#supernova wordcount

[jupitergames-if]

Chapter One Progress // Updated 5/25/23

Wordcount (no code): 4640 → 5642

#nothing fancy here #just something to keep y'all updated #check this post to see how things are going #supernova game #sn:r #supernova wordcount

[petit-etoile]

*meekly raises hand* I'd had an idea for a drabble prompt. That hug Astarion gets? What if it also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time? Like one that he is able to put his heart into without the fear of being used and tossed aside?

wave after wave (like a transparent star)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 762 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, kissing, gender neutral tav, human!tav if you squint archiveofourown: here. .

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils, be added to the taglist here

summary: What if the hug also led to him kissing Tav, really kissing them for the first time?

‘I want,’ you say with the slightest shake of your head, ‘I want. I want  —  ’

This, is what you would say if you had the words to speak. Instead, you stare at Astarion with a sense of unrelenting urgency between the two of you. It’s as though you are frozen in time with your palm resting flat against his, both of his hands framing yours protectively, his skin, his fingers, his everything laid bare against your silly little hand.

Astarion collides with you like a star racing across an ocean. He is a tide that overcomes you and threatens to take you out to sea. You wrap your arms around his thin frame to keep yourself grounded. The dark depths of the ocean swirls around you, but you hold onto Astarion and he holds onto you, your arms wrapped around his waist, his hand gently cradling the back of your head as he desperately presses his forehead against yours with a shuddering breath as he fights that urge to consume.

And just like that, a supernova creates itself in the middle of camp in the dark. You tilt your chin at just the right time to catch his mouth as he crashes into you. Astarion kisses you so passionately that you have no choice but to seek purchase on his shoulders to avoid toppling over. There’s hysteria in his tongue, in the way his lips tremble, but all you can smell is rosemary, bergamot, and brandy, and tears, yours and his together.

This might’ve been how he would have kissed his highborn lover back in Baldur’s Gate before everything. Before mindflayer and tadpole, before Cazador and the attack, before you and your frightening humanity.  This is a kiss a magistrate would have given to a recently courted lover in private away from prying eyes. You almost feel as though you’re being swept off your feet, like you’re being properly romanced instead of hunted in the woods, and it does something to the pit of your stomach. You swoon.

‘I think,’ Astarion says thickly, ‘I know what I’m feeling for you.’

‘I know,’ you say, nuzzling his jaw. ‘I know you love me.’

His eyes soften and then, well, it really is a collision this time. Somehow, Astarion kisses you roughly and tenderly all at once. His nose presses sharply into your cheek, and you clutch his elbows like at any moment, if he chooses to let go, you’ll be stranded at sea. It’s a different kiss from all those you’ve experienced from him before. From the kiss during sunset, the kiss when he first drank your blood, and the shyest kiss from right after his confession. This is something else entirely. A fire let loose in the wood.

He kisses you like a man who has only known hunger. Astarion takes and he takes and he takes until you’re almost certain he’s hunting for your soul from your lips, and you would give it to him if you knew where to look for it. This is a kiss  —  a real and genuine kiss  —  from a man who has only known desperation, nails scraping against the grain, seeking something far beyond himself. You would feel scandalized by the passion if it were anyone else.

And when he’s done fervently kissing you, Astarion cradles your cheek in his hand and runs his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone as if you were the most precious idol he could have laid his hands on.

There’s something different about the gleam in his eye, a glossiness that you’ve never seen before, not really. Beneath all the vitriol and discomfort, there is a young man who wants nothing more than freedom.

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs, and the sound is relief composed as a symphony by the saddest souls. You return the favor, your fingers sliding across the familiar harsh lines of his face, and decide to show him the purest of emotions so that he knows.

‘I don’t know what comes next,’ Astarion says, his tone a touch agonized. ‘But wherever this leads, I know that I want it to be you.’

For once, his words are honest and match his intentions. It’s something you come to cherish. You’re the only one he’ll ever show this side to; this kind devotion belongs to you and you alone. This is the part of Astarion that Cazador can never touch. There is still hope in his skeletal frame.

You kiss his cheek softly.

There’s no other place you’d rather be than at Astarion’s side.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa . #my fic #anonymous #* a thousand lives，and one

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Need | Din Djarin x Cobb Vanth

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter.

Warnings:  Porn with Feelings; Porn With Plot; Anal Sex; Anal Fingering; Anal; Anal Play; Blow Jobs; Prostate Massage; Oral Sex; Lube; Cobb Vanth deserves his own warning; Din Djarin being an anxious idiots; Idiots in Love; Pet Names; mesh'la used liberally; uncut Cobb; Helmetless Din Djarin; the helmet doesn't stay on; set between s2-3; Yearning; Pining; a splash of angst.

Summary: Set post-S2 but pre-BOBF Din can't stop thinking about Cobb, it burns a hole in his chest brighter and hotter than a Supernova. He just needs a taste of intimacy, just a small taste. That'll be enough, right? My first proper M/M fic and I'm so nervous, I hope you enjoy it! Dedicated to my dude @immarocketman, I love you so much <3 Thank you @for-a-longlongtime and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta'ing for me <3 Wordcount: 5.5k Read on AO3

Take it off, or I will.

The words had slipped out of the Mandalorian’s mouth without thought. But the way the marshal’s eyebrows twitched up, followed by the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip made Din’s insides churn. He’d repeated them the night of the Krayt Dragon’s slaying, when Cobb was naked but for his briefs perched atop Din’s naked form as he lay back on Cobb’s bed. The helmet stayed on that night, but all Din could think about was doing the unthinkable.

He wanted to put his mouth on every inch of the marshal’s body, he wanted it more than anything in the galaxy.

~*~

It’s been over a year since the incident with the Krayt Dragon, and all Din can think about is Cobb. He’s alone in one of the bunks Peli keeps spare for him. His cock is achingly hard as he lays naked, sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed. Peli knows not to disturb him. Ever since he landed on Tatooine with Shand and Fett, he’s been in a slump. Without Grogu things have felt off, wrong, lonely.

Loneliness is not something Din is used to feeling, he hates it with a burning rage that violence can’t seem to quell. Loneliness is something Mandalorians of The Watch steel themselves against, it’s a distraction, a flaw. Wandering alone in the galaxy, providing for the Covert, taking on some of the most dangerous cretins in the universe. None of it leaves room for loneliness.

Loneliness gets you killed.

Take it off, or I will.

The words rattle around Din’s mind as he finally relents, his thick fingers wrapping around his length as he slowly jerks his cock. Cobb’s smug grin is burned behind his eyelids as his hand becomes slick with precome. He squeezes his shaft harder as he imagines Cobb’s lips wrapped around his cock instead of his hand.

He remembers the hot, wet, heat of Cobb’s mouth, the brush of his beard against Din’s thigh. He fixates on the memory of trying to pull out before he came.Cobb instead gripped his ass and held the heft of Din’s cock on his tongue as he erupted into the marshal’s mouth.

“Kriff,” Din hisses into the silence of his room.

His orgasm hits him like a blaster bolt, he comes with a strangled groan that echoes off the walls of the small guest room. His balls tighten and throb as he feels the spike of pleasure burst from his core and up his spine. His breath comes in jagged gasps as white splatters of come coat the dark curls at the base of his cock. His spend leaks down his length, pooling hot against his abdomen as the oppressive heat of Tatooine holds the moment in obscene stasis.

Din lies there for some time, letting the haze of post-orgasm euphoria roll through his body. He doesn’t know what he expected, but the loneliness persists. It gnaws at him as he tries to find the energy to get up and clean off.

~*~

Even in the low light of dusk, the buzz of the thoroughfare speaks to the change in the small town of Mos Pelgo as Din makes his way to the cantina. He slips in, making his way to the back of the bar. He doesn’t want to draw attention, but he needs to see him. Even if it’s just a glimpse. He tells himself that it’ll be enough. It’s a lie, but a convenient one.

It doesn’t take long for Cobb to saunter in, checking in with the bartender. It’s a brief conversation, punctuated with a nod in Din’s direction from the barkeep. Din’s blood runs hot then cold as Cobb makes his way to his table. He has a bottle of something golden in one hand and two short cups in the other.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Cobb says with a smirk as he stops just short of Din’s table, “This seat taken?”

Din grunts in assent, not finding the courage to speak as he nods to the chair on the other side of the table. He’s sweating through his flight suit, and it has nothing to do with the desert planet’s atmosphere. Din knows fear, he knows how to manage something as abstract a concept as fear. But what he feels right now is dread. Dread is a weight on his chest that anchors him in place, trapping him without a means to escape.

He should never have come.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite Mandalorian. How’ve you been?” Cobb asks as he eases himself down onto the seat opposite. He eyes Mando up and down as he notices the way Din shifts in his chair.  

Cobb pours two measures of the spirit before raising his cup in toast. He expects Mando to decline, as always, but his eyes widen as he watches his friend lift the cup. In a slow, purposeful motion Mando pitches his head back in the gloom of the bar. His free hand shifts his helmet up and he brings the drink to his lips, tipping back the liquid in one swift flick of his wrist. In the low lighting Cobb can’t see anything but the act in itself unsettles the marshal.

“Been better,” Mando answers as he reseats his helmet, “You?”

“Things are fine here, thriving since you last visited, we’re working with the Tuskens more and more, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Cobb says with a guarded expression, he’s trying to figure out what’s eating at his sometimes-friend, sometimes-lover.

“Good,” Din nods, his visor flashing in the low light, “That’s good.”

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” Cobb presses as he pours another measure in both their glasses. Mando doesn’t drink this time, instead holding the small container between his thumb and forefinger.

“Nothing,” Din grunts before swirling the liquid around his glass, his helmet dipped low as he avoids the topic. They sit together in silence for some time, Din’s gaze is fixed on Cobb’s face.

He takes in the way Cobb’s beard is fuller than before. His forehead bears deeper lines, crow’s feet crease at the corners of his eyes. It’s been just over a standard year, but the harsh binary suns of Tatooine have taken their toll. However, Cobb’s eyes are brighter than ever, his swirling light brown irises still sparkle with the fire of arrogance but hold a softer glow. Contentment, a wealth that cannot be measured in credits, but in fulfilment.

“As riveting as this is,” Cobb sighs as he stands up, “I’m going to head home, it’s nice to see you Mando, bottles on me.”

“Wait,” Din grabs Cobb’s wrist with lightning speed, his thick gloved fingers firm on the other man’s arm.

“You ready to tell me why you’re really here?” Cobb’s eyes sparkle with challenge, he knows why, he just wants Din to admit it.

“I came to see you,” Din says softly, his voice only just picking up on the vocoder in his helmet, “I missed you.”

“You missed me?” Cobb purrs and Mando’s stomach twists as he feels something like shame flood his system.

“Forget it,” Din snaps as he pulls his hand away, already on his feet, “Enjoy your evening, marshal.”

But Cobb squares up to him, blocking his path out of the cantina, he pushes him back against the wall. Din’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches Cobb’s broad hand flatten against his chest plate. Din’s hands hang limply at his sides as he finds himself startled for the first time in a very long time.

“You missed me, Mando?” Cobb’s voice drops a register as he repeats his question, a sly smile twitching at the corner of his full lips.

“Yes,” Din breathes as he watches Cobb’s eyes drift down to the growing bulge in Din’s flight suit. He can’t help but hold his breath as the other man steps closer, his lips but a hair’s breadth away from the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Didn’t think you were allowed to miss people like me, Mando,” Cobb says as he looks up into the inky blackness of Din’s visor, “Does it help to know I missed you too?”

Din’s jaw goes slack as he feels the tight knot of negative emotions in his chest unravels. It’s like he’s broken free of a garotte, he feels lightheaded, dizzy, and so very aware of how close Cobb is to him now.

“Cobb,” Din says softly as he scans the room, conscious of any prying eyes to what has turned into such an intimate moment.

“Come home with me,” Cobb says softly as he steps back, giving the Mandalorian some space, “Unless you think you can’t live up to last time.”

“Are you sure?” Din asks as he practically vibrates as he holds himself back. His fingertips itch with the need to touch Cobb’s bare skin again.

“Never been surer of anythin’ in my life, now come on, we’ve got lost time to make up for.”

The pair exit the cantina together, close enough that their fingertips brush as they walk. Pinky fingers touching every few steps. It’s like a silent exchange of intent, flirting wordlessly as electricity sparks between them with every caress of bare skin against textured leather.

Din angles his helmet subtly, letting himself drink in the slight form of the marshal. Cobb unknowingly mirrors the action and his lips curve into a wide smile as he catches the Mandalorian checking him out. Neither say a word until the door to Cobb’s home hisses shut behind them.

There’s a shift in the air between them as Cobb brushes past Din, his hips swaying as he enters the central room in the small hut. Din watches him go, salivating at the deliberate change in the marshal’s gait. His dick strains against the tight flight suit as he tries to control himself. He doesn’t want to spoil this, not with eagerness, not with mindless pleasure.

He wants to do this right.

“Do you want a drink?” Cobb calls over his shoulder as he reaches the far side of the room, reaching up to grab earthenware cups from a high shelf. Din treads lightly as he comes up behind Cobb, his Beskar barely making a sound as he moves. There’s a thrill in this, moving soundlessly in Beskar is no easy feat, it’s something usually reserved for quarry.

“No,” Din says softly as Cobb yelps, Din’s firm hands find purchase on Cobb’s hips.

“I see, right down to business, never struck me as the desperate type Mando,” Cobb laughs but Din growls in response as he grinds his clothed cock against Cobb’s ass, pinning him to the counter.

“I don’t want a drink,” he rumbles as one hand snakes up to grip Cobb’s neck from the front, thick fingers framing Cobb’s jaw, pulling him back against Din’s armoured form, “I want to taste you.”

“I like this side of you, Mando, so bold,” Cobb purrs as he abandons his quest for mugs, he turns in Din’s grip, “How do you propose going about tasting me?” He asks as he leans forward, Din’s thick fingers are still wrapped around Cobb’s neck and the marshal leans into the pressure as he rests his forehead against the cool Beskar of Din’s helmet.

“Going to put my mouth here,” Din glides his hand up over Cobb’s jaw, gloved thumb brushing over his lower lip, “and here,” he trails his fingertip back down his chin, lower, lingering over Cobb’s sternum, “and here,” Din growls and his cock aches at the intake of breath from the marshal.

“Wish I could see you,” Cobb breathes, and he flinches, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Cobb is about to say something, anything to walk back from his slip up. Din smirks beneath his helmet, it’s a twisted grimace turned smile as he realises there’s no point holding back any longer.

“Take it off,” Din commands as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Cobb’s pants, “Take it off, or I will.”

“Mando, what are you-?”

“Take it off, or I will.”

There’s a charged silence as Cobb tries to move, his body is frozen in place as he fights against the voice in the back of his mind. He knows this is forbidden, he knows it’s a big kriffing deal, but that makes it all the more enticing. His dick twitches in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” Cobb’s breathing hitches as Din’s free hand cups his face, gloved thumb rubbing through his thick, silvered beard.

“Please.”

It’s a plea brimming with desperation, filled with an unspoken need. It’s exactly what Cobb needs to hear.

“Seein’ as you asked so nice,” Cobb smirks with bared teeth and Din’s stomach twists as he feels the flutter of anxiety gnaw at him. He drops his hand from Cobb’s face, both hands move to Cobb’s waist and Din holds himself steady.

Cobb brings both hands up to cup the concave cheeks of Din’s helmet, fingers splayed across the angular Beskar as he holds the object of Din’s Creed in the palms of his hands.

“Close your eyes,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to the Beskar in front of him, “Trust me.”

Din does as instructed, his eyes clamp shut as he tightens his grip on Cobb’s waist. The hiss-click of his helmet depressurising has him shuddering, there’s no going back now.

“Keep ‘em shut,” Cobb coos as Din feels the helmet lift away, the thick, humid air of the evening hitting his skin like a smothering blanket. He gasps as he forces his eyes to stay closed. Tension twists through his whole body as he hears his helmet being set down somewhere to his right.

“You’re beautiful, Mando,” Cobb’s voice is breathless, awestruck and filled with deep reverence that makes Din’s lips part in desire.

“Kiss me,” Din commands and he cringes as he hears Cobb chuckle.

“So needy,” Cobb whispers as he places his hands on Din’s face, just like on his helmet, he spreads his fingertips under Din’s jaw, thumbs pressed into his cheekbones as he takes him in. He studies the neatly trimmed facial hair, with clear patches where it refuses to grow. He salivates at Din’s plush lips, plump and so full. His eyes are still closed, his brow furrowed, and Cobb wants nothing more than to see those eyes open.

“Cobb, please-,”

Din groans as Cobb’s lips brush over his own. Cobb smiles at the guttural sound as he takes Din’s top lip between his own, pulling on it lightly before bumping his nose against the strong plane of the Mandalorian’s own. He releases his lip gently, their short breaths mingling in the space between them as both men pant from the brief exchange.

“Wanted to do that since the moment I saw you, Mando,” Cobb whispers, lips brushing over one another once more as he speaks, “Didn’t care what you looked like under here, just knew I needed this.”

Din’s grip is unwavering on Cobb’s pants as he leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Slowly, Din opens his eyes and groans as he sees Cobb’s flush cheeks, plump lips, and striking brown eyes for the first time without a helmet on.

“Stars, you’re gorgeous,” Din growls as he leans back, looking up into the marshal’s hooded eyes. There’s a moment of charged silence where neither is sure who will make the next move.

“You sure this is ok?” Cobb asks as he looks down, abashed at finally being shown Din’s face. It’s Din’s turn to cup the other man’s face.

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure,” he promises as he tilts the marshal’s head up to look at him once more, “I’ll explain everything later, but for now?” Din asks as he presses his lips to the corner of Cobb’s mouth, lips brushing his silvered moustache as he speaks, “Let me taste you, all of you.”

