperial hands and aiding the Rebel's recruitment drive in the process.

You're in the middle of internally congratulating yourself on successfully extracting the data stick from its complex security casing when a male voice, almost conversational in tone, rings out behind you.

"I can't let you leave with that."

Startled, you whirl around to see a man standing no more than a meter away from you. You wonder how long he's been there, watching you.

He has bright ginger hair which is swept back from his face, short at the back and sides, but longer on top and slightly ruffled. His matching red stubble sits on his cheeks, chin, upper-lip and travels up his well-defined jawline to his ears. He is dressed simply in a fawn shirt, dark grey pants, and sturdy brown boots.

A small red and white droid, bipedal, with a flat rectangular head and two photoreceptors, one slightly larger and beadier than the other, hangs almost casually off his shoulder like a pet. It's a BD unit, you think.

Both the man and the droid are rather dirty, but then, so are you after squeezing your way through a maze of dusty ventilation shafts. It makes sense the only possible way they could have gotten in here is the same way you did.

The stranger is holding something metal in his right hand that glints occasionally in the vault's dim security lighting, but you can't quite work out what it is. A weapon?

You raise your blaster.

"Don't!" he shouts, holding out a palm towards you, "The vault is magnetically sealed, if you miss, that bolt's going to cause us both a world of problems."

You raise an eyebrow because one, you already know that, and two...

"Bold of you to assume I'll miss at point blank range," you say levelly.

You keep your weapon trained steadily at the young man's chest.

He adjusts his grip on whatever it is he is holding and a green beam of light extends from the hilt of what you now realise is a lightsaber. A deep thrumming sound resonates around the small chamber.

A Jedi. Great.

You thought they were all extinct after the Emperor's purge. Briefly, childhood memories of evening strolls with your parents past the monumental ziggurat of the Jedi temple glowing golden in the low Coruscanti sun flash through your mind. You remember the thrill of excitement at seeing the Jedi, elegant and regal in their grand robes, lightsabers clinking at their belts as they swept by on important Republic business.

Right now? Here? This is the last place you want to see one.

The light from the blade illuminates the young man's face which, you have to admit, is a rather attractive combination of youthful and rugged. His nose and cheeks are peppered with freckles and his eyes contain green irises so deep in colour that they almost match his blade. A thin, red scar runs almost horizontally across the bridge of his nose, dipping down onto his right cheek. The ghost of a smirk is now playing on his lips and it has the irritating effect of making him more handsome.

You don't know why, but for some reason, you trust him instinctively not to try and cut you in half with that humming beam of hot, vibrating energy. At a stalemate, you lower your blaster. He follows your lead by deactivating the blade of his saber immediately.

"If you make me a good offer, you can have this right now," you say, one hand on your hip, the other waving the data stick in front of him impatiently.

You never like staying on the scene of a job too long and you are starting to feel on edge.

"I've got ... uhhh ... one hundred credits?"

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he speaks. He knows it's a stupidly lowball offer and you scoff loudly to let him know you think so too.

"Look, I know the ISB would pay a lot for information like this but..."

"I don't sell to the Empire," you snarl, cutting him off.

He holds up his hands in a gesture of apology which seems genuine enough. He tries again.

"I really need to get this to a contact in the Mid Rim..."

"The Mid Rim?" you interrupt abruptly, "that's off-world."

"Yeah..." his brow furrows and a slow, quizzical smile spreads across his face at the obviousness of your statement.

You curse yourself for being as predictable as a cheap holo novel. All your life you've lived on Coruscant. You've never been anywhere else. These days, the endless maze of unnatural, lifeless spires and struts and blocks of artificial construction seem to press in and in and in on you so that, despite the sprawling size of the metropolis, it feels like you are living in a tiny metal cage.

Still, this stranger didn't need to know that, and you realise you've given him his angle - a bargaining chip.

"I can't buy it off you," he reasons, "I don't have the credits, but I do have a proposal. Work with me and my crew. It's regular and we're rarely on one world for too long..."

There it is...

You got in here," he continues, gesturing around the vault, "we could use someone with your skill set. And, you get to piss off the Empire in the process."

You consider his offer. You are used to working alone and you don't like the complications that come with relying on others. Trusting anyone is difficult after fending for yourself, all alone, so successfully and for so long....

But with the Empire continuing to close their fist around all aspects of daily life, work was difficult to come by on Coruscant these days. Thieving in the city from Imperial targets in particular was becoming more and more fraught with danger.

While it riled you that he was able to read you so easily, really, what did you have to lose? Because by the Force did you not want to get off Coruscant? Isn't this what you'd been waiting for your whole life? An adventure?

"One job," you counter pragmatically, extending your hand to shake his, "And we'll see how it goes from there."

"Cal Kestis," he introduces himself with a disarmingly friendly smile, "And deal."

*************************************************

One job turns into another then another and another. Weeks turn into months and soon you've been on Cal's ship - well, borrowed ship you had come to learn - the Mantis for nearly half a year.

You've grown close with the crew of the Mantis. Cal, Gabs, Bravo and the two hulking Klatooinine twins, Lizz and Koob. This type of camaraderie is new to you. You really thought you'd struggle with it, that your independent nature would rail against the confines of living in close quarters with ship mates and fitting your own whims and desires and wants around others. In reality, you've never felt more at home. You didn't realise how lonely you had become before.

And the missions you run with the crew are exhilarating. This new life is so much more than just pilfering here and there from the Empire. You feel like you are really making a difference, like you're spitting directly in the face of the Imperial machine with every job. You feel like a Rebel.

It's not all sabotage and espionage and fighting Stormtroopers though. Off duty, life on the Mantis is mainly based around friendly joshing and winding each other up. And the dull minutiae of life still goes on.

Like now.

You and Cal are patching up the Mantis while the others are out on a supply run. You are currently crouched on your haunches so that the service hatch you are examining on one of the walls inside the ship is at eye level.

Cal is stood behind you, arms folded across his chest. You've been arguing good naturedly about what the problem is with the engine cooling system for an hour and you are now impatiently waiting for BD-1 to finish his scan to find out which one of you is right.

The little droid crawls out from the tangle of wires and gives you little nod and a boop of approval. You pat BD on his rectangular head and he scurries up your arm and on to your shoulder.

"I told you that was the problem," you say, craning your neck to look up at Cal with a triumphant grin.

You gesture to the wiring tool in his hand.

"Give that to me, I'll do it."

The Jedi looks down at the small instrument in his hand then tosses it up in the air and catches it again. He has that mischievous look on his face, the one you've learned to recognise as a sign that he's about to do something really annoying.

"Kestis..." you warn standing up, unable to stop your lips curling into a smile.

You make a lunge for the tool in his hand, but he's too quick. In a flash, he's holding it up above his head. Cal is almost a head taller than you and there's no way you can reach that high, even when you stretch up onto your tiptoes.

Instead, you decide to play dirty. You jab him hard in both his sides with your fingers where you know he's ticklish. He makes a funny sort of snorting noise in surprise and his hand drops for long enough that you manage to snatch the tool from him and make off with it at great speed.

Cal darts after you, both of you careering in to the kitchen of the Mantis, the thud and scrape of your boots on the ship's durasteel grated floor ringing throughout the ship in chorus with your laughter.

BD-1 takes this opportunity to leap of your shoulder and onto the kitchen table with an indignant whirr, determined not to get involved in this organic tomfoolery.

Cal is on you in seconds. He grabs you around the middle and lifts you off the ground with ease, spinning you around and deliberately tickling you in between making grabs for the wiring tool.

You squeal and let out perhaps the most ridiculous giggle to ever escape your mouth. You can't let him get away with forcing you to make a noise like that so you elbow him in the stomach. It's only a gentle prod really, but it's enough to make him grunt and let go of you.

As Cal doubles over, winded, you sprint back around to the opposite side of kitchen table holding the instrument aloft and performing a little victory dance.

Across the table, Cal straightens and, with a cocky look on his face, he stretches his arm out towards you. You stumble forwards slightly as if pulled forwards by an invisible rope tied around your wrist as he uses the Force to tear the tool easily out of your hand and bring it flying through the air to rest in his own outstretched palm.

"That's cheating!" you say, breathlessly.

Despite your half-hearted admonishment, in reality, you're delighted. And you're certain Cal knows it. The more time you spend with him, the more that old fascination you held as a child with the strange powers of the Jedi has returned. You are always enchanted by Cal's displays of Force ability.

"Alright kids, we almost ready to go?" Gabs' voice echoing through from the Mantis' doorway signals the return of the others.

Cal shrugs at you and you both grin, panting from your exertions. Keeping his green eyes locked on yours, he backs casually towards the door to help Gabs and the others load up the supply crates. Just before he exits the ship, he tosses the wiring tool to you underarm and you catch it with an elaborate flourish and twirl that makes him laugh.

You return to your work fixing the Mantis's cooling system with BD-1. You try to concentrate, but you feel slightly giddy. You can still feel Cal's strong arms against your body as if they remain wrapped around you. His masculine scent, pleasant and earthy and fresh like petrichor, seems to linger in your proximity and on your skin.

