#lots of good memories attached to those beeps

[kornwulf]

I bring sad news. The CBC has stopped broadcasting the National Research Council Official Time Signal. No more shall the beginning of the long dash indicate exactly 10 o'clock.

Goodnight sweet prince, you shall be missed by all of us who knew you

#wulf's wafflings #I'm actually legitimately sad about this #lots of good memories attached to those beeps

[kashimos-hajime]

—𝟐𝟐 - 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: getou suguru x fem!reader

summary: anonymous musician, kogane, had been dropping non-hints of who they were since they first began releasing music to the students of tokyo metropolitan technical college nine months ago to the frustration of everyone ever.

getou suguru, long-time (arguably #1) fan and campus heartthrob with a reputation is determined to find out exactly who they are before he graduates, and he has no idea where to start. that is, until resident idiot and best friend and roommate, gojo satoru, points him in the direction of you, the musical genius behind kogane

word count: 11.3k

a/n: hey yall!! i’m here with one of the most important chapters of the series. for reference for the song that *spoiler* suguru and y/n dance to, it is house of cards - full length by bts. i recommend you search up the translation of the lyrics if you do give it a listen because it has a lot of foreshadowing (also it’s a certified banger)

[9:30 AM]

You get up with a sense of trepidation. 

You spent all of last night picking out what to wear, and making sure you had everything you’d need so you wouldn’t rush in the morning, and as you leave the apartment while Maki still asleep, you can’t help feeling like your stomach’s about to spill out of your body.

A date. Your first… real date in a long time. Are you insane? As you check your reflection in your phone camera, you can’t help but scrutinize every aspect of your face. Every imperfection. What is going on through his head? What… what made him suddenly ask you out?

No. He might not even have meant it like that, you tell yourself firmly, turning off your phone screen and slipping it back into your pocket. Despite what your friends said, you have to keep a sane head about you. Not to mention, all that talk about Sukuna…

There’s no space for him in your head today of all days, and you firmly try to shut down that thought before it can branch any further.

He’s waiting in front of the building, looking around, and the way your entire body seems to lunge forward at the sight of him makes you burn in embarrassment. He’s dressed in sweats and a hoodie, a windbreaker pulled over that, and his gym bag is slung across his body, but he looks handsome as always, and he lights up when he spots you coming over.

Your heart cramps in your chest.

“Good morning. Sorry if it’s too early,” is the first thing Suguru says as you approach him. 

“If it was too early, I would’ve came later. I need to get work done anyway.” You push your glasses up your face, and fish out your student card from your pocket. It’s attached to a lanyard, and you loop your wrist through it. “I need to stop by the recording studio first really quickly before we head to where you needa go.”

“Yeah, sure.” They walk to the door, and you scan your card so they can head in as he adds casually, “You look nice.”

Your ears warm. “What?”

“You look nice,” he repeats. “I like your cardigan.” You look over at him just as there’s a beep, but he’s already moving to hold open the door and he sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to go in first. “After you.”

“Uh. Thanks.” Maybe it’s the memories of the last time you’d seen him flashing in your head, but your entire mouth blazes and you duck your head to walk in first, leading the way. 

The building’s pretty confusing if you’re a newcomer, but it’s one of the most comfortable places you’ve ever been in. Equipped with many rooms for recording music, practicing instruments, rehearsing for dance, it’s a place where many of those majoring in such studies have to be in for up to twelve hours a day. Your work space is the third floor, and Suguru follows close, just a half-step behind.

In the elevator, you glance up at the numbers.

“How’re you and Mina?” you ask as nonchalantly as you can. “You said you guys weren’t friends?”

“I stopped seeing her,” he answers. “Just not interested anymore.”

“She got boring?” You frown, surprised. It’s harsh of you to say, but Suguru’s been seen hanging onto her since the party. You’d thought that whatever had occurred to him was nothing more than water under the bridge and she was… she’s prettier than you, and bubblier. Very kind. Friendly. Hard to find someone like her boring.

Suguru shrugs. “No. She just wasn’t my type.”

“She’s not your type? But she’s beautiful and really nice, too.”

“So?”

“Well, if that isn’t your type, I don’t know what is.” The doors open and you walk ahead. He trails after you after a beat, and your mind wracks for what could possibly be the reason Suguru decided to drop someone like Mina so suddenly. Not interested in dating? Then why was he with her for the past week? And he hadn’t denied the rumours surrounding him earlier when you had asked him before yesterday.

Men are so fucking confusing. 

You shake your head.

The studio you’ve unofficially designated as yours as one of the senior music students is the one closest to the lounge room that houses a small kitchen unit, big couches, and even a TV that is hoisted onto a wall. 

You explain, briefly, about the lounge: “There’s even a gaming system that someone donated a few years back.” Unlocking the door to the lounge for him, you turn to Suguru with a faint smile. “You can wait here,” you tell him. “I just needa grab something next door.”

“I can’t come with?” he asks and you shake your head. “Why not?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Surprise?”

A track that you’d been crafting for a while that you want to upload later in the year, but you’re not about to tell him that so you just smile. “Mhm.” Suguru pouts playfully, and you shove him into the room, promising you’ll be back soon. “I’m sure you can entertain yourself. I’ll just be next door.”

“But I wanna see your studio.”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“I know, but it’s been a while.” 

“Suguru.”

“I missed you,” he sniffs, nose scrunching and a playfully childish expression on his face. You roll your eyes, and he inches closer, as if to walk past you towards your studio himself. You grab his arm, and he grins toothily. “I want to spend time with you, (Name).”

“Can’t you last two seconds without me?”

“I think I’ll die,” he affirms, and you can’t help your own foolish smile. He tilts his head, catching it, but you merely turn away, taking the arm you’ve grabbed and throwing it towards the lounge door. “Wait—“

“Stay put, baby,” you drawl, and his eyes widen. Ears beginning to pink, he opens his mouth to argue but you simply shove him deeper into the room and close the door on him. 

Scampering to your studio, you swipe your card and slip in. Taking your laptop out of your bag, you hook it up and begin to transfer a file you wanted to insert into the track. It’s a pretty old audio, from a recording of when you were a new student on campus, and now that you’re in your last year, you thought it would be right ro release a graduation song. A last farewell. It includes your voice back then, too, and you cringe at your own singing as you listen to it playback through headphones you shove onto one ear.

As soon as it’s done, you click through to make sure it transferred properly before sighing and unhooking everything. You try to keep your school laptop pretty empty, consisting of only new works in progress and other school files, which means all your music on the side has been shoved into USBs scattered across everywhere you live, other computers. One day, you’ll be glad that you can strip this laptop bare and have it focused solely on producing your tracks and not stress out about anything else.

You slip your laptop back into your bag and head out, migrating back to the lounge room. Inside, Suguru’s laying on the couch, his legs draped over the back of it as he scrolls on his phone, but at the sound of the door opening, his eyes dart up to meet yours.

“Look who came crawling back,” he teases, drawing himself up, and you shake your head, moving to check on the fridge. There’s a lot in here surprisingly, but you think a lot of it comes from people working at restaurants and them bringing their leftovers when they can. You sigh, rifling through it to make sure nothing’s spoiled. It stinks up the entire floor if someone’s not on top of it so most of the senior students keep up to date on the inside. “Woah, you got a lot of food in here.”

You jump, head snapping to the sound, and you jerk back when you find Suguru’s face mere inches away from yours. Heat flashes across your face as you straighten up, backing up. He observes you quietly through squinted eyes, and then he leans over the fridge door that barricades them from each other, smirking. “Did I scare you?”

“The food is for all-nighters. Need coffee and food to stay awake when you’re working at 3 AM,” you manage to say, pulling away from him as quick as you can without it being weird. Dark eyes bore into yours, and you reach to close the fridge. It seals itself shut and suddenly there’s nothing between their bodies. For some reason, it makes you feel very vulnerable. “And no. You didn’t scare me.” 

He clicks his tongue with a wry side smile. “Tch. Dang.”

Running a thumb underneath the shoulder strap of your laptop bag, you begin to walk away. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, you keep me around.” He follows.

. 

You’ve only been to the uni’s dance studios once or twice, but Suguru leads you to one you’ve never been in before. It’s on the top most floor, and has a good view of the rest of the campus. When they go inside, the blinds are down, but Suguru tells you to make yourself at home and heads to pull them up, revealing so much sunlight pouring into the room it makes you squint. One wall is all mirrors to the left of the windows, and on the right are ballet barres, which you situate yourself under so you’re near the center back of the room. 

“You comfy there, baby?” he calls, and you look up on instinct, nodding before registering what he called you and you look down, pulling your laptop out hastily. He walks back over to you, sliding forward onto his knees with a hand planted on the ground and his leg bumps into yours as he flashes you a smile. “If you get hungry or anything, tell me. We can stop whenever.”

“Okay. But you’re working on something, too, right?”

“Mhm.”

“What is it?”

“Just workshopping some things,” he answers. “I hope you don’t mind me playing music.”

“I got my headphones,” you reply, pulling them out. He tilts his head, eyes flickering to it, before back up to you, and you blink, brow furrowing at the soft smile that flits across his face. He sighs, sets a hand on your head and pushes himself off.

“You’re cute,” he mutters, shaking his head. You scowl but he’s already turning his back, and you’ve lost your chance to spit something out in retort. 

This is so weird.

Is this a date or not?

It certainly doesn’t feel like one. They haven’t seen each other in a few days, but it feels just like it did when they hung out before. The heat, the way you feel so self-conscious around him. He gets close to you, and something in you wants to freak out but you can’t even fucking tell if you want to freak out in a good way or a bad way, and then he’s gone and the entire opportunity has melted away.

Suguru’s got rid of his jacket and hoodie in favour of a loose white tee, and now that he’s just in socks, he begins to roll down his body, stretching and slowly warming up with a lo-fi music playlist that you’ve just noticed beginning to play. His eyes are closed so he can’t see you looking, but when he lifts his arms up above your head, a flash of skin makes you avert your gaze.

You should not be staring.

Firmly placing your headphones on, you open your audio mixing program and bury yourself into the work. The sunlight warms your skin pleasantly, and you begin to forget where you are, finding a comfortable slouch as your mind begins to run like an engine humming, searching for new nooks and crannies in the score that you can fit or adjust another aspect of the instrumental. You haven’t finalized lyrics or anything, but there’s a certain sound that’s missing, and you’re not sure what it is.

It’ll have to be saved for later. You can never be satisfied with what you make. It’s probably one of the worst aspects of being a perfectionist, you think. You can’t let loose ends be. It’ll dog at you until you force yourself to give it up, but until then, you’ll keep trying to craft the perfect goodbye.

Replaying a segment of the bridge, you adjust your legs, stretching them out in front of you and resting your computer in your lap. Your eyes glance to the top right corner to check on the battery, and you roll your neck under a palm as you fish out your charger from your bag blindly. Fingers wrapping around the looped cord, you look up.

And what catches your eye makes your entire body freeze, soften, melt. Your eyes widen as you watch Suguru dance. He’s beautiful as he moves, his hair unbound, his body a singular flowing being that pushes and pulls with the pulse of sound. Your heart lurches into your throat as you dumbly slide the headphones off your ears just to hear what he’s hearing.

You’ve seen him dance before—of course, you have at year-end festivals and other presentations. In short bursts when they were talking about the project. It’s not an unknown fact that Suguru is one of the most talented dancers in the program. 

But there’s something different here. It doesn’t feel like a performance, more it’s like you’re watching something you’re not sure you should be seeing.

The purest expression of human emotion in the way his body is impacted by each note, Suguru bleeds something… vulnerable. Something raw. It’s a pain that echoes and your legs twitch, as if you want to join him, and it takes all your impulse control to stay down.

You’ve never been so close to Suguru while he was immersed fully in his choreography, and when his feet shift, when his arms stretch into those languid lines that are honed with practice, you can’t help but feel something swell in your chest. It hoists the two broken halves of your heart like a balloon, and mends the sharp edges with soft, buttery rubber that wanes under the grace of his pirouette.

You feel soft, and warm, and cherished as you observe art. You don’t know if this is how other people feel when they watch him dance, but this is how you feel. It might be because you have feelings for him, or maybe it’s the way his eyes are barely open, letting his instinct guide him, letting his heart lead his body to extend into the most beautiful lines, but in the sunlight pouring through the wide, tall windows, you are sure that Suguru’s pale golden figure swaying to the song pouring from the speakers is as close to an angel as you will ever get.

The song begins to climax, and Suguru prepares himself for a sharp spin. Your breath hitches and the world begins to slow as he pushes off his foot. Leg out to the side, he begins to pull it in with a control you can’t even fathom. As he turns faster and faster, though, his balance falters, and he stumbles out of the turn four rotations in.

Collapsing to his knees, Suguru lets out a frustrated noise, and he rolls out and lands spread-eagle on his back. He slaps his hand on the floor before it curls into a tight fist, and he throws an arm over his eyes. When the track completely finishes, he flips himself onto his hands and knees, and pushes himself up to his feet again, eyes dark and a displeased scowl plastered across his mouth. It’s so dark it nearly takes you aback, but you know exactly the feeling.

“I like the song,” you offer quietly as the music starts again from the beginning of the track. Suguru’s gaze snaps to you, and you meet his stare head on, offering a half-smile and a shrug. The tension in his face melts away, and the corner of his lip pulls up. Using the bottom of his tee to wipe the sweat from his face, he sighs, and turns around, staring at himself in the mirror and letting his arms swing out, shaking the excess tension out. “You’re a beautiful dancer, Suguru.”

“Thanks. If I could get this turn, maybe I’d be even better,” he adds the latter in a softer, more venomous tone, and you shake your head.

“It looks difficult.”

“I guess.” He shakes his head and sets himself into the prep stance for the turn again. His shoulders square off, and he shifts his weight testily on his back foot. Arms out, he stares at his own reflection, and he’s about to go when he drops his limbs, turning around to look at you. “Don’t watch me.”

“Why?”

“It makes me nervous.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because when pretty girls watch me, I get shy,” he drawls, hands on his hips. His tee sleeves have been folded up as a make-shift tank top, and his posture’s slouched as he cocks his head, still catching his breath. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “Turn around, (Name).”

“I literally will not do that,” you reply. “Staring at the wall is stupid.”

“For me?”

“What on earth makes you think that would make me change my mind?”

He sighs dramatically, and you can’t help your smile growing as he turns back around. You return your focus to your laptop, but watch through your eyelashes as he sets himself into his prep stance once more. One attempt. Two. Four.

You can’t tell if it’s getting better or worse. You have no expert eye, but when Suguru falls onto his back and runs a hand raggedly through his sweaty hair, pulling on the ends, you know for sure that he isn’t feeling his best. You sigh, putting all your stuff down and getting up. He doesn’t raise his head at the sound, and your heart swells in sympathy at the fierce scowl twists his face.

Descending to your knees, your lips press together, and he tilts his head towards you. An arm has been tossed over his eyes again, and he lifts it a bit higher when he realizes you’re so close.

“This is embarrassing,” he admits. “I wanted to impress you with how unbearably talented I was at dancing, but I’ve been stuck on this part of my routine for weeks. To be honest, I thought the extra motivation would help.”

“Perfectionist,” you mutter, surprisingly fond. His face softens, and you help him sit up. He shakes his head, and you let your hand rest on his elbow as he hunches over, sighing. “Maybe you’re in a rut because you’re so focused on it.”

“You think?”

“Mmm, that’s how I feel when I compose something. If there’s sections that aren’t connecting the way I want, I just keep working and go back to it.” Sitting back on your calves, you shrug. “I get frustrated really easily, but I have a pride thing about it, so it’s been a hard road of figuring out that giving your brain a break actually helps see the solution clearer.”

You feel cold compared to the heat radiating off of him. When he offers a hand, you let go of his elbow to take it, and together, they stand. Your heart is pulsing at a mellow pace, but it oozes warm honey everywhere through your body, and it makes your limbs feel lethargic. Your mouth opens, and you wonder what you would’ve said, but Suguru merely grins and it silences you.

“You always know what to say, huh.”

“I’ve been freaking out about a lot of things long before I met you,” you answer, and he laughs. Suguru squeezes your hand before letting go and heading to where his phone is hooked up and you grab your fingers, the tingling that buzzes over your skin making you uncomfortable in your own skin. “What are you doing now?”

Pausing the music, he scrolls on his phone, and you’re about to head over, curiosity piqued, but he holds out a hand, concentration overtaking his features.

“Hold on one second… trying to find it, ah—here it is.”

He presses play and piano begins to flow through the speakers before a strong, hearty string accompaniment joins the instrumental, and Suguru begins to saunter over to you as vocals kick in. You barely hide your smile at the over-exaggerated way he bends his knees as he swaggers over, his body swaying like a piece of silk flowing through wind.

“What are you doing?”

“Convincing you to dance with me with my uncontrollable appeal.”

You laugh. “You’re doing a terrible job of doing it.”

“Am I?” He finally arrives within arms length, and his fingers reach for your forearms, trailing down to your wrists. Leaving trails of cold fire that cause your spine to shudder, you let him pull you into him, and you shake your head as he guides your hand onto his shoulder. His other hand clasps yours in a firm grip you can easily slip out of, and his eyes are on yours the whole time, gauging for any sort of discomfort that could flicker across your face. 

His concern is touching, but you can’t imagine even deciding to run now as his arm tentatively rests on your waist. You step closer, and his Adam’s apple bobs. A tiny nod to himself, Suguru adjusts his feet, shifting his weight in a easy, simple move to the music. 

“Maybe you’re not so bad,” you admit, tilting your head. Your hand on his shoulder runs down the curve of it, and you watch the sun hit his smooth face that’s not lost its pink tinge ever since you’ve come close to him. “You know how to lead.”

“I’m an excellent dance partner,” he informs you, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t let me convince you otherwise.” 

You have never danced with someone like his before. It’s completely out of your comfort zone to be this close with someone who you aren’t already close with, but Suguru tells no lie in regards to his passion for dancing. You can’t deny you don’t feel out of place as Suguru turns them around the room to the beat as the music begins to pick up in the chorus. 

His feet are placed smoothly, and he guides you without you needing to glance around, but you’re not quite sure you could’ve looked away from his dark eyes either way. Dark, affectionate, his watchful gaze does not stray from your face for a moment. Hair nearly falls into his eyes, but every time, you brush it back behind his ear, and he smiles when you touch his face—not a full smile, but that one he does that pulls at the corner of his mouth teasingly. Like a secret shared between two people. A secret between the sun and the moon.

He lifts his hand to turn you a few times, and he always catches you as they disappear in between the violin, the sound of the singers breathing through their notes in heavenly harmonies, the consistent pattern of piano chords that you can hear as clear as you can feel your blood in your ears. 

Music is your life. You can’t deny it. That, and the intrinsic link it has to dancing. The expressions of the soul. Oh… Suguru. You cannot help but think of the poeticism of it. The romance of it all. Your rose-tinted glasses shift, catch the sunlight, and you can’t help your smile grow bigger as the music begins to fade. You and Suguru still step to their own tune that’s been strung into their bodies, and as he guides you into another spin, you realize then that you trust him entirely.

You trust Suguru not to drop you—or, at least, to break your landing when you fall for him.

Whether it’s to reciprocate your feelings, though you doubt it, you know that through everything he says, everything he does… he cares about you. You’re not stupid enough to deny that he has some sort of affection for you, and that he only has your best intentions, and you have to tell him. You have to tell him everything. Sukuna. Your feelings. Everything. It bottles up inside you, shakes so suddenly like a boiling kettle, that you think you might explode.

He stops your turn, and their fingers find each other easily this time, interlacing. Suguru’s smiling at you, and you lift your hand from his shoulder to brush a few stray strands back away from his face. He turns his face into your knuckles, and you poke his brow, pushing him back.

“You’re so clingy,” you mumble, secretly pleased, and he laughs. Nerves twist your stomach as you let your hand return to his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I missed you. We haven’t spoken at all in person this week since the party.” His hand on your waist does not let go, and you let go of his hand in favour of draping your arms over his shoulders lazily. His free palm settles on your other side and they toddle, sway to a panel of sunlight where it’s warm. Suguru hums, slowly stopping their rocking rhythm so they can just stand in the golden beam. “You’re a good follower. If you were in our program, so many people would want to partner up with you.”

“It’s not hard to be a follower. The lead does all the work.”

“That’s not true,” he corrects. “It’s hard to let go of control and trust someone like that, especially people you don’t know that well. The lead has to know where they’re going most of the time and physically hold up their partner, true, but the follower has to let themself flow with the lead. If they resist, it makes everything impossible. They support the lead just as much as the lead supports them.”

“But I do know you. That’s why I trust you,” you reply. “If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t even let them touch me.”

“Hah. Now, that, I have some experience in.”

“So, you’re happy that I’m letting you so close to me, now?” Something playfully malevolent possesses your tongue and you nearly regret your next words as they fly out: “Nanami wasn’t this close to me at the Halloween party, if you’re still keeping score.”

He groans. “Don’t bring up my stupid lapse of judgement, (Name).”

“I think I’ll bring it up as much as I’d like,” you retort, grinning. “You got so jealous over nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. He likes you and you guys spent nearly the whole night together.”

“Well, whose fault was that? I wanted to spend time with you, but you decided to be all grumpy, but don’t worry, I haven’t seen him since.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you jealous again? He barely even exists to me.”

“I know, but—“

Exasperated, you shake your head. “Suguru. Why do you care so much? And I know I asked you this before, but… but Nanami’s not here. He’s not even—I don’t even have any way to message him,  and it’s not like he reached out, so why does it still bother you?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

“What is?”

“How much I wanted to be where he was,” he confesses. Each word presses against your skin in a plush, soft breath, and your heart shoots forward as he tilts his head, his nose brushing against yours. Stomach tightening, you swallow, lips parting. Suguru lets out another pained sigh, “Oh, fuck.”

His eyes find your mouth.

When Sukuna kissed you for the first time five years ago, it had been your very first kiss. You hadn’t known, truly, what it would spiral into. You couldn’t really see his eyes at the time, and in your dreams, they are swallowed by his shadows. In reality, his room had just been too dark to make out anything more than the shape of his nose, his chin, his lips, outlined by the light of his laptop screen. You couldn’t even watch it happen. It just happened. 

One moment, you were watching a show, the next, a mouth had pressed against yours softly, and you submitted to him. For years, you have wondered if the lights had been on, if you would’ve still been there. If the lights had been on as a witness to what your body was doing, would your brain have screeched to a stop?

You think of this now.

Not because you want to think of him. You don’t. You just look into Suguru’s face, and you think of Sukuna, who you can barely recall at this very moment, and you watch it happen this time. 

There’s so much sunlight in this room it’s almost spilling out of their skin, and you can see the way Suguru’s eyebrows twitch together. You watch his thoughts like a one-way glass; you can see into him, and he can’t see a single thing into you, and as he searches your eyes, your mouth, your face for the answers to questions you’re nearly certain he’s silently asking, a sinking feeling begins to rise into your stomach at how long it’s taking. Sukuna had been near instantaneous. You had initiated last time at the party.

But they’re both sober right now, in broad daylight, and they’re both more than aware of what’s going to happen. You’re aware of every atom in your body—the placement of his hands on your body, your arms over his muscled shoulders. You can see the pores in his cheeks, the small acne scars from when he was a teenager you didn’t know existed.

Wasn’t this how a kiss went? Don’t they just go for it?

“If you kissed me right now,” you mumble, feeling more and more uncertain the longer the moment drags on, “I wouldn’t be mad at you or anything.”

Yet, he still doesn’t move.

Why?

Because he won’t do it.

No.

Because why would he? 

You’re right.

Why… would Getou Suguru ever kiss you when he’s sober?

“I can’t,” he finally utters, and the little voice in your head crows in triumph. You draw your hands back until you’re holding onto his shoulders, but even that feels like too much and you step far enough that his hands fall off your body too. 

Oh… but you expected this, didn’t you? 

Fucking shut up.

A boiling oily feeling coats your nose and cheeks as Suguru scowls at the floor, fists clenching and unclenching. His knuckles blanche, and you stare at them, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes. The back of your neck prickles as he curses hotly. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“What?” you intone, lifting your head with a deep breath and pasting a smile on your face. His head jerks to you, but you only keep that wry half-smile on your face. “Taking the rejection harder than me or something?”

A horrified expression seizes his face, and he grabs your arms suddenly, his mouth opening to explain in a rush. “No, no. (Name), wait—“

“Suguru, it’s fine if you don’t want to kiss me,” you tell him despite the ache in your heart. Gently pushing his grip off with the side of your palms, you pull away. Your face is burning with shame, but you swallow your injured pride in favour of appearing unaffected. It’s better if people don’t know how they hurt you. It’s embarrassing when others figure out that they can hurt you like that. 

After all, you’re supposed to be cold, closed off. Untouchable.

Except, you had decided you would tell him anyway, didn’t you? You’d tell him all about the hurt that has festered and rotted in your heart in hopes that it’ll clear a space for him to settle in.

Except, when Suguru reaches for you again so insistently, tentative shaking fingers at your wrists, you don’t feel as invincible as you’d like.

You’re a book open for his perusal. You’ll tell him. You will. He’s already denied you one thing, but if you want to be friends with Getou Suguru, you must be as honest with him as he has always been with you.

“Actually,” you finally manage to say, “this is probably a good thing. It was stupid of me. We both said we weren’t looking for… for anything, so it’s better not to complicate things with that sort of stuff. I get it.”

“(Name).” His thumbs stroke your wrists and you want to curse his name. “(Name), no, No, it’s not that I don’t… you don’t understand how stupid I feel knowing I said all that shit about you not being my type and here I am standing, wanting nothing more than for you to kiss me. Or let me kiss you.” He laughs nervously, and draws your hands closer to his chest. You can feel his heart thumping swift like a river against your knuckles, but you can only blink in response to his own words. “It’s just… I need to tell you something before I dig myself too deep a hole that I can’t get myself out, y’know, I—”

“I like you, Suguru,” you blurt out, and when those words leave your mouth, you feel so relieved you think your heart might float out of your body. Suguru’s mouth drops open and you twist your hands to take hold of his own, squeezing painfully. “I like you… a lot. Like in a ‘I want to date you’ way, which I know you don’t exactly fuck with, but, y’know, I can’t help it. Fuck, it feels good to tell you, but I have to tell you, I’m fucking mortified right now because I’m pretty sure I’m just digging myself a deeper grave.”

“(Name)… I…”

“And you don’t have to do anything with that knowledge. You probably have people telling you that all the time, so I just thought I’d toss my two cents while I’m here because it’s good to be honest, right? We promised to be honest. I’m not feeding your ego again after this so you might as well take this while you can,” you ramble, that smile digging deeper and deeper into your lips. He watches you with a sympathy that makes you hate everything as he lifts a hand to cradle your face. You recoil, turning your head away but he grasps your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What?”

“Can I tell you a secret, (Name)?” he asks softly, and his thumb stretches up to rest just underneath the swell of your bottom lip. He regards you in a way that makes you shatter, and when he smiles, you think that a rotten part of you that died five years ago breathes to life—swells with blood, oxygen, knits together unnaturally to the side of you like a tumour. But it’s just you. It’s just your heart. “I tell every person that they’re not my type to let them down as gently as I can.”

A beat. “That’s not gentle,” you point out, strangled, and he hums.

“I know. I… it’s the best way I can put it. It’s rarely ever because of them, though.” As if that excuses it. At your silence, Suguru explains himself with a quiet tint of shame: “It’s… just I couldn’t think of someone who could change my mind on relationships, and there was all these people wanting something I couldn’t give them. I never wanted to date because it never felt like it would be worth it to open up to someone, y’know, and then break up with them and start over. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to get to know like that again. It was just a waste of effort.”