It’s Cobb’s turn to moan as he turns his head to kiss Din once more. This time there’s an urgent hunger to it, their lips crash together, mouths ceding to tongues as they waste no time in consuming each other. Din’s tongue dips into Cobb’s mouth as he backs him towards the bedroom. His hands are on the marshal’s shirt, pulling at it with thick, eager fingers.

The back of Cobb’s knees hit the bed and he flops backwards, pulling the Beskar-clad man down on top of him. Din plants his hands either side of Cobb’s head as he lands, softening the blow of his heavy, armoured form from crushing the marshal.

“That was reckless,” Din growls, but his face is alight with desire as he sees his lover’s face flushed and needy beneath him.

“You make me reckless,” Cobb responds with a wink and Din fists the bedsheets with both hands as he drops his head low, nudging the other man’s head to the side with his nose. His lips brush against the thatch of silver hair that lines Cobb’s jaw, and Din smiles in triumph as the marshal arches up against him.

“I want you to strip for me, can you do that?” Din whispers as he grinds his cock down onto the other man’s equally hard bulge. The friction from Cobb’s pants and Din’s flight suit makes both men groan, Din’s breathy and desperate, Cobb’s low and thick with desire.

“Sure thing, handsome,” Cobb groans as he watches the Mandalorian retreat a few steps, hands already making quick work of his armour as his dark brown eyes never leave the marshal’s. Cobb kneels on the bed, removing the stained red bandana from his neck as Din drops his cape. The pair can’t stop smiling as they undress.

Cobb removes his overshirt, off comes Din’s pauldrons, his chest plate. Cobb kicks off his boots and Din’s vambraces are placed in a pile of ever-growing Beskar. Belts come off in unison and the rumbling chuckle around the small room is infectious.

“This is a lot slower than last time, Mando,” Cobb quips as he works at his pants, shoving them down as Din removes the last piece of his armour. He sets the boots to the side, clad only in his dark flight suit now.

“Please, Cobb,” Din says as he unzips the top half of the suit, “Call me Din.”

“Din,” Cobb says as he kicks off his pants, discarding them as he sits in just his tight black briefs, “I like it, punchy.”

Din shakes his head, his cheeks burning from how hard he’s smiling at the flirtatious man before him.

“Did you talk this much last time?” Din growls affectionately as he shrugs off the top half of his suit, baring his tan skin, adorned with tattoos that range from dark inky blue to luminous icy tones. Cobb licks his lips as he maps the inked, scarred, tapestry before him.

“Last time I didn’t get much time to talk, I recall my mouth was otherwise occupied,” Cobb flutters his eyelashes playfully up and Din and the Mandalorian shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, that won’t be a problem this time,” Din says with a wolfish grin as he strips the last half of his flight suit off, “On your back, briefs down marshal.”

“So bossy, where’s the romance, the wooing Mando?”

“Din,” he corrects Cobb as he frees his cock from his briefs, kicking them off with the flight suit, “And if you wanted to be wooed, you wouldn’t have let me fuck your pretty little mouth so easily last time.”

“You’ve got me there,” Cobb says as his cheeks flush bright red before he pulls his briefs down. Din groans, palming his cock as he strides over to the bed. Cobb leans forward, eager to touch Din again but he’s reprimanded with a gentle shove to the sternum and a tsk from Din.

“On your back, mesh’la,” he says as he gets on his knees in front of Cobb, “Let me return the favour.”

Cobb does as he’s told, but he props himself up on his elbows, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of Din’s handsome face now he’s had a glimpse. Din parts his lover’s legs slowly, palms flat, fingers digging into the firmness of his muscular thighs. He places soft kisses to the inside of Cobb’s left knee, chaste, teasing brushes of his plush lips and stubble that make Cobb tremble beneath him. There’s a soft tang of sweat on Din’s lips as he makes his way up the inside of Cobb’s thigh, he laves soft swirls of his tongue over his lover’s skin as he makes his way up to the apex of Cobb’s thighs.

“Such a gorgeous cock,” Din mutters, almost to himself as he settles his torso between Cobb’s legs, keeping him open wide. His one hand cups Cobb’s balls, the other wraps gently around the base of his dick. Din’s own cock throbs at the way precome beads pearlescent at the tip as he pulls Cobb’s foreskin back a little to reveal the ruddy head.

Din eases his lips around Cobb’s cock, flattening his tongue as he hollows his cheeks to accommodate the marshal’s length. The bitter, musky taste of precome coats Din’s mouth as he groans around the thick weight of Cobb’s cock in his mouth. He eases himself down to the base, the telltale tightness in his throat from the panicked thrill of being so full, so close to gagging, has Din leaking over his own shaft.

“Kriff,” Cobb lets out a soft, breathy cry as Din worships him.

Din eases back as he runs the tip of his tongue over the ruddy head, suckling gently as Cobb shudders and whines beneath him.

“I could listen to you all night, mesh’la,” Din hums softly as he runs his tongue down the underside of Cobb’s shaft.

“Din, please,” Cobb whines as Din slots his mouth over one of his lover’s balls, rolling his tongue over it as he hums.

“Said I wanted to taste you,” Din says as he dips his tongue lower, his palms pushing on the backs of Cobb’s thighs as he angles his ass off the bed, “I’m taking my time.”

“Patience isn’t one of my virtues, Din,” Cobb says, voice light and breathy.

“Hmmm, then what do you want from me?” Din asks, hoping beyond hope it’s what he’s been thinking about since he fucked his fist only last night.

“I want you to fuck me,” Cobb says through gritted teeth as Din dips his head lower, his hot tongue inching lower to Cobb’s taint, teasing just shy of his asshole.

“Kriff,” Din groans against the soft weight of Cobb’s balls, “You want me to fuck this tight hole with my cock, marshal?”

Din brings his middle finger to his mouth, soaking it with his saliva before he slides his hand underneath Cobb. He teases his slick finger over Cobb’s exposed asshole as his balls reast heavy in Din’s palm. Cobb groans and bucks his hips up at the sensation, a soft series of pants follow as Din presses the pad of his fingertip to the puckered ring. Din licks a slow stripe up Cobb’s shaft before flicking his tongue against the head of Cobb’s cock.

“Quit with the teasing,” Cobb hisses as Din refuses to breach his hole, the wet heat of the Mandalorian’s mouth on his tip only drives the pitch of his voice higher.

“Not doing this without lube. You do have lube, right?”

“I’m not some inexperienced pup,” Cobb huffs indignantly as Din looks up at him from between his knees. The Mandalorian’s dark eyes are addled with lust as he wraps his lips around Cobb’s cock before sinking down to the base, “It’s in my nightstand,” Cobb’s head falls back at the way Din sucks his cock, mouth tight and tongue unrelenting as it massages the underside of his shaft.  

Din bobs his head up and down torturously slow as he savours the weight of the cock in his mouth. He finally releases it with a wet pop before sitting back on his heels, watching how the strong man before him twitches and pants for him. He knows Cobb is close, and as much as he wants to know what it’s like to have the marshal finish inside his mouth, he has other plans.

“On all fours, facing the headboard.”

The command is curt and without fanfare, Din’s own restraint is running thin. He wants to bury himself inside Cobb, carve a space out inside the other man that no-one else can fill. He wants to lay claim to his body and soul, the way Cobb – knowingly or not – has already claimed his own.

Cobb watches Din over his shoulder as he makes his way to the nightstand. Din rifles through the drawers to find an assortment of plugs and dildos nestled amongst different containers of lube. One large black dildo catches Din’s eye, and he relishes in the challenge of meeting the marshal’s expectations.  

“Adventurous,” Din says absently as he looks over his shoulder to see Cobb grinning wolfishly at him.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, handsome.”

The pet name stirs something in Din’s lower belly, a tight twist of desire that has his balls throbbing and his dick twitching. He says nothing, grabbing the open container of lube from the drawer before squirting a few pumps into his hand.

Din glides the liquid over his cock and shudders at the way it feels. It’s wet, sensual, filled with promise as he kneels on the bed behind Cobb. He bites his lip as he runs his free hand over the swell of Cobb’s ass, cupping and kneading the firm skin. His fingertips brush over Cobb’s asshole and Din can’t help but smirk at the way his lover’s body reacts.

Din squirts some lube onto his fingers, making sure some of the liquid drips over the puckered hole before easing his middle finger inside Cobb. The lube lets Din slide in with little resistance, the tight heat of Cobb’s asshole is divine as Din gently feels for his prostate.

“Dank Farrik!” Cobb cries out, his body stutters and Din wraps a supportive arm around his waist, holding him up as he nips at the curve of Cobb’s ass.

“There it is,” Din purrs as he varies the pressure on Cobb’s prostate, “Want me to fuck you here, nice and deep?”

“Din, please, I’m so close, please just fuck me,” the marshal begs and Din smiles as he feels heat stirring at the base of his cock, he knows he’s going to blow his load in seconds the moment he’s inside Cobb.

“Alright,” Din growls as he eases his finger out, “Tell me if it’s too much, ok? Didn’t give me much time to work you open,” Din says, without a trace of humour in his voice as he squirts some fresh lube over Cobb’s needy little hole. It gapes ever so slightly from Din’s thick finger and the sight makes Din squeeze the base of his cock to try and calm down.

“I’m a big boy, Din, I can handle-,” Cobb starts but a deep snarl catches in his throat as Din lines up the tip of his cock at Cobb’s tight hole before he can finish his sentence.

“Relax, mesh’la,” Din says softly as he grips Cobb’s hips lightly, his thumbs soothe over his lover’s skin as he holds him steady, “I’m going to take care of you, ok?”

Cobb’s face is pressed into the bed now, his arms giving out on him as Din eases the tip inside him. He still manages to convey a muffled “Mhm!”.

“Kriff,” Din groans as he lets the lube do the work, he eases into Cobb at a painfully slow pace, but Din promised Cobb – and himself – he wouldn’t rush this.

Cobb writhes as Din presses deeper, his skin slick and his whole body consumed by the feeling of being split open. It doesn’t take long before din is fully sheathed inside Cobb, his brow furrowed and his mouth agape as he feels the way Cobb’s walls clamp around his cock. It’s heaven to be buried so deep, to be so close to his lover, but it’s not enough.

“Din,” Cobb tilts his head to the side, cheek pressed into the mattress as he looks sideways at the Mandalorian, “You’re gonna have to move, I’m desperate here.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Din grunts as he slowly eases back out, the tightness of Cobb’s ass is like a vice. It makes Din feel lightheaded as he starts to ease back in, the tightness is blinding as he fills Cobb over and over.

Din rolls his hips forward with every thrust into Cobb’s tight ass, grinding against his prostate as he drops a hand to fist Cobb’s cock. There’s no more burn or stretch for Cobb, the only thing he feels is the tightness in his balls as he feels the sudden rush of his orgasm approaching. The slow, firm pumps of his cock driving him to the edge as he feels so utterly consumed by Din.

“Din,” Cobb mewls as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air.

“I’ve got you,” Din breathes as he leans back on his thighs, pulling the marshal back against his chest, cock buried deep inside him as he changes the angle, “Come for me, mesh’la, let me see you come undone,” he presses his nose into the sensitive skin behind Cobb’s ear as he pants against his jaw from behind.

“Maker,” Cobb groans as he leans back on Din, he’s so full.

Cobb feels his dick twitch as Din’s cock fucks up into him, nudging his prostate with every upwards snap of the Mandalorian’s hips. Cobb comes with a cry as Din thumbs the head of his cock while rolling his hips up, grinding up into his ass. Hot spurts of come explode from Cobb’s cock, covering his abdomen, coating Din’s fingers as he shudders through overstimulated aftershocks as Din picks up the pace.

“There you go,” Din snarls as he takes the marshal’s lobe between his teeth, nipping at the skin as he feels the coil of pressure in his abdomen snap. He falls forward, pushing Cobb back down on all fours as he fucks down into Cobb’s ass with fervour. He manages another few hurried, stuttered thrusts before he’s coming hard.

His vision blurs at the edges as he empties himself inside Cobb’s ass. He lets out a soft groan as his fingertips dig into Cobb’s hips. He stills finally as he rests his forehead between Cobb’s shoulder blades.

Din’s thighs are weak, and his grip is slipping as the only sound in the small bedroom is the heavy panting coming from both men as they come down from their high. Din eases out of Cobb slowly, making sure not to pull out too quickly. Din’s breath hitches at the sight of his come leaking out of Cobb’s tight asshole. The viscous, pearly spend dribbles down the marshal’s balls, Din has to fight the urge to lean down and lap it up.

“Come on,” Din wheezes as he struggles to keep the marshal from falling into the come soaked sheets, “’Fresher.”

“Yessir,” Cobb slurs happily as he lets Din manhandle him upright.

“How was that for you?” Din asks with worry tinging his voice as he regains clarity, concerned he had gone too hard.

“You kidding?” Cobb laughs, his voice sounding less floaty by the minute, “That was the best fuck I’ve ever had Mand- Din,” He corrects himself as he stumbles over to the toilet to relief himself. He flops down onto the toilet seat and grins up at Din. Din feels like the sound of Cobb relieving himself should make him feel bashful, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. It feels domestic and familiar, like they’ve done it a thousand times before.

“I’m glad,” Din says, still in awe at the sight of Cobb’s face, he reaches out and cups his lover’s cheek gently, “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” Cobb scoffs as he stands, cupping Din’s jaw in a perfect mirror as he really looks at him “Thank you,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to Din’s, “Thank you for coming back.”

Din pauses, unsure what to say as emotion overwhelms him, tears pool in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward to kiss Cobb. It’s a slow, gentle series of lips sliding over one another, with no intended goal, no meaning or fanfare.

A stolen moment, an unspoken admission, a silent promise.

“Now clean up and get your ass to bed,” Cobb murmurs against Din’s lips, “I’m beat.”

Din laughs as Cobb grabs his ass affectionately before slipping out of the Refresher.

The Mandalorian crawls into bed minutes later, nestling into Cobb’s side as he loops a strong thigh over the other man’s waist.

“Promise not to wait so long next time?” Cobb asks, already falling asleep, his lips pressed to the crown of Din’s head as he speaks.

“Promise.”

Din lets his eyes fall shut as he finally feels the knot in his chest unravel, leaving only one thought in his mind.

Home.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #din djarin #mando #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x cobb vanth #cobb vanth #dincobb #din x cobb #din djarin x cobb vanth #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #mando fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #star wars fic #mando fic #mandalorian fic #helmetless din #mlm #m/m #m/m romance #m/m fiction #slash fic #slash smut #slash fanfiction #gay #men loving men #pedro pascal character fanfic

[undiscovered-horizon]

Can I request a part 2 of guilded cage please it’s really good also I’m a slut for dark!morpheus

Like they got officially married she’s queen and maybe corinthian or one of his siblings go to her and there like wtf sis you ok with this and Morpheus Is eavesdropping because he wants her honest answer and she has excepted her role and he’s like that’s my girl

A/N: Just a PSA - this is comparably worse than Gilded Cage, whatever demon possessed me back then has taken a sabbatical.

"Silvered Perch" - Dark!Morpheus x Reader

['Gilded Cage'] | [MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.4k

What a strange thought it was, that your life was not always like this: drowning in jewels, silk, delicacies which names you couldn't pronounce, wonderful creatures bowing low each time they saw you and most of all - an entity the strangest of them all who wanted to bend over backwards to keep you happy. Would it be a little too on the nose to say it felt like a dream?

Morpheus made sure to keep the word he had given you, so not too long after you settled down in Dreaming the news of a wedding spread across the realm. Although none of his subjects had the faintest clue as to who you were, they seemed to put trust in the integrity of their king and welcomed you more than warmly. To them, it seemed quite obvious that whoever is worthy of being the bride of Dream of the Endless, had to be at least a little bit exceptional - an expectation you weren’t sure you could ever fulfil.

You didn't feel at home in Dreaming, not right away: your life only became stranger as you were suddenly showered with gifts and honours you doubted you deserved in any way. It felt wrong to accept those riches - after all, you had done exactly nothing to earn such honours. What if one day every creature of Dreaming realizes it? What if he does? You had fooled him so far but how could you be sure this lark could go on? Like every good thing in your life, this spell, too, had to disperse someday. You were nothing more than a leech on his charity.

"There is something on your mind," Morpheus caught you off guard once. Apparently, there was nothing that could escape his stern gaze - especially if the said thing was connected to you. You could only wonder how much he had learned about you just through his silent observation.

"I don't know if I deserve any of... this." You made a vague circle with your hand. It was a nice euphemism on your part - ‘good life’ couldn’t quite move past your lips.

"No," he answered in a decisive tone but before the painful hole in your chest could open once again, the very hole this unjust world scratched inside you, he continued, "You deserve a lot more. More than I am able to give you."

A sad smile entered your face. To some degree, you pitied his delusional perception of you but your selfishness forced you to lick every last drop of it. "You're a real sweet-talker, you know?"

Morpheus’s hand gently held yours. Without letting his gaze fall from your face, he placed a warm kiss on your fingers, right next to the magnificent yet bizarre ring he had given you on your wedding day - ‘a testimony of my love’ he called it. ”There is nothing sweet about truth. It simply is."

“I find it hard to believe in that truth,” you answered quietly. 

“Truth remains despite beliefs.” He presses another kiss to your fingers before letting his lips leave a trail of pecks along your skin down to your wrist. “There is no price I would not pay to let you see yourself through my eyes even once.” Perhaps that was better for the soul - should you become privy to Morpheus’s perception of you, there’d be no more modesty left in you, no innate obligation to remain humble; oceans, volcanos, supernovas… were they not all terrible, beautiful and prideful? And yet even they dimmed in the halo of your sacrilegious wonder.

Due to Morpheus’s explicit prohibition, you couldn’t leave the castle grounds without him - he only cared and wanted to make sure that no malice lurking in the hearts of his subject would raise its hand against you. Considering how passionate he was about that one rule, you never even questioned it, simply gloating in the indirect confession of his affections and how much they tormented his every thought.