BD-1 tries his best to keep you right. He trills or nudges you every so often either to correct your wiring or to encourage you to stop staring into space with that inane, absent-minded smile.

When you lie in your cot bed that night, the hum of the Mantis' hyperdrive lulls you into a comfortable drowsiness and your thoughts return, unbidden, to Cal.

Over the past few months, it's like the very idea of him nestled deep into your brain and now refuses to budge. Every morning when you wake, you look forward to the sight of his honest, open, expressive face. The warmth of his slightly crooked smile. The way his red brows arch when he finds something funny before he squeezes his eyes shut so tight that they crinkle at the corners as he throws back his head, letting out peels of joyful, open-mouthed laughter.

Even when he has those strange moments of quiet introspection which you don't quite understand yet, you find it hard not to watch him. You can't help it, even although you sometimes feel like you are intruding on a private, sacred moment of reflection. It's always the same. His eyes glaze over as he stares out into the distance at nothing, a muscle works in his chiselled jaw, and then his head drops as if in dignified, melancholic prayer. These periods never last too long - not when he has a crew to lead.

There's no point in denying it anymore, at least not to yourself anyway. Your feelings for Cal go beyond comradeship; beyond friendship. And a hopeful notion has formed in your head that he might actually feel the same way about you.

It's both frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

A sudden heat blooms deep within your very core and rises in your cheeks as your mind conjures the image, no, the feeling of Cal's solid, toned body, pressed against yours in a feverish, impassioned embrace, your limbs entwined, fingers woven tightly through the flames of his red hair

Force, you want him.

You place a palm against the cool durasteel wall above your head that separates your room from the Jedi's. You wonder what he's thinking of on the other side of the thin sheet of metal.

****************************************

Cal Kestis can't sleep. Like most Jedi, he can't actually read the thoughts of others, but his connection to the Force allows him to feel the emotions and state of mind of those around him.

Over the past few months, the Jedi has noticed your feelings for him blossoming into something more than friendship, mirroring the growth of his own affections for you.

But tonight, Cal can sense that something in your emotional frequency has changed. Evolved. A clarity, a new and vigorous and glorious certainty in your desire for him radiates incandescent through the Force. It's like the smouldering embers of a fire have ignited into a ferocious blaze.

As the feeling permeates through the thin sheet-metal wall dividing you, the intensity of it, the heat of it, drives him crazy. He wants to rip through the flimsy partition separating you and give you everything you want from him and more. His whole body is aflame with almost painful arousal and he is aching to bring himself release.

Cal resists, teetering on the very edge of giving himself over to his desire. Is this voyeuristic? Is he trespassing? Crossing some unspoken line? Should he be trying to block you out? He doesn't know.

The Jedi hisses through his teeth in frustration. Reluctantly, he rolls out of bed and, sinking to his knees on the floor, surrenders himself to the Force in search of whatever temporary solace he can find in meditation.

Even as he does so, he knows that the only real relief he'll be able to get now is if he can find it with you.

***************************************

The crew of the Mantis are taking some time to rest after a run of particularly eventful jobs. You've landed on the quiet world of Brax at the edge of the Mid Rim. It's a beautiful, lush planet adorned with meadows of wildflowers, glassy lakes and sprawling coniferous forests.

Everyone is making the most of their down time.

Gabs and Bravo have gone off for a hike in the nearby woods.

BD-1 is having a well earned oil bath on the Mantis.

The twins are snoozing in the meadow amongst the flowers. When you'd crept past them earlier, you'd smiled fondly - the peaceful serenity on their faces was such an odd juxtaposition to their usual chaotic enthusiasm for life.

Having successfully sneaked past Lizz and Koob without waking them, you are now sitting atop a large slab of rock which juts up and out of the meadow. You alternate between admiring the view of the lake and cleaning your blaster.

It is a warm day, but a gentle cooling breeze keeps the heat at bay. A gust suddenly whips up the heady, sweet smell of wildflowers all around you. For some reason the scent triggers something inside you, your heart suddenly full to bursting with a strange concoction of melancholy and joy.

To think that all this beauty, all this Galaxy was just out here, waiting, your whole life. And if you'd never met Cal, you might still be crawling through filthy ventilation shafts smelling of metal and damp and darkness just to get by on Coruscant.

You are just about ready to reassemble your weapon when you look up from your task towards where the Jedi is meditating with his back to you. He's kneeling a few meters in front of you on the sandy shore by the still water. You always think it's strange how he chooses to sit on his knees, rather than cross-legged. It looks uncomfortable to you, but he seems to be able to sit like that for anywhere up to an hour. Maybe you'll ask him about it one day.

Cal is shirtless. Even from here, you can see the freckles littered like celestial constellations across his strong back and down his broad shoulders and muscled arms. You take the opportunity to admire the outlines and angles of his taut, athletic body.

You start as the Jedi begins to stand. You'd rather not get caught staring at him quite so openly and you quickly shift your gaze back to your blaster which is still in its various component parts.

Cal turns and advances towards you up the beach and onto the grassy meadow. You pretend not to have noticed him at all, but you keep catching glimpses of him in your peripheral vision. He walks a few paces, then stops and looks around as if he's searching for something on the ground. Then he crouches down. He does this several times.

What is he up to?

"Hey," Cal says casually as he finally wanders over to you.

He has to crane his neck to speak to you, perched as you are on top of your rock, and use a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He's hiding something behind his back you realise.

"Oh, hey," you reply, as if you're surprised to see him there.

He pulls his hand from behind his back and reaches up to you. In his grasp is a bunch of wildflowers, beautiful pastel blues and pinks and purples.

You exclaim softly in surprise, a rather giddy sound that makes Cal beam up at you. As you take the blooms from him, his fingertips, calloused and tough from years of wielding a weapon in combat, brush gently against your hand. Even that small touch feels like a spark of electricity arching between you.

"See you at dinner," he says, and he's clearly pleased with himself as he retreats towards the Mantis, head held high, a jaunt in his step.

As you twist in your seated position to watch him disappear into the ship, you realise you were so enchanted by the gesture that you forgot to say thank you.

That's the thing about Cal Kestis. He's completely disarming. He has a rare, effortless charisma and an easy, flirtatious way about him that is somehow both sweet and suave at the same time. Few men you've met have ever managed to render you so flustered.

You look down at the delicate blooms in your hand and bring them to your nose, inhaling their fresh scent. Smiling to yourself, you shake loose the functional way you usually wear your hair to keep it out of your face and retie it, carefully weaving the wildflowers that Cal has picked for you through your locks.

When you come in for dinner - Bravo's turn to cook - Cal is already sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up and inclines his head to the side as he takes you in, his eyes widening. You blush furiously to see the genuine pleasure at the sight of you and your decorated hair written so openly on his face.

Amid the usual convivial hubbub and chaos of dinner in the Mantis' kitchen, you and Cal steal glances at each other across the table.

**********************************************

That evening, the moon is low and yellow in Brax's dark sky, hanging like a ball of golden light above the lake. You have an hour or so before you all depart for a rendezvous with a contact on Naboo. It's the twins' turn to do pre-flight checks and you find yourself on the shores of the water, skimming stones with Cal to kill time.

Before joining the crew of the Mantis you'd never skimmed a stone in your life. Not many places to do that on Coruscant. But Gabs in particular is an ace at it and she's taught you well.

Cal spots a likely candidate for his next projectile and he brings it flying casually into his hand using his Jedi abilities.

"What does it feel like like?" You ask, suddenly.

Cal smiles at you, seemingly understanding that you are talking about the Force. He hesitates for a second, looking down at the stone in his open palm. Then he places it back on the ground in an obvious position, nestled in the sand a few feet in front of you, and moves round to stand behind you.

He's so close you can feel his heart beating against his chest. Instinctively, you lean back into him, enjoying the safe feeling that his nearness gives you, and the warmth of his body against yours in the chill night air.

"It's time for instruction," he says softly.

He's said that phrase before when he's showing anyone how to do something new. You've come to understand that it's a fond impression of his late Master's dignified voice - a touching habit you've always thought.

Tonight it sounds different. His tone is light and teasing, but the smirk you can hear as he speaks makes the words sound almost seductive in a way that causes something to flip then tighten in the pit of your abdomen.

"Hold out your hand."

You extend your right arm, holding your palm outwards as you've seen Cal do many times. He places his own palm against the back of your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours.

His other hand comes to rest at your waist, pulling you ever so slightly closer into him. He doesn't need to put it there and you both know it. Nor does he need to rest his chin on your left shoulder, so close to your cheek that his stubble almost tickles your skin.

Yet you can tell that you are both revelling in this rare, private opportunity for proximity between the two of you, and it is as thrilling as it is maddening.

"Focus. Breathe."

You realise you've been holding your breath. You feel Cal's chest rising and falling against your back and you match your own breathing in time with his. You can't help but notice it's at a slightly elevated pace.