“Suguru…”

“I know. There has to be some deep-rooted fucking psychological problem with me because who thinks about the end before it begins, right? I never want to miss anyone ever again.” He chuckles mirthlessly and your brow furrows, your frown grows. “Then at the party, the idea that Nanami could have you drove me fucking crazy.”

“We don’t have to go over this again,” you tell him hastily. “I was just joking about it.”

“No. We do, because I don’t want to lose you to someone else more than I don’t want to miss you.” He strokes your bottom lip, and his face softens. In the sunlight, his eyes are clear brown, as if you’re seeing through crystals, and you reach up shakily to touch his cheek. He smiles as soon as your fingers brush his skin. “I was lying when I said it would be lame to care about it. It’s not. It’s actually so fucking not lame that I feel… I don’t know. I don’t want any other person looking at you, or talking to you the way I want to talk to you, but I was afraid you’d freak out if I told you, but I can’t not tell you when I get so irrational about it because I fucking like you.”

You inhale sharply. No. This has to be a joke. “You do?”

He nods. “I do. I’ll swear to whatever you want me to swear on that I do.”

“Y-you… you don’t have to do all of that,” you murmur, and he chuckles, touching your face everywhere, looking at your eyes, your nose, your brow where sunlight is dancing across your skin. He carefully pulls your glassess off, tucking them into his sweatpants pocket, and his fingers dust over your eyelids. Cupping your jaw, Suguru hums, amused, and you don’t know what to do with your hands. One of them is still on his cheek, the other over his shoulder, and although the silence swallows them, you think your world has stopped.

Getou Suguru likes you.

Getou Suguru likes you back.

This hasn’t all been for nothing. Your heart tripping in your chest, you try to figure out if he’s lying or if he’s joking so he can try to scam you for sympathy points, but as soon as you think it, a pulse of disgust rises up in defense of the boy. 

Suguru would never hurt you on purpose. Not like this. He knows. He has just as much on the line as you.

“Can I have my glasses back?” you demand quietly, and he laughs.

“You’re so beautiful.” His breath kisses your skin, and your lips part before you remember yourself, pressing your mouth into a thin line and swallowing hard. “So… so beautiful. I can’t stand it.”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

“‘M not,” he mumbles. “I wanna kiss you so badly. You drive me crazy, but I always feel like I’m finally a little bit more sane when I’m around you.” Your shoulders sink and he pulls away just to stare at your face. His thumb touches your under-eye, and he sighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you haul him into a hug, one he accepts fully with his arms encircling your waist. “I haven’t felt sane in a long, long time.”

“Suguru…”

“I need to tell you something, (Name),” he murmurs, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. His heat seeps into your body—he’s wearing a freshly washed shirt, and he smells like his cologne and a hint of sweat. Every inch of him is soft, pliant, and when he tucks his head into your shoulder, silky strands of his hair fall through the crevices of your hand when you card your fingers through. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I need to tell you something, too,” you whisper. 

“Okay. Okay.” He withdraws, and holds your face in his hands, before smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but his effort shines through the dimple that pokes his cheek, and you touch it. You’d never noticed he had dimples before. “You tell me first.”

.

You sit against the wall underneath the barre. That’s where Suguru finds you when he returns with drinks from the nearest café on campus. Handing you a matcha latte, he grins at your glasses back on your face, and he reaches down to fiddle with them. You smack his hand, scowling, and he chuckles, sitting down beside you.

“How much was it?”

“I dunno why you even try, baby,” he says around a sip of his own coffee, and you roll your eyes, crossing an arm over your stomach and taking a stubborn taste of your own drink. Your lips twitch into a faint pleased smile, before you set it down beside you and look over at him. “So… we got drinks. Do you wanna talk about it or do you want a little more time?”

“No. I had time to think about how I wanted to say it,” you mutter, although you won’t look at him. He frowns around his drink. A part of him is secretly dreading what you’re about to tell him. It’s hard to decipher, especially when after that whole sunlight dance, you had detached yourself so robotically, and asked him to give you some time alone to organize your thoughts. Suguru can’t read your every thought, even though he likes to flatter himself with thinking he can read you better than most people, so he sits there, nursing his drink as you pull your knees to your chest, resting your chin on your knees.

“There was a guy in high school. He was my… first everything, I guess,” you utter at length. “He was sort of everything I wasn’t. I was a band kid, y’know, choir. Smart-ish. He was kind of like the bad boy. But popular, and it was sort of annoying because I didn’t really get it. He had all these girls trying to ask him out, but he was mean to them, so why the fuck would they want him?” A hint of a laugh makes his heart ache. You sound so nostalgic, so young, then. “But… then we became desk mates. It’s stupid, but I liked him because he wasn’t ever mean to me and I felt special. He was a bit rude, but he wouldn’t insult me over stuff I was insecure about, and he was really patient when I was dealing with things. We were friends, sort of. I guess. Friend circles didn’t mix, but we shared classes.”

Suguru thinks he has an idea of where it’s going as you unfold yourself, crossing your legs and leaning back against the wall. You stare at some far off distant point in the floor, but he only has eyes on you.

“I liked him a lot in my second year of middle school, but then nothing ever happened, and we drifted apart. I guess we were just too different, but there’s that feeling, I don’t know if you ever… but it’s like when you have these people in your life, and you look at them, and you think, ‘oh, I could fall in love with you so easily if I had the chance.’ He was like that person for me. I thought if I ever tried even a little, I could really like him again, and maybe I just never stopped liking him, because I wasn’t really interested in anyone else besides him.”

“Did anything ever come out of it?” he asks softly.

You nod, swallowing. A bitterness curves your lip. “In my second year of high school, we somehow… I don’t even remember how anymore. It just happened we reconnected somehow, and we decided to hang out, just the two of us. I feel like it was me who initiated it, because I feel so stupid about it.” Wistful: “It was winter. Not snowy. It was just beginning to melt, actually, and I thought we were just friends just going out for lunch. I thought… I thought he wanted to hang out with me because we were friends.”

His heart drops. A premonition of dread begins to grow darker and sharper in the back of his mind. “(Name), you don’t have to—“

“He invited me back to his house,” you whisper, trembling. “And we were just watching some show that we were talking about earlier. I don’t know how it happened. I just kept saying yes because I wanted to, I really did, and I thought he liked me. That he had sex with me because…” You cannot continue the sentence. Instead, you inhale sharply, and let out an agonizing exhale. “When he dropped me off at my house after, he texted me that he loved spending time with me, but he didn’t have feelings for me and that he just wanted to be honest so I didn’t get hurt further down the road. Isn’t that funny? It makes me laugh because I had to sit there, holding onto my phone, and pretend that my heart wasn’t breaking reading his texts. When he said he cared about me, but he didn’t want a relationship with me because we wouldn’t work out in the long run, he could see it, and that all we did… that all of that was pretty much… nothing to him. Man, I felt so.... so disgusting and used.” 

Raging anger shoots through his system as you shake your head and let out a quivering breath. “It hurts so much, in here.” A hand against your heart. Your eyes are closed, head tilted against the wall, and your lips are pulled into a grimace as if you’re holding back tears. Suguru’s entire body feels hollow as he watches your face scrunch up at the memory. “Why did he do that if he always knew he didn’t want to be with me?” You don’t wait for or want his answer. “And the worst thing is… I can’t ever bring myself to hate him. I can’t. I fell in love with him over the course of that day, and I… it’s so hard to get over someone you never even dated, Suguru, you have no fucking idea.”

A beat of silence. You inhale deeply, lifting your head from the wall to look at him blankly, and it clicks. The way you tried so hard to avoid his touch, your aversion for a relationship. You had given yourself to someone before, and they had discarded you like nothing.

“Something must have happened between him dropping him off at my house, and driving back to his own,” you continue with such a strong conviction that it makes Suguru’s heart ache. “Maki thinks he was just a fucking douchebag, but none of my friends knew him like I did. It’s been five years, and sometimes I think I can’t move on, but then I met you, and…”

“Do you still love him?” he asks tentatively, and your smile grows fonder, your eyes fall to half-mast as you regard him in that way of yours that makes him feel like he’s the only thing you see. Suguru looks down between them, his mind a swirl.

He already knows what he’s decided: he can’t tell you. He can’t tell you the truth. Not after this. Shoko can kill him for all he cares, but if she knew what he knew, she would fucking understand.

“When I first started liking you, I was so afraid that everything that happened with him would happen to me again, but you make me feel willing to try.” Your fingers stretch to touch his hand, and he takes hold of you immediately. “I’m telling you because it’s important, and I want to explain everything. Why I can’t move fast—why this is a really big deal for me. Suguru, please, look at me.” He sets down his latte and does so. “It still affects me. It still scares me, but I want to try. Do you… do you want to try?”

You’re so beautiful. Tentative with your heart in his hands, but open. You want to give him everything. You want him, and Suguru is a selfish boy with a liar’s tongue. He can’t hurt you now. Everything he wanted to tell you, the courage he’d been building up since he asked you out last night, crumbles to ash.

Because to say Getou Suguru is not a lover is not entirely true. He wants love. He needs it. But he is not built for love—not designed to be a capsule for it where it can age and ripen and grow into something warmer and hearty and healthier. He is a sieve. Everything will fall through no matter how fine, how big, a particle is, and he can do nothing but watch.

And you want to love him, but he remembers Riko, and Nanami, and now there is another figure in the corner of his eye that looks like a stranger, and you are in front of him, surrounded by all this shadow, untouched, pure in the light. You are the sun, unmarked by the noxious miasma that fogs his brain. 

His throat tightens. 

Riko’s youthful face is just like he remembers, flickering by your shoulder and smilling, completely unaware of anything happening as she speaks to someone. He hasn’t seen a mirage of her in so long. Not since she died. He used to see hints of her in the halls of the school, wisps of someone who used to be alive, and knows this is just a residual memory playing in his mind. 

An everlasting reminder.

But you would’ve liked her, he thinks. You are both too sunshine-like to not get along.

Because you are the sun. Hidden behind a cloudy, stormy exterior, Suguru has never seen someone shine quite so brightly as you when you finally let him in.

“Suguru,” you whisper presently, reaching to touch his face, and he blinks, head jerking to you. When had he even drifted away? “Are you still there?” Your fingers touch his cheek. “You look a little… lost.”

“I want us to work,” he insists, and his eyes close. “Sorry. I just was thinking…”

“You’re here,” you tell him softly. “And I’m here, if you want me to be.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Okay, I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” you repeat, and he lets out a soft sigh, opening his eyes. “Let’s get up, and find something to eat.”

“I’m sorry. I’m all distracted when you told me all this stuff. I promise, it’s not because it’s not important, it’s because—“

“You’re thinking about Riko, aren’t you,” you murmur, and his eyes flash to you. “I can tell.”

“You can?”

“Relationships are a big commitment, and you’re… you’re sort of scared of commitment, Suguru. Dunno if you can tell,” you murmur, voice edging on teasing. It diffuses the heat inside him, and he slouches as you chuckle, coming closer. He lets you, fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold your hand against his face. Kissing the palm of your hand, he closes his eyes. “Could be because of her.”

“It probably is.”

“I mean, I’m not a psychiatrist, so…” you drawl playfully, and he lifts his head again, glaring at you in faux irritation. You smirk. “What?”

“You’re too smart.”

“Why else would you like me?”

“Do you want me to whip out my notes, again?” he asks, pulling away, and you scoff. “I can do it. I’m gonna do it.”

“Do not—“

“I’m getting up to do it.” Pushing himself to his feet, he begins to walk back to where he left his phone and you call his name, annoyed. He doesn’t listen though, content to walk like there’s a breeze beneath his feet. He just about reaches the table when something grabs his hand, pulling him backwards. His muscles contract, hauling you close as he turns around, and he catches you before they can knock heads.

“I don’t wanna hear about your weird lists,” you snap, eyes narrowed, but you don’t try to escape, and he chuckles, leaning in closer and rubbing the tip of his nose against yours teasingly.

“Why not, baby?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” you mumble, turning your face away. He lifts a hand from your bicep to tilt your face back towards him, and he leans in close. “Stop,” you whine. “You make me feel so stupid.”

“What’s so embarrassing about me having feelings for you?” he utters softly, and you inhale, shivering in his hold. “Should’ve known as soon as I made a list of all the things I knew about you in my notes app that I was a goner.” 

Your eyes meet his, and he’s struck by the glow in your eyes. It’s not something physics can explain. Something more innate than science ignites Suguru from head to toe and he feels like he’s been ushered into a warm room after nights spent out in the winter night. 

You swallow, lips parting to speak, but he rushes to cut you off: to say you’re beautiful, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever fucking known. But what comes out instead is: “Shit.”

You frown. “What is it?”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to formulate a sentence, before settling on a nod, your breathy ‘yes’ just barely reaching his ears.

Suguru lifts his hand to remove your glasses, setting them blindly on the surface behind them. He cannot take his eyes off you. The sunlight is just barely hitting your face, giving your skin a warm glow despite the coming winter.

And there’s that tiny little frown again, the one he adores so much. He needs to kiss that pouty mouth or he thinks he’ll starve.

Suguru kisses you, and his entire body cannot help but meld into yours. He pulls you even closer until you’re flush against him, his hands immediately cupping your jaw as soon as he feels your body against his. Your fingers wrap around his wrists gently, your mouth parting, and he feels your gasp in his body as his tongue tentatively slips against yours, warm and soft and velvety. 

You let out a soft keening noise, and a hot surge pulses through Suguru’s core, but he suppresses the desire and pulls back. Sucking in a deep breath, he returns with lingering, but chaste kisses, and your fingers dig into his wrists tightly as you push up against him, almost chasing him. It makes him grin against your mouth, and he draws back fully, thumb brushing the swell of your lip.

Your eyes open slowly, dreamily. You look so happy that Suguru wants to eternalize this moment. He doesn’t want to let another thing hurt you in this life, in this world. Not when he’s still here by your side. He wants to swear it, but he can’t, and all of a sudden, his heart cramps in his chest so intensely it’s like it’s reminding him that it’s still here, and still beating, still alive. 

He’s been here before, or something that looks enough like it. His mind reeling, his eyebrows knit together as he thinks back to earlier this week, to when he had said he couldn’t be your boyfriend. All the events leading up to that moment, even the positions their bodies had been in as he said it, are unclear blobs of colour vaguely resembling their costumes, but when you shift your body, his stomach tightens and he sucks in a soft breath.

They’ve been here before. Arms around each other, eyes shining with all the adoration a human being can possible encompass. Your legs wet against his from the hot tub. Your mouth burning from the alcohol as you kissed him senseless. His hands on your body, the sneaking glances when they’d returned, concealed by drunk giggles.

You burrowing into his hoodie as you fell deeper asleep on Satoru’s couch, relaxed and at peace in the remnants of their party.

Did you have feelings for him then? How far back did they go? Do they go as far as he’s willing to acknowledge his own? Or did they come closer to today, where they stand now, body to body, nose to nose. He wants to know. He wants to know everything. 

“Suguru? What is it?” you whisper presently, derailing his thought train. Their illusion is slowly breaking, and the golden bubble is rapidly disappearing as you frown. Suguru meets your eyes tenderly. Oh, you are the most precious thing, and he is weak at the knees.

“You’ve kissed me before,” he informs, scarcely audible. You flinch away from him, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m not mad. I’m just—“

“I thought you didn’t remember.” Horrified, you duck your head. “Shit. I—I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t mean anything. I… I thought you didn’t remember.”

“I didn’t. I just remembered.” Then, testing: “Do you remember anything?”

Your shoulders sink and you shake your head. A swell of relief tides in Suguru despite the guilt prickling in his gut. So you don’t remember what he said. That’s good. It’s simpler if you don’t remember stupid things he’s said.

Don’t get him wrong. He was honest with you back then when he said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, but that had been drunk thoughts, insecurity, and the secret of it all threatening to spill out of his chest. He couldn’t wasn’t the same as he shouldn’t or he wouldn’t. 

You regard him warily. “Are we okay?” 

Suguru blinks, and there’s that distinct feeling from his youth growing up side by side with someone like Satoru; that feeling of not being quite able to catch up. Mouth dry, he affirms, “Of course. I just wish you told me. Then, I wouldn’t have had to waste this week trying to figure shit out.”

“Yeah, well, I was scared it didn’t really matter to you. It was just a kiss, after all, and I didn’t want to ruin something over a thing I might’ve blown out of proportion when you probably didn’t care, so I… I don’t know. Y’know, I take that stuff kinda seriously.”

“Well, it wasn’t just a kiss to me,” he says. “You kissed me. The girl I like kissed me. I would’ve been fucking elated if I remembered.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. And then, maybe today wouldn’t have been an elaborate, subtle, kind of vague ploy to get you to go out with me, and we could actually be going out for real right now.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was this supposed to be a romantic date?” you ask curiously, and heat rises to his face as you carefully wrap your arms around his neck. He puts on a smile and shrugs carelessly. “Stupid.”

“Have you been on better dates?”

“Considering what I just told you, no. So, granted, you’re winning so far,” you tease. He opens his mouth to apologize, but you shake your head. “I get to make fun of it. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. Five years, and I’m getting over it. Enough to like your sorry ass.”

“Well, sorry you fell for my good looks, charisma, and natural talent for everything.” You shove him away, scoffing, and he laughs, grabbing your hand again, and squeezing it. “C’mon. Something to eat, right?”

“You’re driving us somewhere, then.”

“Demanding me of something already and we’re not even five minutes into this relationship,” he jokes. Your gaze darts to him warily, and you cross your arms over your chest. He catches the shift, and he straightens up, smile shrinking. “What is it?”

“That’s what this is?” you ask quietly. Your fingers dig into your own biceps as you look away. “A relationship?”

He frowns, hesitantly asking, “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I… I do want it,” you admit, “but now that it might happen, I don’t know if I can do it. If I can just go out in public and say, hey, I’m dating the guy everyone wants to date. That’s just not me.”

“We don’t have to make a big announcement out of everything. We can just… see how it goes, can’t we? Play it safe and slow,” he murmurs, but you shake your head, looking doubtfully at the space between their bodies. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s really no big deal to me how you wanna go about this. I really do like you, and if you want to date, fine, if not… that’s fine, too.”

You deliberate this for a moment.

Then: “I’m just gonna this first before we go further that you’re not gonna fuck me.”

His body goes stiff. Not from disappointment, but just by the sheer amount of ice in your tone. “What?”

You turn to pick up your glasses from behind you. “We’re not having sex or anything today. If that’s what you’re looking for, tough luck.” You slide them on, trying to move past him, but he grabs your elbows insistently, keeping you rooted before him. You try to fight it at first, begrudging attempts at trying to rip yourself away, but Suguru is stronger. When you finally don’t try to run, he lifts an index finger to your chin, guiding your gaze back to him, and your face contorts, anguished and cracking apart at the seams. 

“Don’t ever think that. I’m not here just so I can have sex with you, (Name).”

“I know it’s out of left-field but most guys expect that, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” he insists firmly, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone. He knows he’s not annoyed at you and he doesn’t want you to mistake it that way. He’s pissed that you think like that, sure, but you have every reason. Fuck, if he could just… somehow heal that part of you, he’d give anything, but you’d hate his pity. Gentler, he adds: “I don’t like you just because I think I can sleep with you,” he says, appalled. “Do you trust me?”

“I do. I do trust you, I just I can’t…. I can’t put myself there without feeling gross, Suguru, and a relationship normally progresses that way, and I don’t know if I can do it now, or soon, or whatever your timeline is, so please, don’t ask that of me.”

“I won’t,” he assures you, as sincere as he can be. “I don’t need that kind of stuff. As long as you’re comfortable with everything we have going on, I’m happy, okay? And if you want to sleep with me, okay, if you don’t, all good. I like you, (Name). I always have. That’s not gonna change just because I can’t do something as trivial as sex.”

“I wish it was that easy for me,” you mutter, but he shakes his head.

“I like that you take this stuff seriously. I think it’s admirable, and romantic, and I like that about you,” he murmurs. “Believe me, it just inspires me to woo you even more.”

“Woo me?” you echo, sarcasm inked into your words, but your tone lightens. Suguru’s heart lifts, too. “How are you going to go about that?”

“Well, first,” he drawls, tilting his head to press a kiss against your cheek, “I take you out to dinner.” A kiss to your other cheek. “And then I take you to the beach.” Your eyes meet his, and he grins. “Hopefully there are fireworks.”

“So, it’d have to be a special occasion.”

“Mmm, and we could dance on the beach.”

“That sounds nice, actually.”

“You could lead me, too, and dip me over your leg to kiss me,” he suggests much to your dismayed expression, and he chuckles. “Just kidding.” He sneaks a peck, one that has your eyes closing, and you swallow, letting out a long exhale. 

When your eyes open again, they’re filled with a renewed vigour. 

“Suguru, you’re really sure about this? Boyfriend, and all?”

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t still be here. Believe me.”

You bite your lip and nod. “I’ll try.”

“Good enough for me.” Stepping back, he extends a hand towards you, fingers outstretched, and when your hand slips into his, it has never felt more like two puzzle pieces finally finding one another. 

You run to catch up to him, and your face is cupped by his free hand briefly, his lips seeking your forehead. You pause, feeling his lips brush down your temple, and your cheek pulls. He can feel your smile against his lips as he finally touches your lips with his own in a soft, lingering kiss.

Three words threaten to push against his tongue, but he pulls away, surprised at the urge to blurt out something he’s not even sure exists, so he simply settles on kissing your forehead again and pulling away.

“I can keep calling you baby, right?” he checks, and your nose wrinkles as you laugh, shoving his face away.

“All that, and that’s what you want to ask me?” A beat. “Yes, you can, baby.” You grab his chin, kissing his jaw, before letting go of his hand to gather your things.

“Well, I might wanna try other names.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Honey. Dear. Sweetheart. Flower.”

“I like baby, I think.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah. I’m just used to it.”

“Okay.”

You hoist the bag ont your shoulder. Suguru grabs his bag, too, grabbing everything he needs. Thoughtfully: “Flower is a strong contender.”

An idea springs forth, and he glances over his shoulder. “How about sunshine?” You’re adjusting your glasses, but you’re hiding a smile behind your hand as you meet his gaze. He thinks on it. “Sunbeam.”

“That doesn’t suit me.”

“Yes, it does. Go argue with a wall.” You walk up to him, and a faint smile graces his lips as he catches your phone camera sneaking a picture of him. Quirking an eyebrow, he leans over to see what you’re doing, but you turn away. Suguru peers over your shoulder, and a heat blooms from his chest when he realizes you’re changing his profile picture.

“You just changed it a few days ago,” he points out as you adjust the position of the picture. You look up at him, and he shimmies closer to watch you save the image. It’s slightly blurry, but it looks distinctly charming. Maybe because you took it. Resting an arm across your shoulders, he presses his nose against your temple. “Sunbeam.”

“Yeah?’ you mumble, distracted. You’re swiping through notifications on your phone, now, and he averts his gaze, focusing on leading you to the door. His hand slips into your free hand, and you finally look up when he closes the door behind you. Flattening your bag strap, you rub at your face. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

“’S long as I’m still your boyfriend,” he says, and the word settles so easily on his tongue he wants to say it again. Announce it to the whole world. He’s a boyfriend now. Getou Suguru is a boyfriend. 

He doesn’t think it would’ve ever sat right if he was someone else’s boyfriend—anyone else’s but yours. Because you roll your eyes, and you try to pretend it’s not a big deal to you and say something about how Maki’s going to hate his guts, but when they walk to his car and you climb into his passenger seat, you shyly press a kiss to his mouth before he pulls out of the lot, and sneak your fingers between his on the centre console.

There’s a soft melody playing from one of his CDs you picked. 

He squeezes your hand as he passes an intersection. You squeeze back, looking out the window, but in the reflection of the glass, he can see the curve of your smile.

a/n: thanks for sticking around and reading all the way to the end! please leave a reblog/comment if you enjoyed :)

tags: @thelameless @lucyrocks86​ @kentospet @id-rather-be-an-outsider​  @ys2800​ @tuzuis4thwife @pidwidge​ @xbookmanx​ @kaitlyn2907​ @butterfly-skinnylegend​ @rumi-rants​ @bloombb​ @mykyoon​ @waterlily502​ @hanabihwa​

#fic: sorry i love you #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x you #getou suguru #getou x reader #getou x you #getou x y/n #geto suguru #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #jjk x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #my writing

[a-moth-to-the-light]

Comeback Celebration: Current Top 10 TXT Songs

I was planning to release this the day the album came out! But then life did a life and I didn't; but now life, out of spite, is doing even MORE of a life, so I'm running away from my problems for an hour or so to talk about some nice songs that bring me joy!

1. Dear Sputnik

Dancing around my living room to this one will never get old! But I do feel like this is a weird choice, since I think if you asked me on-the-spot what my favorite TXT songs are, "Dear Sputnik" wouldn't even come up in the conversation. I guess I've never really adjusted to edgier TXT--like, I can't truly process that the "Our Summer" guys also released "Frost"--so most of the time I just forget that their darker stuff is actually theirs. But I really do love this song, which I realized more and more over the week-ish process of making this list. There's something so... guttural?... about it that makes it a real standout--it just gets better, and more thrilling, the more closely I listen to it.

2. Crown

I actually don't listen to this one all that much--definitely less than anything else on this list--but that's because it's such a perfect time capsule, dragging me back completely to a set of memories that I just can't emotionally handle revisiting very often. (I swear, most days just hearing those little beep things could make me cry.) And I can't not admire it for that, for just how immersive the listening experience is. Also, it's basically a perfect song--even through my tears, I can see that!

3. Our Summer

Same thoughts as "Crown", but I find revisiting "Our Summer" slightly less soul-crushing--if that's better or worse, I'll let you decide! Anyways, brushing the sudden flood of 2019/2020-era memories aside, the vocal layering here really suits them!

4. Ghosting

Yeah, I loved this comeback (see: the honorable mentions). I love how silky-smooth "Ghosting" in particular sounds, even though, when I listen more closely, there are SO many different textures playing against each other, all carefully placed to create a super-cohesive, but still interesting, listening experience--it really feels like a lot of care went into this one, and I think that's what makes it such a cozy classic for me. Plus, I just love shiny-sounding guitar!

5. Magic

A carbonated drink in song form. I'll admit, I don't know exactly how or why I love "Magic" so much, but here we are! (Which is exactly how I feel about sparkling water, come to think of it?)

6. I Know I Love You

Road trip anthem!! I probably wouldn't be nearly as attached to this one if that chorus wasn't absolutely EVERYWHERE on the internet in 2021, but, you know, it's not a bad chorus to have ringing in your head 24/7, either.

7. Can't We Just Leave the Monster Alive

My embarrassing affection for tropical house has become a recurring bit on this blog now, I guess. Well, here's another tropical house track I'm still not over! (Just you wait for my Chung Ha top ten list...)

8. Drama

I like the nice piano sounds!! They make my soul happy, like hugging a stuffed animal or eating crunchy things :) Oh, I guess the rest of the song has nice energy, too! But I'm mostly here for the piano, sorry...

9. Farewell, Neverland

I really underestimated this song--at first, I was just okay with it, thinking it was pleasant and sort of catchy, a song that's not bad to leave on loop for a while, but there are great production choices all over the place (the PERCUSSION.) that have given it a lot of longevity for me.