But who were you to defy your husband’s (reminding yourself of that rightful title made a flustered blush appear on your cheeks) orders? Waiting for him to finish his royal duties, you wandered through the palace. Despite seeing those marble walls and crystal chandeliers every day, they still managed to take your breath away. It was a view no one back in the Waking World could ever imagine, and now it was your very own secret and your home. An infantile giggle escaped your lips - ‘a queen in a castle’. How ridiculous and wonderful.

An unexpected fluttering of wings diverted your attention from admiring the halls of the chateau. To your surprise, Matthew had decided to pay you a visit - rarely did he engage in friendly chatter with you and you never quite understood whether it was due to a lack of common interests or a lack of his interest in particular. His black feathers shone in the dispersed sunlight coming through the tall stained-glass windows. There was something equally malevolent and dignified about the way he looked.

"Not following Morpheus around?" you asked him humorously.

Without answering, Matthew hopped closer to you, his beady eyes watched you carefully. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

You furrowed your eyebrows at the strange inquiry. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I mean this whole situation is just a little... weird, isn't it?” his voice remained low, somewhat anxious of suspected prying ears. Little did he know, his fear wasn’t unreasonable. “Dream shows up and, no offence, you throw yourself at him after he made a ludicrous offer."

To be fair, Morpheus was well-aware that he shouldn’t listen to your conversation with Matthew. Despite that, he also knew that it was his sole responsibility to tend to your needs and desires, which made eavesdropping seem a little less impolite - at least that’s what he had told himself. If there was the smallest thing that upset your heart, even a flowerpot standing a little too much to the right, he needed to know. He had to fix it as soon as possible so that you don’t see through his charming demeanour and realize what a selfish, calloused creature he truly was; what beast loneliness had turned him into. Now that Morpheus captured his little bird, he wasn’t going to let it fly away - even if that meant clipping its wings but that was a possibility he’d rather not ponder at the moment. Standing in the shadows of his own palace like a beggar at an emperor’s court, he appeared frozen in time as he drank each sound coming from your lips, his frenzied heart dismantled every word you said in search of Dream’s possible shortcomings.

When Matthew put it like that, it did sound a little mad but many mundane things could come off as wrong if put into the right words. Unsure what answer to give him, you only shrugged. "It's a weird world, Matthew."

"You don't even know the guy,” he raised his voice slightly. Clearly, he couldn’t wrap his head around your seemingly reckless choice. “Well, you didn't at the time. And you just left everything behind for him? Your whole life! What if he was crazy?” he was becoming more animated in his bewilderment. Then, he added quickly: “Not that I think he is, of course."

"Then I probably wouldn’t be complaining anyway, would I?" But Matthew didn’t seem to appreciate your grim humour. You looked away for a moment as images of your previous life flashed before your eyes. ‘Previous life’ seemed like a fitting phrase - memories of those bleak days appeared blurry, murky, as though you weren’t recalling real events but someone’s account of a storyline in a book they had once read. "There wasn't much to leave. It wasn't an impulsive decision, there just wasn't a lot to consider in the first place. I don’t know what kind of life you had led before, Matthew,” your sombre eyes looked at him again, “but not everyone desperately clings to whatever scraps they have. My life was nothing beyond bland longing to be elsewhere. No offer is ludicrous when you go to bed each night hoping not to wake up in the morning. But then, to your own horror, you do. As time goes by, you realize you had been alive for too long, that you were never meant to make it this far. So you have a wonderful choice between death and becoming a hopeless failure. For some ridiculous reason I will always hold dear, I was offered a third choice, a way out of the vale of misery and pain I called life.”

But your tale did not satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps this conversation in low voices wasn’t meant to prove something to him but to you. "Have you never considered why he did all of this?"

Of course, you did. You had been wondering about that ever since you agreed to join him in Dreaming. But each hour of long pondering brought you to the very same conclusion: you couldn’t give him anything, so something else was the matter. And the passion with which he had offered to change your life… this wasn’t accidental. Quite clearly, in your mind, Dream of the Endless had chosen you. “I trust his integrity, I suppose,” you answered Matthew with a slight shrug of your shoulders. Truthfully, you couldn’t quite explain your trust towards your husband to yourself. More than reason, it was a case of trusting one’s instincts. “I’d need to have something valuable or unique for Morpheus to have a reason for creating some elaborate scheme. But I don’t. I may be someone but not somebody. A creature of his sort would never pay attention to something like me unless he genuinely cared. It’s bitterly funny when you think about it: it takes an eldritch being to love the most unremarkable human.”

"You know, if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

Perhaps Matthew was right. In your own experience, good things in life never came without a price, some secret cost that you could never learn about until the very moment you had to pay it. Your eyes wandered around the majestic, marble hall; the stunningly expensive silk you were wearing; the strange ring on your finger and its crystal, which appeared infinite when you looked inside it - there was, quite literally, no price that could make you regret your choice. "And yet peanut butter ice cream is a thing,” you said absentmindedly still staring into the crystal. Light entered the wonderful jewel from all angles, reflected off of irregular sides inside and turned into a pleiad of colours you couldn’t even begin to name. The gem wasn’t of this world - that much you were certain of.

"Fair point."

Matthew’s agreement elicited laughter from you. Maybe you didn’t quite see eye-to-eye about your relationship with Morpheus but that didn’t necessarily mean you had to remain estranged in any way - truthfully, you wished you could befriend him. He had been, after all, a human once. If there was anyone in Dreaming who could relate to your experiences even a little bit, it was that back-talking raven (not that his cheeky attitude was a flaw).

As your giggling died down, Matthew tried his last chance at this suspicious inquiry. "Do you ever think about going back to the Waking World? Even just popping in for a visit?"

Morpheus clenched his fist. As much as he refused to think about clipping wings at the moment, the idea temptingly lingered in the back of his mind. You can’t go back. You can’t leave him. Suddenly, his frenzied desperation flashed Nada's face before his eyes - he truly didn't want that history to repeat. It would ruin him to live on knowing that you're going through unimaginably horrifying tortures in Hell but if you were to seduce him and then leave as though he meant nothing to you, perhaps that's exactly what you deserved.

"There's nothing and no one for me to visit,” you answered in a decisive tone.

Understanding that this conversation wasn’t going anywhere else, that you had told him all that could be said, Matthew knew it was time for him to go. If Morpheus notices he’d been gone, Dream might start asking questions and considering the nature of his inquiry - it was better to keep the King of Dreaming out of the loop. “Alright then, uh… good talk. See you around… your majesty.” If Matthew had a human face, he’d probably grimace at the royal title. Although Morpheus wasn’t adamant about being addressed properly by his closest friends, he became quite unforgiving when it came to your rightful title. You were a queen and he’d be damned if one of his creations dared to forget that.

With another flutter of dark wings, you were left alone once more. Solitude had never felt so serene - peaceful instead of overwhelmingly empty.

Slowly running out of ways to pass the time, you hesitantly sat on the throne that belonged to Dream. To be fair, he never expressed anything short of encouragement whenever you did but still, it felt like you were a deceptive imposter leeching off a King hopelessly in love. 

Remaining in the shadows, Morpheus watched. His breaths became ragged as he admired the effortlessly regal beauty you were beaming with. Perhaps you refused to believe in your overpowering charm but none who had ever laid their eyes on you could indulge in such dishonesty. A new thought sprouted in his thoughts clouded with an obsession - maybe this is how things should be: the King of Dreams kneeling before his queen, a god-like creature rendered powerless by something far more perfect than he could ever strive to become. Whatever you’d ask him, he’d waste no time completing, never second-guessing your most bloodthirsty whims. Yet you remained completely oblivious to your absolute might, fiddling with the crystal ring he had given you. Inside that gilded cage, you had begged to be imprisoned in, there was a silvered perch like a pedestal an obedient bird of paradise sits on. You were a good nightingale and so you impatiently waited for your merciful captor to return. And what a sweet song you’re going to grace him with! Each mellow melody you gave him made Morpheus all the grimmer: he could never let anyone else know the blessing that calmed his sweet, sweet despair. You were his nightingale, all of your songs belonged to him only.

#the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #the sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #morpheus sandman #sandman x reader #sandman x you #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #sandman fanfiction #sandman imagine #morpheus x you #morpheus #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader

[mirisss]

Symphony of Souls

The Boyz OT11 x afab! reader

Wordcount ≈ 8.1k

Warnings: None I think, a little angsty but barely, 

Thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Third Person POV

In the dazzling realm of K-pop, where talent and charisma converge, there exists a phenomenon that transcends the boundaries of mere musical synergy. Among the stars that illuminate this celestial stage, The Boyz stands as a testament to the extraordinary connections that fate weaves. Comprising eleven exceptional members, this group has captured the hearts of fans worldwide with their unparalleled performances and undeniable chemistry.

What the world may not yet comprehend is that beyond the mesmerizing choreography and harmonious melodies, The Boyz share a bond that goes beyond the surface—a bond forged in the fires of destiny and illuminated by the radiant glow of love. They are not just a group; they are soulmates, intricately linked by threads of fate that tie their destinies together in an ethereal dance.

However, amidst the cosmic harmony that envelops these eleven souls, a poignant emptiness lingers. As fate would have it, there exists a twelfth soulmate yet to be revealed—a missing piece in the intricate puzzle of their lives. Together, they navigate the boundless cosmos of stardom, seeking the one who will complete their constellation, filling the void with a celestial love that transcends the ordinary.

In the effervescent landscape of K-pop, where talents bloom like vibrant blossoms, a new luminary emerged—(Y/n), a freshly debuted actress and soloist whose ethereal presence bewitched hearts from the very first note. With her debut album, she painted sonic landscapes that echoed in the souls of many, capturing the attention of an adoring audience eager to embark on a journey through her musical realm.

What set (Y/n) apart wasn't merely her vocal prowess, but also her ability to weave tales with emotion and authenticity. The music video accompanying her debut single was a cinematic masterpiece, a visual symphony that showcased not only her musical prowess but also her flair for the dramatic. It was in this enchanting audio-visual tapestry that (Y/n) unveiled a multifaceted artistry, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of those who witnessed her debut.

As if destiny itself were orchestrating her ascent, whispers of (Y/n)'s imminent foray into the world of acting began to circulate. The stage was set for a new chapter as it was announced that she would be gracing the small screen as the lead in a highly anticipated drama. Anticipation rippled through the industry, and fans eagerly awaited the convergence of her musical and dramatic talents in what promised to be a spellbinding performance.

With every step, (Y/n) was proving to be a rising star of exceptional luminosity, illuminating the K-pop world with her presence. The world eagerly awaited the unfolding chapters of her journey, both in the studio and on the screen, as (Y/n) embarked on a path destined for greatness in the realms of music and acting alike.

As the excitement swirled in the vibrant cosmos of The Boyz, a particular star within the constellation burned even brighter—Younghoon, the charismatic and talented third oldest member. The news of his successful audition for the male lead in the same drama that (Y/n) would be gracing was met with jubilation that echoed through the corridors of destiny.

Younghoon's joy radiated like a supernova, illuminating the faces of his fellow members—Sangyeon, Jacob, Hyunjae, Juyeon, Kevin, Changmin, Chanhee, Haknyeon, Sunwoo, and Eric. The air was charged with electric energy as they came together to celebrate this momentous occasion, recognizing that their constellation was expanding to encompass not only the musical realm but also the boundless horizon of acting.

Amidst the revelry, laughter, and shared excitement, Younghoon stood as a beacon of inspiration, a testament to the dreams that could manifest when talent, dedication, and opportunity converged. Each member, a vital thread in the intricate tapestry of The Boyz, contributed to the celebration, forging a bond that transcended the stage and studio.

As they raised a collective toast to Younghoon's triumph, the stars of The Boyz shone with pride and anticipation for the spectacular journey that lay ahead. 

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pastels, (Y/n) awoke with a giddy excitement that bubbled within her like a fizzy elixir. Today held the promise of a meeting that stirred butterflies in the depths of her being—she was to meet Younghoon, the charismatic third oldest of The Boyz. The thought alone sent a delightful shiver down her spine, and she couldn't contain the joy that danced in her eyes.

A devoted deobi, (Y/n) had been a steadfast fan of The Boyz since the very inception of their journey with the effervescent anthem "Boy." Through the highs and lows, the stages, and the milestones, she had stood by them as a beacon of unwavering support. The music, the performances, and the camaraderie of the eleven stars had woven a tapestry of memories in her heart, and today marked a chapter where her path would intersect with one of those shining stars.

The excitement, palpable in the air, manifested in a radiant smile that adorned (Y/n)'s face as she prepared for the day. She felt a sense of kinship with Younghoon, a connection forged through the melodies that resonated in her soul. Today, that connection would take a tangible form, and the prospect thrilled her beyond measure.

With a heart brimming with anticipation and a deobi spirit ablaze, (Y/n) stepped into the day, ready to embark on an adventure that promised not only the joy of meeting Younghoon but also the continuation of a journey she had cherished since The Boyz's first notes had captivated her heart. 

The sunlit morning found Younghoon's eyes blinking open with an infectious excitement that mirrored the fluttering anticipation within his heart. Today held a special rendezvous with (Y/n), and the prospect of working together on the drama set ignited a joy that painted his smile with an extra layer of radiance.

As he shuffled through his morning routine, Kevin couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, his eyes narrowing playfully as he teased Younghoon.

"Younghoon-hyung, you lucky guy! Getting to work with (Y/n) and all. I'd kill to be in your shoes," Kevin exclaimed, a mock pout on his face.

Younghoon chuckled, understanding Kevin's playful envy. "Come on, Kev. It's just work. But I get it; (Y/n)'s music is amazing. I'll make sure to tell her you're a big fan."

Kevin's eyes widened, a mischievous grin replacing his faux pout. "You would do that for me? You're the best, hyung! Hey, why don't you bring me to the set? Just for a day, please?"

Younghoon laughed, shaking his head. "As much as I'd love to have you there, Kev, it's not up to me. The schedules are tight, and you know how it is. But I promise to share all the juicy details and maybe get an autograph for you."

Kevin feigned a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. Just make sure to ask for an autograph on my favorite album, okay? And tell her I said hi!"

Younghoon nodded, already envisioning the playful banter he'd share with (Y/n) about Kevin's admiration. As the day unfolded, he carried with him the shared excitement of The Boyz and the knowledge that, while Kevin might not physically be on set, his enthusiasm would undoubtedly be present in spirit.

In the bustling pre-dawn hours, Sangyeon, the venerable leader and eldest among The Boyz, sought out Younghoon with a warm smile. As he approached, he clapped a supportive hand on Younghoon's shoulder, his eyes gleaming with genuine encouragement.

"Younghoon, you've got this. Knock 'em dead on set today. We're all rooting for you," Sangyeon said, his words carrying the weight of camaraderie and shared aspirations.

Younghoon nodded, grateful for the leader's words of encouragement. "Thanks, hyung. I'll do my best."

However, before Sangyeon could linger in the exchange, the distant sounds of a lively dispute reached their ears. With a knowing look, Sangyeon excused himself, patting Younghoon's back once more.

"Break a leg, and remember, we're a family. We've got your back," Sangyeon assured before heading towards the source of the commotion.

As he approached, the scene unfolded before him—Sunwoo, the mischievous troublemaker, had evidently found another opportunity for mischief. Chanhee, caught in the crossfire, looked more exasperated than angry as he realized that his clothes had fallen victim to Sunwoo's impromptu prank.

Sangyeon sighed, adopting a tone that blended authority with understanding. "Alright, boys, let's not turn the house into a battlefield. Sunwoo, give Chanhee his clothes back, and let's focus on supporting Younghoon and working today."

Sunwoo grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes, but he complied, returning Chanhee's clothes with an exaggerated bow. Sangyeon, with a bemused shake of his head, continued to play the role of the wise elder, smoothing out the ripples in the group dynamics before wishing everyone well for the day ahead. The drama both on and off the set promised to be as entertaining as The Boyz's performances themselves.

The film studio hummed with the quiet anticipation of creativity as (Y/n) stepped through its entrance. The air crackled with the promise of a new venture, and her senses were heightened, attuned to every nuance of the surroundings. Amidst the bustling activity, one figure stood out—Younghoon, his tall and commanding presence catching her eye.

As (Y/n) approached, the symphony of butterflies in her stomach played a melodic tune that mirrored the gentle thrumming of her heart. She couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull toward Younghoon, a force that drew her closer with each step. The air seemed charged with an unspoken energy, and when Younghoon turned around, their eyes met in a collision of fate.

Time seemed to slow as recognition sparked in Younghoon's eyes. In that moment, the world around them faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in a shared, suspended reality. The soulmate bond that connected their destinies clicked into place, resonating with an invisible force that enveloped them in a cocoon of connection.

(Y/n) felt as though only they existed in that singular moment. The studio, the crew, and the world beyond blurred into insignificance as their gaze lingered deepening the unspoken understanding that transcended the ordinary. It was a moment where souls touched, and the universe acknowledged the serendipity of their meeting.

As their hands touched, a subtle electric charge surged between Younghoon and (Y/n), and in that moment, an unspoken realization passed between them. Younghoon, his eyes gleaming with happiness, couldn't contain the bubbling joy within him. He took a step forward, his heart dancing with newfound lightness.

"Hi, I'm Younghoon," he grinned, the happiness radiating from him like a warm aura. "And, well, I guess I can't help but feel incredibly lucky to be your soulmate."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight coloring her features. "Really?" she chuckled, charmed by Younghoon's sincerity. "Well, I'm (Y/n), and I guess that makes us quite the pair, doesn't it?"

As they shared introductions, the atmosphere around them seemed to shift, as if the universe itself acknowledged the significance of their meeting. The air buzzed with an unspoken connection, and the studio, for a fleeting moment, felt like their own private world.

Younghoon chuckled, his gaze holding a playful sparkle. "The Boyz are known for their visuals, but I have to say, meeting you in person, you're even more beautiful than I imagined."

(Y/n) blushed, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Younghoon. But seriously, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've been a fan of The Boyz for a long time."