"See the stone in your hand."

You nod and exhale, your eyes boring into the rock as if you really are going to levitate it yourself. You try and fail to stifle a sudden giggle at the ridiculousness of such an idea.

"Concentrate," Cal scolds quietly in your ear but you can hear the smile in his voice as the hand round your waist tightens its grip ever so slightly.

"I am," you mutter, but it's only half true.

You wonder if it's just your imagination, but in the seconds that follow, you think you can feel an deep, vibration flowing through Cal and passing through his body and into yours, binding your lifeforces together.

The rock flies so suddenly into your palm that you jump. You just about remember to close your fingers around the stone's cool, smooth surface as you shout out in surprise and delight. Cal lets out a good-natured laugh at your reaction and you glow as it rumbles through his whole body and yours.

You've just made up your mind to twist around in his arms kiss him when BD-1 comes running through the grass at great speed on his little legs, beeping and chirping urgently.

"Ok buddy, ok, we're coming," Cal says kindly to the little droid, but you can hear the exasperation at the untimely interruption in his voice.

*******************************************

Course set, the Mantis is travelling at lightspeed and, nestled safely in the cradle of the hyperlane, you will probably make it to Naboo in about six hours.

You suspect the rest of the crew are all sleeping soundly. The Mantis takes care of herself for the most part when travelling through hyperspace. With the life you lead, the importance of catching rest when you can cannot be underestimated.

You, however, cannot sleep. Thoughts of Cal and your interrupted moment by the lake race through your mind. The wildflowers he gave you are still in your hair and every so often you catch the ghost of their aroma, reminding you of your almost idyllic day on Brax.

You sigh and drag yourself out of bed, deciding to go and sit in the empty cockpit of the Mantis for a while and watch the stars race by as you hurtle through the hyperlane. Although it should really be frightening, you love to watch great swathes of the Galaxy disappear in a flash before your eyes as the Mantis catapults through space. It's a novel experience for you still - being off Coruscant, light speed travel, new worlds.

You wave your hand over the control and the door to your room hisses open. You jump to see a figure already standing there in the corridor. With a jolt of excitement, and with a strange feeling that you've summoned him somehow, you realise that it's Cal.

"Uh, hi.."

You don't let him get more than two words into his sentence. You grab him roughly by the front of his loose night shirt - which is slung low, revealing tufts of ginger hair on his chest and the elegant lines of his collarbone - and pull him into a deep kiss.

Not breaking away from your lips, and hardly hesitating, he picks you with almost alarming ease. You wrap your legs around his waist and curl your fingers in his red hair as he carries you back into your quarters. He places you up onto your workbench situated against the opposite wall as the door slides closed behind you.

"You look so pretty with those flowers in your hair," he mumbles into your neck you shiver with pleasure as his mouth brushes against your skin as he talks.

"Yes, it's a shame you're about to make such a mess of me," you whisper into his ear.

He pulls back to stare at you for a moment, green eyes wide as if dumbfounded by your forwardness. His delighted, slack-jawed expression forces a loud giggle from deep within you.

"Shhh," Cal warns emphatically, keenly aware of the proximity of the rest of the crew and how thin the walls of the Mantis are. He presses a kiss to your mouth in an attempt to silence your outburst, but you can feel his body shake with his own barely contained laughter as he grins against your lips.

Once your stifled mirth subsides, you hastily start to undress each other. You barely have time to appreciate the now naked, muscular form of the Jedi before you, when, in his enthusiasm to remove it, Cal accidentally rips your flimsy night dress away from your body. As it comes apart in his hands, the fabric makes a loud tearing sound, louder even perhaps than that of your previous bouts of laughter. You both freeze, as if anticipating someone will burst through the door and catch you in this compromising position, before dissolving into poorly restrained giggles again.

As he drinks in the sight of your body, Cal's expression changes into something primal. His brows knit together as if he is trying to understand how you could possibly be sitting in front of him like this. Then, his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare before he crashes his mouth back down on to yours into a deliciously rough kiss.

You don't move from your position on your workbench, and you coil your legs around Cal as tight as you can as he starts to move in you. The pace is urgent. You don't mind. There'll be opportunities for languid and gentle love-making in the future. Right now, this is a matter of need for both of you. The cord of tension that has been tightening between you for months finally snapping in a glorious, frenzied, explosion of mutual lust.

As his pace increases and his movements start to become uncoordinated, Cal moves a hand down between your bodies, splaying his palm against you, and settling the pad of his thumb between your legs at the very place you most need it to be.

At this, your hand which was tangled in his flaming hair flies down to join the other at his back and he growls as you claw your fingers in to his flesh between his shoulder blades.

You press your lips hard into his shoulder to muffle your cries as you approach your peak and then, suddenly, you are crashing over the edge and seeing stars. You gasp out his name, over and over, open mouthed and breathy against his ear.

This, combined with the sensation of your body in rapture, sends Cal hurtling towards his own oblivion. You cling to him while the great, strong muscles all over his body tense and release, and he lets out a long, shuddering groan into your neck that is almost a whimper.

The sight of him, the sound of him falling apart in front of you is beautiful.

Once you've both caught your breath, Cal lifts you gently off the table, and carries you to your tiny, single cot bed. You manage to position yourselves fairly comfortably in the snug space by lying on your sides. The Jedi has one arm laced underneath you with the other slung over your waist, hand resting on your stomach and holding you close to his warm chest.

As you are lulled almost into a doze by the sound and feel of his slow and steady heartbeat, you take in the rather sorry sight of the flowers which once bejewelled your hair, now scattered in ruin across the functional durasteel floor.

"I told you those flowers wouldn't last," you muse drowsily.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Cal removes his hand from your waist and reaches out his arm, palm splayed open. A blue bell flower, stem and petals astonishingly still intact- a brave survivor of the onslaught of urgent hands through your hair - floats lazily up from the floor and towards you on the bed.

Cal plucks it out of the air and gently weaves the bloom into your locks just above your ear. Then, he kisses you gently on the cheek and then on your shoulder, his beard tickling your skin, before sinking back down on to his side and resuming his previous position curled comfortingly around you.

For some reason, despite the eroticism of what you've just done together, this sweet gesture makes you flush disproportionately and you feel your cheeks turning pink.

You're starting to realise, perhaps hope, that the heady feeling of being slightly flustered in Cal Kestis' proximity might never go away.

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis fanfiction #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x female reader

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idkfitememate · 1 month

Text

So anyway this is the newfound brain rot because I got to many ideas, not enough for a fic, but it’s gonna distract me from others so here we go lol-

(Also yeah Grandpa I’m in a manly mood)

Note from weeks later: Nah this bitch a fix tf-

“Tell me about my Дедушка*.”

Capitano looked down at the ginger with contempt. It was often now, since Dottore had let it slip - curse that bastard - that Tartaglia’s Grandfather was a Harbinger. Apparently the boy had been raised to think that great man was simply a lowly solider, not one of the most powerful men in Snezhnaya.

When he heard that, Capitano had never wanted to kill a family more.

They hid your legacy from their kids, how dare they keep living as thought they had any right!?-

He sighed.

The boy continued to bother the much larger man at any chance he got, borderline begging - or now was he? Maybe he crossed that line ages ago - the man to tell him anything about his grandfather.

War stories, tall tales, hell even DRINKING stories, the 11th would take any.

It wasn’t like his Grandfather wasn’t alive, Childe could leave the palace right now and go ask you, seeing as you lived with his family.

But what Childe wanted was to come home one day in a boisterous manner and shout at his parents:

“You LIED you FEINDS!!! How DARE YOU LIE to not only ME but the REST OF YOUR CHILDREN about their ГРАНДФАТЕР?!? And to YOU, ГРАНДФАТЕР, ALLOWED THEM TO LIE!!! How COULD YOU?!?”

But he held to much respect for both them and you, even if his father sent him off as thought sending his blood thirsty son to join the Fatui would do anything. It was like sending a polar bear to a penguins nest, he had no clue what his father was thinking.

No matter, because you were there, showing him moves and teaching him tricks and giving him tips. Though, he still felt a bit betrayed at the fact that you even hid the fact that you were one of the strongest men in Snezhnaya.

“You truly wish to know boy?” The sharp voice of his superior snapped Childe out of his head. A quick nod was enough to bring Capitano to a nearby chair and sit, Childe quickly following.

“He was brave, I can say that much… He was around before me and had made a name for himself long before I even dared touch the Fatui, let alone graced its ranks.”

Childe took in the information like a sponge, absorbing everything the man said.

“They called him Большой хищник Севера*, a powerful title I’m sure you can see. It is said that before his accident, he had not lost a single man in war or battle, but after, he only lost seven men, one of each nation.”

Childe looked on in wonder. Only seven men… in the entirety of his Harbinger career? He knew the Doctor could never account for that.