10. Everlasting Shine

Every single chorus in this one is Awesome and makes me Very Sad. The vocal performances here are real standouts!

Honorable Mentions: Fairy of Shampoo, the blue hour album cover (no not the song just the album cover), Wishlist, Way Home, Anti-Romantic, Good Boy Gone Bad, Thursday's Child Has Far To Go

#blue orangeade should probably be on here somewhere #i'm WAYYY too mean to it #oh also happily ever after is my favorite from the new album rn! #i like the txt version of back for more a LOT too #comeback celebration! #artist top ten #txt

[myreygn]

Misty Years

summary:  Kuroo Tetsurou may be hella smart, but it takes a broken family, an almost crushed shoulder and an unexpected phone call for him to understand that he's not irrelevant. Not to everyone, at least.

an: this is a translation of my own german story (also on ao3) for @heyoitsgenderconfusion​ and uh, yeah, i hope you like it :)

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Tetsurou is five when his mother leaves and eight when he understands that she's gone. Not that he hadn't noticed that before, but it's just always been kind of there, haunting around him with a whisper and lurking under the surface.

And one morning, when Tetsurou gets up, enters the kitchen and sees his father sitting at the table alone, there's a thought in his mind that's never been there before: “Okaasan isn't coming back.” He's right. He's already made the experience that he's right pretty often, but on this day, for the first time, he wishes that he wasn't. A few years later Tetsurou learns that those kind of wishes don't come true, when he wishes for the machine to beep for a little longer and it goes silent anyways.

In primary school, his teacher tells him that he's a strong child, because he had to endure so much loss at a young age and still manages to go on. Tetsurou doesn't feel flattered, because going on means forgetting and not properly honoring the lost ones. Tetsurou is eight and a half when his grandmother tells him this at the funeral and twenty-three when he realizes that it's not true. But between eight and twenty-three lie fifteen long years in which the feeling of being a bad person follows him at every turn. Haunting around him with a whisper, lurking under the surface, but there. In retrospect he asks himself whether it really would've been better if he had recognized that earlier, because that would've made him a different person and he actually likes himself just fine by now. He doesn't come to a clear answer, just to the conclusion that he would've liked to hold the right conversations a tad earlier.

Not with Kenma. Kenma is one of the most important people in his life and Tetsurou is twelve when he tells him this, but Kenma isn't the kind of attachment figure you talk to. He also doesn't answer when he hears that cheesy sentence, that had been hanging between them for quiet some time and that he had probably already seen coming, because Kenma is just like that and smiles and says nothing. That's not bad. That's what Tetsurou loves about him. Kenma isn't very good at making first steps, or making second steps, but he can be present and sometimes that's everything Tetsurou needs, because everything's always too much for him. Kenma is never too much and sometimes too little, but at least he's there and that already makes him a lot better than those who aren't.

It can be really good to have someone who pushes your borders and challenges you though and Tetsurou is in high school when he realizes that. He never had someone like that in his life before; who would that have been, anyway? Kenma doesn't talk much, his father talks too much and his grandmother only talks when she has some controversy to spread. He doesn't know whether his grandfather talked much, because the first memory he has of him is an old man who stares at the ceiling, accompanied by the beeping of a machine. Tetsurou is fourteen when he meets Yaku Morisuke and has an equally balanced conversation for the first time.

It takes a little while for them to become friends, but honestly, he feels like he's learned more about Yaku during the time they needed for this than during the time after. The Libero had driven him crazy more than once, but he wouldn't change a thing, because it built his character and the things he likes about himself now are mainly things he has to credit Yaku for. Making peace with him was still a relief.

Tetsurou is fifteen when he has a panic attack for the first time and Yaku turns out to be the best thing which happened to him that year. At least that's what Kenma says and when Kenma bothers to comment on something, he must've thought if through. And he's right. Tetsurou doesn't even want to know what he would've done that night if Yaku hadn't been there.

After that, first year in high school is a good year. It's easier to fit into the team and also the classes are way more fun without getting distracted constantly. The first training camp in summer is only the icing on the cake.

Tetsurou is fifteen and a half when he crashes into Bokuto Koutarou at the gym entrance and almost bruises his shoulder in the process. His arm, which he used to catch himself, throbs uncomfortably and some enormous weight on his chest leaves him breathless, then it vanishes.

“Oh shit, are you hurt?! I'm so sorry, I really need to be more careful, sorry! Can you stand up? Can I help you?”

These are the first words he hears out of Bokuto's mouth. In one of his endless speeches about himself, his father once said that the first impression is the most impressive and never has he been so right, because that face Bokuto makes, that mixture of guilt and worry, he never forgets.

“Next time, buy me dinner before harassing me like this,” he says and allows that he's pulled back to his feet. Tetsurou is still fifteen and a half when Bokuto buys him Katsudon as an apology and somehow becomes his friend.

It's all very easy with Bokuto. Bokuto is the first one with whom he can just let go. He can't do that with Kenma. Kenma tries his best, but he's not strong enough to catch both of them and that's okay. That's not important anymore. Bokuto just gets him, because no matter how dense he might seem sometimes, his emotional intelligence is unmatched among all the people he knows.

Tetsurou is sixteen when Bokuto sees him cry for the first time and he would've never thought that it would feel so good to tell him about his broken family. On that day, everything around him gets less dark and knowing that Bokuto is there for him makes the sun of Tetsurou's world rise every day.

One of the best things about Bokuto Koutarou is that there's more of his kind and to be honest, you can never have enough people like him in your life. Tetsurou is seventeen when he visits his friend at home and meets his sisters. He has a sister himself, but Tsunade left over ten years ago with Okaasan and they haven't been in contact ever since. There was always a part of him that felt like it was missing and for the first time someone attempts to close this wound: Bokuto Tomomi and Bokuto Asuga are neither less loud nor less cordial than their little brother and they treat Tetsurou as if he'd always been a part of the family.

He's at Bokuto's place often now, more often than he's at his own and almost as often as he's at Kenma's. Tomomi and Asuga are always there to ask him questions: how was your day, how are you, what are you up to and one might think that it's too much, but maybe, Tetsurou thinks, too much is exactly what he needs right now. After all, he always had Kenma who was just right, then Yaku who teased him and bordered on being overwhelming and now... now he has Tomomi and Asuga who shower him in affection and it feels good.

Now he has Bokuto. And Bokuto is always way too much, always way too loud, always way too excited, always way too close, always way too himself and it feels so, so good to have this complete and utter stimulus satiation around. Sometimes he feels like Bokuto's smiles are blinding him and Bokuto's hugs are crushing him, but then he looks at Bokuto and feels comfortable, because the blinding smile becomes a light at the end of the tunnel and the crushing hug becomes a safe cave in which he can hide when he's done with the world.

Tetsurou is eighteen when he falls in love.

“Why don't you just attach a luminous advertising to your face?” Kenma asks him after a practice match against Fukurodani and that it's apparently really that obvious is like being thrown into freezing water. But the worst part is that Kenma isn't the only one to notice. Everyone seems to.

“You're making heart eyes,” Yaku informs him and he hastily looks away from Bokuto who's wiping the sweat off his forehead, knows that he's blushing, because the Libero has that stupid grin on his face.

“Why don't you just ask him to go out with you?” even Sawamura meddles at the next training camp and when his eyes search those of the other captain, he's met with a smile – genuine, apparently in good faith, and when he shakes his head, appalled, the crow just shrugs. “Just a thought. I think he'd say yes.”

Of course Tetsurou doesn't ask. He's not an idiot.

He also doesn't understand how Sawamura even gets the idea that Bokuto could agree to go on a date with him. Yes, he's always very close to him, hugging him, kissing him on the cheek from time to time, but that's just Bokuto. Bokuto's also this close to Akaashi, right? He doesn't make a difference between best friend and good friend. Right?

Tetsurou is nineteen when he moves in with Bokuto and everything becomes a lot easier, but also a lot harder. It's nothing bad to have a roommate and living with your best friend is the total win, but hiding love feelings away from your best friend when you're living with them is the opposite of easy. It's not even the exuberant greetings after a rough day, or the long hugs after a won match that get to Tetsurou; it's the little things that happen all the time throughout everyday life and that are unavoidable, because there's no sign of them about to happen. Like when Bokuto laughs about something and their eyes meet and the wide smile on his face, for a brief second, looks like it's meant just for him, Tetsurou. Like when Bokuto pokes his side in passing, because he thinks it's funny how Tetsurou flinches and laughs every time. Like when Bokuto grabs him by the wrist to pull him forward, because Tetsurou is way too slow for him, because Bokuto is always so excited and has to share his excitement at all costs. Like when Bokuto ruffles his hair playfully, because... actually, Tetsurou has no idea why Bokuto does that, but he likes it. He likes it and at the same time it drives him crazy.

Tetsurou doesn't realize that Bokuto isn't that close to anyone else, not even Akaashi. Or maybe he just doesn't want to realize it, because that would mean, that he would actually have to deal with that whole love thing. Because that would mean that he's top priority for someone and maybe that would be too much. Although he was Kenma's top priority for a long time (even if he gets the impression that Hinata Shoyo surpassed him – which is okay), but Kenma has never really been emotional and as long as it just hovers in the air silently, Tetsurou can cope with it. But things never hover in the air silently with Bokuto. With Bokuto, everything is screamed and declared and presented and Tetsurou isn't used to someone loving him so openly. His grandmother and his father love him, of course, but he can count the times they told him that on one hand, because they just aren't that kind of people. Kenma loves him in that very own, intensely platonic way and Tetsurou can count the times the younger one hinted at that on one hand, because he just isn't that kind of person. Yaku isn't very exuberant as well and rather expresses his affection through violence than through actions which can actually be recognized as affectionate. And Tetsurou knows that he's loved, but he somehow only knows it subconsciously, because no one ever tells him and sometimes, when everything is shit already and he can't sleep, he thinks that people probably couldn't even love him if they wanted to, because if they could, Okaasan wouldn't have left in the first place. Right?

Tetsurou is twenty and a half when Tsunade calls him and he realizes that the fifteen years without a mother and a sister probably got more to him than he wants to admit after all. She tells him that their father gave her his phone number, that she's in Tokyo again and that she'd like to meet him and he says Wow and Okay and I'll call you back and hangs up. When Bokuto comes home two hours later, he's been texting Kenma for what feels like an eternity already, but still doesn't know whether he really wants to call her back and then he lies on the couch for two more hours and cries and talks to Bokuto, because talking to Bokuto always helps. He doesn't even know why Tsunade's phone call bothers him this much. He has pushed the thought of her away for a long time and came to terms with her leaving him alone. And when Bokuto asks him why he just accepted that his own sister hadn't want to see him for fifteen years, he says that it was sort of irrelevant for the past three years, because he has had Tomomi and Asuga. And it clicks, because Tomomi and Asuga are kind of the problem. They were there for him, they were twice the sister he never had. And what if Tsunade is everything he hopes for and more? Can he replace Tomomi and Asuga just like that? Can he replace Tsunade with Tomomi and Asuga? Is it okay for him to put Bokuto's sisters above his own? Is he scared of disappointing one of them, or scared of doing something wrong? Is he scared of everything being too much?

And just one second after this realization, Bokuto forces him to sit up, takes his hands and says: “You're not irrelevant, Tetsu” and it clicks again. It clicks, because this is the most honest and beautiful thing anyone has ever told him, because this is exactly what he's been wanting to hear for the past years and then he leans forward and kisses Bokuto, because it feels right.

Tetsurou is twenty-one when he lies in the park next to Tsunade and tries to describe the feeling that Bokuto gives him to her. It's actually just like before, but better. Lighter. Warmer. Tsunade nods and says that she understands; him agreeing to meet with her, she explains, somehow made her life calm down – I know what you mean, she says, there was a thunderstorm before and he shakes his head and says No, No, he says, there was mist. But now there's no mist anymore. Now there's Bokuto and Bokuto is the sun.

To meet with Tsunade wasn't that bad, actually; now he has three sisters and someone to talk to when his grandmother dies two years later. Someone who tells him that he's not a bad person for being a teeny-tiny bit relieved about not being criticized for everything anymore.

He doesn't meet his mother. He doesn't want to. His family is big enough and there's no place for a woman who doesn't even consider sending her regards through his sister. Tetsurou is twenty-five when Bokuto proposes to him and Tsunade jokes that he should keep always keep an eye on her brother, then she hugs him and whispers that she'll do that too, from now on.

Tetsurou is twenty-six when he says Yes and the mist vanishes completely.

#rey writes #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! fic #bokuroo #kuroo tetsurou #bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsurou x bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsurou's sister #bokuto koutarou's sisters #kozume kenma #yaku morisuke #nekoma #hurt/comfort #sort of #idk man a little angsty and fluffy to fix it

[nightingaelic]

Very few things are known for sure about the courier one of the few things that are known is that the Courier does not like to stay in one place and prefers to wander, so companions react to the courier who is about to leave the Mojave for a long ass time asking them to join them in their wondering because they grew attached them 

I move every couple of years and I just moved again recently so I feel this one kind of hard, @orion-the-king

After a year of constant turmoil, uncertain futures and clashes culminating in a final battle at Hoover Dam, the swirl of hot blood and hotter Mojave sand died down like any other desert storm. Caravans resumed their old routes. Gamblers kept losing money at the Strip. Bears and bulls no longer met each other in open conflict, and the courier who had once been at the center of it all began to grow restless.

After the third time their companion caught them sneaking out of the Lucky 38 in the small hours of the morning, they set their pack down on one of the perpetually-empty roulette tables and sighed. "I'm done here. I know there are things I could still do, but that goes for anywhere, not just New Vegas. Hell, 'anywhere' is calling me right now, and I've never been very good at ignoring her."

They looked up, hesitant all of a sudden. "Come with me. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know if I'll ever come back, but I want... I'd like you there with me, on the road."

Arcade Gannon: "Six..." Arcade ran a hand through his hair, turned away, stared up at the blinking neon sign above the Lucky 38's elevators. "I'm... I don't know if I can. The Followers need all the help they can get now, and there's my family to think about, too. They're all I have, besides you."

The courier nodded. "I know. Well, as far as the Followers are concerned, I think you could spread their teachings wherever we went, but family... I guess that's why I had to ask."

That caught Arcade off guard. He looked down at them again, wide-eyed. "Are you saying...?"

They smiled back at him. "Yeah. You're mine. Closest thing I've got to a family. But... I can't pull you away from yours. Wouldn't be right."

Despite his best attempts, Arcade couldn't contain a smile. "Fortis fortuna adiuvat."

"That's the second time you've said that to me," the courier replied, a tad suspiciously. "What does it mean?"

"Nothing bad," Arcade reassured them. "Can you wait a few days before you set out? There are some things I should take care of here before we hit the road."

Craig Boone: Boone pressed his lips together in thought for a moment. "East or west?"

"Either one," the courier answered, catching his drift. "Or neither. I've never been south. At least, I don't think I have."

"Alright." Boone crossed his arms. "But if it's east, you know what we'll have to do."

"I know. But that would be the direction we'd be least likely to come back from." The courier looked the sniper over carefully. "You're sure?"

Boone nodded. "Might be too much to handle. Even for us."

The courier held their hand out. "Could be. You in?"

Boone grabbed their hand, and the courier pulled him in to press their shoulder to his chest and slap him on the back. "Let's go."

Lily Bowen: "Oh, pumpkin," Lily said sadly. "You have a good life here. You're sure you want to leave it behind?"

The courier grimaced. "It's a good life, but it... it doesn't feel like mine, anymore. Like I didn't choose it. Can you understand that?"

Lily nodded solemnly. "All too well, dearie. All too well. But you shouldn't wander into the desert without some idea of where you want to go."

"Well..." The courier looked up at her shyly. "Where do you want to go, Lily?"

Lily stood still, lost in thought and the fragmented memories that she clung to. When she finally answered, her tone of voice was heartbreaking. "Home."

The courier took her hand in theirs and massaged her palm. "Then let's go home. Together."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "So no plan, as usual." Raul shook his head, but he couldn't help a smirk at the familiarity of the situation. "And you thought you'd just slip out the door in the middle of the night, boss?"

"I've been picking up supplies in Freeside," the courier answered indignantly. "I do plan some things."

Raul chuckled and stepped forward to put a hand on the courier's shoulder. "Of course I'll come, mij@. It's not like I have a whole lot going on in my life unless you're in it."

The courier stuck their tongue out at him. "I thought you hated when I dragged you into new and exciting situations, viejo."

"New and exciting, no. Dangerous? Sí." Raul grinned. "Me gusta tenerte en mi vida, Six. You couldn't leave me behind if you tried."

They matched his grin. "Then go get your guns, vaquero."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass yawned. "And this couldn't wait 'til morning? I'm still recovering from that week we spent tracking down those Vikki and Vance wannabes."

"You've been sleeping for days," the courier shot back with a chuckle. "If you haven't recovered by now, you're never going to. You're getting old, Cass."

"How dare you." Cass fluttered a hand over her chest in mock offense. "I'm still on the good side of 40, last I checked. I could still go toe-to-toe with a deathclaw."

She pointed a finger at the courier and scowled. "Not that that's an invitation to lead me into a den of those critters, Six."

The courier laughed. "So you're in?"

"Of course I am. Can't very well let you wander off into the wastes by your lonesome."

Veronica Santangelo: "Um..." Veronica tugged on her own sleeve and bit her lip. "I don't know if I should."

"Is it...?"

"Yeah." Veronica rolled her eyes around in mock exasperation. "I mean, what else would it be? It's not like I have a whole lot going on, besides the situation with the Brotherhood."

The courier looked down at their feet. "Veronica, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think sticking around here will make them any more likely to change their minds."

"I know, I know." Veronica shrugged sadly. "But it's not that easy to just leave either, you know? They're family."

"Yeah, I know." The courier looked up at her with a sad smile. "It's okay. I guess I didn't really... I just hoped..."

They left the sentence hanging and grabbed their things again, heading for the door. Veronica watched them go, but by the time they grabbed a hold of the door's handle, she knew she'd made a mistake.

"Wait!" she cried, dashing toward them. "Give me 20 minutes to pack, Six. Then we can..."

The courier grabbed hold of her and drew her into a hug. Veronica was surprised, but she sank into it gratefully.

ED-E: The eyebot beeped an affirmation, then turned to float toward the casino door.

The courier chuckled and shouldered their pack again. "Well okay. Don't know what I expected, honestly. You know you can say no to me, right?"

ED-E blipped twice in a sarcastic way.

Rex: Rex whined, looking between the door and the courier in confusion. He moved to position himself in their way, as if begging them not to leave.

The courier dropped to one knee and took the cyberdog's face in their hands. "It's okay, boy. I already talked to the King. He says he's so busy in Freeside these days, he wouldn't mind if you did some traveling with me so you could get out and about."

Rex barked once and cocked his head to the side. The courier laughed. "Yeah, we'll go see him again before we leave. Don't worry."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fallout companions #fallout companions react #fnv companions #fnv companions react #fallout new vegas companions react #fallout new vegas companions #arcade gannon #arcade israel gannon #craig boone #lily bowen #raul tejada #raul alfonso tejada #rose of sharon cassidy #cassidy #veronica santangelo #ed-e #rex

[hypmic-writings]

Hello! this is my first time requesting here👉👈 (I'm sorry about the wrong time request last time. I thought it was supposed to be open in 6 am 24 sep in my country but it was actually 25 sep haha)

can I request a scenario where Samatoki take care of his s/o who lost her memories🥺? Any genre is fine because I love all of them

Thank you so much in advance! I hope you stay safe and have a nice day💕

━━ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ━━

Pairing: Samatoki Aohitsugi x reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of memory loss

Word Count: 1,862

A/N: This one was fun to write, I really like memory loss scenarios and I think Samatoki would be such a good caretaker to his s/o because despite being snarky and annoyed, he would definitely adhere to their every whim. Hope you enjoy~

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

You eyes unfocused slightly as you stared up at the ceiling of the hospital room. The stucco walls provided little comfort, and the harsh lighting burned far too brightly for your liking, but the ceiling was a nice, smooth white that made you feel calmer than looking at anything else in the room.

“Excuse me?”

The voice of the nurse pulled you away from your thoughts as you turned your attention towards him.

“Yes?” you said, voice still scratchy as you attempted to sit upright in your bed. You winced slightly as you accidentally bumped against your arm, the cast still heavy and fresh.

“You have a visitor,” the nurse said, nodding someone to come in before taking his leave.

The man who walked in was one you recognized, but only because he had come to visit you before. It wasn’t hard to forget sharp, amber eyes and slicked back silver hair, and for what felt like the hundredth time, you imagined what your life was like before the accident. Who was this man to you really? He called himself your friend, but the way he acted was far more intimate than any friend.

“Hey, Samatoki,” you said, a small smile lifting at your mouth. Samatoki nodded at you, placing the bouquet of flowers he had brought down into one of the empty vases.

“How ya feeling today, Y/N,” Samatoki asked, suppressing his urge to kiss your forehead as he pulled up a chair beside your bed, plopping down on it unceremoniously.

It had been a long month for you, but it seemed even longer for Samatoki. Having to hide exactly what you meant to him was more difficult than he had thought it would be. All he wanted to do was punch the asshole that hit you with their car, and take you up in his arms holding you close, but he knew he had to restrain himself if only for your sake.

“Better,” you said, shyly glancing at him and then back at your cast. “My arm still hurts a bit…and so do my back…and my neck…” you began.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re doing better,” Samatoki dryly chuckled, leaning over to push away a wire that was caught on the neck of your hospital gown.

As his fingers brushed ever so gently against your neck, you felt a delightful shiver down your spine, and you found yourself wanting to lean into his touch. The moment was over before you could react though, and you cussed internally at the heart monitor attached to your chest that was now beginning to beep a little bit louder.   

“No, it’s true,” you said, shaking your head and unable to look Samatoki directly in the eye. There was a short silence, but it was comfortable. You found that you never felt uncomfortable around Samatoki.

“Which asshole sent you those?” Samatoki asked, making you turn back towards him. When you followed his line of sight, you realized that he was staring at a vase full of roses on the far side of the window. His tone was laced with annoyance, and you had to stop yourself from smiling. Was he jealous of someone sending you roses?

“Don’t worry, they’re just from my mom. My family came by and I was able to remember a lot of things up to a few years ago. The doctor even said that my memory recollection is going really well and that it’s possible I could get them all back in a matter of weeks,” you exclaimed, proudly.

“See, what did I say? I knew you’d be able to get them back in no time,” Samatoki said, shooting you a cocky smile. “If anyone’s gonna kick amnesia’s ass, it’s gonna be you,” he added with a wink.

Immediately you smiled, feeling your heart pounding in your chest and hearing the monitor beep even faster as you tried to calm down. You weren’t sure why his praise meant so much to you, but Samatoki’s words made you feel giddy inside. It was clear that he was more to you than just a friend, but if that was the case, why wouldn’t he tell you? Did he not want to be the boyfriend of an amnesiac? Was he using your condition as an excuse to break up with you?

But if that was the case, then why was he staring at you with such soft eyes that you could feel yourself melting underneath?

“Samatoki…can I ask you something?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter in your bed. Noting the shift in tone of your voice, Samatoki leaned forward, his smile slowly fading.

“Go for it,” he said, casually.

“When I first woke up a few weeks ago, you told me we were just friends, and I do think that we knew each other, but I feel like we were more than friends. Were we…I mean, did anything ever happen between us?” you asked, your eyes genuinely pleading with him. Samatoki leaned back in his chair, sharp eyes staring at you intensely.

“Why do you think something happened between us?” he asked, his question surprising you. Suddenly feeling pressured, you felt the heat rise to your face. It was embarrassing to have to tell this stranger your feelings, but somehow he didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

“I don’t know, I just feel differently around you. I mean, the other day Riou came here and that was what a friendship should feel like. It’s different with you, I…I think about you when you’re not here sometimes, and I get excited when you come to visit. I like it when you stay by my side and whenever you touch me…” you trailed off, too embarrassed to continue. “All I’m saying is that it feels like more than a friendship, and I want you to be honest with me. Have we dated before?” you asked, clearing your throat and asking him exactly what you wanted to know at point blank.

There was a moment of silence before Samatoki laughed lightly, shaking his head and smiling at you. You felt your breath catch but quickly turned away from him.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” you exclaimed, pouting slightly.

“I’m not laughing at you, idiot,” Samatoki said, suddenly leaning in close to you and running a hand along your cheek, smirk still resting on his lips. “You’re wrong, I wasn’t your boyfriend,” he said, simply.

“Oh my god,” you squeaked. Now, you really felt embarrassed, wanting nothing more than to hide from his view, your cheeks burning. You attempted to pull the sheets of the bed over yourself with your good hand, but Samatoki stopped you before you could, placing his hand on top of your own. Again, you felt sparks fly at the smallest amount of contact against your skin

“I wasn’t your boyfriend. I was your fiancé,” he stated, making you freeze.

“F-Fiancé?” you whispered with wide eyes, feeling as though you had just learned the biggest secret in the world. “Why would you not tell me that before?” you cried out.

“’Cause you didn’t even know who I was,” Samatoki shrugged. “I didn’t want you to be even more stressed out by reminding you about the engagement and the wedding planning.”

“We were planning a wedding!?” you shouted, flailing slightly. Now, the heart rate monitor was really picking up and Samatoki had to place his hand on your chin to pull your attention back to him as he chuckled.

“Hey, stop it,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “See? If I’d told you this a few weeks ago you would’ve freaked out. I just wanted to give you time to read just before springing this on you.”

“I’m still freaking out!” you said, a look of panic on your face. “I can’t believe we were engaged, and you didn’t say anything! Or I guess…we still are engaged, aren’t we,” you added, softly. Samatoki’s smirk faded as he met your eyes once more.

“That’s also why I didn’t tell you anything. Figured that if you really loved me, you’d remember me, even if it took a long ass time,” he said, almost too casually. There was a brief moment of silence before he groaned and continued. “Look, even if you didn’t remember me, I wanted to give you a choice – you shouldn’t be with me just cause we used to be together, right?. You should be with me cause you love me or some shit. God knows I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Wait…you loved me?” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips. Samatoki rolled his eyes and leaned back, waving his hand away.

“Yea, yea, whatever. Don’t go thinking it was one-sided, you loved me too. Why the hell else would we have agreed to get married?” he mumbled, his cheeks ever so slightly pink.

His words lingered in your mind for a moment, and although his words were sweet, there was a bite to his tone, and you could tell that he was just trying to play it cool. You wondered just how frustrated he was behind closed doors. If he had loved you enough to ask for your hand in marriage, it must have been heartbreaking for him to see you like this.

“You’re right, I don’t remember you,” you stated. “Not yet, at least. But from everything I’ve seen for the past week, I really wish I did. But I think I can trust my own judgement well enough, and I really like you, Samatoki. If my memories come back, then I’m sure I’d remember us together, but honestly, even if they don’t…it’s exactly like you said. I want to make new memories with you. Of us. Together,” you said, trying to explain the waves of emotions inside your heart.

Samatoki paused for a second and then gave you a soft smile, and somehow you knew that it was a rare thing to see, taking a mental picture of it and keeping it in your vault of new memories.

“That’s all I want,” he said, simply.

“I know it’s bad for me, but I’m sure it’s hard for you too,” you said, placing your free hand on top of his. “Actually, maybe if you tell me things about us in the past, it’ll help me remember. Tell me about how we met, or some of the dates we’ve been on together. Have we ever travelled together? Ooo, what do we like to do for fun together? Wait, when did we – ” you were cut off by Samatoki chuckling once more.