The exchange of words became a delightful dance, a symphony of laughter and connection that echoed within the studio walls. The shared recognition of their soulmate bond added a layer of magic to the encounter, setting the stage for a journey that promised to be as enchanting as the melodies sung by The Boyz themselves.

The enchanting moment shared between Younghoon and (Y/n) was abruptly punctuated by the discreet but pointed clearing of throats from their managers. The spell momentarily broken, they exchanged a sheepish glance before refocusing on the task at hand.

"Alright, let's get back to work," one of the managers announced with a businesslike tone, gently steering the atmosphere away from the lingering magic of the soulmate encounter.

Younghoon and (Y/n) nodded in unison, the shared understanding of the professional setting settling in. As the managers guided them back into the rhythm of the shoot, the studio once again hummed with the orchestrated movements of actors, crew, and the intricate dance of storytelling.

Despite the interruption, the connection forged between Younghoon and (Y/n) lingered in the air, infusing the set with a subtle warmth. They approached their roles with newfound energy, a shared secret glinting in their eyes as they delved into the world of their characters.

The managers satisfied that the brief interlude hadn't derailed the proceedings, observed the unfolding scenes with a watchful eye. As the cameras rolled and the drama unfolded, it was evident that the encounter between Younghoon and (Y/n) had added an unspoken layer to the narrative—a behind-the-scenes tale that would forever remain etched in the shared history of The Boyz and their newfound soulmate in the world of acting.

Seated together during a break on the bustling set, Younghoon and (Y/n) enjoyed a moment of reprieve. The camaraderie between them felt effortless as if they had been friends for much longer than the brief encounter suggested. As they delved into their lunch, Younghoon couldn't help but smile at (Y/n), his eyes reflecting the genuine connection they shared.

"By the way," Younghoon began a playful glint in his eyes, "I have a favor to ask. Kevin, one of our members, is a huge fan of yours. Mind signing an autograph for him? I promised I'd get one."

(Y/n) laughed, the gesture light and infectious. "Of course! I'd be honored. Just let me know where I can sign, and I'll make sure to add a little note for Kevin."

Younghoon, grateful for (Y/n)'s willingness, pointed to a corner of his script. "Right here should be perfect. Thanks a bunch, (Y/n). Kevin's going to flip when he sees this."

As (Y/n) took the script to jot down the autograph, Younghoon couldn't help but steer the conversation toward the unique bond they shared. "You know, (Y/n), being soulmates with me means you're soulmates with all eleven members of The Boyz. It's like a package deal."

(Y/n) chuckled, charmed by the notion. "A package deal, huh? I'm starting to feel like the luckiest soulmate in the world."

Younghoon grinned, a warmth spreading through him. "Well, you've got ten more awesome guys waiting to meet you properly. Who knows, maybe we can all hang out sometime."

The prospect of a shared connection with The Boyz beyond Younghoon added an intriguing layer to their budding friendship. As they continued their meal, the studio buzzed around them, but at that moment, it felt like the universe had carved out a little corner where soulmates, both singular and collective, could share laughter and camaraderie amidst the magic of filmmaking.

The door to The Boyz's shared residence swung open, and Younghoon entered, his face radiant with an unmistakable joy that couldn't be contained. His fellow members, gathered in the living room, turned their attention towards him, their curiosity piqued.

Sangyeon, the ever-watchful leader, couldn't help but grin. "Well, how was the first day on set? Spill the details, Younghoon!"

Younghoon practically beamed, unable to contain his excitement. "Guys, you won't believe what happened today. (Y/n), our soulmate is amazing! She's not only talented but also incredibly nice and down-to-earth. It's like we've known each other forever."

The room fell into stunned silence as the realization of Younghoon's words settled in. The members exchanged wide-eyed glances, and then, almost in unison, erupted into a chorus of exclamations.

"(Y/n) is our soulmate too?" Changmin questioned, not believing his ears.  

"No way, you're kidding, right?" Eric exclaimed loudly as he jumped up and down. 

"Younghoon-hyung, you've got to be messing with us!" Kevin shouted, he was certain he was dreaming. 

Younghoon laughed, reveling in the infectious astonishment of his fellow members. "No joke, guys! We're all connected through our soulmate bond. It's like fate brought us together in the most unexpected way."

Hyunjae, always quick with a teasing remark, chimed in, "So, what's she like? Is she as pretty in person as she is in her music videos?"

Younghoon nodded enthusiastically. "Even more so. And she's genuinely kind. I got her autograph for you, Kevin," Kevin took the paper from Younghoon’s hands, jumping with joy. 

As the news settled in, the members couldn't help but exchange excited glances. The living room buzzed with animated conversation as they eagerly delved into the details of Younghoon's day and looked forward to the possibility of getting to know (Y/n) better. Fate had woven another unexpected chapter into the tapestry of The Boyz's journey, and they embraced it with open hearts and wide smiles.

Haknyeon's playful interruption cast a brief shadow over the jubilant atmosphere, his mock teasing tone injecting a touch of humor into the room. "Come on, Younghoon, it's not fair that you get all the quality time with our soulmate. What about the rest of us? When do we get to meet her?"

The room erupted into laughter, the members playfully nudging Younghoon as if he held the secret to unlocking the mysteries of their shared soulmate bond. Jacob, the second oldest, decided to respond with a good-natured smile.

"Well, Haknyeon, it's all part of the cosmic plan, isn't it?" Jacob mused, his tone light. "Younghoon's just the trailblazer, paving the way for the rest of us to follow. Patience is a virtue, my friend."

Haknyeon exaggeratedly sighed, his hand on his heart. "Patience? Jacob, you make it sound like we're on a quest for some mystical treasure. I just want to meet our soulmate!"

The banter continued, the members exchanging banter and teasing as they navigated the uncharted territory of having a shared soulmate. Despite Haknyeon's faux complaints, there was an underlying excitement that permeated the air—an anticipation for the day when all of them would finally get to meet (Y/n) and discover the unique connection that fate had woven among them.

In the meantime, Younghoon, the unwitting pioneer, grinned amidst the good-natured ribbing, knowing that the shared joy of their newfound connection would only deepen as the days unfolded. The living room echoed with laughter, forging another chapter in The Boyz's journey, where friendship, fate, and a shared soulmate awaited on the horizon.

Younghoon’s POV

As I stepped onto the set the next day, my anticipation mingled with a sense of surreal wonder. The bustling activity around me seemed to fade into the background as my eyes landed on her—(Y/n), radiant in a beautiful pink dress that accentuated every curve. The makeshift wind from the fan tousled her hair, framing her like an ethereal halo, and the lights seemed to converge upon her, casting a gentle glow that transformed her into something beyond human.

Time froze for a fleeting moment as I watched her, the breath caught in my throat. She looked like a goddess, a celestial being gracing our earthly set with an otherworldly presence. The delicate swish of her dress, the way her hair danced in the invisible breeze—it was as if the universe conspired to enhance her beauty, painting a picture that transcended the ordinary.

I found myself frozen in my step, my heart pounding in awe. The world around me blurred as my gaze lingered on (Y/n), capturing every detail—the sparkle in her eyes, the grace in her movements. In that moment, she wasn't just our soulmate; she was a vision, a muse that could inspire the most enchanting tales.

As I approached, a profound appreciation settled within me. How lucky was I to have this incredible woman as our soulmate? The soft rustle of her dress, the way the lights caressed her features—it was a scene etched into my memory, a living masterpiece that only added to the magic of our shared connection.

With each step closer, the set transformed into a canvas where destiny and art converged. And in the presence of (Y/n), I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that fate had woven into the tapestry of our lives, forever etching her as a celestial muse in the story of The Boyz.

Third Person POV

As the weeks rolled on, the culmination of their shared venture approached—MAMA, the prestigious award show (such a lie lol) that promised a dazzling celebration of talent and achievement. The drama had wrapped, leaving behind a trail of memories and a connection that had grown stronger. Now, fate had orchestrated a meeting on a grand stage—the convergence of (Y/n) and The Boyz at MAMA.

(Y/n), adorned in an elegant gown that radiated confidence, was nominated for Best Female Artist. Her heart swelled with a mix of excitement and hope, believing that The Boyz, who was nominated for Best Male Performance, truly deserved the recognition.

The Boyz, equally thrilled and ecstatic, was bubbling with anticipation at the prospect of finally meeting their soulmate. However, they knew the importance of playing it cool to avoid sparking unnecessary rumors. The camaraderie they had shared on the set, the unspoken connection as soulmates, now held the promise of being unveiled on a stage where dreams took flight.

As they walked the red carpet, the air was charged with an electric energy, a mix of nerves and exhilaration. (Y/n) carried herself with grace, a nominee and a fan in equal measure, secretly hoping for The Boyz to take home the trophy they so rightfully deserved.

Backstage, the members exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They were about to meet their soulmate, the artist who had inspired them and shared a unique connection with them. The challenge lay in keeping their excitement in check, their smiles were genuine but tempered to avoid any premature speculations.

(Y/n)’s POV

As I settled into my seat at MAMA, the air humming with anticipation, my heart began to race with the excitement of what was about to unfold. Glancing at the reserved seats beside me, I couldn't help but feel a surge of joy. This was it—the moment I had been waiting for. The moment when I would finally meet all eleven of my soulmates, The Boyz.

The auditorium buzzed with energy, but my focus was drawn to the approaching figures, each face etched in my memory from the countless times I had watched their performances. There they were, all eleven of them, their handsome faces unmistakable in the sea of people.

As they passed by, a wave of warmth enveloped me. Some of them waved, their smiles contagious, while others offered a quick hello. It felt surreal, as if a shared secret between us had now come to life in the most spectacular of settings. The casual greetings, the friendly waves—it was as if we were old friends finally meeting after a long-awaited reunion.

"Hey there, (Y/n)! We're so excited to finally meet you in person," Hyunjae exclaimed, the genuine enthusiasm evident in his voice.

I couldn't help but return the sentiment with a beaming smile. "Likewise! It's incredible to finally see you all face to face."

The brief exchange carried with it a sense of familiarity, a connection forged not just through the shared soulmate bond but through the journey of their music and performances. As they continued on to their seats, the excitement lingered in the air, a prelude to the unfolding night where destiny, music, and shared joy would intertwine in a celebration of their unique connection at MAMA.

As Juyeon and Changmin left their seats and ascended the stage, my eyes were immediately drawn to the two of them. The atmosphere shifted as they joined the other groups for a powerful dance performance, their presence commanding attention from every corner of the auditorium.

Changmin, with his ethereal grace, moved across the stage like a dancer in a dream. His every movement seemed to carry a poetic elegance, each step a testament to the artistry he brought to the performance. I couldn't tear my eyes away, captivated by the way he expressed emotion through his dance, the intensity in his eyes adding depth to the mesmerizing spectacle.

And then there was Juyeon, a force of nature on the stage. His powerful aura radiated confidence, and as he showcased his muscled body, every movement exuded strength and control. The energy he brought to the performance was palpable, and the audience was swept away by the sheer force of his presence.

Despite the other talented dancers surrounding them, in my eyes, Juyeon and Changmin were the only two up there. It wasn't just the technical brilliance of their movements; it was the way they infused each step with emotion, making the dance a powerful narrative that transcended the physicality of the performance.

As the music swelled and the dance reached its climax, I found myself caught in a spell woven by the artistry of Juyeon and Changmin. 

Sangyeon’s POV

As the leader, I stood there watching (Y/n) with a swelling sense of pride. Her unreleased song echoed through the venue, and I couldn't help but marvel at the depth of her artistry. Her vocals carried emotion, and the way she moved on stage was nothing short of captivating. It was a moment that transcended the stage—a promise fulfilled and a testament to her commitment to her craft. She was more than just a soulmate; she was an artist, a star in her own right, and seeing her shine on that stage filled me with a profound sense of joy.

Jacob’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was like a dream unfolding before my eyes. Her unreleased song had a haunting beauty that lingered in the air, and her dancing was a graceful expression of the emotions woven into the melody. I couldn't help but be moved by the authenticity of her artistry. It was clear that she poured her heart into every note, every movement. As an artist, I felt a deep connection with her on that stage, and the cheers from the audience were a chorus of acknowledgment for her talent. It was a moment where the boundaries between performer and audience blurred, and I was privileged to witness it.

Younghoon’s POV

Watching (Y/n) take the stage was an experience that transcended words. The air in the auditorium seemed to change as the opening notes of her unreleased song filled the space. Her vocals carried a haunting beauty that resonated with every corner of the venue, and her dancing was a graceful embodiment of the emotions woven into the melody. As our soulmate, I felt a unique connection, a shared journey through the artistry of her performance. Her presence on stage was nothing short of enchanting, and I couldn't help but be captivated by the genuine smile she wore throughout. It was more than just a promise fulfilled; it was a moment where destiny, music, and the bond we shared converged into a beautiful symphony. The cheers and applause from the audience were not just for her talent; they were a celebration of the connection we all felt in that magical moment. As a member of The Boyz and her soulmate, seeing (Y/n) shine on that stage was a memory etched in my heart, a testament to the enduring power of music and destiny.

Hyunjae’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was a revelation, and I found myself utterly captivated by her presence on stage. Her vocals resonated with a soulful quality that tugged at the heartstrings, and her dancing was a mesmerizing display of skill and emotion. The way she connected with the audience, with us, went beyond the mere performance—it was a shared experience, a moment of communion through music. As an artist, I couldn't help but be inspired by her, and the genuine smiles in the crowd were a testament to the impact she had on everyone present.

Juyeon’s POV

Watching (Y/n) on stage was like witnessing a celestial being sharing her magic with the world. Her unreleased song held a melody that seemed to echo through the very core of the venue, and her dancing was a powerful showcase of artistry. What struck me the most was the authenticity of her smile. It wasn't just about hitting the right notes or nailing the choreography; it was about the joy she found in the performance. It left an indelible mark on me, a reminder of the pure, unbridled passion that makes music so enchanting.

Kevin’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was nothing short of breathtaking. Her unreleased song carried a melody that lingered in the air long after the last note, and her dancing was a beautiful expression of the emotions woven into the music. What struck me the most was the way she connected with the audience and, by extension, with us. It was a shared moment of celebration, and the cheers and applause were a testament to the impact of her artistry. As a fellow artist, I felt a kinship with her on that stage, and the experience was a reminder of the transformative power of music.

Chanhee’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was a spectacle of talent and grace. The unreleased song she shared had a haunting beauty, and her dancing was like poetry in motion. I couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for her artistry. Her presence on stage was magnetic, drawing everyone into the narrative she created with her music and movements. It was a moment that transcended the boundaries of language, where the universal language of music spoke volumes. As a member of The Boyz, I was honored to witness her shine on that stage.

Changmin’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was a testament to the power of her artistry. The unreleased song she presented carried a unique and soulful melody, and her dancing was a masterclass in expression. What struck me the most was the way she commanded the stage with an effortless elegance. It was more than a performance; it was a journey through emotions, and the connection she forged with the audience was palpable. As an artist, I felt a deep resonance with her work, and her performance left an indelible mark on the canvas of MAMA.

Haknyeon’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was like a symphony of emotions unfolding on stage. Her unreleased song resonated with a haunting beauty, and her dancing was a visual representation of the music's soul. What stood out to me was the genuine joy she exuded. It wasn't just about hitting the right notes; it was about sharing a piece of her heart with the audience. As a fellow performer, I couldn't help but be inspired by her passion, and the cheers from the crowd were a testament to the impact she had on everyone present.

Sunwoo’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was a moment of sheer magic. The unreleased song she unveiled carried an emotional depth that resonated with everyone in the venue, and her dancing was a captivating display of skill and grace. What struck me the most was the connection she forged with the audience. It wasn't just about entertaining; it was about creating a shared experience through music. As a member of The Boyz, I felt a sense of pride watching her on that stage, knowing that she was not just a soulmate but an extraordinary artist.

Eric’s POV

(Y/n)'s performance was a revelation of talent and emotion. The unreleased song she presented was a melody that lingered in the air, and her dancing was a poetic expression of the music's soul. What resonated with me was the authenticity of her presence on stage. It wasn't a performance for the sake of performance; it was a genuine sharing of art and emotion. As a member of The Boyz, I felt a sense of connection with her on that stage, a shared journey through the language of music that went beyond words.

Third Person POV

The viral moments from MAMA featuring (Y/n) and The Boyz sparked a social media frenzy, capturing the attention of fans and onlookers alike. However, instead of fueling dating rumors, the prevailing narrative among most people was grounded in the belief that (Y/n) and Younghoon were simply friends who had shared the screen in the same drama.

The footage showcased heartwarming interactions between (Y/n) and The Boyz, moments that transcended the boundaries of celebrity camaraderie. Whether it was the genuine smiles exchanged, friendly waves, or shared laughter, the clips depicted a connection that went beyond the usual dynamics of actors and fellow artists. The audience's collective interpretation leaned towards the idea that the bond between (Y/n) and The Boyz was rooted in genuine friendship.

As the clips circulated on social media platforms, the comments section became a testament to the prevailing sentiment. Fans and casual observers alike celebrated the idea that (Y/n) had found friends in The Boyz beyond the confines of their professional collaborations. The absence of dating rumors was a testament to the maturity and understanding of the audience, who recognized the richness of platonic connections in the entertainment industry.

(Y/n) and The Boyz continued to navigate their newfound friendship in the public eye, and the viral moments served as a delightful reminder that genuine connections can flourish amidst the glamour of the entertainment world without necessarily giving rise to romantic speculations. The supportive responses from fans further solidified the understanding that sometimes, the most beautiful stories are those of friendship, shared dreams, and the magic of soulmates extending beyond the realms of on-screen narratives.

The break following MAMA brought a long-awaited opportunity for (Y/n) and The Boyz to meet up and forge deeper connections away from the public eye. Determined to enjoy each other's company without the scrutiny of prying eyes, they orchestrated a secret gathering, a clandestine rendezvous where the bonds of friendship could be nurtured without the weight of public expectations.