“Wait… his accident? Do you mean..?” “Yes, when he first received that scar across his face, marring it, that was the first time he lost a man, someone near and dear to him as I’ve heard. I was only then truly climbing the ranks when this happened… a pity. But he wore that scar, and his friend’s Vision, with pride.” Childe gaped.

“Wait, you mean to tell me that-“ “Yes, Tartaglia, that Vision he carries in his eye, as well as arm and ear, back and finger, even his heart, they all work. They are the last pieces of his closest comrades. He’d rather die than give them up, I’ve heard. Unfortunately the strain of using them forced him into retirement, but he comes when we call.”

Childe’s eyes widened as he screamed.

“WAIT THEY WORK?!?-“

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-“

Ajax looked on in awe at his Дедушка. The nearly ten foot tall giant of a man, with a full beard and furry body hair to boot had just pulled a huge fish out from beneath the ice sheet they currently stood on while ice-fishing, bare handed.

Your roaring laughter echoed through the tundra as you held the fish up proudly. You grabbed the then four year old and hoisted him onto your shoulder, that which he could fully sit on and still have some room. His hands latched onto the side of your face but that didn’t seem to phase you, as you continued your loud laughter. The cause of your laughter, being that the fish was the same size as Ajax.

“LOOK AT HOW LARGE IT IS, МАЛЕНЬКИЙ ОДИН*!! SHE IS THE SAME SIZE AS YOU BWAHAHAHAHA!!”

Ajax’s entire body shook as you continued to laugh, giggles beginning to bubble up from his own mouth.

He watched as your Hydro themed earring bounced around as your body gyrated up and down from the mere force of your laughter. His laughter grew until the two of you were basically screaming out through the tundra.

You sighed and - while still chuckling - wrapped an arm around the boys waist and began walking back home. Of course, not before grabbing the bucket filled with other fish from your fishing trip.

Ajax didn’t want to say anything, on account of the fact that it would’ve been disrespectful of course, but your arm that was wrapped around him was bumpy and hard and cold, not unlike a certain place on your chest, though it was just super cold.

The arm was usually covered in more layers or a bunch or bandages wrapped around it to soften its shape and surface, but Ajax could still feel the sharp points and edges, though he never minded.

Eventually you both made it back to the house you shared with his family, and ducking under the doorframe quickly alerted the family of your presents.

“ГРАНДФАТЕР!!!!” Ajax’s two younger siblings - a third was on his way, Teucer would be his name - ran up to you jumping at your feet. You chuckled more and let their heads, greeting each.

“Tonia, Anthon, calm yourselves!! We were only gone a few hours hah hah!!” The two only cried out in joy louder, wrapping themselves around your legs. You stumbled for a moment before walking forward as if they weren’t there.

A man and a woman watched as you walked into the kitchen and subsequently the freezer - ironic considering where you lived - to drop off the fish before waltzing into the living room. You plopped down in the couch, first removing Ajax’s coat and then your own.

The two on your legs let go and smiled up at you, the man and woman - Ajax’s mom and dad - walked over a gave you smile, a hand landing on your shoulder.

Your smile widened.

Archons you fucking loved your family.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Archons you fucking hated these enemies.

These fuckers from Natlan were resistant little fuckers. You chop off a hand and they’d still keep fighting.

You were growing annoyed after hours of fighting, blood drenching your uniform and absolutely caking your hair, something you knew would be a bitch to get out from experience.

Your right hand of the time, a Natlander by the name of Eztil, was beside you through the whole fight. He wielded large war hammer made of various precious metals and stones, as well as prettified wood; it swung through the skies, heating up the air as his Pyro vision burned bright. Much like you, his battle-hungry smile was long gone, replaced by annoyance as he squished another enemy beneath his hammer, blood spraying across his already bloody face.

“UGH! I’m getting bored nouehuepo*!! When are we going to be finished?? I am growing hungry and wish to challenge you to another eating contest after this!!” He shouted, completely ignoring the man running at him with a knife, whom was taken down by another Fatui member.

“I do not know приятель*. But let us continue until no other man stands but us!” And with that, you both continued swinging. You with your fists, sickles and hammers, him with his war hammer and bursts of flame.

Your movements were in sync, almost like a dance as you ravaged the battle field. You had each others back, making you both the most dangerous force on the battlefield.

If only it could’ve stayed that way.

It was a second. A second to look back at your friend to make a mental check.

Then you felt a searing sensation on the side of your face not looking at him. Eyes quickly looking back, a knife was embedded in your skin and a man had his foot on your chest. He smirked, then dragged the burning hot knife up, towards your eye, but before you could fully react.

Everything went white in that eye, then black.

Then, the most searing, burning, awful sensation you had ever felt.

Your scream silenced the battlefield as you bat the man away with the knife still embedded in your flesh, his body skipping across the land like a stone on a lake. Eztil’s eyes landed on you, which was just enough time for another attack.

“EZTIL!!!” You screamed.

…

A sword embedded itself through his chest. Both your eyes widened as your hand left the knife in your eye, reaching out to your now falling comrade.

You refused to cry, because he’d live.

That’s what you said to yourself as you rushed over to him, not minding your injury.

“Eztil, don’t you DARE fucking close your eyes, do you understand me?!?” Blood bubbles from his lips as his breathing slowed. A tear slipped from his eye as one of his hands pressed against your cheek.

“Nouehuepo… take it.” He whispered. Your gaze became confused as you stared at the dying man.

“What..?-“ “My vision. Take it. She shall be of service to… y-you.” He let out a harsh cough, his blood not staining your skin, making you flinch.

“No. It is yours приятель, I could never-“ “It is my last wish. Y-you wouldn’t deny a d-dying man his last wi-sh, would you?” You sighed, smiling at him.

“I don’t want you to die of enemy hands, so would you allow me to do the honors?” His grin widened, a glint in his eyes as he laughed, which quickly turned to hacking up his lungs.

“O-of co-urse!!” He smiled, and you smiled as well. Your hand flew up to the knife in your eye, and tore it out, not caring for the fountain of blood that squelched out. You also didn’t mind the large flap of skin that fell from your cheek, revealing the musculature of your face and your gums and teeth.

“Goodbye, my friend. May you find many fights in the afterlife to satisfy your bloodlust.” He grabbed your hand with the widest smile you’d ever seen in him.

“And ma-y I see you I-in that place!” Your hand came down onto his head, knife imbedding itself into his skull. Then, you raised your arm and planted the knife tainted with you and his blood now into his chest, striking his heart head on.

The light died from his eyes and his vision, but you quickly picked up the small red jewel which had been attached to his hair. Wiping it off, you leaned back and held your hand forward, before slamming the damned thing into your eye.

The battlefield suddenly felt as though it was atop a volcano itself, the air heating up and ash seemingly falling from the sky. You gripped your friend’s weapon, testing it in your hand and grip, swinging it slightly. Your hands pressed to your waist and your hand tilted to the sky, and finally, you laughed.

Your laughter shook the world, men falling in their asses as you showcased your joy. the air grew even hotter as the vision grew even brighter. Your entire body shook as the ear hammer in your hand heated up to a point where the metals were turning white in heat, though they didn’t melt.

You turned to your men, a wide smile on your face and tears, one trail of water and one of blood, streamed from your eyes.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR MEN?!? LET US FIGHT UNTIL ONLY WE REMAIN!! CHARRGGEEE!!!!”

You continued to laugh as you knocked down tens of hundreds of soldiers in one swipe, the sky nearly turning red at the mere sight of your bloodlust and rage.

That night would go down in history. The night the sky cried blood, the fall of a nation of soldiers, the day Natlan would forever regret.

‘The Night Man became a God”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You stared at the bloodied Tartaglia- no. You stared at your grandson, Ajax’s bloodied form.

He only looked back at you.

“Well, Дедушка? Have I become a God?”

Holy shit this sucked the shit outta me-

This ain’t the best but I hope you enjoyed might go back and make another of these lmao-

Дедушка - Grandfather

ГРАНДФАТЕР - GRANDFATHER

Большой хищник Севера - The Great Predator of the North

МАЛЕНЬКИЙ ОДИН - LITTLE ONE

nouehuepo - my friend

приятель - buddy

#male reader #x male reader #Genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #male y/n #platonic #family #Childe!Grandpa!Reader #genshin impact x male reader

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thepixelelf · 9 months

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Oh Baby, You Part 23 - All it Takes is a Smile

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It's not a new thing he's learned today— that Wonwoo hates being home alone.

Still, it settles in again as he ambles aimlessly around the apartment. A half-empty coffee cup sits in his hand, long gone cold by now. Although it's a Saturday, Junhui is at the lab, and Minghao is in his studio, working on a new, large scale piece.

Wonwoo sighs as he submits another letter of intent. His intent is to get his sorry ass out of this slump he's in, but that's not what any potential employers need to know.

He hears the crying before someone knocks frantically at the door.

On any other day like this one, Wonwoo might let his shoulders slump, slowly rise from his worn down gaming chair, and go grab the food he ordered online — after assuring the delivery person has already left so he doesn’t have to interact with any humans who might find him pitiful. But he hasn’t ordered anything today, and the crying…

That little boy?