“Alright, geez, I’ll answer all your questions so don’t stress yourself out so much,” he told you. “We’ve got plenty of time to remember everything,” Samatoki added, his voice low and growly. The sound sent pleasant tingles along your skin and you suddenly had the urge to pull him closer to you.

“Actually…” you began with a small smirk of your own. “I think I might have a way to make my memories come back a little faster,” you said, glancing at Samatoki’s lips hungrily.

“Oh yea? What exactly did you have in mind?”  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #samatoki #Samatoki Aohitsugi #samatoki x reader #samatoki aohitsugi x reader #imagines #scenarios #hypmic imagines #hypmic scenarios #hypnosis mic imagines #hypnosis mic scenarios #hypnosis microphone imagines #hypnosis microphone scenarios

[hes-writer]

drivers’ license

Summary: harry teaches y/n how to drive

Warnings: angst, a little bit of fluff

Word Count: 1805 words

A/N: the ‘blonde girl’ has no face claim.

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MASTERLIST

_____

There were many milestones that Y/N strived to remember; things that she wanted to embed in her memory because each fleeting moment was a few seconds away from being lost.  She was afraid that in a blink of an eye; everything would disappear, that she wouldn’t even remember what had been forgotten.

But she would never forget him. Harry. The best friend who taught her how to drive with the utmost patience, calm correction of her mistakes and gentle voice to ease her worry as soon as the shift went from ‘P’ to ‘D’.  He was there with precise instruction, detailing each rule and advice that would help her acquire her drivers’ license.  He was tolerant of her constant ability to doubt herself, always assuring Y/N that she could do it.

It was silly why Y/N was scared of driving.  It was because it felt so grown up, so adult-like and it bought a sense of responsibility.  It meant fully committing to adulthood.  There was a shift that everything was changing.  And by that, she meant everything.

.

.

.

It seemed like a distant memory now.

Y/N took the leap of faith to start learning how to drive, trusting him to teach her the ways. Harry was her light in a dark day.  His smile was bright enough for her to admit that through the haze of her nervousness; it wasn’t just caused by her fear of handling and operating a vehicle.

It also had to do with the way Y/N’s stomach fluttered with butterflies when she had parked in an empty lot, Harry sitting on the passenger’s seat as they talked to each other about anything and everything their minds could conjure up at that very moment. No filter.

How Harry enthusiastically shared his excitement about Y/N’s newfound ability to drive to and fro from her apartment to his place.  They would be able to go on drives on the coast with nostalgic songs blasting on the radio, screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs where no one would hear them.  The wind sifting through his hair to which she commented on maybe getting it snipped; it was why Harry opted to not trust Y/N with scissors anymore after a close-call with the sharp tool.  She didn’t know why he had decided to trust her with it in the first place--she was a clumsy one.

Yet Harry continued to spend each and every second of his free time with her, even when he was booked to the hilt with mandatory meetings and unplanned fan encounters, Y/N stood by his side as an unofficial photographer.  The dopey grin on her face must’ve been permanent every time that she was around him.  Sometimes she looked through the screen of the phone and wondered just how much she would break if Harry wasn’t around in her life and all she had to remember him by was the captured portrait of his kind aura leaking through the device; almost as if he was there right beside her because Y/N seemed to label her best memories with him around.

Harry was it for her.  Even if her feelings were not mutual, Y/N would take being his closest friend over being a stranger because at least she was near him.  Luckily, Harry returned her affection.  Though, it was humiliating to vouch for a relationship that would have to go through troughs and trenches in order to be rendered successful.  It seemed impossible with her stoic life compared to his fast-paced, always moving, always travelling situation.

Y/N was willing to work for it.  If she were to make a list of things she wanted most, it would be the unconditional love from the one that meant the most to her.  Harry was exactly what she wanted--what she needed.  Y/N didn’t know what she did in her past life or even now that caused the universe to gift her with a presence as charming and graceful as his but she would do it every day if it meant coming home to his warm embrace.

But Harry wasn’t so keen on commitment.  There was no denying that his thorough discourse of relationships hindered his ability to fully trust any future partners and Y/N understood that.  The distance gets to peoples’ heads, even his, admittedly.  Loneliness seeps through his fingers, directing his body to strangely familiar bodies. Ones whom he was not currently committed to. Wandering hands.

Despite that, Y/N knew that Harry was a good person.  Some may call her a fool for giving him a chance but he truly was a genuine guy.  She had seen it when he was coddled up, blankets bunched all the way to his chin, only showcasing his angelic face.  The crease of his brows free from any worries.  He was simply him.  She had seen him when he was the most vulnerable.

Harry was a romantic person.  He loved to love.  He adored the concept of having someone behind him, beside him and in front of him at all times to catch him when he fell, to support him in any new journeys and to lead him when he was lost.  Y/N could understand his shortcomings, aiming to better the other person instead of putting them down.  She wanted a dialogic approach instead of having a conversation where all she pointed out was his bad qualities.

What she couldn’t comprehend was how easily he had lied to her.

She wasn’t asking for much; Y/N promised to wait for him until he was ready. Until his previous baggage was deemed easy enough to carry, or at least when Harry was able to talk about it without anointing skepticism to his actions.  Though, Harry had blatantly disregarded her purity to be patient towards him.  Basically, he had told her that he was not ready for a relationship yet here he was now, holding hands with another girl.  The blonde woman had caused insecurities to sprout from deep within her since Harry kept citing her age and maturity, adding that she was ‘different’ from the rest as if he hadn’t mentioned it previously.

.

.

.

Y/N would ask herself from time to time; when a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?

She compared it to the times’ Harry’s voice cracked in the middle of singing songs that embedded itself in her memory and the way his ears tinted a blush pink even under the night sky after Y/N quickly gave a glance in his direction.  She reminisced about the times when he would explain any ideas he had about new songs, thoroughly immersing not only himself but her as well, in his art.  He would sometimes stop midway as if lost in thought when really he was just mesmerized by the slope of her nose and the pucker of her lips.

He was so passionate.  So indulged and fervent in making sure everything he did was one-hundred percent, authentically him.  Harry spoke with grit when he was overly zealous and he tended with a soft voice when he felt vulnerable.

It was glaringly loud; Y/N could hear him everywhere she went.  But now that he was gone—out of reach—did those conversations ever really happen?  Was she even present when Harry shyly played a song he had been working on for her, singing stripped with just his raspy voice, serenading her with a tune describing how much gratitude he felt that she was present in his life.  He appreciated her so much for accepting him even when the world criticized his every action. For being there when he seemingly felt lonely.

.

.

.

Life itself was funny to her.

Sometimes Y/N wondered how she could let herself be vulnerable with somebody else other than herself.  It was plastered everywhere—love never lasts.  Relationships come and go, people leave and never return, friends, drift apart and detaching from oneself was even possible.  It was practically the motto of anyone searching for love—looking for a sense of comfort and belonging, yet she was practically crushed by the overwhelming reality that it may never happen.

She hated the way her heart longed for him to be near as if when he was too far away it ached in pain.  Y/N disliked the feeling of being out of place because where she truly belonged was in his arms.  Harry’s nose nuzzled at the top of her head, inhaling her scent as though it was the last time he would hold her—for a while at least.

And it really was because the next day he had left to catch a flight a mere continent away.

____

The night before was special to Y/N. Harry left with a promise of ‘forever’ and that he would return straight to her after his tour ends.  It was a dainty promise but Y/N chose to believe him because it was Harry and he never strayed from his words.

He promised to return and Y/N had sworn to wait for him. They both agreed, after admitting their feelings the night before he left, that a long-distance relationship was not how either of them wanted to begin.  Although their friendship had lasted years prior to finding out the bubbling flame between them, crossing the line as seamlessly as possible was the gateway to a healthy relationship.

Y/N could hardly wait for his return now that she was driving alone to where she needed to be.  Harry was always at the back of her mind no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.  He was attached to the episodic memory of Y/N successfully learning how to drive; that was something she couldn’t really forget.

.

.

.

Y/N unlocked the car doors, breathing deeply as soon as she was situated on the driver’s seat. The beeping of the car ringing in her ears until she was reminded to close the car door shut.

She blinked her lids tightly, feeling salty tears pooling at her waterline.  It was a sad excuse of trying to not start sobbing right then and there but she was successful.

Starting the engine, Y/N sniffled as she adjusted her mirror, making sure that she could see through them before driving off. As she focused her eyes on the road, Harry’s voice repeated in her head.

She didn’t know where she was going. Y /N didn’t really have a destination to arrive to because her brain was filled with images of Harry and her.  Kissing, hugging, looking at each other as if nobody else in the mattered; not even Y/N.

And it hurt a lot because she kept her promise of waiting for him to return but it seemed like he had no trouble filling the hole in his heart, unlike her.

He moved on.

_____

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles angst

[otonymous]

Fever Dreams (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)

Description: Gavin lets you in on the contents of his wet dreams… Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: mentions of IV lines, hospitals, minor injuries, brief mentions of trauma, Eli’s sense of impending doom, vaginal intercourse, profanity, masturbation Word Count: ~3K words (~15 mins of sweet, sweet hospital lovemaking 🤣) Author’s Notes: Close your eyes.  Imagine that Gavin is by your side — muscles flexed and lips so close they practically brush against the shell of your ear when he whispers the following:

“I hope you enjoy this fic, which was based on and inspired by Gavin’s Whispers/Biting The Ear (咬耳) ASMR from the CN server, beautifully translated by the incredibly talented and gracious @cheri-translates​.” 🤣

In all seriousness, I’m extending a massive THANK YOU to the sweet @cheri-translates​ for providing me with the awesome goods that literally left me breathless!  This fic would not have been possible without you! 💕 With that being said, hope you all enjoy it and happy reading! 🥰

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

It was easy to forget at times; that Gavin was made of flesh and bone like everyone else.

That lionhearted though he was, the man wasn’t invincible, no matter what he would have you believe: hiding winces behind smiles and brushing off bruises blooming blue like they were nothing at all.

It was little wonder then that when the phone rang that night, it was Eli’s voice on the other line.  And as you stood before the bathroom mirror, wrapped in nothing but a towel and watching the colour drain from your face, the stilted manner of his speech made it increasingly clear he was unused to delivering bad news.

“I’m gonna kill him when I see him,” Gavin swears under his breath, the hand with the IV drip attached pulling into a tight fist by his side.

Now you understood why.

“They’re making a fuss over nothing, keeping me in hospital for observation.  It’s just a few scratches.”

Amber eyes train in your direction, the earnestness in their tender depths melting the edge of the anger you felt at always being the last to know anytime your lover got hurt.  And when he tries to smile despite the bulky bandage plastered on his left cheek, your resistance falters.

“ ‘They’re making a fuss over nothing.’  I bet you’d say that even if you were missing a limb, Gavin Bai.”  

Suddenly exhausted by the anxiety that made you rush to the Special Task Force hospital upon receiving Eli’s call, you slump into the chair at his bedside, still annoyed but relived to find that he was well enough to laugh at your sarcasm.

“Hmm, I must be in a lot of trouble if you’re calling me by name like that.”  

Smirk spreading on that handsome face, his eyes take on a mischievous twinkle that makes him altogether impossible to resist.  You couldn’t help but think of that rough and tumble high school senior who threw furtive glances in your direction every time he walked past in the halls, lip cut and face bruised.  

“Come.  It’s too late to go home now and you can’t sleep on the chair like that.  Join me on the bed.”

Voice breaking through your reverie, Gavin holds out the hand that wasn’t hooked to the drip — large, strong and inviting.  You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you look towards the door.  

“I-I really shouldn’t.  We’re in a hospital and there won’t be enough room for the two of us.  You, especially, need a good night’s sleep, being injured—”

Three dull pats sound in quick succession to interrupt you.  Turning your head, you see Gavin scooting to one side of the bed, hand beckoning towards the newly vacated space.  “The beds here are larger than the ones in your average hospital.  STF perk, I guess.  But if you insist on refusing then…I guess I’ll just have to accompany you in sleeping sitting up—”

Relenting with a click of the tongue, you snatch the pillow from his grasp just as he begins propping it up behind his back, sliding it beneath his head as you gingerly crawl in next to him.

“That’s my girl.”

Gavin’s whisper is electric in your ear, low and seductive in a way that made you question the innocence of his motives, wondering if he was already aware of the sensations his body pressed to the side of yours was eliciting.  His lips curve in a smile on your forehead, breath dancing hot across skin.  And when he reaches for you, the sight mesmerizes: long, tapered fingers smoothing slow along the strands of your hair.

“Eli must’ve called while you were still in the shower.  You didn’t even have time to dry your hair, did you?  Look at how wet it is.”

And though you were on the verge of telling him that it wasn’t only your hair that was wet, you thought better of it.  There was a heaviness in his tone, weighed down by the concern that inevitably arose every time Gavin thought you weren’t taking care of yourself: encouraging you with bites of the BBQ pork rice he brought in takeout containers whenever you skipped meals during late nights at the office, draping his jacket over your shoulders when you shook from the cold — having decided on form over function in a lightweight but pretty new dress worn especially to impress on date nights.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost dry anyway.”

“Hmm.”  Faint displeasure taints his acknowledgment, but you close your eyes to the furrow in his brows, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of his fingers on your skin — calloused tips tracing the line of your jaw to traipse over the chin until finally coming to rest on your lower lip.  He is so close you can feel the tail end of your exhalation being drawn into Gavin’s next breath when he says:

“I know I really scared you this time.  I’m sorry.  I was careless, but it won’t happen again.  Please don’t be mad, okay?”

Eyes opening to the sight of his, you study the specks of gold embossed in amber, beautifully familiar.  See your reflection in the dark pupils holding your face in loving regard.  Felt your heart chill at the thought of Gavin one day not returning home.  And when the sting of tears arrives to redden the tip of your nose, you turn away, unwilling to add to his burdens with your own.

“All I ask…is that you be open with me.  I know you want to protect me, Gavin.  You don’t want me to worry.  But it’s much worse to have to guess about whether or not you’re lying just to be kind.  I’m a grown woman and your partner, so please don’t handle me with kid gloves.  Let me take care of you too, sometimes.”

Staring at the patterns on the curtain drawn around the bed, you listen for the rhythm of his breath — slow and even in the ensuing silence and punctuated only by the intermittent beeps of machinery, the weight of your concerns slowly sinking in before he finally relents.

“Okay.  I won’t keep anything from you anymore.  I promise.  So please…could you let me just…”  

A hand wraps around your waist, grip firm yet gentle as he pulls you close beneath the thin sheet.  You feel his mouth on the nape of your neck, Gavin’s kisses falling hot and insistent between muffled words.

“…hold you, like this?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, barely suppressing a moan to feel his fingers crawl beneath your shirt; warming themselves on the soft skin of your belly, tracing circles about the navel.

“Seven days.  It’s been…hmm…seven days since I’ve last held you.  It’s too long.”

The last statement is breathed into the curve of your neck and shoulder, your boyfriend inhaling deeply as he buries his face into the space, the embrace around you tightening as if touch alone could communicate all the longing he wasn’t quite able to put into words.

“It was a difficult mission.  I couldn’t sleep.  And anytime I did, I would dream of you.  Always of you.  Want to know what we did?”

Cotton-mouthed, you resort to nodding again.

“Then be a good girl and turn around first.  I want…need to see you…that’s good.  In my dreams, we’d be together, just like this.  I’d have you in my arms, so close I could feel every inch of your body…how hot it is…just like now.  No, don’t move away.  I like it. I’ve got a fever, but I’m also feeling chilled.  I want your heat.”

Those amber eyes are dark now, half-lidded and veiled with lust — proof that Gavin’s increasingly shallow breathing was not an exaggeration.  It was a look you recognized; the expression his handsome face wore the moment he saw you again after a mission had kept him away for too long.  It typically resulted in entire weekends spent in bed, limbs entwined as Gavin made love to you over and over again.

Until you were boneless and spent.  

Until your lover was satisfied that he was thoroughly reacquainted with every curve of your body.

You reach for him: trembling fingers tracing the line of his brow, thumb circling the apple of his cheek.  Gavin closes his eyes, exhalation shaky as he nuzzles into your palm to lay a kiss on that, too.

“Your touch feels cool on my skin.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry—”

“No.  Don’t be.”  Fingers curling about the wrist that pulled back, Gavin gently guides your hand towards his forehead.  “It’s nice.  I like it.  But…my back is warm too.  Do you think you could help me lower the temperature there?”

Swallowing, you start to inch your hands towards the open back of his hospital gown.  Gavin softly groans to feel your fingers running along the ridge of his shoulder blades, caressing defined muscles and faded scars you had committed to memory long ago.

“Is this all right?”

Now his turn to nod, Gavin’s head drops back, accentuating the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple in that strong, thick neck.

“I’m...ah…also feeling hot here.”

Large palms fall over the back of your hands, guiding them over his rib cage until they find themselves on the hard muscles of Gavin’s abdomen.  Thighs pressing together beneath your skirt, you trace that defined V-line — touch featherlight in a way that draws out a shudder, goosebumps blooming across the expanse of Gavin’s skin.

Suddenly, you freeze to hear footsteps approaching in the hallway beyond the door.  And just when you start to pull away, Gavin stops you with a whisper:

“Don’t worry.  The nurse has already been in to check on me tonight.  They won’t be back again, unless…unless they see that my heart rate has become unusually high.”

He winks.

“Besides, if they find you here, I’ll just say that, um…I’m afraid of sleeping by myself in the dark.”

That smirk again.  You wonder at what point your boyfriend had become so cheeky, knowing just the right things to say to get his way.

“Could you help me?  I’m burning up…right here.”

Lower and lower, he guides your hands, leaving them to their own devices when they reach the waistband of his boxers.  Barely breathing, you watch as the expression on his face transforms from anticipation to euphoria the moment you slip past the elastic, fingers circling his hardened length with a loose grip.

“Officer, you weren’t lying!”

Gaze already heavy with want, the chuckle Gavin lets out in response has never sounded so sexy.  “It’s because I’m running a fever.  Or perhaps…it’s because I’m thinking of you.  Do you think we should…make it even hotter?”

You wet your lips, feeling Gavin twitch in your hand at the sight; feel the vein pulsing on the underside of that thick shaft as he continues to swell in size.  Firming up your grip, you begin to stroke in earnest, trying to maintain your rhythm despite the distraction of your own throbbing pussy, despite the way you grew increasingly wet to envision him sliding into your depths, satin panties clinging to the lines of your folds.

Smoothing your thumb over the liquid arousal beading at the tip of his cock, you draw wide, slick circles over velvet skin — paying especial attention to the ridge just below the swollen head because you loved how Gavin sounded when caught in the throes of ecstasy.  It pleased you to pleasure him — the man who never thought twice about putting you before himself.

Always so strong, always fearless, you loved to watch him fall apart.  Over you.  Beneath you.  In you.  Held in the palm of your hand or folded to your embrace.  You could feel the tension leaving his body — worn out and battered — each time he returned to your side from a mission, the trauma of all the things he couldn’t talk about seeping from every pore as you sought to show him love with the swing of your hips, the kisses you showered upon his sweat-soaked face.  With the normalcy only the simplicity of a home-cooked meal could restore.  “I love you,” he’d smile and say, amber eyes blinking once, twice…as if Gavin couldn’t quite believe you were real.  “I really do.”

“This is the first time someone has stayed with me in the hospital, let alone shared my hospital bed.” Gavin’s voice is low, thick with emotion in between shuddering gasps elicited by each tug along his length.  “Who would’ve thought that...even at a time like this…I’d be lucky enough not to be alone.”

“I’d never let you be lonely,” you say with a sudden vehemence that surprises even you.  “Never again.”

He smiles, gentle eyes glistening when his large hand approaches to cup your face.  Gavin touches you as if holding something of infinite importance, “Angel” falling from his lips in a soft utterance.

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight.  I don’t want to.  What about you?  Will you…stay up with me?…Help my fever break—”

You kiss him deeply, swallowing his words even as your tongue pushes past teeth to meet Gavin’s in reunion.  You had missed him; missed the way he tasted, the hint of mint that lingered in the breath you shared, as if your very lives were as entwined as your bodies in embrace.

To lose him was to lose yourself.  

And so, you give yourself over to the man who gave so much and asked for so little in return.

“Then I won’t sleep either.  I want to stay with you.”

Throwing one last glance at the door, you rise to your knees, skirt bunching at the waist as you straddle his hips.  Eyes wide, Gavin starts to move before you stop him, saying “Let me” as you push him back onto the bed before the IV line could pull taut.

You loved how Gavin looked at you, the artless way he wore his heart on his sleeve — showing in the pink of his cheeks, the blush creeping all the way to the tips of pierced ears.  It was a side of him only you were privy to; unguarded and unfiltered.  He watched you now, those amber eyes lit with a dark hunger to follow the motions of your hands: one pulling dampened panties aside as the other spreads glistening lips, guiding his cock along the length of your slit before you ease yourself onto his hard heat.  

Unable to stop the moan that escapes, you slide…lower and lower…until the flesh of your buttocks meets the muscular plane of his pelvis.  But the sensation continues — electricity spreading towards the very pit of the stomach to curl your spine, chest opening to receive all of his love.

Breathing barely controlled, Gavin bites hard on his lip in a bid to stay quiet, unwilling to attract the attention of curious staff.  “God, you feel so good.  I just…just want to move.”

“No, let me…let me be the one to take care of you this time.  Please.”

For the second time that night, Gavin relents, yielding to your exquisite torture even as he fought to leash the animal impulse that spurred him to rip free of the machinery and fuck you until the bed collapsed.  Hands clenching tight around the bedsheet, his knuckles grow white, as if the flimsy fabric were a lifeline keeping him from being swept away each time you lifted and lowered yourself onto him.

For everything about you drove him mad, from the tight, grinding circles you drew with your hips whenever he was fully sheathed, to the clenching embrace of your arousal-slicked walls that held him like no other, as if the entirety of you were created with him in mind.  Or, at least, it was a fantasy he harboured; to think that fate had a hand in ordaining you his sole queen, and him, forever your humble servant.

“Ahh, Gavin!…I…you’re so deep, I’m com—”

You don’t get to finish before your mind blanks.  All you could focus on was the sudden grip of Gavin’s hands on your hips and the shift of your weight forwards when his knees draw up, giving your lover the proper leverage to pound hard and fast into you from below until your arousal pools to drench those six-pack abs.

It nearly overwhelms you; the orgasm that makes you collapse onto Gavin’s chest, the contractions that hit like tidal waves moving through your body.  They spur him on, continuing to fuck you so hard the bed shook, each and every thrust hitting just the right, swollen spot to keep you elevated on that high.  And when you whisper

“I love you”

before your tongue extends to suck the lobe of his ear into your mouth, the tension building in the taut muscles of that perfect body breaks.  

You hear your name leave his lips in a deep moan, feel him leave a part of himself in the secret space between your legs.  Taste the salt of his sweat on kisses laid upon the pulse of his neck.  Waited for his racing heart to slow before telling yours it was okay to do the same.

And when his arms wrap tightly around your body, “I love you, too” returned with palpable affection, you let yourself fall into slumber…knowing that even in dreams, Gavin would meet you there.

👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼👂🏼

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc gavin smut #mlqc smut #my writing #fanfiction #mlqc ASMR

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - We’re Coming Back Home

A Drifting Stars AU one-shot, the last one I plan to do, in collaboration with @clownwry.

1st, 2nd, 3rd.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, miraculously, through all of Ford’s traveling, through countless dimensions, his Quantum Destabilizer remained on his back and fully intact.

Okay, well, mostly intact. Partially intact. 

When he was finally ready to attack Bill and put an end to his reign of terror, his plans had been put on hold when a crack in space-time opened. He didn’t dare hope that it was a way home, but maybe if he aimed correctly, the shot would not only kill Bill, but fly him home. But no, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl fly out of the hole, and with reflexes he developed over thirty years of staying alive in the worst circumstances, he hooked his Quantum Destabilizer onto his back, caught the girl, and swam through the gravity-less air for safety, hiding behind an asteroid, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth and hissing for her silence, swearing she would be okay, and they barely made it out as Bill’s words echoed through the Nightmare Realm.

“Sixer’s caught a Shooting Star, boys!”

Ford had no idea what that was supposed to mean at the time, but now a month later, he thinks he finally understood. His niece, Shermie’s granddaughter, Mabel, loved stars, and was very much like one herself. Always shining. Always so bright and full of hope. Many times in history, and even today in other dimensions, runaway slaves used the stars as maps to guide them to a better place. Ford often wondered if Mabel was his star, maybe not guiding him physically to a safe haven, but guiding him to a happier mindset. Guiding him to a life that isn’t completely isolated. Guiding him to a life that included love.

The last few weeks have been challenging, sure, but not that much more challenging than traveling alone; Mabel was a fast learner, and while she refused to use a knife or gun (“Cuz those hurt, Grunkle Ford!”), she was perfectly comfortable with pop-rocks and making foes lose their footing and fall down so they couldn’t attack. And she was very good at hunting for food and water and other reliable resources. 

In fact, Ford would easily say the last few weeks have been the happiest of his life. Maybe only tying with when Fiddleford joined him in Gravity Falls, before work on the portal became dangerous, but after he realized that maybe the woods had been too quiet the last six years.

After just a day and a half, Ford was fully-aware of his attachment to his niece and how much it would ruin him if he lost her. Mabel was everything a good person strives to be: kind, sweet, a pleasure to be around, but not a pushover, either; Mabel Pines knew how to stand her ground.

And so the last month was littered with so many happy memories. Ford was a little hurt when she “borrowed” two broken fishing poles and fixed them up so they could fish, but he very quickly enjoyed sitting on a log by a river and fishing with Mabel. Ford found it brought her much comfort to brush her hair, and he also discovered he enjoyed a calm brush himself. Ford found he didn’t mind the extra weight of his niece on his shoulders; quite the contrary, he found it comforting, and he was always swallowed with peace when she was so relaxed with him that she fell asleep, using his fluffy gray hair as a pillow.

No longer was Ford met with suspicious looks when he walked down the street of a market alone, face hidden. Quite the opposite. He was always met with smiles and warm greetings, and sometimes a little extra food was thrown into a purchase for free. Be it because people saw him as a parent with an adorable child, or because of Mabel’s charm. Or both.

The dimensions they came across were random and different, just like it was when Ford traveled alone. Some dimensions were like an alien sci-fi movie, completely different with no humans. Some dimensions were scaringly like home, with a small difference here and there. Ironically, the alien-like dimensions were typically safer, because they were used to travelers and weird-looking creatures. 

But Ford guessed it would be okay if he and Mabel stepped into a normal grocery store to buy some food.

They had come across a “normal” dimension, and while Ford’s first thought was to retreat for the woods, he heard Mabel’s stomach growl, and he decided her health was more important. So they stepped in and kept to themselves.

Ford and Mabel were picking up crackers when the little girl grinned at rows of cereals behind them. “Grunkle Ford, can I please pick a cereal?” She asked politely.

The old scientist thought about it for a moment. Cereal would definitely cover a few meals and be light and easy to carry, and it wouldn’t get hold too quickly, and he had wanted to get her at least one nice thing while in the store, so he nodded and said, “Yes, dear, you may pick one box. Any flavor you want.”

“Thank you!” And Mabel took the time to hug him before skipping over to the cereals to look.

Ford chuckled and picked some crackers, then decided to browse the fruit snacks, debating if it would be wise. Probably not, because if they get stuck in another desert climate the gummies could melt and make a mess, but they could make a good snack for Mabel. He held his chin, debating the idea, while a couple was also looking over the cereals.