Choosing a secluded and intimate venue, (Y/n) and The Boyz gathered, relishing the freedom to simply be themselves in the company of newfound friends and soulmates. Laughter echoed through the air as they shared stories, dreams, and anecdotes, solidifying the connection that had begun to flourish during their collaboration on the drama and at MAMA.

The setting allowed for genuine interactions, unburdened by the external pressures of fame. Away from the spotlight, they could revel in the joy of camaraderie, discovering shared interests and quirks that transcended their roles as artists. The shared laughter, the ease with which conversations flowed, hinted at a bond that went beyond the constraints of the public gaze.

As the day unfolded, the secret meeting became a sanctuary where friendships deepened, and the foundation for a lasting connection was laid. The Boyz, each a distinct personality within the group, welcomed (Y/n) into their circle with open arms, and (Y/n) found herself embraced not just as a soulmate but as a cherished friend.

The break provided the perfect backdrop for this clandestine gathering—a chapter in their shared story that unfolded away from the glare of cameras and public scrutiny. In the warmth of their shared laughter and the genuine exchanges that took place, (Y/n) and The Boyz discovered the beauty of friendship that could thrive in the quiet moments, away from the orchestrated chaos of the entertainment industry.

Underneath the soft glow of fairy lights, Sangyeon and (Y/n) found themselves strolling through a quaint garden. The air was filled with the delicate scent of blooming flowers, and as they meandered through the winding paths, Sangyeon gently took (Y/n)'s hand in his. Their fingers intertwined naturally, and without saying a word, they reveled in the tranquility of the moment, basking in the shared warmth of their connection.

On a quiet rooftop overlooking the city, Jacob and (Y/n) sat side by side, their laughter blending with the distant hum of the urban landscape. As the evening breeze played with (Y/n)'s hair, Jacob's gaze met hers, and in that unspoken exchange, the world around them seemed to fade. With a tender smile, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as they shared stories and dreams against the backdrop of the city lights.

In the soft glow of candlelight, Younghoon and (Y/n) found themselves sharing a quiet dinner. The ambiance was serene, and as their eyes met, a subtle understanding passed between them. Younghoon reached across the table, his fingers delicately tracing circles on (Y/n)'s hand. In that intimate exchange, time seemed to slow, and the flickering candles bore witness to the unspoken connection that continued to deepen between them.

Beneath the canopy of twinkling stars, Hyunjae and (Y/n) sat by a crackling bonfire. The warmth mirrored the connection between them, and as they exchanged playful banter, Hyunjae couldn't resist reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from (Y/n)'s face. Their eyes locked, and in that fleeting moment, the crackling flames seemed to echo the warmth blossoming between their hearts.

On a moonlit beach, Juyeon and (Y/n) found solace in the gentle lull of the waves. The sand beneath their feet felt cool, and as Juyeon extended his hand, a silent invitation passed between them. Their barefoot steps created imprints in the sand, and with the rhythmic sound of the ocean as their backdrop, they danced under the moonlight, a serene and intimate moment etched in the canvas of the night.

Amidst the soft melodies of a private acoustic performance, Kevin and (Y/n) shared a quiet corner of a cozy venue. As the music wrapped around them, Kevin's eyes held an unspoken promise. With a gentle touch, he cupped (Y/n)'s cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle path. The world faded away, leaving only the tender notes of the guitar and the shared heartbeat of a moment steeped in quiet intimacy.

In the heart of a bustling city, Chanhee and (Y/n) found refuge in a rooftop garden, a hidden oasis above the urban chaos. Surrounded by lush greenery, Chanhee's eyes held a soft warmth as he handed (Y/n) a single flower. With a bashful smile, he tucked it behind her ear, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes in the language of shared secrets and unspoken feelings.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Changmin and (Y/n) found themselves in a quiet bookstore, surrounded by the comforting scent of old books. The hushed atmosphere invited a sense of intimacy. Changmin, with a twinkle in his eyes, handed (Y/n) a book—a shared favorite from his collection. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, a gentle reminder that sometimes, love could be found in the simple act of sharing a story.

In a playful escape to an amusement park, Haknyeon and (Y/n) found themselves atop the Ferris wheel, the city lights stretching out beneath them. With a lighthearted grin, Haknyeon reached for (Y/n)'s hand, intertwining their fingers. The world below became a blur as they ascended into the night sky, their laughter dancing on the breeze—a carefree moment etched against the backdrop of twinkling lights.

In the serenity of a lakeside cabin, Sunwoo and (Y/n) found refuge from the demands of the world. The crackling fireplace cast a warm glow, and as Sunwoo strummed a gentle melody on his guitar, (Y/n) leaned against him. The quiet notes resonated in the cozy space, creating a haven where their souls connected through the shared language of music and unspoken emotions.

On a secluded balcony overlooking the city, Eric and (Y/n) found themselves wrapped in the soothing ambiance of a quiet night. The city lights below sparkled like a sea of stars, and with a gentle touch, Eric draped a soft blanket around (Y/n)'s shoulders. As they leaned against the railing, the world below seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them—partners in a moment of quiet intimacy that transcended the bounds of ordinary romance.

The tranquility that (Y/n) and The Boyz had cherished in the private moments they shared was abruptly shattered when unauthorized pictures of their time together surfaced. The images, captured within the sanctuary of The Boyz's apartment, ignited a storm of controversies that swept through social media and news outlets. The invasion of their privacy fueled public discontent, and the narrative surrounding their friendship and bond as soulmates took an unexpected and unwarranted turn.

The public, hungry for sensationalism, expressed their displeasure at what they perceived as an intrusion into the personal lives of both (Y/n) and The Boyz. The comments sections became a battleground of opinions, with some condemning the breach of privacy, while others indulged in speculative discussions and criticisms.

The Boyz, known for their close-knit bond with each other and (Y/n), found themselves grappling with the unwanted attention. The camaraderie that had been celebrated just months ago was now scrutinized and distorted by public perception. (Y/n), too, faced the brunt of the controversy, as her genuine connection with The Boyz was overshadowed by the invasive snapshots that had made their way into the public domain.

The joint statement from (Y/n)'s and The Boyz's respective companies aimed to set the record straight, revealing the profound connection that bound them together—soulmates. The revelation of their shared destiny shed light on the authenticity of their relationship, turning the narrative away from invasive speculations to the undeniable force of fate that had brought them together.

The statement emphasized the importance of respecting personal boundaries and understanding the impact of invasive media coverage on artists. It called for empathy and acknowledgment of the unique connection shared by (Y/n) and The Boyz, urging the public to view their relationship with the same admiration and respect that soulmates inherently deserve.

For a portion of the general public, the acknowledgment of their soulmate bond transformed the narrative, adding a layer of beauty and depth to the relationship between (Y/n) and The Boyz. The realization that fate had intricately woven their destinies together resonated with many, fostering a newfound appreciation for the genuine connection that existed beyond the lens of public scrutiny.

However, as is often the case in the world of celebrities, a segment of the public remained resistant to change. Some individuals continued to direct hate and criticism towards (Y/n) and The Boyz, seemingly unaffected by the revelation of their soulmate bond. The dichotomy in public opinion underscored the complexities of navigating fame, personal relationships, and the constant gaze of an audience.

In the face of both support and adversity, (Y/n) and The Boyz stood united, finding strength in the shared understanding of their soulmate connection. The journey they embarked on together, from the serenity of private moments to the turbulent seas of public controversy, became a testament to the resilience of genuine connections in the face of external pressures.

The revelation of (Y/n) and The Boyz as soulmates ignited a fervor among their dedicated fanbases, with Deobis and (Y/n)'s fans eager for interactions that showcased the genuine bond between them. However, the intensity of the requests, including demands for displays of physical affection such as kissing, raised ethical concerns.

Both (Y/n)'s and The Boyz's agencies, recognizing the importance of maintaining respect for personal boundaries, released statements urging fans to appreciate the soulmate connection without pressuring the artists into intimate displays for public consumption. The agencies emphasized the need for a healthy and respectful fandom culture, where the artists' personal lives could be cherished without crossing the line into invasive requests.

Despite the agencies' pleas, the demands persisted on social media platforms. Some fans, in their enthusiasm and desire to see the depth of the soulmate connection, inadvertently contributed to an environment that pushed the boundaries of privacy and respect.

In response, (Y/n), The Boyz, and their agencies maintained a delicate balance, continuing to share glimpses of their relationship and collaborations in a way that celebrated their connection without compromising their personal boundaries. They reinforced the idea that soulmate connections were rooted in a deep understanding and shared journey, transcending the need for explicit public displays.

Navigating the delicate balance between fan expectations and personal privacy, (Y/n) and The Boyz found themselves at the center of a unique situation, where the genuine appreciation of their soulmate bond was sometimes overshadowed by the demands of an enthusiastic yet boundary-pushing fandom. The journey to strike this balance became a testament to the complexities of navigating fame and personal connections within the ever-evolving landscape of the entertainment industry.

A candid snapshot captured Juyeon enveloping (Y/n) in a warm embrace backstage after a successful joint performance. The genuine smiles on their faces radiated a shared joy, and the image quickly became a symbol of the affectionate camaraderie between them.

During a casual stroll through a park, Hyunjae and (Y/n) were photographed walking hand-in-hand. The simple yet heartwarming gesture showcased a connection that extended beyond the stage, resonating with fans who appreciated the authenticity of their friendship.

A video snippet from a behind-the-scenes moment at a music show revealed The Boyz surrounding (Y/n) in a spontaneous group hug. Laughter echoed as they playfully squeezed in, creating a heartwarming tableau that fans couldn't help but gush over on social media.

Changmin was spotted offering (Y/n) his hand to help her navigate a slightly uneven surface during an outdoor event. The small but chivalrous act became a viral sensation, highlighting the caring dynamics within their friendship.

In a lighthearted moment during a variety show appearance, Sunwoo playfully stole (Y/n)'s hat and placed it atop his own head. The teasing banter and infectious laughter that ensued quickly became a favorite among fans, showcasing the playful dynamics within the group.

On (Y/n)'s birthday, Jacob took to social media to share a heartfelt message accompanied by a picture of them sharing a laugh. The sincerity of his words and the captured moment of joy became a viral sensation, with fans celebrating the warmth of their friendship.

During a live performance, Sangyeon was captured giving (Y/n) an encouraging smile from across the stage as they shared a meaningful duet. The genuine expression of support resonated with fans, symbolizing the deep connection they had forged through their shared artistic endeavors.

In a quiet moment backstage, Younghoon was seen offering (Y/n) a reassuring squeeze of her hand before a crucial live interview. The quiet support and connection shared in that simple touch touched the hearts of fans, who admired the camaraderie between them.

A fun-filled video showed Chanhee engaging in playful banter with (Y/n) during a variety show appearance. Their easygoing dynamic and infectious laughter created a delightful atmosphere that resonated with fans, highlighting the carefree and enjoyable moments they shared.

A snippet from a special live performance captured Kevin and (Y/n) engaging in a heartfelt duet. The chemistry between their voices and the genuine smiles they exchanged became a viral sensation, with fans expressing admiration for the seamless collaboration between the soloist and The Boyz.

A candid moment backstage captured Haknyeon engaging in playful antics with (Y/n), showcasing their lighthearted friendship. The shared laughter and carefree gestures became a viral sensation, offering fans a glimpse into the joyous dynamics within The Boyz and (Y/n)'s interactions.

In a competitive game during a variety show, Eric was spotted cheering enthusiastically for (Y/n), embodying the spirit of camaraderie and friendly competition. The genuine encouragement and shared excitement became a favorite among fans, emphasizing the supportive dynamics within the group.

These moments, ranging from sincere gestures of support to playful interactions, contributed to the endearing narrative of (Y/n) and The Boyz's friendship. As these instances went viral on social media, fans celebrated the authenticity and warmth that defined the bond shared between the soloist and each member of The Boyz.

#the boyz #the boyz scenario #the boyz imagines #the boyz fluff #the boyz x reader #the boyz request #the boyz oneshot #the boyz x afab! reader #the boyz ot11 x reader #tbz #tbz fluff #tbz x reader #tbz x you #tbz x Y/N #tbz x (Y/n) #the boyz x y/n #the boyz x (Y/n) #sangyeon x reader #jacob x reader #younghoon x reader #hyunjae x reader #juyeon x reader #the boyz kevin x reader #new x reader #q x reader #haknyeon x reader #kim sunwoo x reader #sohn eric x reader #mirisss #mirisss.request

[kwiwrites]

Fic masterpost->

do not follow for marauders content

completed (multi chapter)

Finding Barty (COMPLETED) [Word Count: 60k, multichapter, Canon divergence, Road trip] [JEGULUS]

THE HILLS (COMPLETED) [Word Count: 33k, Multichapter, Modern AU, Heavy Angst] [JEGULUS]

-> A little essay on the writing of the piece

I am become death (3/3) [Multichapter, assassin James, crown prince Reg, a lot of nasty nasty smut] [JEGULUS}

In Progress (Multichapter)

Fantastic Blokes and Where to Find Them (4/5, In Progress) [Multichapter, werewolf Regulus and Magizoologist James, General vibes and romance!!!] [JEGULUS]

one shots

Toujours-effin-pur, baby! [Word count: 4.4k, one shot, the road trips and vampires and gas station cola fic] [BARTYLUS]

Young, Dirty Love [Word count: 1.1k, one shot, romantic cannibalism imagery and kissing] [WOLFSTAR]

DIY’ing Dying Stars: A Guide to Reincarnation [Word Count: 16.8k, one shot] [KLANCE]

Space Coffee, Disposable Forks and How to Create Supernovas: A Comprehensive Guide by Lance and Keith [Word Count: 13.1k, one shot] [KLANCE]

I WISH YOU WERE A GIRL [Wordcount: 6k, Heavy Angst, Modern Boarding School AU] [JEGULUS]

Nowhere Girl [Wordcount: 5.3k, Smut, Cornfields, driving] [DORLENE]

Binding Policy

I do not mind people binding my fics as long as they reach out first and as long as it is done ethically, and not through any third party sites. It has to be for PERSONAL USE or for GIFTING. No one should make money in the process, as I do not want people profiting off of my work. If you DO end up binding it feel free to tag me or send me pictures, I would love to see it!

#wolfstar #ao3 #author #fanfiction #fanfic writer

[acidicbarkbeast]

prompt: wings wordcount: 5.1k wordcount rule: any cw: dialogue of self-sacrifice and self-worth issues

Ao3

And I pray the supernova of death takes no one but myself.

...

There was never enough tension beneath the surface of his skin to truly break through.

A part of him, of fear and an opposition to change, was grateful for it. Another, one that shouldered the weight of bodies with legs growing weaker by the year, still naively believed that his mere presence could have made a difference, could have impacted the lives around him like a meteorite would, crashing into a planet.

Instead, he hovered more like a comet; beautiful but useless and far away. He would jump in to take the hits when needed, be the impenetrable wall that he’d grown to be known for, and then veer off when the danger died down. He would return to his natural course of orbit, watching, waiting, the loyal sentry that he was.

Still, he felt it bubbling underneath. On the outside, he was a dusty trail to follow and admire, maps of constellations printed down his back, a bright twinkle in his eye, something old and knowing beyond his age. His gravity would steal those around him like fish to a shiny lure, enamored with his unnatural charm.

On the inside, he was painted midnight blues and shimmering golds. He was unimaginable, purely abstract, something that could burn you blind. He ran so hot he felt cold, searing white like the sun. He knew all too well that he was dangerous, knew all too well how easy it was to hurt others if he really wanted.

But he didn’t.

Like a lion who let the mice pass him by, he got his face caved in year after year, an aching reminder of his painful mortality. Hurting people was hard because it was so easy. He could melt flesh from bone with the warm palm of his hand, pummel craters into all-too-delicate skin, cut with words sharp like the arms of a flame.

His existence alone was a walking contradiction. In the same way he never should have been born, he wasn’t supposed to know all of these impossible things. None of it made much sense, but to Steve Harrington, that sentiment wasn't at all new or surprising.

Which was why, floating in the endless expanse of voidless sleep, it was unfortunate he had to lose so much of what little he already had. Hurtling through the merciless planes of frigid space, it was inevitable for one to crack under the sheer velocity of flight. Pieces would fracture and drift, disappear into the lit black.

He dumbly stumbled upon danger around every corner, and yet avoided the mass destruction he was capable of. Another contradiction. Why, if he was so intent on protecting the vulnerable, would he contain his greatness? His gift born from the cosmos, which could tear reality from its very hinges?

It was fear. It always came down to fear. Cowardice. For all a willing martyr he laid himself to be, he feared the decided end that came with death like the sharp of a knife.

What did it speak of him, guilty of not wanting to die so soon?

But guilt and fear mattered not in the true face of death’s mockery, a twisted mess of anger and revenge, once a person, now a vessel for ruthless violence. Nothing mattered actually, not when so many lives were at stake, and certainly not when he would outlive the end of the world anyway. And an empty world was worse than dying young, he had found.

Death was fair, this was not. Simple as that.

In the end, the choice was clear and obvious, both easy said and easy done, a small, quiet mercy in the middle of all the noise and chaos. He wasn’t worried about the aftermath, or of the emotional downfall that, in his life-long spiral, didn’t seem possible. Above all else, he wasn't worried about his own future, if he ever had one to begin with, solely focused on the red hell unraveling before his eyes.

In the end, they won, and they lost.

He lost so much, shot to the far corners of the universe, telling himself over and over again, there was no need to worry.

...

The sweet caress of the dream was forgiving, motherly almost, in soft touches and whispered lullabies. Feeling was an afterthought, a distant memory not to be bothered with. In a dream, there was no whole being, only mirror fragments reflecting onto each other, an echo chamber where everything was everything else in return.

It was an immaterial world, a wash of color, pale and waterlogged. Something that flowed into every small crevice, flowing through all matter itself, an encompassing rich, amber warmth like honey in the summertime. Though liquid, the bright body was alive with chatter, the mutterings of kings and queens long lost to the fabric of space and time.