Wonwoo finds himself up on his feet and opening the front door before he really understands what’s going on.

Your son, face scrunched up and one hand curled in a fist in front of his eyes, sobs at the volume of a small jet engine. His other hand is attached to a larger one, and Wonwoo’s eyes follow the joined arms up to the face of a man he vaguely recognizes. He’s not you — that’s what Wonwoo’s brain registers first, as unhelpful as that is.

Next, he sees the cloth clutched in the man’s other hand, and how it’s slowly soaking through with red.

“Hey,” the guy says breathlessly, a smile on his face for reasons Wonwoo can’t possibly comprehend. “Thank god you were in there— I think I need stitches.” He raises his hand with the cloth. The boy is still crying. “Can you drive? And watch the little guy?”

Wonwoo doesn’t think. He just nods.

There’s a booster seat in the guy’s — Chan, he introduced himself as — car, which is an automatic, to Wonwoo’s temporary relief. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t drive to the hospital. The bloody cloth in Chan’s hand is starting to freak him out. Not more than how relaxed Chan seems in the backseat, though.

He’s spent most of the ride just calming the crying boy down, who doesn’t seem to be hurt himself, just worried for this Chan character.

“Who… are you?” Wonwoo asks, then corrects himself. “I mean, how do you know— I mean, are you their…?”

Don’t say boyfriend. God, please don’t say boyfriend.

Chan’s eyes meet Wonwoo’s in the rear view mirror while he internally chides himself for still caring,

“I’m their friend,” he says. “Are you?”

The question stumps Wonwoo.

Is he your friend? He doesn’t think so. Not now, surely.

Why does Chan want to know? He must have seen Wonwoo’s great escape from the boy’s birthday party. How much have you told him about your shared past?

Why is Chan looking at Wonwoo so intently?

“I used to be,” is the answer he settles on. It sounds about right, as much as it hurts to say.

Chan tilts his head. “What happened?”

Frowning, Wonwoo glances at your son, who’s currently distracted by a squishy foam ball. Still, is this guy really asking that question in front of your kid?

“I moved.”

“Why?”

“I got into a university program in Mongolia.”

Chan hums, nodding. “So you left.”

“You don’t—” Wonwoo bites back a growl, breathes out, and speaks through gritted teeth. “You don’t know me.”

The last few minutes of the drive are silent, save for the child’s occasional babbling.

When they get to the hospital, the boy tries to follow Chan into the examination room, but Chan practically drops him on Wonwoo’s lap. “Stay with Uncle Wonwoo, okay Orion? The doctor is going to fix me right up and I’ll be back suuuuper soon.”

Uncle Wonwoo.

He knows Chan must’ve said that to placate the child, but Wonwoo wonders if Chan knows how those two words twist something deep in his gut.

If he had stayed, all those short years ago, would he be something else to this boy?

A dad?

Wonwoo wraps his arms securely around Orion, who’s starting to sniffle again at the sight of Chan walking away. He bounces his leg. Babies like that, right? It’s not just his nerves.

Once Chan finally disappears around a corner, Orion twists and looks up at Wonwoo, studying his face for the first time.

“Ah,” he says. “Bad guy.”

Wonwoo blinks down at the boy. “Bad… guy?” He points at himself. “Me?”

Orion nods, the movement exaggerated and slow. “You. Mama cry.”

The words take a moment to reach Wonwoo’s brain. Mostly because he can’t believe them. You’re the one who…

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says anyway. It’s not on the child to deal with your and Wonwoo’s adult problems. Better that he doesn’t know. Better that he never see Wonwoo again, in all honesty. He doesn’t need to know what his parent did to hurt Wonwoo. That he is a product of that hurt.

Orion climbs up and plants his tiny feet on Wonwoo’s legs, then puts one hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder and the other on his head. Softly, he pats Wonwoo’s hair. “Don’t cry,” he says, and only then does Wonwoo realise he must’ve been letting his emotions shine through. Orion balances on Wonwoo’s lap, both hands moving to stretch wide at his sides, like he’s the sun itself. He beams. “We happy!”

Something warms in Wonwoo at the young boy's kindness towards a "bad guy", but then Orion begins to lean backward.

Instinctively, Wonwoo scrambles to wrap both arms around the boy again, lest he fall. In that moment, he sees it.

Your eyes.

But, not your smile.

It’s familiar, but not yours.

No.

Mingyu’s.

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oby tagging 1, 50/50: @shiningstar-byulxx @shuabby-woowoo @90s-belladonna @xavi-in-kpopland @kachren @xmessaroundx @chwevernonlover @kwanisms @dalamjisung @1ntaktak @imhereforfunstuff @crazywittysassy @butterfliesinthenightsky @ddaengpotate @dorrysstuff @ckline35 @vanishingboots @potatofrieswithketchup @minhwa @oncecaratorbit @sugacookees @royal9 @doodlelibrary @myjaeyunn @yksthings @jundundun @amosmortese @jaeskz @seungmintree @woozarts @my-chaos-in-stars @yoonychoik @ksywoo @kellesvt @candidupped @sharkipoonis @wooahaeproductions @capsiclesworld @hellodefthings @sunshineshouchan @calumsfringe @caratinluv @pinkysinnerbaby @winterwallacehenderson @jvhoons @woo8hao @sxftiell @wondering-out-loud

#seventeen smau #seventeen social media au #svt smau #svt social media au #wonwoo smau #wonwoo social media au #jeon wonwoo smau #jeon wonwoo social media au #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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medlarmeadows · 1 month

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Life’s too short not to rizz up the beautiful stranger in the club

Charlie Slimecicle x fem!reader

Synopsis: Charlie rizzes you up in a club (respectfully).

Warning(s): drinking alcoholic beverages, clubbing (no grinding! Leave space for Jesus, kids), swearing.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Just a little fic inspired by Charlie’s new clubbing arc (he posted going to the club once). Also, I’ve only ever been to the club once and have never interacted with anybody outside my group of friends there so if this is super inaccurate, I am sorry.

masterlist here!

The bass boosted music shook the room as Charlie danced amongst his friends. Sweaty bodies pressed against each other; drinks were passed around. The club seemed to be mostly filled with jovial college students who had just finished their final exams for the semester, giving rise to an even more chaotic atmosphere than normal.

The swivelling and ever-changing coloured lights barely lit the club up, and yet he saw you so clearly. He swore you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He struggled to tear his gaze from you so as to not stare for too long, especially when he almost locked eyes with you.

But goddamn, you were gorgeous.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw you leave the dance floor and head towards the bar, presumably to get a drink. All it took was a few encouraging words (and well-meaning teases) for him to muster up the courage to approach you.

“Hey.”

You turned your gaze towards Charlie, and his breath caught in his lungs.

“Hey,” you replied.

Charlie felt heat rise up to his cheeks, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just from the heat of the club.

“I, uhm,” damnit Charlie you can do this “You’re really beautiful, and I was wondering if I could buy you a drink if that’s okay? I’m Charlie, by the way.”

Your lips parted, almost as if you were surprised, before it turned into a coy smile.

“I’m Y/N, and you’re really beautiful too.”

Error 404 not found in Charlie’s brain.

Charlie stuttered for a moment, messing with his already messed up hair to take a moment to recalibrate. In that moment, he summoned every past experience he had flirting with his friends during DnD sessions.

“So,” he tilted his head at you. “What drink would the pretty lady like?”

Pink spread across your cheeks, and he would have mistaken it as a trick of the light if you hadn’t stuttered out:

“Whiskey, uhm, whiskey coke would be great.”

Charlie shot you a smirk before turning to the bartender to place your orders. The two of you stood in relative silence, bar the club music, as the drinks were prepared. Once the drinks were served, you immediately took a sip.

“God, I needed some of that liquid courage,” you admitted, cheeks still pink.

“So do I,” Charlie said, taking a sip of his. “God, do you know how much courage it took for me to approach someone as beautiful as you.”

“What?”

Your cheeks seemed to get even redder, and you took a larger sip from your drink.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at you.

“What, you don’t believe me? Look at you, at your outfit – ”

“I believe you about that, I know I’m gorgeous,” you joked, twirling a piece of your hair in your fingers. “I meant about the courage part.”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t tell based on how I was tripping over my words trying to offer you a drink.”

For some reason, that cracked you up, causing you to throw your head back as your laughed. In that moment, you didn’t seem to care how you looked in front of Charlie, and in that moment, he thought you were the most beautiful human alive.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. “I think – I think it’s hard for me to see that you’re nervous when I was internally battling my own nerves.”

At that, Charlie’s jaw dropped.

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“No,” he exaggerated.

You snorted.

“Do you know how long I had been working up the courage to come talk to you? I literally left the dance floor to get a drink in order to hype myself up to approach you. You just beat me to the punch.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, have you seen yourself?” Your eyes unashamedly checked him out as you gestured at his clothes. “You’re gorgeous. If I wasn’t so down bad for you, I would be jealous of your fit.”