“Which do you think Dad would want?” The yellow-haired woman asked.

“Honey, who cares what Rick wants? Just get a cereal you’ll like.” The husband said with an eye roll.

Ford froze at that name. No no, that was most definitely a different Rick. It was a common enough name, and there were billions of dimensions. There was no way Ford and Mabel somehow managed to stumble into C-137. He ultimately decided against gummies and he then looked at the trail mixes and granola bars. Both were always a good option.

“I know, but I want him to feel welcome, you know?” The wife said as she picked a box. “He’s been travelling in space alone for years…”

Oh no. No, no, no. Ford quickly chose some packets of trail mix and several granola bars and hurried back to his niece. He was not going to do this today. Nope.

Mabel grinned at him, a box of cereal in hand, and she held it out to him. “Look, Grunkle Ford, do you like this flavor? I can pick a different one if you want.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear, but I like the one you picked.” Ford did a decent job masking his uneasiness and he took her hand and smiled. “Why don’t we pick up some fruit for today, and then we’ll go fishing for dinner?”

“Yay! Sounds great!”

Ford didn’t miss the yellow-haired woman smiling at them as they left the aisle. If that was who he thought it was… She really didn’t look anything like him. She might have just favored her mother. Who else would have spent years traveling space? Bastard.

Ford may have hated him for many reasons, but choosing to abandon his girls was at the top of the list.

At the checkout line, Ford nervously watched the total of their purchase go up with each beep. He recounted their cash and made a small list of items in his mind for them to go down if they couldn’t afford everything. A few granola bars can go. And, maybe they could find band-aids elsewhere and “borrow” them.

The worker rang up the last item and Ford smiled when he saw the total was 29.89. He had thirty. But then the worker pressed the total button and taxes were added. Shit, right. That made their total 35.45. Ford winced. Mabel looked up at him worriedly, but she smiled and stood on her tippy-toes to see the worker better.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Can you please put the cereal back? We don’t really need it.”

Ford looked down at her, surprised and also a little disheartened. He had really wanted to get her at least one nice thing, but truth be told the cereal was the most expensive item, so it made sense to get rid of it first. Still, it sucked.

“Total’s now 32.14.”

Ford bit his lip. “Very well, may we please put the band-aids back, too?”

The worker nodded, seeming tired and annoyed, but they didn’t say a word. Blissfully, the total went down to 29.99.

With hands full of bags, Mabel and Ford paused at the beginning of the parking lot to move their groceries into their backpacks. While they worked, the old scientist said, “I’m sorry I could afford your cereal, Mabel.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” The girl said instantly. “I’ve got something even sweeter.” And she grinned at her grunkle and gave him a warm smile.

Ford smiled back at her tiredly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” Mabel insisted and hugged him around the neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder and determined to sink as much comfort as she could into his skin. “I love you Grunkle Ford. Please don’t beat yourself up, m’k?”

Ford hugged her back and petted her short brown hair. It was certainly easier to feel better with a ball of sunshine in his arms.

They both heard rustling behind them as a buggy rolled from the door to the parking lot. They both looked behind Mabel and saw a bag with the cereal and the band-aids in it. They looked around and saw no one, except for the yellow-haired woman and her husband going to their car.

Mabel grinned and hollered to them, “Thank you!”

They didn’t respond, but the woman did smile and wave before putting groceries into her car. As appreciated as Ford was for her kindness, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. No offense to her. She seemed like a very lovely lady.

But then it hit Ford like a pile of rocks. What was it he had said before he had pulled out his gun and left Ford to travel alone? “And hey, if you ever wanna travel without customs or waiting for wormholes to open, don’t come looking for me.” And then he winked and fell backwards into a pool of green, leaving Ford to curse his name.

If this was like before, when Ford was alone, he wouldn’t dare. But if he could help get Mabel home…

Ford took Mabel’s hand and muttered, “Come with me.” And she followed without question.

Beth felt good helping the old man and the little girl, and she didn’t expect anything more. Really, it was only five dollars worth of stuff. But she was happy when they started to walk towards her, so she trusted Jerry to finish loading up the car and she smiled at them.

“Excuse me, miss, I just want to thank you for what you did.” The old man said.

“Oh, you’re welcome, it was no trouble at all.”

“I… I hope I’m not being too invasive, but… but I believe you know someone I know.”

Beth smiled. Small world! “Really? That’s great! Oh, are you a relative of Dave’s? Or, you know, I do know a lot of people indirectly from the horse-track.”

“Er, no.” The old man gave her a more serious look, and then asked quietly, “Do you know Rick Sanchez?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth was so excited to give Stanford Pines and his niece, Mabel, a ride, and to invite them to dinner, not only because she thought seeing an old friend might make her dad smile, but maybe she’ll learn more about what he’s been up to all these years. The man was very polite and the girl was as sweet as can be, both of whom looked rough and in need of a cozy bed and maybe a soothing bath. Jerry was a little unsure, not wanting “more Ricks” into his house, but after a huf from the girl and a cheerful greeting, Jerry couldn’t help but tell the girl she was more than welcome, so now he was roped in.

Mabel noticed that her uncle looked distracted. He was looking out his window, but his eyes were elsewhere. He was thinking. So she decided to try to help him with his thoughts. “Grunkle Ford, who’s Rick Sanchez?” She asked quietly.

Ford looked at her, sighed quietly, and muttered, “He’s an intergalactic scientist. He’s ridiculously intelligent and clever, and… a bit…” Ford pursed his lips. All the words that came to mind he didn’t want Mabel hearing, so he settled on. “... mad.”

“Oh. Is he like a real mad-scientist?” Mabel asked, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, but with less laughter, more slurs and sluggish demeanor, and even less consideration of other living things.”

Mabel noticed his cold tone and grew concerned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Ford bit his lip. No, he didn’t. But there was a more important reason why he didn’t want to see Rick today. 

Mabel leaned in closer and whispered, “Is he mean?”

Trust Mabel to sum it up perfectly for her uncle. “Yes.” Ford said just as quietly. “And I don’t want him meeting you.”

“Why?”

Ford hesitated. But being blunt and honest seemed to be working, and it was best for Mabel to prepare herself for the lion’s den they were walking into. “I don’t want him to hurt your feelings.” a bit elementary, but it was the best way to explain it to a child without scaring her too much.

Mabel, however, grinned. “Grunkle Ford, no one can resist the Power of Mabel.”

Ford smiled and ruffled her hair softly. “We’ll see…”

“So, if you don’t like Mr. Sanchez, then why are we going to go see him?”

“He’s an expert on interdimensional-travel.” Ford informed her. “He might know how to get us home.”

Mabel’s eyes widened and she “oh”ed as she realized what was going on. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The garage door was open to let in good lighting and fresh air. But that wasn’t an invitation to come in whenever people feel like it; Rick will have to work on a security system to keep nosy neighbors away. He was opening a box and getting organized when he heard his daughter’s car roll into the driveway. He didn’t bother to look up, instead waited for the sounds of car doors opening to say something.

“Hey sweetie, welcome back.”

“Dad,” Beth said, sounding giddy. Rick hated giddy. But he had only been here for a week and he didn’t feel like making his daughter hate him just yet, so he settled for rolling his eyes and continuing what he was doing. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Wow! You have a nice house! Cool garage, too!” A young voice said.

Rick was halted. He turned in his chair and raised an eyebrow to find a young girl with short brown hair and braces holding hands with an old nerd with fluffy charcoal hair, glasses, and six fingers.

“Oh my God!” Rick laughed. “Holy-...” A dark look from the old traveler made Rick stop; he can piss him off later. First he needs to figure out why the hell he is here and what the hell he wants. “Jeez, you look terrible, Fordsie.” The mad scientist snorted as he leaned against his desk with his hands in his pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes and said, “And you still look like a soft breeze will blow you away, Sanchez.”

Mabel bit her lip and quietly, “Oooooh”ed, like she was listening to a rap battle.

“So,” Beth stretched, clearly hoping for more information or a more satisfying reunion, but she wasn’t getting it naturally, so she decided to push a little. “How do you two know each other?”

“The Multiverse is a pretty big place, sweetie.” Rick answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll have this nerd gone before you finish unloading the car. Don’t want to risk another mass genocide.” He sneered.

Ford’s face turned red and he yelled, “I didn’t know it was a planet! It looked too similar to a sandwich for it to be a planet!”

Rick laughed and looked at the little girl. She looked maybe a little younger than Morty. “Who’s that you got with you?”

Ford closed his eyes, debating if he should tell Rick it wasn’t any of his business, or get the introduction over with. But before he could make a decision, Mabel beat him to the punch.

She let go of Rick’s hand, hopped to him, and looked up at his bean-pole stature and smiled and waved. “Hi! I’m Mabel! You’re a scientist, too? Cool! I like your hair! How old are you? Have you ever met a dinosaur? What’s your favorite food?” 

Rick blinked like a startled lizard at the girl, glanced up at Ford, and then looked back down at Mabel. Rick smiled and sat in his chair to be closer to her level, and held out a hand to shake, which she happily accepted and shook a little rough. “Hey there, I’m Rick. Yes, I’m a scientist. Thank you, I like your hair, too. Yes, I’ve met a dinosaur, several in different dimensions. And, pancakes.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled. “I love pancakes, too! Maybe we can make some together!”

“Maybe, but I’ve got the feeling that’s not why you’re here.” Rick suggested kindly. And no, Ford wasn’t at all suspicious that he was being kind to Mabel.

“Oh! Yeah! Grunkle Ford thinks you can help us get home.”

“Huh. You’re great-uncle, huh? Sure, okay, let’s get started.” Rick rolled over to a cabinet and took out an odd machine. It came with a tiny needle and was attached to the machine by a small black wire, and the boxed machine had a screen of some sort on the side. “Mind if I prick your finger?”

“Sure!” Mabel held out her finger to him and Rick carefully held her wrist and pricked her finger, so small she hardly noticed it. “What for?”

“I need a blood sample to find your home dimension. Gotta send you to the right dimension.” Rick explained. “Fordsie, lemme get yours, too. How’d you two find each other, anyways?”

“I was in the Nightmare Realm when some idiot opened a portal and this little starshine fell into my arms.” Ford explained, stepping forward and giving Rick his finger.

“Okay, got it.” Rick said. “Well, there’s a possibility that you two come from different dimensions. Nothing too different about your homes, but there’s millions of dimensions. The probability that you two came from the same timeline and reality… there we go. It’s a match. That makes things easier.”

The small heart attack Ford was having went away. The idea of his starshine not being his was a nightmare. His life was complicated enough; he didn’t need his girl to not actually be his.

“Dimension 41’\. Huh, okay, gimme two seconds…” Rick pulled out his trusty portal gun and plugged it into the machine. A long list of dimensions popped up, and Ford prayed 41’\ would be on the list. “You two are lucky. I can go as far as 42’\, but the other 40s are out of range. Huh, i’ll have to work on that.”

“So,” Mabel grinned. “You can get us home?”

Rick smiled smugly and shrugged as he stood. “Yeah, sure.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel cheered and hurled herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it! I’m gonna see Dipper again! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

Ford smiled softly. He couldn’t believe it. It was all happening so fast and effortlessly. He was going to get Mabel home. They were both going home. Suddenly the idea of seeing Stanley again, meeting his grandnephew and all of Mabel’s friends and her pet pig sounded… a lot. He didn’t realize it, but he was becoming anxious and spacing out. But Mabel noticed, and she kissed his stubbly cheek and brought him back to reality.

Rick shot at the wall with his gun and an oozing green portal appeared. “There we go, 41’\. Wait, sh-oot, gimme a location.”

“618 Gopher Road.” Ford stated as he let go of Mabel. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. USA.”

“Got it.” Rick made the last portal disappear and shot a new one. “There. Now get-... Go on home.”

Mabel stepped up to Rick and said sincerely, “Mr. Sanchez, thank you for helping us.” And she hugged him around his tall skinny legs.

Rick pursed his lips awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such positive energy and kindness. The old scientists looked at each other, Ford giving Rick a warning look, but something hidden in his face or eyes told the drunk that the nomad was actually grateful for his illegal device.

“Uh…” Rick settled on patting Mabel’s head and said, “Y-Y-You’re welcome.”

Mabel let go of Rick and held out a hand to Ford. “Ready?”

“Nope.” Ford took her hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this.”

And without another word, the Pines walked through the green portal.

#GF #gravity falls #rick and morty #fanfiction #crossover #drifting stars au #portal ford #there's not enough sweater-twins bonding in the world #and yes #i purposely used 41'\ instead of the canon 46'\ #gift #clownwry

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

The Missing Guardian | Prologue: Act I Scene I | Mondstadt: The Outlander Who Caught The Wind

A.N. okay! so first chapter of a new series im starting! its a series rewrite of the genshin impact plot. i had always wanted to do one of these, and with my comic obsession, if you read marvel/dc comics youll find some crossovers hints. hope yall enjoy as i finally start to write and get on some type of schedule. its also one in the morning so imma head to bed :)

Word Count. 1,633 words

Page Count. 4.8 pages

Synopsis. When you’ve finally found a home in a set of twins who travel across worlds, setting out to enjoy your time with them; learning everything you could while traveling from world to world. But this time was different, because this time, someone stood in your way from continuing forward, from going home. You watched as your family was torn from you once again, leaving you stuck in a world alone with only a guide, the memories of a life long left behind, and the hope of finding them once again.

[ Series Masterlist: The Missing Guardian Mini Masterlist ]

[ Act I, Scene I ] [ next scene ]

Prologue Act I: Scene I | Monstadt: The Outlander Who Caught The Wind

                So, what you're trying to say is that you fell here? From another world?

                But, when you wanted to leave and go back to your world... Your path was blocked by some unknown God?

        You could only nod at Paimons commentary, watching as she floated next to you, a small hand to her chin as she looked deep in thought. Looking forward to the vast openness of the ocean in front of you, memories flashing before your own eyes as the pain settled in your heart, the wind slowly picking up before the tears filled your eyes. It hurt to think back at what happened, to how you lost them, the two people to found you after being lost for so long.

        That carmine red outlining the dark abyss shaped like a star would haunt you as a woman walked out, snowy white hair and the bandages around her legs flowing around her as her voice seemed to break through your skull, demanding your attention while the twins next to you could only look up in confusion. The anger in those golden eyes was enough to make you take a step back, you've never met her- Hell, you've never seen or heard of anyone like her, so why did she come at you with such ferocity? Even her mere presence contrasted with the ivory, baby blues, and gold of your surroundings, the heavenly area around you tainted with this... Unknown God.

        "Outlanders, your journey ends here." She demanded, the portals behind her sharpening with the wave of her hand. Lumine took a step forward, her shock evident in the small gasp she let out before speaking, determination and confusion spilled across her features.

        "Who are you?"

        "The sustainer of heavenly principles." She responds quickly, bringing a hand up to her line of vision with a small red and black cube in her hand, twirling it causing the ground beneath you to tremble, Aether looking between you and his sister. Shaking your head, you bent your knees ready to jump, the engines in your heavy boots started up, as your mask appeared on your face once again with only a light touch to the earpiece.

        "The arrogation of mankind ends now." The ground lit up around you, red and irritated with magic you haven't seen before, your boots shooting you into the air as Aether and Lumine jumped- following your lead as they pulled their golden swords and allowed their wings to manifest, holding themselves in the air.

        It was barely a second, before you moved forward with the twins by your side, your hands moving to the Quads in their holsters and taking them out for another fight. You only thanked whatever Gods in your own world were listening, and that damn mentor of yours, before your mind went back to the battle at hand- requiring you to fly around and dodge the large amounts of glistening red and gold cubes that came in your way, blocking you from the target of the Unknown God.

        Before you knew it, the end of this battle came quickly, an explosion from the mere speed of you, Lumine, and Aether stopping right before the Unknown God to attack.

        And that second was all she needed to do what was needed. 

        Her gaze fell upon you, making you shiver in fear, before you flew back and blasted a beam of energy at her from your Quad, only for it to be absorbed by a cluster of cubes. Your voice came out robotic, echoed with the technology that covered your face, you eyes moving to see the cluster of cubes enveloping the twins that were once beside you. 

        "Aether! Lumine!" They only looked at you in horror, fading once the cubes covered them whole, returning to the Unknown God in a hollowed and golden version of her twisted and unique weapon. She watched the rotating cube with wide, uncaring eyes, giving you enough time to circle around her and attack once more- throwing the handheld mines from your belt onto her form, the beeping accelerating once it met her skin, and an explosion following quickly. 

        By the time the smoke cleared, and before your mask could scan and gain some sense of recognition, the cubes that protected the Unknown God attached themselves to your outstretched hand, closing in on you while maintaining the explosion you caused. Eventually, it all settled into one cube that contained your hand, before you followed the same fate as the twins.

        "Wait! Don't go! Give them back!" You managed to scream, desperation in your voice, as you watched another family be taken from you once again, your vision fading into darkness and your heart breaking once again.

                And just like that, the god took away my friends.

                Some kind of seal was put on my being, and the power I had was gone.

                And while I had the freedom to travel the universe, worlds, and entirely new realms.

                I was now trapped.

        "How many years ago was it? I don't know, Paimon. But, I've gotta. I have to." You answered Paimons question, still looking out to the sea in front of you, mask now hidden into the earpiece that decorated your left lobe. The leather of your jacket warmed you from the cool breeze of the sea, the bodysuit underneath regulated your body temperature in any environment, but you specifically used it when in space when you held the title of Guardian. But you couldn't afford to think about that now.

        Not when there's a chance of finding Aether and Lumine. 

        "After I woke up, I was alone- until I met you two months ago." You finished, looking over to your floating friend, who only turned as she spoke.

        "Yeah. Paimon really owes you for that. Otherwise Paimon likely would have drowned... So, Paimon will do her best to be a great guide!" She smiles, hands on her hips while looking up to you, seeing as she always chose to float around chest-level when around you. You sighed, a weak chuckle escaped your lips before you sat up from the sand, brushing off the back of your cargo pants and looking towards your guide for this new world- patting her head and making sure to be careful of the crown that hovered above her.

        You had only hoped Paimon would do most of the talking for you anyways, due to Tevyat’s language being foreign even to your ears and tongue, a feat for a Guardian of your reputation. A decent understanding of the oral part of the language under your belt, you found reading to be easier, since it did look similar to some scripts back in your own world. Your thoughts were cut off as Paimon spoke up, calling for you to follow her as she sped ahead of you, following the path from out of the beach to the grassy area ahead of you.

        "Awe, the path ends here. I guess we'll just have to climb, huh?" You rolled your eyes, shaking your head while you started to heave yourself up the large rock, Paimon taking notice of this.

        "You mean I have to climb the rock, P, you just have to float." You laughed, reaching the top with a grunt before she whined about floating taking as much energy as walking or climbing. It wasn't bad, you've climbed a lot worse in even more horrid situations, but damn did that take a good breath from you. You'd have to work on rebuilding some of your stamina while traveling here, and possibly need to find some supplies to settle somewhere for a bit, maybe even collect whatever currency they had here.

        "Well, let's take the route we planned! We're off to... a Statue of The Seven!" She smiles with glee, before a questionable face appears as you both move forward, her head turning towards you as you attempt to take in much of the scenery and areas you could. Your heavy boots only crushed the poor underbrush and grass that came into contact with it, your belt that was filled with gadgets and such clinking with the sway of your hips- hitting the holsters.

        This world is beautiful...

        "Which of The Seven are you looking for exactly?" She asked, making you shrug your shoulders at her, hands up as you walked towards a nearby tree- picking up the strange orange fruits and packing them away before moving forward. They looked like some weird crossbreed of orange and pear, but, you hoped it would taste as good as it looked.

        "To be honest? Any of them. They should have some idea of what happened, but even then, The Seven are gods in this world- and from what I remember of gods... they aren't too sane to say the least." You said, reaching a small cliff side that overlooked a lake with a statue near the edge of the small island in the center of it. 

        "That's a Statue of The Seven!" She pointed in its direction as you gave her your full attention, your finger going to touch the back of your ear to signal that, mindful of the metal to not trigger the activation of your mask.

        "There are a few of these statues scattered across the land to show The Seven's protections over the world. Among the seven gods, this god controls the wind. Paimon's not sure whether the god your looking for is the Anemo God, but... Paimon'll take you to the Anemo God's place first, and there's a reason why~" She muses, giving you a small wink before turning around, allowing you to follow her down the path to the first Statue of The Seven.

        To the first step towards finding Aether and Lumine.

        Your journey has started.

#genshin impact imagine #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #gi x reader #gi imagine #x reader #reader insert #queen.writing #The Missing Guardian: Genshin Impact

[otp-holic]

The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

#stucky #steve and bucky #fanfiction forever #painfully created by me #fic by yours truly #manip by yours truly #pics by yours truly #howling commandos #never let us lose what we have gained #fluff #so much fluff #sorry for the cavities #this was fun and painful #pictures inside #please do not repost the pictures #shameless fluff #no artistic value #but they deserve to be happy #long post #under a cut #yay its done #sorry because it ends 15 times #shoelaces are now part of my canon

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 5

Words = 9k

Summary = You’ve been kidnapped by the First Order and Poe wants needs you back

Warnings = No fun warnings I’m sorry! There is a happy ending, but before we get there it’s, kidnapping, forced drugging, aftermath of that, general pain, hurt/comfort, violence, hospital setting. I think that’s everything? Please, please, please let me know if I’ve missed anything - this got a lot darker than I intended (if you have any questions before you read, just shoot me a message and I’ll let you know!)

A/N = Sorry this chapter took so long - i think it might have actually killed me. But we’re at the end! Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who’s read this far, and stuck with the story, I love you all!  

Also special thanks to @michaelperry who beta’d this like a month ago and gave me some really good advice! 

Posted to AO3

Chapter 1   Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

***

When you wake, it’s cold. You're in a chair, hands strapped to the arms. It takes you a long time to open your eyes; your head is pounding and the bright lights shining on you are complicating matters.

The room swims slowly into focus as you blink, feeling like there’s glue on your lash line each time you try and open your eyes.

The room is a bright white, smelling faintly of chemicals and you keep blinking, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. You move your head slightly, trying to think. There’s something just floating outside of your consciousness, something important you should be remembering, but every time you grab for it, it floats away.

You don’t know how long you sit like this, drifting in and out of consciousness, with little to no perception of what’s around you.

When there’s a loud slam, your whole body jerks forward in shock, but there’s nowhere to go. You’ve begun to lose most of the feeling in your arms, but your mind is beginning to feel clearer. Now you can hear a whirring beneath you, the slight vibration letting you know you’re on a ship, and it’s already in flight. How long have you been traveling for? You’re still cold, goosebumps up and down your arms as your teeth chatter slightly.

You focus on the person standing behind you, not bothering to turn your head. “It’ssnot polite … to … to slam t’door, y’know,”  You're shocked when your voice comes out more slurred than you meant it to.

The figure behind you just laughs, and it sends shivers down your spine. They walk forwards slowly, a cloak wrapped around their body, hood off. He seems a little familiar to you but you’re not sure why.

The room is coming more and more into focus, like someone’s turned up the intensity of your vision, and you can see that there are cupboards lining the wall in front of you, various tables and medical equipment visible.

The man had pale skin, ginger hair, although he was starting to lose it, his hairline creeping back in a subtle widow’s peak. He smiles, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh dear. Struggling to talk?” His tone is mocking as he leans towards you.

Your mouth feels dry, like it’s been stuffed of cotton wool and you can’t think. You can’t remember … anything. How did you end up here? Who is this horrible man in front of you? Why does he look familiar?

You try to talk again. “Wha’ve’oou givenee?”

It’s a struggle to manipulate your mouth fast enough to separate your words, your tongue clumsy in your mouth, but you try. “Wha’ve you givenee? Given? Given. Me?”

“It’s wearing off, good good. Don’t worry sweetheart, you’ll be able to talk properly in around …” he looks at his wrist, considering. “Maybe 15 minutes?”

Sweetheart.

That feels familiar - why?

The man takes a seat, a much comfier looking one than the one you’re sat on, looking prepared to wait. He’s calm, shuffling through papers and clattering objects around. You try and pull it together, closing your eyes in an attempt to concentrate. You have 15 minutes before something’s going to happen. He wants you to be able to talk … so … so … so why can’t you think?

He wants you to tell him about the resistance.

Of course. The resistance. He needs information … and suddenly fear shoots down your spine.

Except obviously you won’t give him what he wants. So he’s waiting because…?

Why can’t you think?!

Someone else used to call you sweetheart.

And suddenly there’s a tan face in your memory, grinning at you and calling you sweetheart. And you can remember feeling frustration, but it’s different. This memory-frustration, it’s like a warm bubble inside you, rising and bursting as you call the man an idiot.

His hair is amazing.

You know his name. You know you do. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue - …

The man in the chair coughs, and the face flies out of your head, leaving a sharp pain in your chest instead. Why?

And gradually, you’re also becoming aware of a throbbing pain in your head. You don’t know what the cause is, whether you hit your head, or if it’s something as simple as dehydration.

There’s a high-pitched beep and the man sits up in his chair.

Poe.

You nearly gasp his name out, stopping yourself at the last second. But why does thinking about him hurt?

The man doesn’t seem to realise your inner conflict, or if he does, he doesn’t care, instead scraping his chair across to sit in front of you. “So sweetheart, let’s run through some basics. I’ll ask you a couple of questions to test where you are, then we’ll see what you know.”

You can smell his breath. It’s minty, matching his too-white teeth, and you hate it. You hate him. You already know you won’t answer a single one of his questions.

“Name?”

You nearly laugh, they don’t know your name?

“Sweetheart tell me what your name is, so I know that the drug is out of your system.”

You just blink at him, in that split second deciding on your tactic. Absolute silence.

You don’t get a reaction from him, however, instead he moves onto the next question.

“Date of birth?”

It takes an effort to not automatically respond, but you don’t change your expression.

The man just sighs again.

“Do you know who I am?”

You don’t, but you don’t reply.

“My name is General Hux and I am to deliver you and Poe Dameron to Kylo Ren.”

General Hux. And suddenly you remember Poe telling you something.

You laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You mean General Hugs? Aww you’re my favourite, I’m flattered that you of all people in the First Order would come to find me.”

You get the first flicker of annoyance crossing the man’s face. Then it resolves itself, and he grins. “So you can talk clearly now,” he stands, scraping the chair over the floor. “Good, good.” Opening one of the cupboards he pulls out some clear liquid in a large jar and a couple of bags, placing them onto a small table with a clatter, which he pushes towards you.

And all at once, with a heavy thud in your chest as the memory flashes across your eyes, you remember what you said to Poe. And that after, you walked into the forest-

You love him.

Fuuu-

Your line of thought is interrupted by the man saying your name. You clench your fists, suddenly aware of how cold your fingers are. You’re an idiot.

“You better start answering my questions now.” The man sits back in front of you, pulling the table next to him. And now you can see what’s in the bags. Absolutely enormous needles attached to syringes.

Your throat goes dry.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuck!

You try to squash the fear, instead baring your teeth in a grin. “Why? Will General Hugs be cross?”

For good measure, you add a pout in, and maker, you’ve never been so glad to be a piece of work.

“I will. And you won’t like me when I’m cross.”

You ignore the flash of fear you feel, instead concentrating on moving your feet inside your shoes in a futile attempt to warm them up. Your laugh is cold. “Oh I think I’ll be ok.”

He picks up a syringe, carefully unwrapping it, before drawing some clear liquid into it. You continue, ignoring his attempts to intimidate you. “After all, I don’t like you very much now, so I can’t even imagine what you could do to me to make me hate you more.”