He had no such voice, silent in his aimless drifting. He had no thoughts to ponder, no fears to worry, no faces to remember, and no names to forget. Another screw in the machine of being, a single diamond in a crown of many, a ghost, a soldier: simply an idea.

But his whirling mosaic of a heart that wandered and longed, that never sat still enough to capture the nebula in painting, must have caught the ear of some goddess, for his next breath flew stars from his mouth into a blue ocean where once was black void.

“Aren’t you peculiar?” The giant exhaled in old, out-of-practice wonder “Singing so wantingly and mournfully that your song has reached the depths of my throne.”

Her eyes were swirling pits of sun-warmed onyx, smooth and cutting, as she twinkled into corporeal existence, crinkling around the edges with amusement. Her spectral presence surrounded him wholly, cradling his blurry form forever twisting with unrest.

“This isn’t your home, hm? You’ve swung out of alignment, dear,” She cooed, and the low croon was like a humid, august breeze on his invisible flesh, flashing in his mind honeyed curls and sun-kissed freckles, bronze-brown feathers soft with downy. The goddess soared away from him suddenly, the halo of galaxies crowded behind her rocking with the movement, “Or maybe… Is it everyone else who’s gone a bit crooked?”

Tracing his skin still tender from the collapse of his implosion, she smiled something small, like fleeting knowing glances shared between friends, “You’ve made a tremendous journey, but it would be cruel to keep you here.”

Her slender fingers pressed into his wax exterior, digging like at wet sand on spanning beach shores, to reveal his mottled body underneath, bruised from war. He writhed in the momentary, excruciating pain, crystalline branches of light convulsing in fear. It was a feeling new and old, lost but now found, as he was molded into something habitable by a soul.

The fluttering limbs protruding from his back were the last to be shaped, as the merciful goddess blew stardust into his hair and laughed something loud and breathless, leaning closer to whisper into his ear, “Go on now, young star, and find the paradise that settles that beating heart of yours.”

Flung from heaven, his plummet to earth was artless and turbulent. Tears would've been shed if not for the fire of his falling. Misty clouds cleared for his torrid arrival like curtains parting for a grand show, leaving a tail of white smoke in his wake. The ground below came at impossible speeds, so fast he braced to punch through to the molten core within.

The next he opened his eyes, it was to the unfurling of mighty pine branches, their needles singed black in the catching of his fall. Charcoaled grass haloed his angelic form; sacrificial. His first lungful of air was greedy and sharp, dragging on the phantom stitching of his throat. Faint seams melted into the flesh of him, until his fabrication could no longer be seen. One deep exhale, and he was settled into his body.

He rose on shaking legs, having grown used to the weightlessness of the world between life and death, as peanut butter brown wings instinctively spread behind him to keep his balance. In the cold, the feathers hugged his body close, shivering at the new feeling. He began his trek out of the woods as the sun set in orange and purple rays, casting the trees in a postcard fog. His bare feet soon found the gritty pavement of a road, and he followed it down in a direction that felt right. He couldn’t name where it was taking him, but it felt familiar.

By the time he reached the second house that he couldn’t knock at despite wanting to, the soles of his feet were bloody and beaded with rocks. It was the most he’d felt since the fall, and he couldn’t find it in him to be bothered, not when any sensation at all was a blessing. He kept walking, gazing longingly at dark windows and bikes strewn on lawns. His chest ached for things lost, but they were just that: lost.

And lost things could be found.

The last house led him back into the forest, down a dirt path and to a rickety deck of old wood. Sparing the quiet residence a glance, he continued past it, letting the trees tell him where to go. Deeper in, he came upon something smaller, a tent of sorts, and the letters swam as he deciphered them: Castle Byers.

Each location slotted itself in his mind, and the emotions attached to them sang around him, hanging on the air and flowing through his veins. They were all homes in their own right, but they weren’t his home. That, at least, he knew very well.

As the sky grew dark, and the white moon slowly soared overhead, his eyes drooped with growing fatigue. A fear buried within himself made itself known, that it would be unsafe to sleep in the woods, not without the light of the sun, so he kept himself moving. There was something on the cool, night breeze, like smoke and mint. Something about it told him that it would keep him safe in the darkness, and he trusted the feeling wholeheartedly.

What other choice did he have?

The thumping of the music could be heard on the wind, indiscernible and unimportant. His charge was closer than that, somewhere nearer than the smell of cheap alcohol and the sound of people cheering in whooping successions. Whatever had pulled him here was stumbling toward him all on its own, so he decided to wait.

Waiting proved fruitful, and in only a few minutes, he heard approaching footfalls, and the coughing of a not-so-strange stranger. His wings fanned out on either side of him, expectant and eager, excited.

Out from a pine’s shadow, a boy stepped from cover of trees, revealing a pale face of shock. Something about him struck the fallen star as slightly off: soft cheeks too round, night-black hair too short, big, brown eyes swimming with wonder and curiosity and lacking that sharpness of fear. He was drawn to him entirely and helplessly.

“Holy fucking shit. Dude.” The boy muttered, lips parted and dumb with disbelief, “Who spiked my fucking drink, no way those are real.”

The newcomer’s rings and chains caught moonlight in their divots, twinkling in ways he’d only assumed the vast cosmos could. The leaf litter beneath his bleeding feet crinkled as he shifted his weight from the nerves. Impossibly wide eyes, deep as ocean trenches, were locked onto him and him alone. It was both terrifying and thrilling: it felt like power.

"What are you?" The boy asked, dropping his solo cup, and spilling the rest of its contents in the grass. He didn’t seem to notice, closing the space between them in an awestruck daze. That’s not to say the star wasn’t equally as enamored, endeared by the stranger’s gangly limbs and messy, shoulder-length hair. He would do anything to run a brush through the tangled strands, or better yet, his fingers.

“I'm—” “An angel.” He was interrupted with a breathless whisper, and the boy took up his hands in his own calloused ones, examining them. It tingled where their skin met, like their very molecules were excitedly greeting each other, “You gotta be. Holy shit, oh my fucking god— I mean! Am I even allowed to say that?”

“I don’t—?” “Angelic, indeed.” He bit his lip, shoulders slowly hiking up around his ears, his intense gaze flitting from the shooting star’s fluffy hair, to his big, honest eyes, the freckled moles on his face, his neck, his arms, “You’re… You are… Hm.”

The taller’s pale complexion flushed a sunburnt red, seemingly stunned into frustrated silence. He dropped their hands in favor of hiding his face behind a lock of dark, shaggy hair, huffing a long, suffering sigh, brows furrowed and mouth thin. He was worth pitying.

"I'm Steve," he said, finally, and the boy lit up instantly with newfound mischief.

"Steve… Steve," he drawled, drawing on the syllable almost melodically, "Steven. I don't think I know of any angel Steven in the Bible." He stuck one ring-clad hand out then, grinning enough to show teeth and crinkling his eyes along with it, "I'm Eddie! Eddie Munson. You have a last name, Steve?"

He didn’t, not that he knew of. There had been a house, a mansion, a cold cavern of a home, situated at the top of a hill, at the end of a street. It was as lonely as it was detached from the neighbors. It was a husk as much as he had been before the goddess granted him new life, though the empty building, he thought, would never have that same chance. He felt that there was a name once, attached to the house and to himself, but that name was lost with his sacrifice: a casualty of war.

Steve shook his head, smiling innocently, “Would you give me one?”

Whatever composure Eddie had gathered before completely disappeared as he stammered, newly flustered, “You want—? You cannot just, just—!” He let loose a single, startled laugh, the nervous and uncontrollable kind, like the ringing pop of a firework, and then covered his face with his hands, “Forget it. Steve: Single name, like Cher.”

Burning, that was what it was. Eddie’s face was burning, the apples of his cheeks glowing with the exuberance of a cherry’s skin. Steve was alive with the bright hue, finding it alluring. He wanted to fan the flame and watch it roar, blow onto the wick, and cup the maplewood smoke between his palms. In that very moment, he knew, without much room for deliberation or error, that he would not be able to forget a boy like Eddie. Not ever again.

And that was a sudden revelation, something rocking like calm ocean waves, subtle, excusable. He had forgotten once before, a time he could no longer remember now. It disturbed him to think that he could lose a face like Eddie’s.

What else was he missing?

“You know,” Eddie said, “It seems a little counterproductive for God to send one of his prettiest angels to someone so… How should I say, prone to sin?”

“I wasn’t sent by a god.” Steve corrected simply, large wings fluttering proudly behind him, thinking of what a privilege it was, to live as a gift from the goddess of the abyss. He saw how Eddie’s eyes followed their swaying movements, and he only felt the urge to further preen, hoping to relieve some unknown feeling in his heart.

“But you were sent?” Invading his space, Eddie was enjoyably close to him again, and Steve held himself from concealing them both under cover of long feathers. It went unnoticed, “For what, pray tell?”

For paradise, he thought. That is what he was sent to find, a small heaven of his own to claim, to settle him, as the goddess had instructed. He almost saw a paradise of someplace in Eddie's sparkling eyes, practically radiating mirth and childlike curiosity. But it was more an island, small and submerged, something to grow and be discovered with time. Steve reasoned, that is what love must be like.

“To find someone.” He condensed. It was easier than explaining the invisible light that drew them together, a fickle but everlasting thing, beyond them both. Steve couldn’t explain it to himself even if he tried, he simply understood.

Eddie nodded, turning away. He snatched his forgotten cup from the ground as he spoke, “Maybe I can help you find this someone?”

Steve smiled sweetly, “I would like that.”

Blushing, Eddie gingerly took his hand and started leading him away from the noise of the party. His palm and fingers were cold in his own, but Steve could be warm enough for the both of them. He could be warm enough to heat a home, a whole town, and to keep her people from the harm of the outside. He will be a respite to the weary and tired, the bright stars above bringing night, and the peaceful allure of sleep.

“You’re not gonna find any person out this late, not unless this person was at that rager,” Eddie quipped, screwing his mouth to the side distastefully, “And I sincerely hope they weren’t, no offense to whoever it is you’re looking for.”

“Why’s that?”

Eddie huffed something unamused, mocking, “They’re all halfwit jocks looking for a quick, good time. Not the kind of people who’d deserve— who you’d want to hang out with.” The dark-haired boy’s cheeks reddened at his near-slip, and Steve had half a mind to guess what he was going to say. Steve was smitten, to say the least.

“But you were there.” He teased.

Spluttering, Eddie straightened up, “Yeah, yeah, I was. I was, uh—” He coughed into his fist, and Steve watched his throat bob with the audible gulp that came afterward, “I was selling to the hungry masses. It’s just this… New, modest business I’m trying out, flexible hours and all.” He became more serious, tone growing contemptuous, “I’ve gotta make a living somehow, and no one’s hiring the sixteen-year-old devil worshiper.”

Steve wasn’t all too aware of what the devil was, and what being associated with such a figure could mean, but he wasn’t too pressed about it. After all, he trusted himself more than the judgment of others, and if danger were to face him, the light that lived within his chest would burn all that threatened him. For some reason, the thought and feel of phantom flames was a comfort in the dark, keeping him safe from otherworldly monsters that no longer walked this earth. He would be sure to keep it that way, as well.

“Next time,” Eddie continued on a lighter note, “I won’t get so shitfaced, messes with my head. I’m… Still trying to decide if you’re real or not.”

Steve found Eddie’s breathless and nervous show of teeth charming. He squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m real.”

“Yeah…” Steve’s hand was squeezed back, “Yeah, you’re real. All of you is real.” Eddie glanced at the set of wings trailing behind them, at the way one hovered slightly over his jean-clad shoulder, as if protectively, “Do you have a place to go? To stay?”

He couldn’t very well return to that cosmic heaven, now could he? At least, not through any practical means. He shook his head minutely, “No. I fell here.”

“Right, right.” Eddie nodded, “Fell. Angel. Duh.” Laughing a little, he knocked the heel of his palm against his forehead. It was cute. He looked at Steve then, painfully earnest, “You should stay with me. I mean— Would you like to stay with me…?” His voice deepened into something of a rumble, “Many unsavory folk lurking at this late hour of night.”

“What does that say about you?” Steve laughed, and to save Eddie from any more embarrassed stumbling, simply agreed, “I’ll follow your lead.”

With the moon to guide them, they trekked quietly through the woods. He would catch Eddie’s eye a few times, not that he wasn’t also sneaking glances at the boy when he wasn’t looking. He enjoyed the game, almost as much as he enjoyed the blush high on those round cheeks whenever Eddie was caught staring.

Eventually, the trees broke into soft porch lights and yellow-lit windows. It wasn’t the kind of silence of the woods or the far-away singing of stars, but Steve liked it all the same. It was proof of life, in musical chimes and mutterings and barking dogs. He thought, with time, he would learn to fall asleep to this new, lively ambiance.

Eddie ushered him into the trailer three porches down, his wings catching on the doorframe in their haste. Apologies were thrown his way as Eddie skipped into the tiny kitchen pulling two mugs off the adjacent wall and setting a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” The boy asked him, “Better question; Are you cold? I can see why wearing a shirt might be difficult for you, but I feel like the weather warrants a little more than an old pair of sweatpants.” His eyes moved over him, coming to his bare feet, “Christ! Are you bleeding?”

“Oh, your floors,” Steve realized, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry!” Eddie waved him off, “You’ve been walking barefoot for God knows how long. Why didn’t you just fly or something?”

He couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at some point, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Why would he fly when the people he cared about were all stuck on the ground?

Taking a seat on the worn-soft couch as Eddie fetched a box of aid supplies from the bathroom, he took a moment to observe the trailer’s interior. It was homey, close, comfortable in a way where everything was in reach. The lights were yellowed, and the walls cluttered with color, and on the table was a framed photo of Eddie and an older man, each holding up silvery fish under a bright sunny day.

“Hey,” Eddie breathed, sliding to his knees in front of Steve, “‘You okay?”

He didn’t think he could be any more okay, “Mhm.”

“This is going to sting,” The older teen warned, padding the down cuts with an alcohol wipe. He winced in sympathy, saying,  “I’ve gotta make sure there’s nothing wedged in there.”

While it did hurt, it was less than what he was expecting. His remaking at the hands of the goddess had been excruciating, terrifying, tearing into the core of his very being.

By contrast, these cuts were nothing more than a silly nuisance.

In pleasant quiet, Eddie wrapped his feet in gauze, securing the bandages tight so they couldn't budge. He pulled a pair of orange, cat-eared slippers from behind him, holding them up like his younger self did the fish in the photo.

"I got you these," He said seriously, "And don't laugh. I know they look absurd, but they're a gift from my uncle."

"Your uncle," Steve repeated, pointing, "He's the man with you in the picture?"

Eddie made a noise of confusion, looking behind him. A soft smile grew on his face when he realized, "Oh, yeah. That's good ol' Uncle Wayne. He takes me fishing in the summertime."

He looked at Steve then with that same softness, if a bit inquisitive, "Hey, did you want a blanket or something?"

"What for?"

"Well, you never got to answer my question earlier, if you were cold?" He tilted his head, "The trailer gets a bit chilly at night, especially this time of year, and I don't think I have anything that'll fit over your wings, sweetheart."

The pet name seemed to involuntarily fall from Eddie's lips, both of the boys turning red. For his sake, Steve didn’t mention it, instead concentrating, “I think I can— Let me just,” As his focus narrowed to the muscles of his back, he almost imagined tucking his large wings under cover, like folding them onto themselves again and again. There was a faint swooping sound, overshadowed by Eddie’s gasp, and his wings disappeared in the next second, leaving behind only a few stray feathers fluttering idly in the air.

“What the hell was that!?” The metalhead exclaimed.

Steve peeked over his shoulder, marveling at the empty space. He could still feel them, pressing under his skin, waiting patiently for when they’ll next be needed.

Eddie looked at him incredulously, “You could do that the whole time?”

“Could I have?” Steve asked with mock-innocence, “I don’t know.”

“Steven, in my home no less—” He was interrupted by a loud, sudden onslaught of popping. His head shot up at the sound of the angry bubbling, “Shit. Shit, shit—”

Cursing, he scrambled to the kitchen, quickly taking the pot off the burner. He poured two sweet-smelling cups of hot chocolate, carrying them gingerly to the main room’s low table. Steve took his in his hands and contendly breathed in the wafting steam.

"Woah, Woah! It's still boiling, buddy—" Eddie called in alarm when Steve brought the drink to his lips. It was scorching, and he hummed happily as the intense heat flowed throughout his limbs like slow-spilling magma, tingling at the tips of his fingers.

He smiled appreciatively, "It's good."

Mouth agape, Eddie stared at him, until he shook himself out of it, saying absently, "Yeah. No problem, man."

Unconsciously, the star’s eyes drifted to that photo, considering the older man again, Uncle Wayne. He couldn’t help but wonder, worrying for the first real time that night, if the stranger would allow him to take refuge here, in his home. He had no connection to this man, not like he did Eddie, and so, Wayne would have no reason to let him stay.

“Hey,” The dark-haired teen said gently, now back in front of Steve, though this time with a navy, wool sweatshirt in hand, “You went somewhere. ‘You okay?”

Instead of answering, he asked, “Will your uncle be okay with me being here?”

“Wayne?” Eddie tilted his head, something Steve noticed he did a lot, “He won’t mind. Not unless you bring any trouble home, that’s what he tells me. If you get into trouble, leave it at the door,” He seemed to mime the clearing of a table with a sweep of his arm, chuckling quietly to himself. Steve tried to focus on the sound, and not the little worm in the back of his brain, whispering some riddle of irony and tragedy.

He couldn’t understand it, not anymore, not that he wished to, anyway.

Absently, he shrugged on the sweatshirt, but it wasn’t quite enough.

Eddie must have read the off look on his face as doubt, and tried to remedy the situation, getting up in Steve’s space as he spoke, “Hey, why don’t we watch a movie or something? Get you settled in, relaxed…?” For a moment, he trailed off into his thoughts, then returned to the star with wide, sparkling eyes, “Oh, I know exactly what we’re watching. I’m gonna get you hooked on all the good shit, Stevie.”

He raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but Eddie gave no further explanation as he excitedly hopped off the couch. Steve wasn’t so keen on getting hooked on anything a person with Eddie’s… Particular reputation had to offer, but then he had to stop and think about what such a reputation might be. After all, they’d only just met, hadn’t they?

The television buzzed to life, humming some whining frequency that only Steve seemed to hear, and effectively distracting him from the muddy puddle of his memories.

Clamoring back onto the cushions, Eddie pulled a blanket over the both of them, bashfully excusing their consequent closeness. Its material threaded the line between soft and itchy, dark, autumnal stripes criss-crossing over a lighter background. The colors reminded him of fallen leaves set ablaze by the morning sun, the worsening nightly chill, and rows of dirty, orange pumpkins carved into a myriad of frightening expressions.

His skin crawled at the image of vast pumpkin fields, as a phantom rot pervaded his nose, and he shivered.

Eddie noticed, had probably felt it from where they brushed arms, looking over with a radiant smile, “‘You excited? You’re gonna love The Hobbit, I just know it.” Then he tilted his head again, his face morphing into something closer to an impish grin, “And if you don’t, well, we’ll sit and watch it a million times over until you do.”

“I don’t know why, but I believe that,” Steve said, the corners of his lips turning up on their own accord. Eddie cackled, and the star’s heart basked in the hot glory of it.

Still, Steve only had half a mind to watch the film, bothered by the ghostly touches that breathed down tanned flesh, the niggling, nipping thoughts that begged him to remember, to live a life having been led in someone else’s shoes. His wings pressed against their cage of bone and muscle, itching to be free. He held them back.

Hopefully, there would be answers shed in the light of day, where the lives of these people would walk from shadow and slumber. Steve’s eyes flickered, twitched, blinked into some other world which was bathed in red and smelled of loss, for just a second.

The vision left him as quick as it had appeared, and he was thrown back into his body, sitting next to Eddie as he talked about the little characters moving around on-screen. From under the covers, Steve found the other boy’s hand, holding it tight. The chatter died with a short stutter, as a warmth blossomed between them.

He knew from that moment on that he would never let go of Eddie’s hand, not if he could help it, for fear of ever losing him again. Even with him however, Steve did not feel whole, and he knew instinctively that the missing pieces of himself were both close and so far away, both a neighbor and a journey’s distance from this small town.

Tucking his legs to his chest, he kept his gaze fixed onto the television, not turning to Eddie, who he could feel was undoubtedly staring with blushing cheeks.

Yes, he would hold tight onto this nice thing that he’d stumbled upon. Come morning, he would worry about the future, but for now, he was overcome by a sudden exhaustion, the weight of efforts forgotten settling onto his young bones like fresh snow. Tiredly, he wondered if forgotten was the right word, if it fit this feeling of longing in his chest, or if taken would be better.

These efforts, the memories, which were not lost, but left behind, as a price paid in the face of restarting, had pulled and scraped on their way from his mind, like chalk dust clouding from a black board, leaving only flashes of the past that slipped from his fingers in a dream.

He squeezed Eddie’s hand, and Eddie squeezed his in answer.

He would not be alone.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angel wings #fallen angel #meet cute #fanfiction #writing #barkbeastwriting

[hyunarkarchive]

✩ sn project; month 1 week 3; dance stats; playing on my team, is someone like me baby royal survival - team

the fact that they were given only a week to perform something of high standard, did stress hyuna. she was very much aware that she wasn’t the best dancer in royal, but she was also very aware she wasn’t the worst one. so maybe that was the reason to why she chose the dance she had done over a year and a half ago. time did fly when you had nothing huge on your hands.

even if she knew the choreography, back then she knew she didn’t have the chance to get center, maybe it was even a bit too much to think she would ever get a center dance position in nova as well. who knows, maybe she could, one day. after all, nova prided themselves with their dances, and hyuna wanted to make hyunbin realize it was a mistake to not pick her three years ago. she was a very different person now compared to back then, and it definitely showed. maybe not in her music yet, but in the way she acted and worked.always being a workaholic was something she dealt with. countless sleepless nights, working on music, dancing, writing lyrics, university, drinking. everything and anything.

however, the setting was different and she was aware of the fact that she could get seriously critisized about the fact that she is reusing a dance. it wasn’t even her dance and she was sure there would be trainee’s that would show off their own routines. however, she was also aware that there would be others reusing already known choreographies. she hoped, actually, that there would be trainee’s like that. otherwise, she could potential be kicked off the show. 

it was a stressful week for her, to say the least. so much could go wrong, or well, hyuna couldn’t be sure until the whole month had gone by and they were told the results. however, after the whole week devoted to just dancing to the same routine over and over again, she found a peace of mind, finally accepting that she would have to show up to the coaches and hyunbin and perform this. she could only own up to the dance and show her improvement over the year and more period.

when the day came, hyuna couldn’t help but smile once she entered the room, bowing politely to the panel and the staff before standing center stage and waiting for the cue to get ready. when she got that, she turned the back to the coaches and ceo, waiting for the music to play. one thing she always prided herself with was the fact that she never made mistakes when it came to choreographies. she wasn’t a huge hip hop dancer, nor contemporary, but she always got the choreography down and was able to execute it.

she was genuinely beginning to enjoy her time dancing, which had become a regular occurrence after she left royal, but still, she’d much rather stay in her element, which was rapping. she made sure to focus more on the dance, the moves and her expression than any looks if they were given by the panel, if they were even looking at her at this point.

this wasn’t royal survival, and she was allowed multiple cuts, but hyuna was perfectly fine with it. it wasn’t the first time she was in a situation like this, the mga3 and mga4 were the same, brutal, and allowed absolutely no mistakes. so when she dropped down into a squat for the final position, adding the little bounce that had been in the choreography, she grinned at panel, fringe covering her face and waited for the music to go off so she should move.

when it did, she slowly straightened and bowed politely to the panel. she was proud of the past three weeks, and she was nearly done with the first month. nearly a third there, but oh god, did she hope she could get to show even more of what she was capable of in the next months.

#;wordcount/672 #◤✩ ░ supernova◢ #◤✩ ░ nova shutdown◢ #nova:snmonth1 #nova:sn #◤✩ ░ solo◢ #◤✩ ░ +2 debut◢ #◤✩ ░ +3 dance◢ #[[ ayee

[libermachinae]

A Desert Symphony

Available on AO3 Summary: In the wake of near catastrophe, two rivals can take a brief respite together. Wordcount: 2265

---

A tunnel collapse, Optimus mused as he ran for his life, hand wrapped around Dreadwing’s elbow, was simultaneously the least interesting yet most dire situation to have forced him into an alliance with his assassin. The fight for the Apex Armor had been notable for being the first such incident, and following team-ups, precipitated by MECH and a glitched Insecticon swarm respectively, had presented their own challenges, but never had Optimus felt like his life was in imminent danger.

Here, though, with several tons of tumbling sediment licking at their heels and the exit a distant frame of the night sky, they could only do as Optimus had commanded the moment Dreadwing’s stray shot shattered a rotting support beam.

“Run!”

Optimus was grateful that Dreadwing had quickly given up his fighting to keep pace, but he feared it still wouldn’t be enough to save them both. Against an opponent that did not care about Autobots or Decepticons, Optimus too forgot factions, and his processor instead tagged Dreadwing as a Cybertronian in danger, in need. Borrowing the Matrix’s strength, he hurled Dreadwing forward, sending them stumbling. Optimus tried to catch himself, but the ground rolled beneath him and he tripped. He could feel himself falling, knew he wouldn’t be able to catch himself and make it out in time—

And then a hand seized his wrist and yanked.

He and Dreadwing tumbled outside, sprawling. Behind them, the mine gave a final shudder as the ceiling gave in and the tunnel vanished under upset stone, dust billowing out to blanket the kneeling robots. Optimus’ processor pinged with errors, sediment in his ventilation system and overtaxed actuators, and he had to take a moment to clear them before he could check on Dreadwing.

The jet was kneeling on the ground, powerful fans running louder than Optimus’ own. He looked for a moment like he might slip into shutdown, but in a flash of movement too fast to process Dreadwing was on his feet, the light of his cannon mimicked in the glare of his optics.

Like twin stars on the brink of supernova, Optimus thought as his systems primed, waiting on the signal to duck.

The night slipped into calm. Dust settled, a few pebbles skipping down to their final resting places. Insects, Optimus’ second favorite species from this planet, shook off their stunned silence and stirred up an enchanting, invisible chorus that sounded the way the dead shrubs around the mine entrance looked. Optimus stared into the barrel of his assassin’s weapon and was reminded of how, during the day, the sun would glare down on this part of the Earth until every living thing had fled its intensity. The cannon, a standard issue model, should have been the most familiar object in his vicinity.

Instead, he found it alien.

Dreadwing snarled. He threw the weapon to the ground, where it landed with a hollow clang. Its superheated core faded back to dim standby and the whine of its power converter bowed out to the native sounds. Tracking the greatest source of danger, Optimus glanced at it before returning to Dreadwing, whose face turned toward the stars, gaze flicking between them like a ship charting its course.

“Well, Prime?” he said. After the cacophony of the mine and the violence of his outburst, his voice sounded like an ancient engine, barely puttering with life. “It seems I am unable to kill you. I would recommend you take advantage of my failing, before my lord comes to dispatch us both.”

Optimus stood, though his frame protested. Not the ache he had expected, but upright he could see the dents, scores taken out of his paint where falling rocks had torn at his plating. A warning about fuel pressure disappeared before he could address it, which meant self-repair was busy in so many systems that priority trees had been scrambled. Not a dire syndrome, though he would be feeling his injuries longer.

It would be a long drive back to base, followed by inevitable hours of Ratchet’s repairing and lecturing before he could lie on his berth and let his own systems finish the job. The ache in his struts intensified.

“Dreadwing,” he said, “if you would—”

“No, Prime, I will not become an Autobot.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, that Optimus would try to ask again. He had formed a habit of it, possessed by an untethered optimism each time he found himself alone with the Decepticons’ first lieutenant. It could be blamed on the leftover thrill of survival, but he knew it leaned more toward hubris: once he had experienced the way their movements and strategies synced amid the heat of battle, the way they could project their intentions with a look, he started imagining what they would be capable of if they had more than a minute to communicate. Optimus did not relish combat, but he understood its art; he recognized that the way he and Dreadwing complemented each other was almost prodigious.

But the thought that they might join in something more permanent was fantasy, and whether by the passing of the night or Dreadwing’s finite patience, Optimus knew he was on a timer.

“I understand,” he said, “but in fact, I only wished to ask for a few minutes. To rest together, before we depart for our respective bases.”

Dreadwing stared at him, optics widening before narrowing again as he turned half away from Optimus.

“Whatever you’re trying to—”

“No games, Dreadwing,” Optimus interrupted, “just one aged mechanism appealing to another. I can’t imagine you’re considering your coming flight with much enthusiasm.”

“We do not follow orders because they excite us,” Dreadwing growled.

“Ah. If Megatron has called you back, I will not keep you.” Both for Dreadwing’s safety and because Optimus understood what it meant to live for one’s duty, no matter the personal cost.

But Dreadwing did not move, and Optimus felt warmth bloom in his spark, the same buds that grew when he looked on his soldiers, or the humans they had befriended. Though at odds with Dreadwing’s glare, Optimus thought he saw it reflected in the way his foe hesitated before returning to him.

“If you turn on me, Prime, you will regret it,” Dreadwing swore as he stepped forward.

And what a remarkable thing that was, to know Dreadwing trusted him enough that Optimus could betray him. It was a precious thing, that trust, and Optimus nodded, watching as Dreadwing retrieved his cannon and holstered it.

He turned, keeping Dreadwing in his vision, and started for a bank of broken stones that led into the hills above the ruins of the mine. Away from soil that had been hard packed by years underneath rolling tires, the ground fragmented, loose dirt spilling out from between rocks that seemed made of dust themselves. Further up, and native plantlife started to break through as well: bundles of firm, green stalks, mounds of balled vegetal flesh decorated with spines and pink flowers, and delicate stems decked in thorny cotton armor, interspersed with countless more species Optimus could not track from his height.

Optimus walked until they were well enough away from the mine to see anyone approaching with a few minutes’ warning. Here, a chunk of rock had broken through the ground, a flat plane upon which all but the most stubborn roots and vines failed to thrive. He sat, expecting Dreadwing to take a place regardless of whatever was trying to live there, and so felt his spark pulse when instead his temporary ally rested beside him. A couple meters away, it was the most distance their platform would allow, and yet far closer than Optimus had expected Dreadwing to abide by. Both still had their weapons available, but they were offline and holstered; the empty air between them was as fragile as a sheet of foil.

They glanced at each other, the landscape. Optimus doubted it would be right to let insects take the place of conversation, but neither did he know what to say.

“I don’t understand you,” Dreadwing said, breaking their stalemate. His tone had shifted. Still the rasp of an overworked vocalizer, but without the force required to project threats across a battlefield. “You act as though we could be friends, allies. Such a notion suggests you are either a fool or know nothing of loyalty, but because you have secured the unfailing commitment of your Autobots, I can only assume it is the former.”

A smile quirked Optimus’ lips, though he smothered it; he would not risk offending Dreadwing and disrupting whatever this was. When they weren’t fighting to kill each other, he liked Dreadwing, appreciated his view of the universe and corresponding insights. He would be lying to claim his mind had not occasionally drifted, crafting dialogues and arguments between them with topics ranging from warfare to the metaphysics of organic life. That Dreadwing might think of him in turn, even if as a source of bafflement, was an honor.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he said. “I don’t consider it foolishness, though. The Matrix,” he placed a hand to his chest, “is hopeful. Whereas the Allspark brings us together in death, it hopes we might achieve the same in life.”

Dreadwing watched Optimus, but when he finished, his gaze turned to where the horizon might have been. The darkness of the world blended with the emptiness of space, so that the only way one might guess at their separation was to track the line of disappearing stars.

“Decepticons once sought the same,” Dreadwing said.

“Once?” Optimus asked, but Dreadwing stiffened again.

“I will not become an Autobot,” he repeated, each word weighted.

Without his bidding, Optimus’ plating compressed, a pinch of protectiveness that relaxed in the same rotation.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I will stop asking.” He could not suppress the Matrix’s hope on top of his own, but he would find a way to manage them.

That settled Dreadwing, but his gaze remained locked on Optimus. Optimus returned the look for a moment, then turned to the stars, taking his optics off Dreadwing for the first time since their escape.

“This world is far removed from our war,” he said. “I try to take moments to appreciate that. What they call life here is so distinct from our understanding of it, and yet there are times it almost seems our planets mimic each other. The way this one seethes with life, it reminds me of how Cybertron once was.”

“And you honor it by looking at long-dead stars?” Dreadwing asked.

“When were you last able to look to the sky without seeing a map?” Optimus returned. “Or battleplans? I take comfort in the reminder that for some, the cosmos are still a source of wonder.”

He glanced over, and to his delight found that Dreadwing was looking up, too, his wandering gaze turned slow and roving.

“Skyquake thought something similar,” he said, voice dropped down to a hush, like he worried the world was listening. Optimus leaned in. “This was his first off-world deployment, and he spoke of how the night sky would be different from our own.”

Dreadwing’s fists curled at his sides. On an instinct forged for the sake of his own team, Optimus reached a finger and brushed the clenched knuckles. Dreadwing’s tension flared, pulling in his whole frame, before he released it, his fingers opening onto the flat of the stone.

“I do not regret surviving our encounter,” Optimus said, “but I will always wish there had been another way. The only comfort I can offer is the promise that you and your brother will be together again one day.”

“I know,” Dreadwing said, dropping his gaze again so they looked into each other’s eyes. He tapped his chest with a claw. “I feel it. He waits for me at the threshold of the Well.”

Optimus did not know how the light caught his expression, but Dreadwing tilted his helm, a twitch on his lips that could have buried a laugh.

“Come now, Optimus, hasn’t my brother already proven his patience?” he said. “Despite the years this war took from us, I have rushed to his side only once, and even then I was already too late. I will not hurry again to join him.”

“Good,” Optimus said. Dreadwing’s tightly controlled expressions were an enigma, but this was the gentlest he had ever seen on the warrior. Not a smile, but the corners of his optics crinkled in a way that one might mistake for fondness.

“Whatever becomes of us,” whether he die by Dreadwing’s cannon, or Megatron’s, or something far less predictable, “I would like to see you there. Both of you, together.”

Dreadwing said nothing. But when their fingertips brushed, he did not pull back, and there was a hiss as his wings lowered out of standby configuration. They rested together, listening to the harmony of the alien world, their idle engines rolling in discordant melodies. It was the kind of sound that could be called silence, and Optimus did not dare break it when he pointed up to the passing shadows of night hunters or the band of whining, singing dancers that wove rhythmically across the plain.

They stayed together until the stars began to fade and the horizon cut itself away from the sky. They were gone, driving and flying in opposite directions, before the flowers could close and the insects retreat underground, and so in their minds the oasis of the night persisted, an unexpected peace amidst what had once seemed a hostile world.

#my fic for the rarepair zine #that i only remembered to post bc i saw an ask about this ship lol #maccadam #transformers #dreadwing #optimus prime #dreadop #my writing #oneshot #a desert symphony #hello my old spark

[cowboisadness]

Warm Beer {Arthur Morgan x F!Reader} 18+

Some warm beer and a lot of teasing with a beer bottle idk i came up with this idea at like 3am.

No smut but might do a part 2. Sexually suggestive and sexual themes. UNDER 18 DNI

Wordcount: 1604

.....

The beer stays warm here in Lemoyne. With no escape from the persistent heat and humidity, as well as none of us being stupid enough to keep the crates submerged in the swamp water surrounding us in the hopes they would be a few degrees cooler to actually give us all some relief. 