Charlie hid his burning cheeks behind another sip of his drink.

“Now, what gentleman would I be if I let the lovely lady dish out all the compliments? We could trade all night long, or – ” He extended a hand towards you. “You could join me on the dance floor.”

You took a second to consider him, before you knocked back the remainder of your drink.

“I just met you, but fuck it, let’s go.”

You put your hand in his. A spark of mischief lit up Charlie’s eyes as he intertwined your fingers together, chuckling when your expression turned flustered.

“But none of that grinding shit, alright?” you said. “We’re technically still strangers.”

“Of course, my lady,” Charlie said, a spark in his eyes. “We’ll be super classy and refined.”

The two of you ended up on the dance floor busting your asses like no one else. Classy was the random macarena dance break, and refined was the failed ballroom dip Charlie attempted that almost caused you to fall onto the dirty club floor.

When you had been with your friends (who had teased your obvious immediate crush on Charlie), psyching yourself to talk to him, you didn’t think you would end up laughing your way through the night.

Of course, that didn’t stop the butterflies. The initial adrenaline from the alcohol faded eventually, and every brief contact with Charlie sent butterflies to your stomach.

You don’t know how he didn’t sense your obvious fluster when you so acutely felt your cheeks aflame. You don’t know how he didn’t realise how infatuated you were with him when he briefly held you close to his chest and you swore your heart was thumping louder than the music.

You spent the rest of the night dancing with Charlie, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling and laughing. At some point, your friends came over to bid you goodbye, insisting that you text them when you reached home and threatening Charlie with his life if they didn’t hear back from you. Subsequently, Charlie’s friends also left, and before you knew it, the club was closing.

“That was so much fun,” Charlie said, his breathing slightly laboured from the strenuous Rasputin routine he had done.

You were also panting, but from being doubled over laughing at him.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wiping away a tear that had escaped your eye, no doubt smudging your eyeliner. “I can’t believe the night is over, I really enjoyed dancing with you.”

You catch a glimpse of something in Charlie’s eye, before one of his hands barely cupped your jaw.

“May I?” he asked, the other hand reaching towards your eye, no doubt to correct your eyeliner.

Your breath caught in your lungs, brain stuttering at the closeness and intimacy of the gesture.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

His thumb brushed under your eye gently, smoothing over your skin and hopefully wiping away any smudge you had caused. You felt your cheeks warm with nervousness you hadn’t felt since Charlie approached you at the bar, and you bit your lip to try to hide it.

Charlie’s eyes darted to your lips, lingering for a second before he backed away quickly.

“Sorry,” he apologised, and you immediately missed the sensation of his hands on your face. “I hope I wasn’t crossing any boundaries – ”

“You weren’t,” you reply too fast, almost choking over your words.

Clearing your throat, you tried again, but Charlie beat you to it:

“I really enjoyed tonight with you.” He messed with his hair for the hundredth time. “And I was hoping if I could see you again?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, mind travelling a million miles an hour as you considered the fact that Charlie – handsome, beautiful, funny, Charlie – wanted to see you again after tonight. And all your mouth could produce was:

“Sure.”

Immediately, his eyes lit up.

“Could I have your number?” he asked, fumbling with his pockets for his phone.

“Yea – yeah, sure,” you repeated yourself, cringing inwardly.

He passed you his phone, and you shakily type in your number. After passing it back to him, Charlie typed a few things. Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

unknown, 5.38am: it’s me, Charlie :)

Grinning, you sent back a reply:

y/n, 5.39am: hey there, stranger

Charlie snorted, before pocketing his phone.

“I’m not kidding, by the way,” his gaze turned sincere, one hand reaching to hold yours when you let him. “Tonight was so much fun, and I really like you. I mean that beyond your amazing beauty – and you are so, so gorgeous – ” You flushed again. “ – and your questionable ability to do a floss – ” You smacked his shoulder with your free hand. “ – you’re an amazing person, and I would love to get to know you for real.”

You took a moment to collect yourself, barely holding yourself together as you gazed into Charlie’s soft, sincere eyes.

“I would love to get to know you for real, too,” you replied. Calling back to an earlier action of his, you took initiative to intertwine your hands together.

In a sudden rush of boldness, you stood on your toes and delivered a quick peck to Charlie’s cheek. When you withdrew, you were pleased to see you had managed to fluster the man as much as you were currently feeling.

“Okay, okay,” he stuttered, before taking in a deep breath to compose himself as you giggled. “I, uhm, I guess I’ll see you another time?”

“Of course, just drop me a text, stranger."

When you finally made it back to your flat, the sun was just barely starting to rise. You let your friends know you were back home safely before dropping Charlie a text:

y/n, 6.35am: heyy, I made it back alive :)

charlie, 6.36am: so did I! have a good rest :)

y/n, 6.36am: you too :D

charlie, 3.15pm: are you free Saturday for coffee? my treat

y/n, 3.16pm: only if you let me buy you ice cream after

Charlie, 3.17pm: sounds like a plan, stranger ;)

#medlar writes #charlie slimecicle #charlie slimecicle x reader #cc!charlie slimecicle #cc!charlie slimecicle x reader #q!charlie slimecicle #q!charlie slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle fluff #charlie slimecicle imagines

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heyitsspiders · 2 months

Text

Bitten Apple ~ AdamsApple Fic - CHAPTER 2

Adam wakes up and is pissed at the world (as always) plus with a bit of Adam having a mental breakdown

Ao3 Link

a/n: yippee another chapter, this one delves more into adam's trauma so if that sort of thing isnt your jam, then this chapter isnt for you

First Morning

Adam woke up the next morning to an annoying ass knocking on the door. He tried to cover his head with the satin pillows but his new ears made every noise ten times louder. Groaning, he got up and made his way across the room he had destroyed the night previous. It was his way of asserting dominance.

He opened the door to find Lucifer, mid knock and looking very peeved – which wasn’t fair when he was the one annoying Adam. “Finally, thought you’d up and died a third time,” Lucifer cocked a hand on his hip and raised a brow, leaning to see past the larger demon.

“I thought you were a little too old for throwing tantrums?” Lucifer asked, eyes scanning the wreckage before flicking back up to Adam and then his room again.

“It wasn’t a tantrum, asshole,” Adam growled. How fucking dare Lucifer talk to him like that.

“Uhuh, okay, well,” Lucifer stood up straight again, “it’s time for breakfast.”

“And?” Adam crossed his arms.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his non-existent nose, “And that means you are to come to the dining hall and eat breakfast with me.”

Adam laughed, “Okay gay ass, why the fuck would I go eat with you like some queer?”

“Hm,” Lucifer hummed, “seems like someone forgot what they signed.” Lucifer flicked his wrist as that damned gold piece of paper appeared once more.

He pointed to it, “per our deal, you are to do as I ask and I am asking you to get your sorry ass down stairs and into the dining room.”

Adam rolled his eyes, “are you so lonely you need to make deals with people just so you don’t eat alone?”

Lucifer maintained his composure aside from his eye twitching, Adam was getting somewhere, “my actions don’t need to be explained to filth like you.”

“Sounds like I’m right,” Adam smirked.

“Sounds like you better go get cleaned up and get to breakfast before a suitable punishment is enacted,” Lucifer’s eyes bore into Adam.

“A punishment? Really?” Adam laughed, “oh please, I’m not a fucking child.”

“You sure? Because your actions seem very childish to me.”

“Childish?” Adam clenched his fists, “how am I acting childish? Why, because I don’t want to be your little bitch?”

“I’m not some chick for you to order around,” Adam spat.

“Oh but you are,” Lucifer purred. A golden chain suddenly materialized around Adam’s neck and in Lucifer's hand. Lucifer yanked down on the linked chain, forcing Adam down on one knee and by proxy at Lucifer’s eye level. “You are at my mercy and you will listen.”

Adam’s lip curled, showing off his now much sharper teeth as his brows knitted. The golden collar burned against his skin and he resisted trying to claw it off, instead opting to try and pull away. How fucking dare Lucifer talk to him like that. The anger he had for this cunt was immeasurable and what was worse is that he couldn’t even do anything about it.

Lucifer let go of the chain, causing Adam to fall backwards, “Be down in 10 and look presentable.” And with that, he was gone once more.

Adam rubbed the back of his head as it ached dully from the impact. He stood up, mumbling to himself ‘fucking bitch,’ and ‘what is his fucking deal?’ He decided he would not only stay how he was – he was always presentable and Lucifer could kiss his ass – but he would also show up late. Lucifer may own him but Adam could still be in control.

This however did not work out in Adam’s favor as when he finally showed up to the dining hall – which was nearly fucking impossible to find – he was dragged across the floor by the stupid fucking chain.

“I thought I told you to be down here 5 minutes ago,” Lucifer snapped, yanking the chain with harsher and harsher pulls.

“Fuck – ow –” Adam tried to use his hands to push himself back but only skinned his hands in the process. “I got fucking lost – ow – fucking – shit – stop!” Adam yelped.