He ignores you, tapping the syringe and watching a bubble float to the top. “Do you know what this is?”

Be annoying.

“Well if it’s the same thing as the first one you gave me, I wouldn’t recommend it because then I’ll just pass out again and you won’t get a coherent answer out of me, will you?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, those people had nothing to do with the First Order. They just needed the money.”

“So the First Order don’t even have the manpower to come and get me yourself?” You tut. “Standards are slipping.”

“Mouthy bitch, aren’t you?” He’s still playing with the syringe, and you can’t help but eye the needle warily. “No, this is different. Lowers your inhibitions, your perceptions. You’ll tell me things you don’t even realise.”

“Ahhhh so you see, you’ve made a mistake there.” You’re talking rubbish, but you can’t seem to stop yourself, in full flow now. “I don’t have any inhibitions, anyone will tell you that I’m utterly shameless so I just, I really, really don’t think it’ll worth giving it to me, it just won’t work, and who knows how much the drug cost and what a waste, I really don’t think you, the great General Hugs would be hap-”

Your steady stream of consciousness is stopped when he slaps you with a resounding crack, your head flying to one side.

Pain immediately blooms on the side of your face, and you have to blink away a few tears from the impact.

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know, silly girl, I need to find out where Poe Dameron is and-”

You interrupt with another laugh, and maybe that first injection addled your brain more than you thought it did, because that truly was a stupid thing to do. You’ve never acted like this before, and yet there’s a small voice in the back of your head telling you that Poe would be proud, so you keep going.

“You don’t know? So it’s pure luck that you found me - no wait, that I was delivered to you! Maker I love being right, standards really are slippi-”

The second slap hurts more than the first.

You sit there for a second in dumb shock, blood pooling in your mouth from the blunt force.

When Hugs rips your sleeve up your left forearm, holding the needle against your skin, you start to twist your wrist in it’s cuff, desperate to get away. You can see your wrist turning red, and your hand is starting to hurt from the force you’re using.

Hugs doesn’t waste any time though, using one cold hand to hold your wrist above the cuff still, gripping it tightly, he plunges the needle in with the other. When the needle pierces your skin, it hurts, you can feel the liquid soaking into your muscles and traveling up your arm.

The effect of this drug isn’t immediate, and so you sit there for a moment, arm aching, determined not to show how much this hurts. You turn your head to the other side and spit out the blood in your mouth, the red a bright contrast on the sparkling floor.

A mix of saliva and blood trails from your lips, and you explore your mouth with your tongue, finding the area where your teeth cut the inside of your cheek. You remove your tongue immediately upon finding it, not needing to add further pain to another area of your body.

Stars but the needle hurts.

“Do you-?” You nod towards your arm, naively hoping that Hugs will remove the needle. “Do you mind removing the needle, I mean-”

You stop talking when you move your fingers by accident and a stab of pain shoots up your arm.

Fuck the needle is massive too.

Hugs just grins, and the movement looks unnatural as he stretches stiff facial muscles, leaning back into his chair, tidying up the instruments on the table. “Maybe you’ll learn some manners,” is all he says.

“I thought - … I thought you wanted me to talk?” Your body is starting to hurt now, and it’s starting to be a struggle to speak again.

Except now you can feel the drug’s effect. It’s hardly noticeable at first, but gradually, gradually, the pain is receding. And the effect of this drug is different to the last, it’s lifting you up, making everything dream-like and fuzzy.

Everything thankfully stays in your mind, although you can’t help but giggle. Something’s funny.

“Tell me about General Dameron.” Hug’s voice is stern as he leans towards you and all you can do is let out another giggle.

General. He’s just Poe. Your Poe.

“I don’t know anything about him.” You’re such a bad liar. You’re trying to keep your face innocent and blank, but giggles keep rising up, and you’re sure it’s ruining the effect.

“I think you do.”

You giggle again. Maker this is good fun. Dimly, you register that your arm doesn’t hurt anymore and you stare as you wiggle your fingers, only feeling a faint thrum through your arm.

“Well you think wrong.” Are you singing? Singing sounds like fun.

“Can you confirm he stole kyber crystals alongside you a cycle ago?”

Fuck and you remember that mission so well. It was such a disaster. But as funny as this situation is, it remains in your mind that the man in front of you is a very bad man, and you can’t tell him anything.

“Answer me.” The command is sharp and stern, and you don’t like it. Hugs is mean. With a name like Hugs, he should really be nicer. You’d think he would be cuddlier, like a teddy bear. Instead he’s all sharp angles and words.

You pout. “No.” He’s so rude. Why should you answer him anyway? “Don’t you know? Me and Dameron hate each other - I know nothing about him.”

The phrase feels so familiar on your tongue, yet something about it is clunky, old-fashioned. The denial is an old friend of yours, and maybe you should have pushed down your feelings for him in the same way, and maybe you would already be feeling better. This pain in your chest is too much.

I don’t love Poe Dameron.

Even in your head it sounds flat.

Another slap to your face twists your head the opposite way. This one doesn’t hurt, you only notice it from the movement of your head.

“Answer me.” The commanding tone breaks through your dreamy haze. You have no idea what the question was, but you can feel a liquid pooling at the corner of your mouth. You blow out slightly, feeling a bubble forming.

The safe option is a petulant “No.”

“You will.”

“I will not.”

This is actually quite a fun game - the more you refuse, the more visibly annoyed Hugs gets. He’s trying so hard to stay calm, to stay in control, but you can see it in the twitch of his fingers. It kind of reminds you how Poe used to fight his annoyance towards you, the only difference being that Poe never moved to hurt you.

The questions continue for what feels like hours and hours. You have no perception of time, or how long has passed, only that you’re hungry and thirsty, and Hugs keep giving you more of this drug. You can’t remember what you say in response to the questions, but the one thing you keep in mind is not to tell them anything.

And one by one, each of your friends appears tauntingly in front of you, Rey chasing her head around the room, Rose uncontrollably floating above you like a balloon, Poe looking suspiciously normal, although with heavier eyebrows than usual, causing him to frown more. He upsets you first, telling you he’s glad you’re not friends, before saying that he hates you, he always has, he was just taking pity on you, that sleeping together was just stress relief. And then he sprouts wings, turning into an eagle, flying around the ceiling, where Rose was minutes before, except now you’re sobbing.

You’re aware that you’re hallucinating, each of them have a suspiciously shiny quality to them, a shimmer at their edges. But the idea of Poe telling you he hates you, that you never meant anything to him … it hurts.

Gradually, gradually, you can feel a tug of darkness at the edges of your mind, and everything inexplicably hurts, so you let it take you, if only so you won’t hurt anymore.

***

Back at base, Poe had never felt so out of control before. He’d always struggled with impulse management, the answer usually so clear in his mind. Suit up, jump into his x-wing, blow the problem up.

He couldn’t blow this problem up.

Everyone was moving so fast around him, yet they didn’t seem to be doing anything. You weren’t back, so they couldn’t be. Poe felt almost detached, looking down on his body surrounded by everyone who was working hard to find you.

He made his way to his x-wing, though he didn’t remember getting there. He was holding his flight suit, and some part of him was aware that he had to put it on if he wanted to fly.

“Poe.” The voice was familiar behind him.

Turning, he saw Leia standing behind him, a look of pity on her face. “Droids have tracked the lieutenant through the forest where she was joined by two others, identity unknown as of yet.”

Poe nodded. Numbness was spreading through him, he could hardly move, the idea of speaking was laughable.

“There were signs of a struggle, but we’ll find her Poe.”

What if she doesn’t want to come back? She’s not my friend.

“Poe.” There was a hand on his shoulder. It takes a great deal of effort for him to focus on Leia in front of him. Her hand was touching him, and it felt so familiar to yours, and yet so different, in almost every way that felt like it mattered. “It’ll be ok.”  

“I’ve got to go.” He was going to get you back, hell or high water.

In fact, it didn't even matter if you didn’t want to come back with him.

Poe shakes his head, “We’re not friends!” still ringing in his mind.

You were going to come back to the base if Poe had to drag you, if only so he could have a proper conversation with you before you left for good.

He hadn’t even realised he’d been flirting with the recruit until you’d turned up, and then suddenly you’d commanded his whole world view. How competent and confident you’d looked, hitting the target with each of your shots, before he’d come to the conclusion that you were jealous.

By that point, you’d already stalked away, shoulders tight with a scowl on your face. He had been able to see your lie, that you really were jealous, as soon as the words had left your mouth, your denial too strong, too protective.  

But why? Why didn’t you want him to know you were jealous? As far as Poe was concerned, it was kind of hot.

You couldn’t run away, or die before Poe got the answers.

You couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it.

He stooped to pull the flight suit on, shrugging off Leia’s hand.

“Poe I’m not letting you chase after her.”

Poe ignored her, instead bending slightly and concentrating on doing up the buttons and various zips.

“Poe listen!”

General Organa was speaking now, not Leia, and it made Poe stop, straightening automatically.

“I am not giving you permission to leave base. Rey and Finn have already left.”

Poe steps towards Leia, and stars he feels angry.

“I am the best flyer in the resistance and you’re grounding me?”

He ignores the way his head spins when he remembers the look on your face that night you’d told him he was the best flyer, how you’d said his mum would be proud of him, how-

He shakes his head, not wanting the memory right now, blinking hard as tears well in his eyes.

“Yes.” His fingers flex at his side at Leia’s calmness.

“Why not?” He doesn’t want to snap at Leia but he had to get you back. He was going to murder those bastards who took you … if they had hurt you … “I can’t lose her, Leia, I can’t.”

“You’re not in the right headspace right now, and I can’t risk-”

Poe laughs, cutting Leia off and it’s not nice. It’s a little loose and a little mad, louder than it needs to be. “You can’t risk what? Losing me?” He bends again, this time tightening the harness straps around his legs and they’re tight, too tight. “I can’t risk losing her, Leia.” He takes a deep breath, shaking fingers attempting to loosen the straps, attempting to take back control. “I c-an’t.”

Leia’s heart broke as Poe’s voice cracked. For the first time in a long time, she saw the young boy who had come to the Resistance as soon as he was able, desperate to prove himself and throw himself into the middle of the fight.

So she steps forwards and hugs him. “I know, I know.” Leia can feel Poe trembling.  “But you charging off with half a brain isn’t going to fix anything.”

Poe allows himself to be held, head empty for a moment. He feels exhausted, yet every nerve within him is wired up to go, although he doesn’t know where. An indeterminate amount of time passes before Poe realises that Leia is probably doing all she can to stall him.

When this thought trickles down into his mind, he steps back. Perhaps because Leia can read him like a book, or perhaps because she really does want to help, she offers a small smile. “Come with me.”

Poe doesn’t have much chance to reply before Leia’s steering him by his elbow, keeping a tight grip on him. He’s led to comms, a room he’s aware of, but has never been in before.

Rose is sitting, hovering over a comm worker who Poe’s unfamiliar with. They’re sitting at a messy workstation with a number of small screens, a mess of wires cascading out of the back. The comms worker has an earphone in one ear, while the big centre screen is turned on, showing what appears to be Rey and Finn’s position.

There’s a pain in Poe’s chest as he looks at the other, empty, workstations. This is what you're worth to the Resistance. One comms worker and a friend.

Rose stands, flinging her arms around him. She’s talking, but there's a buzzing in Poe’s ears and he’s missing some. “... she’ll be alright.”

Rose has drawn back, and it’s like the bubble has popped around Poe, bringing him back to the present. He nods, suddenly aware of how hard Leia is still holding onto his arm, and briefly wondering if he’ll have bruises.

Poe picks up his own set of earphones and moves to power up the next screen over, clicking through to Rey’s comms, mind clearing as he and the comms worker start to talk through it.

After all, Poe’s always been good under pressure, blocking out all distractions, including Leia’s instructions to the droid by the door not to let Commander Dameron leave until the Lieutenant was back.

***

When you wake, you’re alone. The drug, whatever they gave you has worn off, and your headache has returned. You’re shaking, covered in sweat. When you try and make a fist with your good arm, you can barely apply enough pressure to close your hand.

You’re still strapped to the chair and unable to move your arms. When you glance down at your left arm, the blood makes your stomach turn. Everything seems sharper than it did before, more pronounced edges, yet the surfaces have lost their colour, looking duller.

Your mouth is dry and you know that if you could have some more of the drug, just a little, you’d feel better. But there are more pressing concerns; you need to get out of here.

Your feet are on the floor, good. Your head itches, and your ribs ache like you’ve been hit around the stomach. There’s something dried on your chin, irritating your skin, tightening it.

It’s hard to think, it’s so cold in here, like the ice is numbing your brain. Your headache is pounding behind your eyes and doesn’t help. But you try to stand, thinking you’ll attempt a turtle-like shuffle to the door.

Except you can’t.

You try again, bracing your feet against the floor and trying to stand. It takes you longer than it should to realise that it’s not working because you’re pressing down with your arms too.

You slump back into the chair with enough force to cause it to move, trying to catch your strength, panting heavily and not sure what else to do.

It takes you longer than it should for you to realise what that means, the thought barely trickling down into your mind.

Ok.

With a lot of careful angling and heavy slumps, you manage to twist the chair so it’s facing the door. It’s made of the same material as the walls, barely distinguishable apart from a keypad and metal grille.

Which Rey and Finn are looking at you through.

You sigh. Great. That’s what you need right now, more hallucinations. They look shocked, faces slack, until Rey disappears and Finn smiles reassuringly at you.

Briefly you wonder if Rey’s gone because her head fell off again. Then you consider if your hallucinations can get any weirder.

The next thing you know the door is swinging open, creaking slightly on its hinges and Finn’s rushing over to you, Rey poking around behind you.

“Can you stand?” Finn’s asking, looking down at you, brow furrowed. You can only nod in response, although you’re not confident in your answer. Your limbs are stiff, and even now you can move, it’s a struggle.

There’s a brief pain flickering in your left arm, and you focus on not looking at it, remembering the amount of blood. It takes Finn’s arm around you to help you stand, and you can’t help the gasp of pain that escapes you. Your vision goes dark for a second, before returning, duller than ever.

***

Finn knew what the First Order was capable of, especially when they wanted information from someone, but it was never any easier to see. Especially when it was someone he cared about.

He watched you struggle to coordinate your legs, having been kept in the same position for hours. Rey moves ahead, drawing her lightsaber in anticipation while Finn half carries you down the hallway.

He’s worried at the amount of blood you’ve lost from your arm, but your face is swollen and bruised, with dried blood at the corner of your mouth, and staining the collar of your shirt. You’re still conscious, just about, but your eyes don’t seem to be focusing.

The three of you pass the bodies of the two stormtroopers who were unlucky enough to be guarding your corridor, before sneaking out. Ducking into alcoves, they attempt not to be caught, although it’s hard to stop you from making noise.

If it’s not moans of pain, you’re commenting on something under your breath, and what little Finn can hear doesn’t seem to make sense. The look on Rey’s face tells him that she doesn’t get it either.  

And they’re so close, nearly back to the hangar, when a pair of troopers spot them. Rey is already swinging as Finn rushes to put you down before he can draw his lightsaber and help. The fight is desperate, but brief. Thankfully no alarms seem to be going off, although that thought flies from Finn’s head when he looks back at you.

You’ve slumped against the wall where Finn had placed you, and you’re shaking as you try and stay sat upright. You’re no longer looking at them, instead your brow is furrowed, concentrating on something only you can see in front of you.

Finn isn’t entirely sure how they managed to make it onboard, but he wasn’t about to complain, carefully strapping you to help keep you upright if you faint. He uses the small med-kit to wipe away the blood from your face and arm as best as he can, applying bacta patches where he can see injuries, the familiar sweet smell soon filling the small ship.

Rey is quickly in hyperspace, comming back to base with their status. “Blue-10 with the Lieutenant, medical attention will be needed on arrival.”

Both Rey and Finn jolt with surprise at the familiar voice crackling through the comms in response. “Received and understood Blue-10.”

“Poe?” Finn mouths, and Rey just shrugs. A second later, Poe’s switched to a private channel, his voice quiet.

“How is she?”

Rey and Finn look at each other, unsure how much Poe needs to know. They don’t want to lie, but how can they tell the truth? Rey clicks the private channel open, hesitating before she replies. “She’s stable Poe.”

***

Waking up hurts.

You’re lying down, and although your body hurts, you feel calmer. There’s a steady noise matching the beat of your heart, slow and steady, although the noise speeds up as you blink at the ceiling.  

You’re not sure if you’ve got a plan, but you know you need to get free. Something is holding you down, becoming more and more tangled around you, and your whole body hurts.

And then, suddenly the weight is pulled off you, and you feel like you can breathe again, big gasps failing to get more oxygen into your lungs. You struggle to control your breathing, not feeling ready to face whatever new terror the First Order have concocted for you.

It’s Rose. Holding a brown blanket.

You push yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the flare of pain in your arm, waiting for a second, hardly daring to breathe as you wait for her to change in front of your eyes.

When she doesn’t, you can feel some of the panic recede, although you can’t seem to force yourself to relax. Rose folds the blanket, placing it at the foot of your bed, and you watch her carefully, still wary.

When she meets your eyes, you attempt a smile, pain pulling at your mouth and cheek as you do so. You can tell it’s not convincing by the way she smiles back, tears flooding her eyes.

You look away, blinking heavily to stop your own tears.

Your head and shoulders are raised slightly, and when you look down, you’re wearing a paper-thin hospital gown. It’s scratchy against your skin, feeling like bugs burrowing into you. Rose is sitting next to you, tinkering with something she’s placed on your bedside table, hands hovering just above her lap, like she wants to help, but doesn’t want to overstep.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft. “How are you feeling?”

You nod, not sure what you’re feeling, exactly, just that your hands are shaking when you try and put them on top of the covers, that you’re shivering, and your stomach is rolling.

You open your mouth to tell Rose so, and you throw up.

It’s warm, and liquidy and the smell makes you throw up again, and again. Rose has jumped back, and you don’t blame her, rolling your body to your side so you can spit the rising bile out of your mouth onto the floor instead of onto the mess on your bed.

By the time you’ve stopped being sick, Rose is standing at the end of your bed with a pair of nurse-droids, who escort you to a bath, cleaning you up, and then to a different bed, this time with a bowl in reaching distance. You don’t say anything, hot shame creeping up your neck and face, and hoping, praying, that maybe you’ll pass out again, and you won’t remember this.

No such thing happens, and you’re left to be looked after by the droids. Rose never leaves you, although for the period of time you’re covered in sick, she does keep her distance, only returning when you’re clean in bed again, this time wearing a softer t-shirt and shorts.

It’s only when one of the nurse-droid’s returns, arms full that you notice it. It’s carrying a vase of flowers, which Rose later tells you is from your squadron, and, in it’s other hand, carries a familiar datapad, with a piece of paper on top and a chocolate pudding.

Poe’s been here?

You can’t stop the way your heart stutters in your chest at the thought, and although you want to smell the chocolate, you think that’s probably a good thing you can’t with the state of your stomach at the moment.

The nurse-droid hooks you up to various machines this time, inserting a drip into your non-injured arm, along with a heart monitor, and a couple of other machines you don’t know the purpose of.

Your head still hurts, and you’re shaking, but you try your best to listen to the doctor who checks your vitals are normal and tells you that you’re going to get worse before you get better. The drug they gave you is an addictive one, and the next 5 days are going to hurt.

She keeps telling you things, but you start to zone out as black spots appear in your vision. Rose is nodding in understanding at your side, so you don’t feel too bad, concentrating on just staying awake.

All you can think about is the drug and how light it made you feel, how quickly it made time pass. Every movement hurts, like you fell 50 foot out of an x-wing, but aside from your arm, you can’t see any physical damage.

You fall in and out of sleep, Rose a constant presence at your side. She’s tinkering with something the first few times you wake, and she explains what it is, and what’s wrong with it to distract you from the pain. You ask the occasional question, enjoying the steady sound of her voice, while yours is croaky and hoarse.

When you wake with a clearer head, the lights are dimmed to a soft yellow, and Poe is asleep, head resting on the foot of your bed. Rose is gone and you’re glad; you don’t know how long you’ve been in bed, and you hope she’s getting some rest or proper food.

His flight suit is wrapped around his waist, top half covered by a dark t-shirt. If you bend your head to a certain angle, the light catches on his necklace around his neck. Poe looks exhausted, his body twisted at a weird angle, thick stubble growing on his face, and eyes red-rimmed, even as he sleeps.

Trying not to jostle him, you reach out to the datapad and unfold the note Poe left on top, avoiding the chocolate pudding like the plague.

Enjoy the chocolate pudding, Finn is bullying me to get some rest.

I’ve downloaded a couple of holovids, see you soon Poe x

You’ve never seen his handwriting before, and it’s easier to read than you’d imagined, thinking he’d be the type to write in a messy scrawl, his hand unable to keep up with his thoughts.

It’s short, but something about it makes a warmth flare inside you. You read it until you know it off by heart, before folding it back up and placing it on the datapad.

You still feel tired, and you watch Poe sleep, the room silent except for the steady beeping of the machines at your side. You’re not sure how much time passes, the world around your bed feeling hazy as you half doze, not wanting to tear your eyes away from Poe, hardly daring to believe he’s real.

You jolt awake when he does, his arm reaching across your legs as he grasps your calves in a panic. One of the machines beeps increases with your heart rate, but you ignore it, you and Poe staring at each other, wide-eyed, as though a quick movement will make the other bolt.

His hands are still holding your legs, warm and grounding.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is hoarse as he slowly releases his hands.

You nod, and you hadn’t noticed it before, but your neck is stiff. “Good, I guess.”

Poe nods too, and where did this tension come from? He takes a breath as you look down at the hem of your blanket, idly wondering why the medbay would buy such a horrendous shade of brown.

Maybe it’s to hide stains.

You immediately wish you hadn’t thought that, the implications freaking you out a little, upsetting your sensitive stomach.

“I … I wanted to apologise.” Poe’s voice thankfully breaks through your increasingly worrying train of thought. His hand fly’s up to touch his ring. “I clearly crossed a boundary - I thought we were friends and -”

You interrupt him when you throw up, thankfully into the bowl the nurse-droid left this time, but it’s no less embarrassing as bile stings the back of your throat. Poe immediately moves up closer to you, hand reaching to rub your back as you try and hide in vain from him.

His hand is warm and comforting, moving slowly up and down your back as you continue to heave. When you finish retching, Poe silently hands you a glass of water, which you use to swill your mouth out, moving to place the now semi-full bowl to the other side of you when Poe takes it from you.

You can hardly bear to look at it, let alone smell it, and Poe is carrying it like it’s nothing, taking for the nurse-droids to dispose of. When he returns, he’s wiping his hands with a disinfectant and you wince.

“Poe I’m so sorry.” You decide to risk a sip of water, trying to get rid of the sick taste still in your mouth. “I’ve been sick all day and I’m sorry.” You’re ready to keep apologising but Poe just hands you a towel, which you use to wipe your mouth.

“It’s ok.” He reaches down for the blanket, and you let him tuck you in, suddenly aware that you’re shivering again. He reaches for his datapad, opening it and beginning to talk. He’s reading a children’s story, one you recognise as being from Yavin IV, a sweet story about a frog learning of the perils of the jungle.

Your eyes get heavier, and Poe’s voice fades into the background, the last you hear is the frog swimming in freshwater, unaware of the danger around the corner before you fall asleep.

***

When you wake, he’s gone, but you don’t get much chance to think about it before the nurse-droids are back, along with the doctor. She’s a nice woman, chattering away, telling you her name (Dr Alloso Karga), about her children (she’s got lots), and the trouble they get into (almost constant).

You don’t say much, still feeling the after-effects of the drug, but Dr Karga doesn't seem to need much additional input. You’re glad of her stories, they give you something else to think about while she hooks you up to an IV drip, and takes measurements from all the machines beeping at your side.

She unwraps the bandage around your left arm, revealing a thin scar running alongside one of your veins. “I’ll give you a cream to rub on every morning and night, and it’ll fade.” Her voice is kind as she watches your face, but you don’t react, numbness spreading through you like ice as you look at the scar.

All you can think is how small it is, when you remember the pain it caused, and the blood you lost from it … and now you’re left with this tiny, almost pathetic scratch. Dr Karga places the cream on your side table, next to Poe’s datapad and his note, and you already know you won’t use it.

Thankfully she doesn’t push the topic, leaving soon after.

With not a lot else to do, you fall back asleep, despite the bright light shining in through the window opposite you.

Days pass like this. Rose and Poe are frequent visitors, with Rey and Finn dropping in occasionally, as does Kare, and Jannah. No one seems to expect much of you, which is nice, allowing you to fall asleep at random intervals when the mood strikes you.

***

When you wake again you’re not sure how many days you’ve been in the medbay for. You don’t feel sick at all anymore, your stomach’s rumbling beneath the covers. Your head still hurts, and your body still feels bruised and achy, but your mind feels clearer than it has in days.

You’re still hooked up to a couple of machines, but only by a clip to your finger, wires extending down past the edge of your bed. It’s easy to take off, and you figure it’ll be easy to put back on again.

The chocolate pudding left by Poe has disappeared, and you suspect one of the nurses has binned it, which was probably a good idea. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you pause when a rush of cool air hits your bare legs.

You pad barefoot over the cold medbay floor, praying that it’s clean. There’s no one else in any of the other beds in your room, and when you look out, there doesn’t seem to be anyone next door either. A couple of hundred meters to your left, through the glass in a pair of double doors, you can see the busy reception. Meanwhile, to your right the corridor extends.

You shiver a little. You’re not wearing much, just shorts and a thin t-shirt. With no one around, you don’t feel too exposed, but you would quite like to get back to bed. You choose to go right, figuring you’d quite like to eat alone and save yourself any embarrassment if your stomach decides to reject food again and wander casually in quiet curiosity.

You peek through the windows of various spare rooms, some with people in bacta tubes, others with droids chittering away. And, it’s only when you turn the corner, that you see the food sign over the door to a small storeroom.

Letting out a happy little sigh at all the food lining the wall, you fumble for the light switch, the door closing and quickly engulfing you in the darkness.

Moving forwards you aim for the chocolate which has immediately caught your eye, letting out a shriek of panic when a hand lands on your shoulder.

Twisting around in panic, your bare foot catches on the corner of a shelf and you let out a howl of pain. You’re falling, and you’re gonna land on your injured arm when the stranger’s hands grab hold of your shoulders, righting you enough that you can catch yourself.

Muttering breathless ow’s of pain, you look up to see none other than Poe in front of you, his lips twisted in amusement.

“You alright?” He asks.

You can only nod, and before you feel any doubt about what you want to do, you fling your arms around his neck and hug him. He’s so sturdy, and here, and you finally feel semi-normal, and all you want is to be grounded.

Poe doesn’t say anything, just lets out a long-suffering sigh, wrapping his arms around you in response. It’s not until you feel his chest catch on a breath, that you unwind slightly, pulling back so you can see him.

He’s crying.

“Poe, Poe, it’s ok.” You wrap him back in your arms and let him cry. He just holds you tight, like he can’t believe you’re really here standing in front of him. Both too soon, and too late, he pulls back, wiping at his eyes.

“Why are you in here?”

It’s a genuine question, but you marvel at him for a second. “Why are you in here?”

Poe looks like he would quite like to say something he thinks is funny, but eventually lands on on a serious response. “I wanted to see what you were up to. You looked very shady.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I woke up, and I was starving.”