Lucifer stopped tugging on the chain as he sat in thought. He gave one more violent yank, “I suppose that’s fair, I meant to show you around but you gave me trouble. However, that does not explain why you still look like shit.”

“I do not look like shit! I look cool as Hell!” Adam protested, now on his bruised knees.

Lucifer just rolled his eyes in response and dropped the chain as it disappeared, like it was never there. Adam rubbed his neck as he pushed himself back up.

“Would you stop fucking shoving me on the ground?” Adam complained, subconsciously holding his palm to soothe the stinging flesh.

Lucifer let out a tsk, “maybe if you stop misbehaving I wouldn’t have to.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to a chair next to him, “sit.”

Adam stiffened at the command. Lucifer was commanding him like he was a fucking dog. He was the first man! Not some wild animal – no matter how he looked. Lucifer looked bored but Adam could see the hidden amusement in his eyes, he was fucking enjoying ordering Adam around like he was nothing but a mere plaything for him to move around.

Apparently, Adam was taking too long as Lucifer roughly sighed and pulled on the reappearing chain, yanking him forward onto his hands and knees. The carpet dug into Adam’s palms.

“I don’t think I stuttered, pet. Sit. In. The. Chair.” Each word was punctuated by a harsh tug. “You’re lucky I’m being nice and not making you eat out of a food bowl, or straight up starving you.”

Lucifer tugged the chain down, making Adam slam his face into the soft yet painful carpet, “but that doesn’t mean that won’t happen if you don’t start acting right.”

He finally released the fucking chain, allowing Adam to recover from his thirtyeth time getting dragged today. Adam suppressed a growl as he made his way to the stupid chair Lucifer wanted him to sit in, which was within arms reach of the man. He sat down on the plush red cushion that was the seat of the chair, readjusting as he accidentally sat on his new tail – he still wasn’t used to it yet. It was comfortable but that didn’t make Adam any less pissed.

Adam looked down at the plate in front of him, it was some fancy shit he couldn’t quite name but he couldn’t lie – it looked good. Lucifer looked so pleased with himself as he looked over Adam with a grin. Adam wanted nothing more but to wipe that stupid smile off his face and beat him into the ground. But, he couldn’t and that fucking stung. Adam was supposed to be powerful, worshiped, loved, praised – but now he was getting beaten senseless and insulted left and right. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t even supposed to fucking be here, he was supposed to be up in Heaven celebrating another successful extermination with his girls.

Adam didn’t realize how hard he had been clenching his fists until blood drew from his sharp ass claws digging into his already stinging palms. Great, just another-

His heart sank. No– Surely it was a trick of the light– right?

He lifted his bloody hand to his face to get a better look at his hand. He wasn’t mistaken. Red blood ran down his palm and onto his wrist. Red. Images of sinners that had fallen to his hands flashed in his mind. Red, red, red, red redredredred–

Red blood. Sinners. He…

He was really a sinner.

He sucked in a sharp breath and held it. He was not about to break down – especially in front of the bitch that caused it. From the corner of his eyes he could see Lucifer, distantly remarking how he looked less smug and more confused at Adam’s sudden change in tone. Adam quickly held his bleeding palm to keep any more blood from spilling, his vision clouded. He couldn’t even think over the dull yet loud buzz that filled his mind.

Adam grit his teeth and pushed his chair backwards, using his hands to push against the table which caused it to shutter and the silverware and plates clicking from the sudden jostle. He stood up with a swift motion and stomped off.

“Where are you-”

“To my room, asshole!” Adam roared, slamming the dining room door behind him.

Lucifer stared at the closed door. Adam had slammed it hard enough that some photos on the wall faintly swung. He debated going after the man-child and teaching him another lesson about listening but was swayed to leave him be when a droplet of red caught his eyes. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up to examine further.

Ah. Adam’s little outburst suddenly made sense as Lucifer peered at what he suspected to be Adam’s blood. A dark crimson – a stark contrast from the brilliant gold that signified angels.

Lucifer chuckled to himself, “so much for being down here by accident.” He snapped his fingers and the blood was gone, it’s not sanitary to leave it hanging around, even more so in a place you eat.

Lucifer hummed to himself and looked at Adam’s untouched plate. Their first meal together definitely did not go how Lucifer had wanted it to and Lucifer guessed any further attempts today would not work. He sighed. Why was Adam being so difficult? Couldn’t he see there was no point?

He sat back in his chair and continued to eat. He couldn’t help as his mind wandered in the quiet room, thoughts of Adam filled his mind. Their days back in Eden, before everything went to shit, were so nice. Sun filled days, laying in the grass and listening to Adam talk about all the new discoveries he had made. The days before Lilith had been made when it was just the two of them. He was full of so much wonder and curiosity, everything was new to him and he was so excited to learn.

Lucifer blinked, dropping the fork he had been moving in mindless circles. Wow, he had not thought about Eden in a long time, especially about Adam. He shook his head, he couldn’t be thinking of Adam in such a light – the man had hurt his daughter and no amount of reminiscing could change that. Anger seeped back in, Lucifer was going to make Adam pay for everything he had done, one insult and chain pull at a time.

He looked down at his food frowning as his appetite was suddenly gone. Oh well, Lucifer waved a hand and it was gone. He stood up, grabbed his apple-topped cane that had been leaning against the table and pushed in his chair, his eyes catching on the untouched plate. He mulled over his options – he could send it up to Adam so he can eat but that would be rewarding bad behavior, which Lucifer didn’t want. Lucifer shrugged and waved it gone as well, if the first man got hungry he’d just have to come down during lunch or dinner, wasn’t his problem. A small smile fitted across his lips as he thought about how well he had Adam under his control – oh how the mighty have fallen.

Lucifer checked his nonexistent watch, he should really head over to Charlie’s hotel – he had agreed to help out more and with his sudden disappearance yesterday there were sure to be questions. He sighed, fixing his tophat and collar before snapping his fingers, disappearing from the already empty room.

He popped into the hotel, which was fairly busy after their recent victory against the angels. Lucifer wasn’t sure if people were coming to actually be redeemed or if they saw the hotel’s strength and were staying for protection – either way people were coming and staying and it made Charlie happy so Lucifer didn’t think about it too hard. He looked around, his red eyes scanning the room for his darling Char-Char. Finally, his eyes landed on the familiar red suit and blonde hair of his daughter. She was currently talking to her girlfriend – Maggie? – a smile adorned her lips as she spoke passionately and excitedly. Pride and love swelled in Lucifer’s chest, he was so proud of his daughter he could barely contain himself from running over there and giving her a bone-crushing hug.

In fact, he couldn’t contain himself at all considering that is exactly what he did. “Charlie!” Lucifer greeted with a wide smile, wrapping his arms around his much taller daughter and squeezing her close to him. “Oh I missed you so much!”

Charlie laughed, returning his hug, “Dad, you saw me yesterday.”

“I know but that was so long ago!” Lucifer finally released her, who caught her breath with her uncrushed lungs.

“Anyways, where did you go yesterday?” Charlie asked, mildly distracted by the sinners everywhere.

“Oh you know,” Lucifer waved his hand as he tried to come up with an excuse. He didn’t want Charlie to know about Adam – not yet. He wanted to wait until Adam had learned his lesson, “important things.” He cleared his throat.

Charlie gave him a knowing look before sighing, “alright.” Her smile quickly returned as she grabbed his shoulders, causing Lucifer to jump a bit, and dragged him over to the front desk “come see, come see!”

Lucifer allowed himself to be dragged over to the fancy front desk, it was a polished mahogany with apple adornments – he had added those – with several drawers on the inside. Charlie opened one of them to show him the long list of what looked like names.

“Look!” Charlie wore a wide, genuinely happy smile. Heavens he loved that smile.

“Very nice, uhm, what is it?”

“Oh, right right,” she lightly tapped her fist to her head. “These are the names of sinners that are staying at the hotel! Isn’t that amazing?”

She set down the paper and looked over the sea of sinners – okay, sea isn’t the right word, it was more of a moderate lake but there were still more people than Lucifer was used to. Okay maybe that was a bad comparison, he wasn’t even used to small gatherings. Whatever, there were a fuckton of sinners, too many to count – “Finally, people are seeing that the hotel works.”

Charlie looked back at her dad, her smile reached her eyes and crinkled the edges, “Heaven will have no chance but to listen with so many sinners backing my plan,” She grabbed Lucifer’s hands, “and you too.”

Lucifer smiled up at his daughter. He was so proud of her. “We’ll redeem these sinners and fill Heaven to the brim.”

Charlie laughed and let go of his hands, turning around to file away the list back safely in the drawer. “I have some errands I need to run but feel free to hang around and get to know the new sinners!”

Lucifer’s smile was tight as he nodded, he really didn’t want to but he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to talk to some of them. “Of course, is there anything you need me to do?”

Charlie pondered for a moment before shaking her head, “not that I can think of. Anyways,” She pulled open the door, “bye Dad!” She waved as she exited the doors.

He waved until he couldn’t see her anymore. He turned to the mass amounts of sinners – he recognized a few as the bunch that had been there when he originally visited. He could talk to a few sinners, he was the King of Hell! Lucifer cleared his throat and began walking over the original group, who were near the sofa. The spider, cat and bomb lady were all sitting on the couch with the little maid sitting on the floor next to them. Maggie was standing next to the sofa, spear still in hand. He got the impression she didn’t know how to relax.

“Hello, uh, you… guys!” He awkwardly greeted with an equally awkward smile. He internally cringed, what kind of ‘hello’ was that?

“Oh, hello your majesty,” Maggie said with the faintest of a bow to which Lucifer dismissively waved off.

“Please, call me Lucifer,” It felt weird to have people call him ‘your majesty’, it didn’t feel right.

“Well, uhm, Lucifer, what brings you here today?” Maggie attempted small talk.

“I came to see my daughter but she had errands to run and told me to talk to some of the people here, and I don’t know anyone else so I decided to hang out with her friends and my daughter in law,” He nudged Maggie with a grin who turned away to hide a faint smile.

Lucifer stood back up straight and opted for just listening to the sinners chat amongst each other, talking was not his strong suit. So he stood, his eyes following the conversation but never joined in, absentmindedly nodding to things here and there but, to be honest, he wasn’t listening. None of these matters concerned him nor did he even know how to talk about them. His mind wandered once more – he never could stay focused on what was in front of him – but he made sure to steer it away from anything with Adam. Instead, he thought of what duck to make next, or- oh! He could make a duck of Maggie and Charlie and give it as a gift. He was sure they’d like it, who wouldn’t? Probably Adam- no, no, not thinking about Adam.

A hesitant hand touched his shoulder making him jump, “Sir? Are you alright?” Oh, it was just Maggie.

He nodded, “yes, yes, I’m fine. Apologies, I got lost in my mind.” She opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off, “I think I’ll be off, tell Charlie I said bye.” And he was gone.

He was back in his room. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and walked over to his bed. Lucifer’s heart ached at the sight of it, he had specially made it for both him and Lilith and now it was just him. The bed was entirely too big for just him but at least it gave him enough room to do his usual tossing and turning. He sat at the edge, dipping into the soft mattress and dropped his head into his hands.

“What am I doing…” Lucifer mumbled into his hands. What was he doing? Keeping the leader of the exterminators hidden away in his castle? He groaned. What was Adam up to anyways? Lucifer toyed with the idea of leaving him alone but he knew Adam was vulnerable right now – the perfect time to fuck with him. Plus, messing with Adam would give him something to do.

Adam viciously scrubbed his face with his undamaged palm. Fuck – he couldn’t cry, not here, not now, not ever. He was a man – the man! He couldn’t cry like some chick. He slammed the door to his room behind him and stomped over to a pile of shit he had thrown to the ground the previous night. He grabbed a large handful and threw it violently into the wall with a grunt.

“Why?” He snarled, “why me?” He grabbed a candle that had been set on his dresser and held it in his hand.

“What did I do wrong? I did everything you told me-” His grip increased on the candle, causing the glass exterior to shatter in his claws “- to!”

More of that damned crimson leaked from his hand as glass shards stuck up in odd angles. Fuck. Fuck! He fell to his knees and buried his head in between his kneecaps, his claws gripping and digging into the smooth floor. Adam tucked his wings closer to himself, creating a self-made barrier between him and the outside world.

“What did I do wrong?” He mumbled again, much quieter. “I’m perfect- I-” He choked on what he refused to acknowledge as a sob.

He moved his bloody hands to hug himself. He felt and looked so weak but he couldn’t muster the strength to be mad. He sat there, for the first time in a long time feeling a stinging heartbreak but instead of being left by his wives he was being abandoned by God. God, the man who made him – made him to be perfect, in his image! – left him just as quickly, as if Adam was a toy he had gotten bored with. His chest felt tight. It seemed to be a recurring pattern of people meeting him, loving him, and then leaving him.

He was perfect… Right? So why did everyone leave him in the end? Adam growled, slamming a curled fist onto the floor as he felt something wet drip down his cheek. No. He was not about to start crying, he was a man and he needed to act like it. Men didn’t cry, that’s what women were for, they were the emotional ones. He rubbed the traitorous tear away and sat up. He looked over the mess he had made, something he had control over. The stinging pain of his hand finally set in – oh right, there was fucking glass in his damn hand. He sighed and got up, the clown had to have some sort of bandages or something, Adam’s new big ass hands were not good for picking out small shards of glass. With his luck he’d just push them in further.

Adam opened the door to his room with his un-glassed hand only to be met with Lucifer. Great, literally the last person he wanted to see. Lucifer’s eyes widened as he looked up at Adam as if he hadn’t been expecting him to be in his own fucking room. Adam just glared down at the sole cause of all of his problems.

“What,” Adam barked. He was already done with his shit.

Lucifer blinked, “where are you going?”

Adam rolled his eyes and held up the hand that was chock-full of glass, “to clean my fucking hand. Anymore dumbass questions?”

He looked at Adam’s hand, mouth slightly agape, “how- what happened?” Lucifer looked up at Adam, “I wasn’t even gone for that long!”

If Adam didn’t know the fallen angel in front of him, he’d think there was concern hidden within those piercing red eyes. Adam just shrugged, “just cool like that.”

Lucifer stared confusedly at him, his eyes flicking between his hand and his eyes. “I-” Lucifer cut himself off by simply grabbing Adam’s hand – which fucking hurt, there was glass in it!

“Ow, asshole! What the fuck are you-” Adam shouted but stopped as the pain dissipated. He stared blankly at his now completely fine hand – for a moment he wondered if he had made the whole thing up in his weakened state. Adam raised his eyes from his hand back to Lucifer, “how the Hell did you do that?”

“Why did you do that..?” Adam added, much quieter. It didn’t make sense for Lucifer to heal him.

Lucifer just stared at him before blinking rapidly. He looked… Confused? As if he wasn’t aware of what he just did. He looked down at Adam’s hand – which he was still holding.

“Uhm,” he quickly let go and cleared his throat before his stupid smile reappeared as if it had never left, “I’m the King of Hell! I can do all sorts of things.”

Adam furrowed his brows. What the fuck was happening? Was- was this a trick? Was he fucking with Adam? He pointed a finger at Lucifer, “what the fuck are you playing at? You were slamming my face into the ground an hour ago and now you’re all buddy-buddy?”

Lucifer scoffed, “it’s no fun when you get hurt on your own.”

Lucifer got closer, his grin turning sharper, “I’d much rather do that for you.”

Hatred pulsed through him as he pushed the short man away from him – finally, an emotion Adam was used to. “You queer bitch, what the fuck kind of kink thing is this? You fucking freak,” Adam spat.

Lucifer raised his hands innocently, “I just want to beat you senseless! Afterall, you tried to murder my daughter – I never said anything about it being sexual!”

“I- what? You literally smirked as you threatened to hurt me,” Adam held up his hands, “my fucking bad that it sounds like some gay sex thing!”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, “I’m just excited to grind you into the ground after the centuries of hurt you’ve caused.”

“Freak,” Adam whispered sharply.

“Anyways, I came over to see what you were up to.”

Adam raised a brow, “why?”

“Because I was bored and have nothing else to do, so why not do you?” Lucifer immediately snapped his mouth shut. Both men stared at each other before Lucifer coughed, “I did not mean it like that.”

“Sure, faggot,” Adam huffed.

Lucifer let out a sharp laugh, “Ha! Me? The gay one?”

Adam didn’t like what the bitch was implying, “yes, you. Have you seen yourself? You might as well be the whole damn pride parade.”

“Ohoho- someone clearly doesn’t remember Eden-”

“Do not talk about Eden, cunt,” Adam growled. “You have no right to after you ruined it.”

Lucifer barked a laugh, he was really getting on Adam’s nerves. “Ruined it?” he repeated louder, “I didn’t ruin it!” Lucifer shoved a pointed finger into Adam’s chest, “you and all your filthy descendants chose to do evil with the freewill I gave you-”

“We didn’t ask for you to!” Adam yelled, causing Lucifer to finally shut the fuck up. Adam panted, “me and Eve never fucking asked for freewill, we were fine in the garden how we were.”

“But-”

“But nothing! Just shut the fuck up!” Adam huffed. Lucifer had ruined fucking everything Adam had – corrupted Eve, got them kicked out of the garden, brought evil into humanity which caused Cain to–

No. Not now.

Adam glared down at Lucifer, who looked both equally angry and in thought. Lucifer spoke up after the gathering silence became suffocating, “I didn’t know you were capable of actual thought.”

Adam snarled, “what the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he adjusted his white suit. “Dinner will be served in 30 minutes, I expect to see you there.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, calling out, “and I expect you to make use of the wardrobe I provided!”

Adam rolled his eyes and slammed his door shut. Fucking prick, ordering him around.

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