Poe stands next to you as you grab whatever looks good off the shelves, mainly chocolate, but also juice, and some sandwiches. “You should look after yourself.” His voice is gentle.

“I am!” You protest. “I need to eat.”

“You couldn’t have asked for help?”

You raise an eyebrow at him as the two of you move to the door. Poe follows you as you try to explain yourself. “No, I-”

You stop talking as you open the door by a crack, your eyes widening. Rose is stood in the room opposite, slightly blurred from the glass door, running her hand up and down Jannah’s arm, while the other is in a sling.

You gasp as you watch Rose lean forwards, placing a kiss on her lips, hushing Poe behind you. “Poe, Poe, Poe, look at this, are you watching?”

Your whisper is loud and you grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet, momentarily forgetting your aches, before quickly closing the door as Rose and Jannah move closer to kiss. You don’t want to invade their privacy too much.

When you turn, Poe’s grin grows as he takes in your face. “I knew it!” You dump the contents of your arms onto the floor, settling in for a while. “I knew they liked each other!”

He’s managed to get his leather jacket back from Finn, and he takes it off, laying it on the floor for you to sit on. You tuck your feet under you, glad to get them off the cold floor.

The two of you eat together, and you gain confidence as more time passes and your stomach seems to have settled, branching out to more flavourful foods.

Afterwards, he walks you back to your bed, carrying some spare food for you, with his leather jacket hanging off your shoulders. Poe calls a nurse-droid over to hook you back up to your machines and you pout at him in complaint. You’re starting to shake and sweat again but Poe stays for as long as he can, until he has to go to a meeting, promising he’ll be back soon.

He’s not gone for long, and you’re just starting to get bored, when Rose pokes her head around the door.

“Where have you been?”

You can’t help yourself; you grin like a cheshire cat.

“Where have I been? I think I should be asking you that!”

And there’s a definite blush rising on Rose’s neck, tinting her cheeks a faint pink. She still tries to deny though. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” you draw it out, “I just so happened to be walking around earlier and was surprised to see that Jannah had managed to injure herself.”

Rose sighs and it’s long-suffering. And then she slumps into her chair, opens her mouth and tells you everything.

How she and Jannah had started to spend more time together, but they’d been friends for so long. How hugs for comfort turned into something more. How they’d kissed for the first time when Jannah had asked her out. And now, how it was turning into something more and, Rose’s voice went quiet here, she thought she might be in love.

“Oh Rose,” you sigh, your heart filling for your friend. “Are you gonna tell her?”

When she nods, it takes all your self-control not to jump up and hug her, instead settling for clasping her hands in yours. “I’m sorry.” Rose whispers. “Will you forgive me?”

Your heart stops, brief panic flickering in you. “What for?”

“That I didn’t tell you sooner.” A heavy sense of guilt starts to weigh down your chest, especially as Rose looks so distraught.

“No! It’s fine,” you try and convince her. “You wanted to wait until you were sure.”

Rose nods, but still looks upset, and you know what will cheer her up. “Besides, I'm not going to be cross. I kissed Poe.”

You wince at Rose’s shout. “What!” She stands, bending to give you a hug, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo. You grin, much more naturally now, glad she’s happy. You tell her everything in much the same way she told you, the first time you’d slept together, and then the next time, how you’d argued, what had happened in the store cupboard.

“Is he coming back?” Rose asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know. He said he would, but I don’t know when.”

Rose settles properly into her chair, resting her feet on the edge of your bed frame, looking smug. You last all of two seconds. “What?”

Rose just closes her eyes, looking more and more pleased with herself by the second. “I just love being right.”

You attempt to kick her, but there’s no malice behind it. You spend the rest of the time discussing the latest topic of interest on base (Snap and Kare’s wedding), and what a recruit had apparently said to Leia, laughing the whole time.

***

When Poe returns, he’s carrying two plates. Rose had left a while ago, and you were idly poking through Poe’s datapad, seeing which holovids he’d downloaded.

The two of you eat your dinner quietly, Poe finishing before you. “Can I ask you something?” He looks nervous in a way that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on him before, eyes shifting down, while his fingers dance nervously in his lap.

You nod, still chewing, not wanting to rush your dinner and unsure how to make Poe feel more at ease. You have a feeling you know what he’s going to ask, and -

“Can we be friends?”

Oh.

You swallow faster than you should, letting out a small cough. You place what’s left of your dinner to one side, and put your hands over his. “I shouldn’t have said that.” You start.

Poe opens his mouth to respond, but you shake your head before he can. “No, don’t - don’t say anything, just listen.”

Deep breath, in and out.

“What I meant was … friends don’t sleep together, Poe. And I know we never talked about it, but I didn’t realise how much I liked you and,” You take another deep breath and when you speak again, your voice is smaller than normal. “I didn’t like the way you flirted with that recruit.”

Poe grins with his teeth. “So you were jealous?”

You look away, not quite ready for that conversation. “Poe.” His name is a warning, and you’re tired.

So Poe lifts your hands, enveloping them in his and gently kisses them. “Sorry.” It’s a murmur. “When we realised you were gone, I’ve … I’ve never been so frightened. I begged Leia to go and find you but she wouldn’t let me.”

You look back at his face. “Good.” His smile is gentle now, and at this moment, you prefer it. “And I’m fine now, Rey and Finn found me …”

Poe rolls his eyes. “You are not fine, you’re in the medbay.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, fiddling with the hem of your sheet, and just when you think he won’t say anything else, he speaks again, his voice quiet and sure.

“I like you too. A lot. And I would quite like it if we could go on a date?”

You don’t reply immediately, letting a slow smile open up your face, nodding, suddenly shy. You want Poe closer, moving to the far edge of the bed and opening the sheet in a clear invitation. “C’mon, get up here.”

It says a lot, you later think, how keen he was to climb in next to you. His body is so warm and reassuring next to yours, a solid presence of real proof, that someone cares about you so much that it doesn’t matter how gross you are when you’re ill, they’ll stay for as long as they can.

You wait until he’s tucked in next to you, desperately ignoring how the machine behind you starts beeping faster. “I would love to go on a date.”

And then you groan. “This is so embarrassing.”

Poe laughs, his body shaking next to you. “You have to finally admit you fancied me all along.”

“Well so do you.”

You’re looking at Poe as you say it, and you don’t miss how his breath hitches a little. His face moves closer to yours, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips as your mouth suddenly feels dry.

Your heart rate speeds up again behind you, but you’re ignoring it, wanting Poe to kiss you. You’re disappointed when he speaks instead. “I like this monitor.”

His eyes are smiling, and stars he’s cute, even if he is being annoying.  

“What?” You’re confused, your eyes had been half-closed in preparation, and it takes a lot of effort to open them again.

“It tells me what you think.” You don’t stop looking at Poe’s lips as he talks.

“Yeah?” You’re breathless. “And what am I thinking right now?”

“That you like me this close.”

You hum, half-amused, half-annoyed. “Anything else?”

“I think you want to kiss me.”

You pretend to think about it, smiling back at him. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He’s so keen. “Do you?”

“I thought you knew the answer to that.” You’re teasing him, and he knows it. Your faces are closer than ever, breath mingling.

And Poe’s just looking at you like he could eat you, and it takes mere seconds before you crack. “Poe will you kiss me?”

“I was going to.”

You huff. “When?”

His hand cradles your jaw, thumb on your chin, and you bend into it, kissing his palm without breaking eye contact. “It won’t hurt you?”

You smile at him, reassured. “No.”

You can tell he’s still hesitant, so you kiss his hand again. “I’ll tell you if it hurts Poe.”

He inches closer and closer, so slowly, until his lips are touching yours. It’s soft, and gentle, like he’s kissing you for the first time. His hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, as you open your mouth, deepening the kiss.

The date is a success, with the worst part enduring Rose’s teasing, and your promise to never doubt her again.

***

Everything taglist:

@fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog

Series taglist

@lady-sigyn @foxilayde @afootnoteinyourhappiness @tellthemall-i-saidhi @wasicskosgirl @seninjakitey @zoriis @zazzysseoul @studentville-struggles

Thanks for reading! Reblog and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Aaaaah I’ve finally finished! This has been such a blast to write (but not chapter 5 lmao) and I’ve learned so much about my writing style and what i struggle with (plot I’m looking at you). This series started as a short one-shot which was going to be divided into 4 sections, detailing how reader and Poe’s relationship changed, and what I’ve ended up with is so so so different - my original outline had no kidnapping and was wildly different honestly, but I’m really proud of this - back in June/July i hardly had the patience/concentration to sit and finish a one-shot, let alone a whole series! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story, I love you all!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #Star Wars #lol will anyone remember this story? #its complete now though!

[i-am-infinite]

Guilt (Part 1): The Rescue

(Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Fem!Reader)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Slight Chpt 12 and 13 spoilers. Read at your own risk.

Description: Moff Gideon has found someone else to run his experiments on and word gets back to Din. Will he take his son far away and try and find somewhere safe? Or will the guilt of an innocent being put in his son’s place eat away at him? (No Y/N or ___ used)

Word Count: Slightly over 4K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and needles. Broken glass. Fainting. Blood loss. Canon type violence. Possible bad writing (first fic pls go easy on me). If I’m missing anything please let me know, I’ve never done one of these before. 

A/N: This is my first fanfic I’ve written so it might be really bad but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here it is. I also made up a planet/system and don’t know if star wars has alarm clocks but i wrote it in anyway. I also wrote this in Word first and then realized I couldn’t copy it over so I tried my best to type it over in here. 

Normal. That is what was used to describe your life. Nothing out of the ordinary. Life wasn’t boring per se, but it definitely wasn’t compelling enough for your tastes. Studying to be a healer help keep it somewhat interesting but not enough. 

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Crust littered eyes creak open as your face unsticks from the textbook scattered across the desk. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Your stiff neck cracks as you finally sit up. Fell asleep studying again. You loved learning about healing, you really did. But the long nights and barely sleeping was enough to make your head explode. Looking over at the clock with bright red numbers blinking at you. 8:15. 

8:15! I’m late! You think as you force yourself awake. No not again! Being a student means you need to do hands on hours down at the nearest medcenter. All the late night studying also means that you oversleep most days. Grabbing your work bag filled with a change of clothes, in preparation of these events, you run out the door.

Your feet hit the wet cobble stones as it echos through your little part of the city. Vendors lining up the street ready to start their days. Passing the shop you went to yesterday, your mind too preoccupied to notice that it’s empty today. You know that theres is a faster route to the medcenter, but is it a path you really want to take today? Dark and windy path that you can barely see five feet in front of you on mornings like this. Too foggy and muggy for your liking. You’d rather stick to the main road where there’s people, where if anything were to happen, people would see, they would know. Regardless, it shaves fifteen minutes off your commute. You loathe having to be late for another shift. Making the sharp turn in between tow booths, you pace quickens to get through as quickly as you can. While not having much visibility, you swear you can see a pair of eyes in the dark. Has to just be my imagination, you convince yourself, I just need to keep going. It’ll be fine. 

Footsteps echo behind you. Hands grab your shoulders. A scream rises in your throat, but no sound comes out. Everything goes dark when you feel something hit the side of your head. 

.

Sigh. “Grogu get back in your seat.” The little baby waddles down off the controls and into his father’s lap. “Not what I meant,” Din grumbles with a smile hidden under his helmet. He grabs Grogu by his little robe and places him in the seat to his right and tells him to buckle up as a holo comes through from Greef Karga. 

“Mando, we’ve just got word that Moff Gideon might have been seen in the Braic system. It looks like they found a substitute for the baby for the time being. I would use this time to go find a hide-out and lay low. He could still come back for the little one. Be well,”

Din goes to start the ship and find coordinates to stay out of trouble for a while when he hears the baby whine. Looking back at his adoptive child, all Din can see is Grogu, then a nameless kid, lying unconscious on a metal table, trapped underneath a contraption. Din starts breathing heavy and feeling sick that he ever gave his son up to those Imps. All he can hear is the beeping of the machine he’s hooked up to. Anger boiling back to the surface as he hears himself yell at the doctor all over again in his memories. No, he tells himself, He’s here with me. He’s fine. He’s safe. He shakes himself out of it and goes to fly the Razor Crest off planet. 

Before he even gets off the planet, all Din can think about is that innocent person in his son’s place. They were going to kill Grogu, just for his blood for their experiments. Din can’t bring the kid anywhere near those people, he can’t risk losing his family, not when both of them have formed such attachments to each other. But he can’t stop thinking of this person who is in the that position now. He should’ve made sure Gideon was dead. Because of that now more people are going to get hurt. 

Without thinking he turns on his holo already asking, “Where is he taking them?”

. 

Feeling groggy with heavy eyes, you are able to open them just a bit to a blinding light. Reluctantly closing them again, you lift your arm to rub your eyes, but only they don’t move. What? The rest of your senses start coming back and you can feel the cool metal against your back, the same metal wrapped around your wrists and your ankles attached to the table. Finally bracing the light and opening your eyes, lifting your head slightly off the table and oh no the room is spinning now. There is an IV in your arm drawing your blood out into some odd machine, explaining the dizziness. Second time in two days you’ve had to deal with your own blood. 

Walking through the shops on your one day off, you pick up a flower hair pin. The glasswork is so intricate and entrancing, you can’t help but turn it over and over in your hands. A pearl bead sitting in the center of iridescent gray and white petals. Placing it back in its place, your had scrapes against another glass design that is not yet finished, slashing open your palm. “Oh, dear let me help you with that,” the lady running the stand says. She looks you with her white hair barely covering her forehead. Tattoos liter her arms. A design peaks your interest as you swear you know but can’t quite place. 

“It’s fine, I can take care of it myself,” you state already inspecting your hand. No shards in it so thats good. 

“Oh no I insist. It happened at my booth, let me help clean it,” she declares taking your hand in her own. It feels like she squeezes the wound causing you to wince in pain slightly. Knowing she should just be cleaning it and wrapping it, you’re a little confused. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to tend to these sort of things, not wanted to embarrass her at her stand, you keep quiet. She finally gets a clean rag to help blot away at the blood on your hand. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it appears she has put it in a bag to the side. 

“I don’t have any gauze to help wrap it up,” the stand lady says. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty of my own,” you mention, “It will be fine until I make it back to my place.” Smiling you walk away. Without looking, you can feel her move the piece you cut your hand on into the bag. Must just be because it’s a dangerous piece, you think, not knowing there’s still some of your blood on it too. 

Closing your eyes again, you try to wonder why that is so significant to you right now. It was a harmless thing in passing, so why is it at the forefront of your mind? You are strapped to a table and all you can think about is that little cut you got the day prior. If your head didn’t feel like it was a spinner top right now, you would have laughed. Opening your eyes again you see men all in white armor and helmets guarding the door to your room, while a man in a white coat is working on the machine where your IV is attached. I thought the empire was dead. The same symbol that keeps going through your mind is the same one sewn into the man’s white coat. Your breathing gets shallower as you feel the panic rise in your chest. I’m never getting out of here, you realize as your vision becomes black once again. 

. 

You’re losing a lot of blood. You know that. You can feel it when noise wakes you up and your eyelids feel like lead. All the noise is muffled, as if you’re underwater. Frankly it feels like you are. It would be so easy to let the waves of darkness just wash over you right now, to let the water take you under. No, you can’t give up the fight and drown into unconsciousness just yet. You force yourself to stay awake. 

Barely getting your eyes open, bright red lights flood your vision. You imagine you’re still in bed, or at least asleep at your desk, with the alarm clock blaring, not here with blaster fire. Wait, blaster fire? You attempt to turn your head to the side to look, or to dodge, you aren’t to sure in your current state. The fast action causes you to feel like you’re spinning, or it might be the room, either way your eyes can’t focus on what is going on. Closing your eyes again to make it stop, you hear voices surrounding you. They sound so far away at the moment but finally, after what feels like ages, one voice sounds clearer. 

“Please help us. Help us get out of here. Her m-counts aren’t nearly as high as the child’s. They’re demanding more blood. She’s already lost 2 liters, I don’t know how much longer she can last.”

Child? They wanted to do this to a child? You’d choke down a sob if you could just thinking of that poor baby. What did he even say about what-counts? What the hell are those? All these questions are making your head spin more and more. Taking most of your energy to open your eyes, you’re met with a chrome stormtrooper trying to unbind you. Wait no, not a stormtrooper. You’ve heard stories about him and his people. What were they called? For the life of you, you can’t remember right now. 

“You’re going to need help getting her out of here,” you realize that the man in the whit coat was the one who spoke before and is now pleading with the metal man, “Please Mandalorian take me with you and I’ll help you get her out of here.” 

That’s it. He’s a Mandalorian. He gets your wrists free as the doctor takes the IV out. Pushing off the table to sit up, the world starts spinning again. You don’t even realize you’re about to hit the table again until the Mandalorian grabs your shoulders to keep you semi-upright. You hear some sort of static come from his helmet. “Fine.” he grumbles, “help me get her out of this thing.” 

With a flip of a switch, the rest of your body is free from restraints. Eager to get out of there, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, hands finding the arms of the Mandalorian with his hands still on your shoulders. Nauseous and woozy, you try to use the cold metal of his pauldron to ground yourself, to get the room to stop spinning. He can see you start to sway and wraps his arms around your waist as he lowers you from the table. Your feet hit the floor and black dots start to cloud your vision. Blood pounding in your ears trying to tell you to stop and lie back down. Muffled voices come from beside you again as you feel another arm wrap around you from the other side. Your feet dragging against the floor as both men on either side of you go towards the door. 

You feel the heavily armored man to your left let go. Eyes that are still fuzzy and unfocused sort of see him peak out the door with his blaster drawn. He leaves the room and all that can be heard is the pew pew pew of blaster fire. Vision start to come back the tiniest bit, you can see him standing in the door way waving his hand as to say Come on. 

The three of you hurry as fast as you can down the corridor to get to an exit. Lots of twists and turns, just for you all to come up at a dead end. So much for rescuing, you think to yourself as the doctor still holding you up, leans you up against a pillar as the two of them survey the situation. More of the Mandalorian assessing the situation and the doctor just frantically pacing back and forth. 

Sitting down now that the adrenaline of being kidnapped and “rescued” die down, you feel your breathing getting shallower and harder to breath. Eyelids getting heavy again. You just want to lay down and go to sleep, hoping that will fix things. Starting your descent from your upright position to close your eyes, two hands grab your shoulders and jerk you up. It takes a second to realize this modulated voice was talking you you. “Hey, you got to stay with me now,” he pleads, one hand going to the side of your face. Pain spreads across your features due to being struck there earlier, a bruise starting to form in its place. Pulling his hand away like seeing the your face contorted burned him, he continues, “I’m going to get you out of here, you just have to stay awake.” You open your mouth to speak, but your throat feels like it’s filled with sand from Tattooine, so you just weakly nod your head yes. “Okay good,” the shiny man says after letting out a deep breath. 

Still holding your shoulders, he helps you stand up and tells the doctor to take you and go further down the hall. Taking something small and circular out of his belt and placing it on the far wall, he speed walks back toward you two. It starts blinking red as his arms come and cage both of you in. Peeking over his shoulder, you see the wall disappear. Well explode, but one second ago it was there and now it’s not. When the explosion first rings in your ears, you reflexively reach out for the Mandalorian’s arm and feel him tense under your touch. 

When he deems it safe to move again, letting go of his arm, he hops over the rubble to the outside world, blaster drawn. Looking out you think it looks like a desert, but one you’ve never seen before. You have no idea where you are, even what planet you are on. You eyes go to where the chrome man is stalking towards. It seems he found two speeder bikes that the troopers use, sans the troopers. Your feet hit the gravel and you realize you aren’t wearing shoes anymore. How long was I out? You begin to question when you see a stormtrooper take aim at your rescuer. Right when he pulls the trigger, you reach your hand out and scream, “NO!” 

You could’ve sworn it was going to hit him. It should’ve hit him. But at the last second it bent and went in another direction. You knew stormtroopers were bad shots, but nothing like that has ever happened. The Mandalorian whips around at your scream and shoots the trooper down. He goes back to what he originally planned to do, but not without turning to you. You see his chest plate heave up and down a few times before turning back around. After a beat, the only sound you can hear is the Mandalorian starting up the speeders and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The doctor helps guide you to the bikes and as you’re about to get on behind him, the Mandalorian picks you up bridal style and sits on his own respective bike. You make a noise of discontent at the sudden action and are then seated in front of him, yet again caged in by his arms with your legs draped over one of his. You can hear him breathing through the modulator as he states, “Just in case you pass out again. Can’t have you falling off the back of the bike.” You go to adjust how you are sitting when he takes off. 

Gasping in shock, you hug your arms around his neck with you head in his cowl as you take panicked breaths. His hand touches your back as you hear him shout over the noise of the engines, “Put your legs around me, you’re slipping off.” He holds your waist as you sling your right leg around and hook it with your left one behind his back. Not the position you thought you’d end up in as a blush creeps up on your face, but neither the less here you are. His hand lets go of your waist and back to the handlebars as he steers. 

Suddenly getting the feeling like you’re being followed, you say into his neck cowl, “Go left!” You don’t know why, but you just get a gut feeling to go that way. He follows your lead, not without a brief hesitation. The doctor follows on his speeder in the same direction. Finally looking up you see two stormtroopers in the distance. I wish their speeders would just stop or something, you plead with yourself and you think back to what happened with the blaster. Testing the waters, you unhook one of your hands from Mando’s neck and hold it out and... nothing. Okay focus, you close your eyes and picture their speeders stopping, or malfunctioning, or anything at this point. 

The sound of a crash comes ringing into your ears. Opening your eyes, you can see the troopers flip over their handlebars as if their engines just died. You slightly chuckle to yourself as your eyelids feel heavy again. You try to get them to stay open, but sleep just feels so much better at the moment. And with that, you’re out like a light. 

. 

Din feels you go limp against him. His arm once again going to grab you by your waist to keep you in place. He wills his speeder to go faster, to get back to the Razor Crest sooner as he’s panicking thinking he somehow made the situation worse. He exposed you on the bike by having you sit like this. Your arms, legs, and head were all exposed to possible blaster fire. Have you been hit? He heard a crash but couldn’t look back without moving you more, risking leaving you more unprotected. His blame for himself spirals as his grip on you grows tighter. He can’t explain why he’s so distraught over a stranger, but still every time he blinks, he swears he sees back on that table. The next time he swears he sees his son on that very table again. First he gave the kid up to those people, now he didn’t finish Gideon off and let you, an innocent stranger who he is now clutching onto for dear life, get in the crossfire. Too many people have gotten hurt because of this. Because of him. He needs to make it right. 

Finally Din and Dr. Pershing arrive at the Razor Crest where Din is already lowering the hatch and carrying you in. Kicking some crates together, he gently lowers you down onto this makeshift bed. He uses his thermal setting to see your body temperature, to see how you are recovering from the blood loss. He isn’t thrilled to see it still low, you were getting your energy back slowly before, along with more body heat, bit not enough to Din’s liking. Turning his helmet to Pershing, the doctor says, “She’s going to need more blood.” Din, already standing ready to run out and get some, not even knowing where or how to do  that, is stopped by Pershing telling him that he’ll go get it, that it would look less suspicious. Agreeing, Din sits by your side while using his comm-link to tell Greef that he could bring Grogu back to the ship. How Din always finds someone to babysit still surprises him. 

. 

You wake up with a start. Eyes not yet adjusted to the lights overhead. Looking down you can see an IV in your arm again. Now towards the side, you can see the same doctor from before asleep up against a wall. Please tell me it wasn’t a dream, tears well up in your eyes as you think you’ve made the whole thing up to cope. It wasn’t until you felt your hand come to wipe away your watery eyes that you realized it just might not be a dream. The IV isn’t taking blood this time, it’s giving it. 

Finally looking around, you realize you’re on a ship that feels like it’s moving. Confused by this, you try and sit up. Not nearly as dizzy as before, you slowly swing your legs off the wooden crates you’re lying on. Noticing your still barefoot as a chill gets sent up to your spine by the cold metal floor, you grab your IV bag off what appears to be just a hook poorly attached to the ceiling. You venture around the small area of the ship, noticing there isn’t a lot besides these boxes and what appears to be two storage type of units. You don’t even tempt to look in, too intrusive. You do however see a ladder going higher up on the ship. Taking the IV out and ripping a piece of your shirt off to wrap around your arm for pressure, so you can use both hands to climb, you start your ascent up. 

Once you finally reach the top, you hear cooing? Didn’t that doctor say something about a child earlier? Looking forward into the cockpit, you see your savior flying while looking to his right at one of the co-pilot chairs. Clearing your throat to get his attention, two little eyes peer at you from the seat. A bright smile appears on this little green things face and you can’t help but stifle a laugh because its ears are the size of his body. 

Distracted by this cute baby, you don’t notice the way the Mandalorian swivels his chair to face you. Finally looking at the man who saved you today, your breath hitches. You don’t know how to thank him for what he did, so you sort of just stand and stare for a second. He stands up and lightly grabs your arm with your homemade bandage on it. Tilting his helmet to the side you hear static coming from it. Did he just sigh at you? “You were supposed to keep it in your arm,” he finally states, with a tinge of annoyance. 

Eyes not wanting to meet the T of his visor, you direct your gaze to the ground. “ I jus- I-,” you stammer, not able to find the right words. “Thank you.” It comes out more hushed than you’d like, but he still hears you. He just gives you a slight nod before releasing his arm and heading back to his seat. All your muscles turn to stone as you stand there not knowing if you should leave or not, until he cocks his head towards the seat to his left. On shaky legs you find your way to the seat. Before even sitting down fully, the little green child is already trying to get into your lap. Giggling to yourself you let him up onto your lap. 

Once you do the strangest thing happens. You can feel what he’s thinking, his emotions, his past. How he was trained with the special abilities, much like the ones you just displayed before. How he was scared and in hiding until the man sitting in front of you found him. How he thinks of him as a father, his dad. Your chest tightens at that one. Still confused as to why the same people who wanted this child, Grogu, for his powers, also wanted you, you pull him to your chest to comfort you both. You finally speak up again and ask, “Did they want me because I might have the same abilities as this one?” You meant it to sound strong, but it just came out sounding weak. 

Without looking at you, the Mandalorian replies shortly after a pause, “Yes.” You swore you can see his grip tighten on the ships steering as he says that. Turning to the two of you finally, he says in the sincerest voice you’ve heard out of him, “They wont get to either of you again. I can promise you that.” Your chest swells at this statement and Grogu looks up at you with a smile as if he felt the way your heart fluttered. You wish you were the one wearing the helmet right now because you can feel your cheeks heat up. To ease the situation in the best way you can, awkwardly, you clear your throat before asking, “So where are we headed now?”

Swiveling back in his chair to hit a few buttons, you’re confused not knowing what they are supposed to do until he pulls up a map and points a place out. He tells you that he’s going to drop off Dr. Pershing at one of the squiggles you see and then try and figure it out from there. “So, I guess thats where I get off too?” You meant it to come out more as a statement than a question, but after what you just went through, you’d rather not be left to fend for youself. 

“If that’s what you want,” he finally utters after a while. “ But they’re not going to stop coming after you. Either of you. It might be safer for you to stay here with me, us.” The last part comes out so quiet, it’s almost as if he didn’t want you to hear, out of fear of your response. 

Trying to not answer too quickly, you take a deep breath and finally say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.” With a curt nod, he turns back around. Warmth fills your chest yet again at this stranger’s kindness. It’s just because I have the same abilities as his child, you try to convince yourself. But deep down you’re hoping it’s more than that. The child in your lap grips your fingers tightly and coos, as if he’s trying to tell you your hopes might not be too far off. 

Oh, it’s going to be an interesting adventure with these two, you smile to yourself. 

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #guilt fic #mando #mando x reader #greef karga #grandpa greef #dr pershing #star wars #star wars fic #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fic #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #moff gideon #grogu #baby yoda #the child #pedro pascal #din x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you

[mushroommushy]

Rebuilding of Project 296 Scrap Rabbit "Alix"

It only took a few seconds after knocking for Max’s mother to open the door. "Ah! Kim, come in please. Max is downstairs in his workshop. I have no idea what he’s been so fascinated with lately, but he spends a lot of time down there now."

Kim smiled slightly, "You know what he’s like. Maybe he’s making another project." The west-African women moved aside, allowing Kim to enter. The boy gave a slight wave and headed off down the hall. At this point, he had been to Max’s house so many times he knew where everything was.

As he neared the door to the basement where Max worked on his project, he heard the sound of hammering. "Looks like I was right, he must be working on something," he muttered. Kim turned the knob of the door and went down the stairs.

He was met with the sight of what looked like a human, head down and unmoving being held up by a stand that wrapped around its neck and legs. "What in the.." Her legs and arms were wrapped in an artificial skin, that had a tan tone to it. Meanwhile it’s chest was yet to be covered up and it made Kim feel slightly uncomfortable.

His speech had alerted his friend however, "Oh hey Kim! What do you think?" He questioned. The Vietnamese athlete glanced over at the Android. "It’s..what it is?"

Max smiled, a faint look of amusement crossing his face. "She’s an Android. I found her mostly destroyed in a scrapyard and I’m working on fixing her." Kim made a small frown, "Is that really safe? I mean..if watching all those Sci-Fi movies should have taught you anything it’s that artificial intelligence from an unknown source is dangerous to mess with."

The dark skinned teen let out a sigh, "Yeah, I know. But after making Markov," the small robot in question making a series of delighted beeps as he was mentioned, "I’ve gained quite the soft spot for things like this. Especially since I suspect from the small memories I had recovered from her, though they were haunting, they prove she is sentient."

Kim rolled his gray eyes in a mixture of amusement and unrequited affection for his friend. "If you say so. You’ll have to show me those memories later. Does she have a name?" At that, Max left the tables side and pulled Kim over to the Android. He pointed at small fine printed letters on her right temple. "That’s what I found. Supposedly, Scrap Rabbit or Project 296. There was something after Scrap Rabbit judging by the faded marks but all I can get from it is either an A or H. Though I do wonder if it means there was more like her." Max adjusted his goggles on his face.

"Scrap Rabbit? Odd name. So she’s female? How can you tell?" Kim asked. "Her general body shape, with the more refined hips and chest. I want to show you something though." Max continued, "Like you said, bringing back AI like this can be dangerous. There were some things that concerned me about her..specifically this."

Max knelt down to the level of the androids arms. "You may want to back up a little." Kim watched as his friend felt around the back of her arm for a few moments, feeling for something. His fingers landed slightly below her elbow, before he pushed down and forward. As soon as he did, a sharp blade slid out from a slit in her wrist. Kim physically jumped back seeing it, even though he was already a good ways out of danger. It glistened under the light of the lamp. With another small push of the skin, the air around the blade heated up until it started turning red.

Once Max released his hand, the dagger slipped back into its compartment, completely concealed. "Holy hell.." Kim muttered. "That thing could cut a gem like it was paper." Max’s face creased with worry. "Her hands weren’t attached to her when I found her. They were also covered in dried blood. There’s a lot more to her too." Kim shuddered to think what may have happened with this bot.

Max stepped up to a small computer screen, which had a cord leading from the back of Scrap Rabbit’s head connected to it. His friend typed a few things before a series of flashes played before his eyes. Kim’s eyes widened in horror at what he was seeing. "Dear fuck..what kind of sick bastard made her? Did you find out where that video is coming from?"

Max shook his head, disappointed. "No, not yet. I’m not sure if I should take it to the police or not. Majestia might be a good option too, since she has experience with androids."

Behind them, Markov started slightly as the Android made the slightest twitch of movement. Blade peaking just barely out of its pocket. The little bot made a worried groan.

#Scrap Rabbit au #Max Kante #Max Kanté #Le Chien Kim #Kim Le Chien #Claudie Kante #Claudie Kanté #Markov #Alix Kubdel #Miraculous Ladybug

[haikyuuwaifu]

Rockabye

Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, TW Child Abuse, TW Neglect, TW Alcoholism, TW Drug Use

Bakugo x F Reader x Shinsou Poly

Masterlist

The Return of Rei Todoroki| The Return 2| The Return 3

The Return 2

Y/N parked her car, unclicked her seat belt, and opened the door stepping out into the cool night air. Pulling her jacket around her, she pulled her phone out to text Katsuki; simply informing him of her location. Sliding her phone back in her pocket, she pushed the key fob walking towards the cafe, her car beeping locked behind her. Peering through the window, she scanned her eyes around the building until she noticed a familiar head of dark midnight hair huddle in the corner. Wrenching the door open, she stepped in.

Sliding her jacket off, Y/N slide into the booth across from Nemuri. The woman in front of her hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her presence, and that was fine. She was fine with waiting until Nemuri was ready to talk. For the next hour, the two women sat in complete silence.

*A/N: This section will be written out in manuscript conversation form*

Nemuri:  Sighing softly, she spoke; “I think...I think I’m ready to talk about it.” she whispered, eyes trained on the table in front of her.

Y/N: “What exactly happened Nem?” she asked, tracing her fingers softly over Nemuri’s interlocked fingers.

Nemuri: “I had planned to leave work early, and surprise Enji. I left at noon; got my hair done...I even stopped at the store to buy his favorites to make him something nice for dinner...It had been a while since we had any one on one time.” she mumbled. Taking a sip of her coffee she continued on, “I knew he would be in the office, until at least 6. I called his secretary to confirm that he was in meetings and made my way over to his place.” her lips trembled now as the memories moved to the front of her eyelids. “When I got there, I was met with noises, which was odd; because I knew the maids were always gone by 1130 on thursdays...” she squeezed her fists tightly, knuckles turning white. “I made my way further into the house, only to hear a voice to the left of me...there was a woman draped across the couch...i-in nothing but Enji’s robe...the robe t-that I a-always...” 

Unable to finish her sentence, Nemuri’s body shook as she sobbed finally, letting the emotions spill over. Y/N slid out of her seat and over to her side pulling her into a hug. Stroking her hair she cooed softly, as she let Nemuri cry out her frustrations.

Y/N: “What happened next Nem?” she murmured softly. 

Nemuri: sniffling, she continued on, “She asked me who I was...and what I was doing in her husbands home. I told her that I was his girlfriend and that they had been divorced for years...She just...she laughed at me Y/N. She laughed in my face and told me, that I was a fool and that she and Enji had still been fucking around for years...years!” at this point, Nemuri’s sobbing had ceased, but her body still shook slightly. “I was so angry, becuase god could he really do something like that to me? After everything we’ve been through together?” she asked burying her face in Y/N’s hair. 

Y/N:  Next to her, Y/N’s mind was running through every possible scenario of how she was going to beat Rei’s ass. Still stroking Nemuri’s hair she asked softly, “What exactly did Enji tell you about Rei Nem?”

Nemuri: “ He didn’t go into much detail about her, jus that she wasn’t the best parent and they had stuck things out for the sake of the kids...at least until Sho turned 18.” she answered, dabbing her cheeks with the napkin in front of her. “Why? Is...Is there something I don’t know?” she asked.

Y/N:  “There’s a lot of things you don’t know Nem, and it’s probably best if I tell you, but let me get it all out before you ask your questions.” Y/N murmured moving back to her side of the booth...tapping her fingers against the table she spoke. “ I grew up in an orphanage, and as shitty as it was; I got lucky when I won the scholarship to attend school at Shoto’s school...I met Shoto when I beat these kids up for making fun of his scar...That scar was the result of Rei pouring hot water over him because he looked too much like his father.” she murmured eyes cast down towards the table. “I didn’t really know the extent of Rei’s abuse before I met Shoto, but after meeting him and his siblings; I could see the signs...Growing up in an orphanage full of kids who no one wanted, you knew what to look out for; and you knew you had to protect yourself...The Todoroki kids didn’t know those kind of life lessons.” 

Y/N: “The first time I stayed over, Shoto was a little worried, I’d never want to go back. At the time Enji, spent a lot of time at work...he didn’t know how to deal with what was going on at home; so Dabi was the one who took the brunt of the responsibility before I came along.” she said, waving her hand towards the waitress. Pointing at what she wanted to order she continued; “Everything had been fine when I got there, and I had gotten a long pretty well with the siblings...and then the door slammed open and a drunk Rei had come home...Shoto tried to apologize, but I had told him it was fine. I wanted to see what was happening, so I could better understand my new friend.” “She was so drunk, she didn’t even know I was there; but I watched as the good mood quickly disappeared. Natsuo had shrunken into a corner of the room, attempting to make himself practically invisible, and Dabi had made his way towards his mother ready to reign her in. Shoto stood in front of me, trying to hide me from her scrutunizing gaze, but her eyes were focused on Fuyumi.” 

Nemuri sat across from Y/N, her fists clenched as she listened to Y/N tell her about Rei. 

Y/N: “She poked at her slight rolls, and called her a pig. She tugged at her hair and told her it was a rats nest...she said awful things to her child with a voice full of absolute hatred.” she declared fist clenched and her knuckles white. “That was the first of many times I was bared witness to Rei Todoroki treating her kids like shit...I would come over and she would be drunk or strung out on whatever drug she had gotten her hands on that day...There wasn’t a lot I thought I could do, I didn’t want to lose my best friend or the siblings I had grown to love...When something bad happened, I just convinced Dabi that we should leave the house for the day. Enji would give us his credit card and we’d go and find something fun to do...One day when I was 11...I wasn’t able to come over, there was an adoption event at the orphanage and I didn’t have a choice but to go. I wish I had skipped it.” she mumbled. “Maybe if I had, then things would have been different...I went to school the next day, only to be met by the principle and Enji...there had been an accident at the house the night before and Dabi was in the hospital...I had been informed on the way there, that Rei had come home high on LSD and hallucinating. She thought Dabi was a burglar and had thrown the pan he was using to cook at him. He had been knocked unconscious when she knocked over cooking oil, resulting in the kitchen bursting into flames...Fuyumi and Natsuo had been at the library and Shoto was at anger management therapy...” 

Nemuri gripped Y/N’s hands tightly as tears started streaming down her cheeks. 

Y/N: “Rei...She ran out of the house in a panic, as the fire continued to spread throughout the house...she left her child behind...to die in that stupid fucking fire.” she whispered voice laced with hatred. “It was by some fucking miracle, that someone saw and called the fire department right away...Dabi ended up suffering severe burns all over his body; and was attached to a breathing tube for months...I don’t think I’d ever been as angry as I was when Rei showed up to his hospital room, sober and unassuming as to how her son ended up there.”...

Y/N: “It took Enji and three security officers to get me off of her. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, but I couldn’t see anything clearly but Dabi’s bandaged body and the woman responsible for it.”

Nemuri: “Jesus, Y/N... that’s so awful!” she whispered, hands over her mouth; shock adorning her features. 

Y/N: “Yeah well, not a lot could be done. As Enji’s wife she was entitled to half his shit...and her family had tons of money before the marriage...Enji only stayed on because the agreement said she’d get everything if he left her before the last child turned 18...she never even wanted kids...she just had them to trap Enji.” she murmured, taking a bite form the food set in front of her. “After the hospital, Rei made her dislike for me known strongly, but she didn’t abuse her kids anymore on the days I was around; which I tried really hard to do daily; but some things couldn’t be helped.” 

Nemuri: “So what happened after that?” 

Y/N: “For the next 7 years I looked after the Todoroki’s as best as I could. I convinced them to find things to do that would keep them out of the house, and I helped Enji learn how to talk to his kids...I suggested they attend family therapy without Rei...she was hardly ever home after a long discussion with Enji resulting in a tentative agreement that she would get whatever she wanted so long as she stayed away from them...and she had agreed. The older I got, the stronger I got and we had our run-ins from time to time. When I was 16 she found out Fuyumi was a lesbian and before she could go in on her for being an “abomination” I had her by the hair and out the door. I was bigger than I was at 11, so it hurt more...Rei made sure she and I were never in the same vicinity together so she could attempt to torture her children in peace; but I always found out.” “She would rat me out to the orphanage, but at that point they didn’t care what I did. I had my own job, I paid for my own things...I hardly even lived there anymore...” 

Nemuri: “They must have gotten the divorce right?” she asked fingers playing with the thread of her jacket sleeve, remembering how she had met Enji a few days after Shoto’s 19th birthday, 6 years before.

Y/N: She nodded her head, “Enji had the papers drawn up and ready to push through the day Shoto turned 18...Rei must have forgotten her agreement, because she was absolutely livid; but it didn’t matter...with the threat of legal action and physical violence she signed them and she’s been gone ever since.”

Nemuri: “Then what the fuck is she doing here now? Six years later?” she hissed, fists clenched, anger for the Todoroki’s and anger for Y/N present. “How could she do something like that to her kids? How could you take on that kind of burden Y/N?”

Y/N: “The Todoroki’s are the only family I have Nem...and I would do absolutely anything for them. Anything at all...Without hesitation I would do anything for them, and in that moment they needed me. They were also there for me...when I was 17 and pregnant and I needed them. She came back, because she must have heard that Enji had plans to make YOU the next Mrs. Todoroki and wanted to scare you off, but I’m not going to let that happen.” she murmured waving down the waitress. “I’m gonna pay this check, and we’re gonna take you home.”

Nemuri: “He was going to propose to me?” she asked. Y/N nodded as she put the money on the table. “Take me with you...If you’re going to Enji’s I want to be there...to see how you handle things.” she whispered. Nodding again, Y/N stood up. “Let’s go then, Shouta and Hizashi are already there; but I doubt  they’ve been much help in calming Enji down.” Y/N muttered, putting her jacket on and making her way out of the cafe.

-The Todoroki siblings had a pretty harsh life before Y/N. But as she said; they were family and she’d do anything for her family.

@dabilove27 @abyssmium @amarillyis @mushimoon14 @shikiry @therealwalmartjesus @bbymilkbread @kac-chowsballs @pepper-elaine @wineandionysus @loverofallthingsfoxy

#katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugō #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi #bnha shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinsou imagine #bnha smau #bnha #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #smau

[ramblinganthropologist]

Fictober 2021 (3) - “I’ve waited for this”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (Actor AU)

Summary: Macen Virius was supposed to be breaking things off with his costar. Instead, he’s pretty sure he might have just caught feelings. Damn it, it was just supposed to be a sex thing...

---

There was nothing like the end of a long day of filming to make Macen want to go to fucking sleep.

Every muscle in his body ached as he left the set to change out of his costume. Moments before, he had been in the blown out remains of a battlefield. Post would add the effects, but his hands still ached from holding his prop rifle and clicking the useless trigger button. Honestly, if he had been human, he would have expected an imprint there.

He was going to have to ask his costar about that later…

“Where is he anyway?” Macen’s mandibles twitched as he glanced around. Everyone was heading off, but there was no sign of Mass Effect’s leading man. Usually, he stuck around to talk to his costar – then again, he didn’t see the other ‘Commander Shepard’ either. They must have both taken off early…

He envied that about humans. They got out of costume and makeup way too quickly.

In the end, he too was back in his regular clothes. As he walked, he rubbed his right mandible, trying to get the feeling back. Part of playing Garrus meant that he needed fake implants to imply he’d had half his face blown off. With how numb that mandible got, it certainly felt that way. No doubt about it, he was looking forward to the final season where all he would need is scar tissue. At least he’d be able to move better in that.

A beeping drew his attention to his wrist as he left the set. His omnitool was letting him know he had a message from a certain fake redhead. As humans put it, curiosity killed the cat (don’t ask him, he didn’t even know what a cat was) so he opened it.

Alex Jones: Hey, rehearsal at my place tonight?

Alex Jones: I can get takeout from that levo-dextro place again. You liked their noodles.

He had liked their noodles. What he didn’t like was… well, this.

“You’re getting too attached, Virius. This is just supposed to be about sex.” He shook his head, half considering calling things off so he could have the night to himself. Problem was that his stomach had started to growl at the thought of those noodles. Besides, tomorrow’s shoot was supposed to involve a lot of emotional moments – he needed all the feedback he could get.

With any luck, he’d end the night in his own bed without fucking the human. After all… he was a turian of self-restraint and control. He could totally handle this.

…

Yeah, he was just going to keep telling himself that and hope for the best. Damn sexy human…

---

An hour later, Macen found himself standing in front of his costar’s door, frowning as he stared at the metal. As hard as he tried to talk himself into ending things, doubt still gnawed at his stomach.

He should end things. It never ended well when he got too into somebody.

“He should understand… it’s just sex… he’s my costar, and it’s just sex.” Macen shook his head again, frowning as he started to key in the human’s door code. Alex had given it to him a month prior, mostly so if he was going to be late he could get in.

That probably wasn’t a good sign, but he had elected to ignore it.

The door clicked opened, and he stepped in. Much to his surprise, the sound of upbeat music met him in the hallway. Not only that, but someone was singing to it if his translator was anything to go by. The damn thing was working overtime as he sidled closer to the entrance to the living room, holding his breath as he peaked in.

Lucky for him, Alex’s back was to him. The human had cleared a space in his living room in order to have room for what he was doing then. However, Macen was having a problem processing what “that” was. Well, he knew it was dancing – a somewhat odd version of it – but it was just so… old fashioned.

Also, since when did Alex dance?

“Let’s chase the dreaming light, and I’ll truly be myself…”

Dancing wasn’t the only thing on the menu. Macen’s jaw dropped as he realized the soft, sweet voice he had heard in the hallway was coming from Alex himself as he worked through the song with flowing, easy moves. Something about it was so painstakingly familiar, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it as he stood mutely in the hallway, watching the scene in front of him.

He had to wonder… what did it look like from the front?

“There’s a scene I want to show you. You have to wait for it… so let’s make a promise!”

Alex moved into a different position, holding out his hand to an imaginary audience that Macen couldn’t see as he took a step up. Every one of his moves were precise, even though he was doing nothing more than dancing around his apartment in his socks. Clearly, he had been practicing…

But for what?

“There’s a gentle wind wrapping around me… isn’t it warm?”

Macen knew a bridge when he heard one, and he felt himself holding his breath as he watched. Alex was getting closer to his imaginary audience now, probably for whatever was going to come in the final chorus. Maybe it was because he was so focused on the man that he hadn’t noticed his heart had begun to beat faster, but it thudded all the same.

“They’re overflowing, these endless hearts…” The man suddenly turned on his heel, facing the entry way. “Please carry them to tomorrow!”

And then no more singing happened as the precursor to the final chorus played behind him. He was fixed on the turian standing in his living room, looking rather shocked as if he hadn’t given him the door code. Macen wasn’t doing much better, mind you – he still hadn’t managed to shut his damn mouth.

And people thought they were cool. If only the blogs could see them now.

At least Alex shut the music off as he regained sense. He reached for a towel to dry off his apparently sweaty face, cheeks a slight pink from exercise. Maybe it was the sweat that had made him shine in that moment. For all Macen knew, it had caught the overhead light when he spun around like that.

Meanwhile, his heart wasn’t slowing down. Still…

“Uh… I guess my text didn’t make it.” At least his mandibles were starting to work. “I didn’t miss the noodles yet, did I?”

The human put his towel down as he started towards his phone propped up on a stand. “They’ll be here in 15 last I checked.”

The music started playing on his phone as he frowned. “Damn, I knew I spun the wrong way…”

This caused Macen to cock his head to the side. “Were you recording yourself for social media or something?”

Doubtful; this kind of thing definitely wasn’t in the human’s wheelhouse. After all, he was supposed to be playing Commander Shepard. While the man had some oddities, he probably didn’t dance around like that.

…

Then again, who fucking knew. Dude was weird.

Alex was still checking his phone as he spoke. “No, just recording my practice to see where I need to improve for filming next week.”

Surprisingly, he was grinning as he looked up. “I’ve waiteda for this for a long time, so I want to get it right.”

Something about the way he smiled did awful things to Macen’s stomach. However, the statement set his mind whirring. While he wasn’t a complete Reaper War freak like some of his coworkers, he at least knew enough to be sure something like that hadn’t happened. After all, there’d be videos, right?

Definitely videos, no way Joker would’ve let that slip by.

“Ok, you’re going to have to fill me in on this one… since when did Shepard do a little dance?”

Alex chuckled – again, there went his stomach. “2185, to be exact. The Normandy ran into a rogue AI that accidentally found its way into Shepard’s music collection. They needed to distract it, so he wound up putting on a little show. He disabled the cameras beforehand, but he wrote about it in his journal, so we know it happened. And now I get to do it on TV and make all the people who think he was just a military guy hate me. I’m thrilled.”

Clearly – he was sparkling again, and this time it wasn’t from the sweat. Macen felt his heart beat harder again, and he tried to distract himself by looking towards the door. If those noodles could save his ass, he’d marry them.

Besides, he was supposed to be calling things off with the guy.

Alex was still looking through his phone as he spoke. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve done a dance routine for TV, I was worried I forgot how. I’m definitely a little rough, but it’s better than I thought it would be. Good thing the director let me know early so I could practice a bit more.”

Macen started to open his mouth to ask, but then the memory came to the surface. He knew where he had heard the voice before, and honestly he was surprised he had forgotten about it. Back then, he had secretly loved to watch it.

Secretly, of course, because Citadel Idol Heart was really more of a girl’s show. The popular teen drama about idols competing in a Citadel-wide talent competition in hopes of seeing their dreams come to life had run for a few years, and he had seen every episode. More importantly, he had once crushed on the main character, a blonde idol with blue eyes and the sweetest voice he had ever heard. Whenever she took the stage, he had been unable to look away.

Just like he couldn’t look away now…

“You… I forgot you were on CIH.”

It was now Alex’s turn to blink back surprise as he looked up from his phone. “You watched that?”

“Kind of…” His eyes darted. “Your voice hasn’t changed much. I mean it’s gotten older sounding but I’m glad to know it wasn’t autotune or anything…”

Things had officially gotten awkward. There he was, with the crush from his teenage years… and he was fucking the guy without even knowing it. Life was weird, and it was getting worse by the second. If only teenage him could see him now…

The man’s cheeks turned a light pink at the compliment. “Well, it’s not like I’ve gone on T or anything, so no big surprise there…”

He got up, probably to check for the noodles. “I take it you were part of the Melody fan club then. Unless you were an edge lord and went with Black Rose. Her fan club was the absolute worst and insisted we hated each other, but I was the best man at her damn wedding last year…”

The rest of his statement was drowned out by the opening of a door and the ruffling of a paper bag. At last, the noodles had arrived. Unfortunately, Macen realized he didn’t have much of an appetite. His stomach refused to calm, and his heart still pounded as he sat there, processing everything.

At least the application of a warm box to his mandibles helped.

“Macen, your noodles are going to get cold.”

He blinked and realized Alex was nudging him in the face with his food. That shot him back to reality as he took the box and proffered plastic fork that went with it. The human then settled in next to him – not across! – and started to dig into his own box.

Right… food. And they were supposed to be rehearsing. And he was definitely supposed to be breaking up with his costar.

“I had the pin.”

His comment left silence in his wake. Alex had stopped eating and was giving him a rather incredulous look. This caused Macen to duck his head in lieu of eating noodles. After all, it was hard to do so politely when you had a face like his. Really, he should have sworn them off… but they were just so damn good he couldn’t resist.

Damn humans and their noodles, they were out to get him.

“You had the fan club pin?”

Yep – there went his mandibles, flapping in the breeze. “I was a big fan, ok? What can I say, everyone loves an underdog story… and you maybe… looked good in that one outfit. The orange one…”

Melody in the orange outfit had been taped to his bedroom wall until he left for basic. Hell, it might still be there…

“God, you’re such a nerd.”

Alex was chuckling though as he put his fork down. It was a nice sound, though it did horrible things to Macen’s stomach once more. Thoughts of noodles evaporated as he sat there, taking in the sound of the human’s mirth. He really needed to laugh more often… maybe he should work on making that happen.

“Well… I can’t exactly let a fan down, now can I?”

He stood and crossed the room to the open space he had created. The music was soon queued up to where he had last stopped, and Alex took position once more. The smile on his face made Macen’s heart want to stop as he sat there, a noodle still hanging from his mandible.

“I can take off into the dreaming sky… because I’m not alone.” Alex winked as he moved, following the song. “Wherever it is, I feel like I can go across the distant sky…”

Then the music swelled as it led into the final chorus. Macen forgot how to breathe in that moment as he watched his costar dance and sing along to the ancient song. All he could think of was how much better he had gotten since the days of CIH…

And how much he wanted to kiss him.

“It’s not enough to put into words, so I’m putting it into a song I’m wishing will reach you.” Another smile as Alex twirled, then began his final pose as the song began to wind down. “Beating my heart~”

The last pose, with his head cocked to the side and hands clasped together, held as the music faded. Then there was silence in the living room as Macen struggled to remember how to function. Right then, there was nothing there but Alex and the table in front of him that kept him in place.

Shit.

“It probably needs some work, but I think I’ve got the basics considering it’s only been a couple hours.” Alex landed back on the couch, picking his food back up. “What do you think, Macen? Got anything you noticed?”

Yeah… his heart was still beating like crazy.

“Macen?”

The turian shook his head – probably launching the noodle in the process. At least it didn’t hit the man next to him, so he could thank his lucky stars for that. However, it was hard to think then as so many feelings and thoughts crashed together.

He was supposed to be calling it off… that was why he came over. This was just supposed to be a sex thing… but every bone in his carapace was telling him to grab the other man and kiss the daylights out of him. They hadn’t even ever kissed outside of sex or prepping for scenes…

What the hell was wrong with him?

“I uh… I don’t know the song, but maybe hold the last pose a bit longer. They might be able to make your eyes light up a bit more.”

Alex nodded at this. “I’ll make a note. Also, don’t you hate cold noodles? Last time you wouldn’t stop complaining when the delivery guy was late…”

Right then, Macen wasn’t sure what he hated or liked as he shoveled the food into his mouth. He just needed something, anything to keep him away from the thoughts currently blooming in his mind.

He knew this path – he hated it. It never ended well. And long ago he had told himself he was never going to walk down it again if he had any sense in his head. This was nothing more than a rehash on an old teenage crush… he could overpower it.

“We need our energy to practice.” He slurped down the last noodle, glad that none were sticking to his face this time. “Tomorrow’s going to be hell if we’re not ready.”

At least his costar nodded as he worked to finish his dinner. “Tell me about it, I have a damn imprint on my trigger finger from that damn gun…”

Well, at least on the bright side that question got answered. It did nothing to quell the bubbling feelings Macen was trying so desperately to beat down, but at least his curiosity was sated for the moment. Maybe that would get him through filming.

One thing was for sure… he was fucked. No way about it – he was just plain fucked. The universe was laughing at him, and he only had himself to blame. All he could do was hope he could hold back and wait for the feelings to pass.

If they didn’t… see the previous statement for clarification. Fuck… he was supposed to be a turian sharpshooter, not a lovesick puppy. He didn’t sign up for this.

#fictober21 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #that mass effect actor au #shakarian #Well shakarian actor AU #but they're also gonna get together lo #I mean they're fucking but they caught ~feelings~