Relief is what all of us needed right now. Constantly running from the law and Pinkertons, bad job after bad job, the camp’s money slowly dwindling, some people working too hard while others did barely anything other than keep their asses flat to the ground. 

The only positives being we now have a real roof over our heads courtesy of the shambles that is Shady Belle and the beer was never in short supply. 

This hot and disgusting evening had us all sat either by the fire or at one ofthe tables nearby. Listening to Javier and Uncle share a merry tune while we drank the evening away thanks to this piss-water excuse for alcohol.

Arthur, John and Bill returned only a couple of hours ago after planning to rob a high-value stagecoach that was making its way from Blackwater to Rhodes. it was a disaster, as Arthur expected. 

‘They are never worth the trouble.’ He would say ‘Always turn into a bloodbath.’ he would argue...and he was right, as usual. 

The coach wasn’t holding even half of what they were expecting and they got away with even less and a bullet wound for Bill, thankfully it wasn’t anything a few stitches couldn’t handle.

Arthur was still sour about the whole ordeal even a couple of hours later. So I did what I have been doing for almost a year now when he gets like this. Leave him to calm down then let him take the rest of it out on me in private. We all win that way. 

I had my eyes on that man since the day I arrived in the gang almost two years ago, and it wasn’t long until the shy glances, shy touches and even shyer words became more for us. But it took a year for both of our stubborn asses to take the next step. Trying to keep it a secret from the others was both thrilling and a task in itself. Only so many last-minute hunting trips that would result in us only bringing back one deer or a few turkeys and rabbits before people started asking questions. 

So we all sat here, Sadie and Karen by my side at the table engrossed in their own conversation, but I was paying no mind to them or their chatter. 

My eyes drifted to the campfire and those sat around it, finally landing on him. Whiskey in had as he listened to Javier strum his guitar and uncle on his banjo. A few of the others sat around singing along. The flames in the centre lighting up his face just enough to see his still sour expression. That man works too hard and cares too much for his own good sometimes. 

He takes a sip from the whiskey bottle, the flames now illuminating along the length of his neck. The beer bottle in my hand momentarily forgotten, my fingers gracing up and down the neck absent-mindedly as I watched him. He’s a bear of a man, a Grizzly if I was to be specific. Large, imposing and with the ability to strike fear in the heart of any man with the growl in his voice. A brute when he needed to be but a gentle soul when he wanted to be. Like he was with me unless we both desired the former.

I watched as he nodded his head along with the song, then when he laughed at whatever Charles said to him. I watched as his eyes scanned the group around him before landing on me, giving a light smile as he found my eyes were on him already. A smile I gladly returned. 

His gaze didn't falter, so I decided to give him something more to keep his attention on me. 

With the girls still chatting away beside me, something about us girls needing to initiate a job or two and let the men lay back and relax while we took the reins for once, I placed my almost empty bottle across the table to draw his eyes to it. My fingers returning to the neck to delicately stroke up and down. 

My eyes flicked down to the bottle then back to him, giving off the sense that I was perhaps thirsty for something else. 

He straightened his posture as my hand gripped the neck and was that his breath I heard hitch from all the way over here?

I turned my attention back to the bottle, keeping the slow pace as I glided my hand to the base and then back up to the tip of the neck, tilting my head to the side as if the glass was deserving of the attention I was giving it. Allowing a few more glides when I glanced back at him through my lashes. His brows furrowed, he began to fidget where he was sat, a fire now burning in his eyes. But not burning hot enough...I accept the challenge. 

My eyes remained locked with his as I loosened my grip, my fingers returning to the neck, my thumb gracing the tip in circular motions. 

The light from the fire is just enough to see him gulp and the grip on his bottle so tight I was surprised it hadn’t shattered under the pressure.

With a sultry smile, I lift the bottle to my lips to take a drink, the warm liquid coating my throat barely even an afterthought.  

I lick my lips as I stare at the bottleneck and despite nothing being spilt, with another smile I press my tongue to the bottom of the neck, trailing it up to the tip. Well, it would be a shame to waste even a drop. 

I heard the footsteps before I could register that he even moved from his place by the fire. Not even bothering to approach he kept his eyes on me as he stormed his way towards the house. The fire in his eyes burning like the centre of a giant star, caving under pressure only to inevitably burst into a supernova.

Not long after he was out of sight I got up to follow, chugging the rest of the warm beer and discarding the bottle beside me. I made sure to take my time as I rounded the house and made my way up the steps to the building’s doors. Tucking back a few stray hairs and readjusting my dress shirt, undoing another button. The heat truly is getting to me tonight. 

The steps up to the second floor creaked under my weight, echoing in the otherwise quiet house.

His door was slightly ajar. The lantern and moonlight illuminating the space within just enough. 

I knocked not even waiting for a reply before I walked in. His back was turned, shoulders tensed as he looked out of the shattered window. The slight breeze it let in a welcoming one.

Opening my mouth to break the silence I was quickly hushed when he turned, taking two steps before he was above me, my back hitting the closed door with a resounding thud.

His laboured breaths fanning across my face as his hands came to rest on the door at either side of my head, caging me in. His eyes engulfed in lust and rage.

“You think ya bein’ funny, princess?” he growled. The deep vibrations in his voice sending a spark down my spine.

I kept my eyes locked on his, presenting an innocent smile “I’m afraid I don't know what you are talking about.” 

“Ya know very well. After the day I’ve had I don’t have the patience for your teasing.”

I smiled up at him again. I’ve won the race, but not the challenge.

His hand moved to the base of my neck, thumb tracing over my throat with a slight pressure that couldn’t be ignored.

“Mr Morgan…” I tilted my hips out to meet his. His desire evident, “...would I ever?”

His hands were on me in a flash, pulling me towards the table beside us. The boxes of ammunition swept to the floor in one movement before he was lifting me onto the surface, hands pulling my skirt till it was bunched up at my waist. He stood there between my open legs, palms burning into the supple flesh of my thighs as they travelled higher and higher. Eyes now fixed on the exposed skin below my clavicles. 

“Do ya have any idea what ya do to me?” His eyes moved to my neck, then my lips, before locking with my own. Our heightened breaths the only noise filling the space around us. 

That spark travelling down my spine now back with a vengeance, landing straight to my core with a jolt. 

I breathed deeply to steady my voice. 

Hand racing out for his belt to pull him forwards to feel just what he might be talking about. I wanted - needed - all of him. 

“Why don’t you show me?” I whispered, then his mouth was on my neck, biting, sucking, soothing. Leaving his mark. My head tilting back as a quiet moan escaped me.

His hands travelling further up my thighs as my hands hastily began to unbuckle his belt, the both of us unable to waste any more time.

Indeed I have won the challenge.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x fem #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 smut

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs of the gods in the wind. 

(Loosely inspired by ‘Your Name’, aka Kimi No Nawa, featuring Haikyuu’s own pretty Tokyo boy)

Wordcount: 3.5k

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s rare to see young men like you buying flowers for their mother’, the florist comments offhand as she wraps his order of yellow chrysanthemums in paper. 

Akaashi smiles, accustomed to the friendly florist by now. ‘I guess I’ve always had a partiality for flowers’, waving to the florist as he leaves to head to Shibuya to meet Bokuto for Izakaya. He’s running late, but Bokuto doesn't mind, hooting good naturedly at the comedy show playing on the television in the rundown bar. 

‘Agaaaashi, you made it!’ Bokuto rises from his seat to give him a jovial fist bump. 

‘Of course I did’, he responds dryly. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from my appointment with you’. He spends most of dinner listening to Bokuto’s recent exploits both with the national team and MSBY. Excitement still sparkles in the older man’s eyes as he recounts each and every match he’s played in, and Akaashi idly wonders how it is that Bokuto seems to have managed to pack on even more muscle in the short span of a month, the last time they met up was to see Bokuto off at the airport for the World Cup. 

‘You should have continued playing volleyball in university’, Bokuto crows in between mouthfuls of yakiniku and beer and Akaashi shakes his head at the refrain he’s so used to hearing from his senpai.

‘I wouldn’t be able to maintain my grades if I wanted to take volleyball seriously in university, plus there’s no guarantee I’d even get off the bench’, he answers self-effacingly. 

‘But you have the best tosses, Akaaaaaashi!!’ Bokuto declares, his words slightly slurred, and Akaashi wonders if he should start to inch Bokuto’s beer away from him. After consuming far too much barbecued meat (Bokuto took the liberty of ordering twice of what Akaashi would normally order, waving his protests off by stating grandly that he’ll take care of the bill, he’s the one working after all!), Bokuto slips into a food-drunk stupor, happy to listen to his anecdotes of university life, and he takes the chance to ramble on about his advanced Japanese classical literature course that he finds far more fascinating than his class on modern literature to his best friend. 

They stumble out of the izakaya when the line outside grows far too long to be ignored, Bokuto draping a heavy arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, the red tint on the tips of his ears betraying his slightly tipsy state. As they stand at the traffic light patiently waiting for the light to change from red to green, Bokuto turns to him and grasps his shoulders in his large, warm hands. 

‘I’m really proud to have you as a friend, Akaashi’, Bokuto tells him seriously. ‘And I’m going to prove to you that I can be the best ace so you can be proud of me too’. The molten gold glimmering in Bokuto’s gaze fills him with far more warmth than any alcohol could possibly achieve. 

‘I’m already proud of you, Bokuto-san’, he answers, his earnestness resounding in every word of his short declaration. Bokuto beams at him in response and bounds across the pedestrian walkway in approximately three strides, ignoring Akaashi’s chiding to ‘look before you cross the road, even if you have the right of way!’

Many things may have changed since high school, but some things still stay the same.  

His dreams take a strange turn that night.

He’s back in the Fukurodani gym with his teammates, but it’s not accurate to say he’s with them - rather, he’s watching his past self from afar, seated on the bench, a wrist guard on his right arm. He doesn’t remember ever injuring himself enough to warrant a wrist guard at any point during his high school volleyball career, but it’s probably just another oddity of being in a dream.  

‘I wish your wrist was feeling better, Akaashi. I miss your tosses already’, the pout in Bokuto’s voice pronounced.

‘It’s just for a while - I’ll be right as rain tomorrow!’ he hears himself say cheerfully - but that doesn’t make sense either. No one in their right mind has ever described the way he speaks as cheerful, and the rest of his teammates glance over at him curiously. Then his past self awkwardly tucks his legs under the bench, ankles crossed almost as if he’d like nothing better than to fold himself away with all the cloth vests they use for practice – but that doesn’t make sense either, he doesn’t even know why he’s behaving like some fish out of water. While volleyball doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to someone like Bokuto-san, and there are times he feels like he’s struggling to swim upstream, his fingers still itch to toss a ball up into the sky in a perfect arc even now. 

‘I told you, I don’t get what you insist on waxing lyrical on him being a star you can’t help but follow,’ he hears her voice chime in his consciousness, inexplicable though her presence in this scene may be, he hears himself answer - ‘just be patient and watch’. 

Anahori, their substitute setter tosses the ball up in the air and it’s a good toss, he will give him that, but it’s still not quite as high a toss that Bokuto likes. Bokuto runs right up to the net to leap into the air, back arching to slam the ball to the ground with such force that it’s a commanding full stop punctuating any doubts about his place on the team as its captain and ace. 

‘You see! When he plays well, he's like a supernova, shining with a light so bright it almost blinds my eyes.’

‘Waxing lyrical again, Keiji-kun?’ He can hear her tease him gently. ‘Go on, carry on with your celestial metaphors’.

‘How about a shooting star then’, he replies, amused. ‘If a shooting star shot up from the earth instead of falling from the sky.’ 

‘You sound like you like the guy. Are you sure you don’t?’ She asks. ‘You sure sound like you do.’

What?!

His legs are tangled in his sheets when he thrashes awake, mouth open in a gasp for air. That was a new twist in his collection of dreams, the first time he’s dreamt of something other than that phantom girl’s life in months, but even when the dreamscape doesn’t even feature her, she still manages to invade his dream. 

Worse - his dreams are now edging into territory he hasn’t mapped out in years. His teenage infatuation with Bokuto-san died a natural death after he realised that he’d mistaken his admiration for the ace for romantic feelings. Besides, there was no way Bokuto-san would ever be in love with him, not when he’d chosen to devote the next decade of his life to his sport. So why are his dreams dragging him deeper into a labyrinth of memories that aren’t even his own?

‘Why are you squandering my pocket money in a maid café of all things’ he says, sounding uncharacteristically put out. But then again he would be annoyed if anyone managed to drag him into the pink and white monstrosity his dream has deposited him into.

Bokuto’s happily seated across from him (or rather, his past self), exclaiming ‘ooh - isn’t the ketchup art on this omurice amazing, Akaashi? They managed to capture my hair so well!’, and to his horror his past self nods encouragingly and only laughs when Bokuto whines about not wanting to destroy this ‘piece of art the maids took so much time to create’ by eating the damn omurice. 

‘Don’t be such a killjoy, Keiji-kun’, she giggles. ‘Look at him, he’s having such fun, and besides, your day will reset so your money won’t be wasted anyway!’. 

Bokuto, distracted by the catchy beat of the J-pop song blasting over the speakers, is cajoled by a trio of pretty maids to join them on stage to dance along with them. He pops his hips to the beat of the music, throwing up cheesy hand signals with such gusto that it makes him (yes, present day Keiji) want to smile. 

But his past self evidently hasn’t lightened up yet, because he hears himself say crossly – ‘You do realise this is a waste of time when we could be doing something more useful like homework, especially since  Bokuto-san and I already spend most of our time training?’

‘Oh Keiji-kun, life is too short to be spent worrying like that. Because before you know it, you’ll grow into an old man who doesn’t know how to have any fun’.

‘I have fun’, he says petulantly, a faint sulk in his voice. 

‘Oh really? Then stop worrying and live a little. Maybe you should take a leaf out of your beloved Bokuto-san’s book – look how much fun he’s having!’

Bokuto clearly seems to be having the time of his life because now he’s prancing around the stage playing some silly game with the maids. 

‘I told you, I don’t think of him that way.’

‘And I’ve told you I’ve borrowed your skin for far too long to know when you’re not telling me the whole truth, Keiji-kun’, she sing-songs. ‘You wished for more time with him, didn’t you, so aren’t I doing a good deed by helping you figure out what Bokuto might like to do with you?’

‘Bokuto-san doesn’t have spare time on these things – and you’re just making an excuse to explore cafes in Tokyo at my expense!’ 

‘Two birds, one stone. Don’t be pedantic, Keiji-kun!’ 

The next time he’s back in one of those dreams, he finds his past self dressed in a blue yukata along the Sumida river, tugging Bokuto away from the takoyaki store. He remembers Bokuto dragging him away from the rest of the team on a quest to buy some snacks at the food stalls set up around the park, insisting that his stomach’s growling too loudly to wait until the fireworks display is over ‘come on, even you can hear my stomach at this rate, Akaaashi!!!’ – but that’s where the dream starts to diverge. 

‘If you queue for takoyaki, we’re going to miss the fireworks, and you don’t want to miss that, do you Bokuto-san?’ he says, hand firmly on Bokuto’s yukata sleeve. 

‘That’s right! But shouldn’t we join the rest of the team? They’ve got a spot by the river just over there!’ 

‘We won’t get there in time with this crowd – come on! If we hurry, I know the perfect spot to watch the display’, weaving his way through the crowd to shimmy up the trunk of a tree and settle himself comfortably against a large branch. 

‘Woah – Akaashi! I never knew you could climb trees!’ Bokuto calls, sounding impressed.

‘Well, don’t stand there, come join me!’ 

The tree creaks ominously as the larger boy scales its trunk, branches already heavy with red lanterns groaning in protest as he settles himself in the branch opposite Akaashi. And not a moment too soon, because a collective gasp ripples through the crowd along the river as the night sky explodes into rainbow hued fiery streaks.

‘It’s amazing, Akaashi!’ Bokuto hollers with his face tilted up to the sky. 

‘You’re amazing, Bokuto-san’, he says fondly, reaching over to bump Bokuto’s shoulder with his fist and the older boy beams at him, the sheer delight in his smile brighter than the fireworks in the sky. There is a sea of stars in his eyes, and Akaashi wants to shrivel in shame at the way his younger self looks like he’s mentally planning to pirate a boat to cross the straits to Bokuto’s heart. 

‘There is no way I’m going to do that’ he hears himself say, sounding mildly cross. 

‘Eh – it’s cute. ‘sides, doesn’t he look so happy’ he hears her say, sounding overly chipper. 

‘You could spend your time instead learning how to play so Bokuto-san won’t pout when you sit out of practice and you wouldn’t have to pretend you sprain your wrist every time we swap.’

‘Are you mad? Do you really think they won’t think something’s up when I can’t even do a simple serve?’ 

‘Fine. You have a point’, he answers begrudgingly. 

‘Of course I do. Come on Keiji, live a little. Enjoy your time with the lodestar of your life’.

‘Can you not say things like that?’ he says dryly. 

‘It’s your fault for reading so much Shakespeare to me!’ she replies with a grin in her voice.

He texts Bokuto the minute he wakes up. ‘Bokuto-san, apologies if this seems weird, but do you remember if we ever climbed a tree when we watched fireworks with our team?’ 

Bokuto takes a while to respond, but that’s to be expected, it’s his mornings are usually filled with practice and conditioning. But when he does respond, his text makes Akaashi’s brow curl. ‘Nope, but sounds fun! What’s up Akaashi!!’ 

Akaashi drops his head in his palms. Good to know he’s not losing his grip on reality at least. 

But his sleep for the following weeks continues to be filled with dreams in the same vein. 

He dreams of scenes that have never taken place in real life - him challenging Bokuto-san to ramen eating competition, the older boy winning handily of course, crowing like a child when he slurps the last mouthful of tonkatsu broth - ‘eh Akaashi, eat faster!’, him dragging Bokuto-san to the arcade near school, demolishing middle schoolers in endless games of dance dance revolution (there is no way he is actually able to move like that in real life) and losing far too much money in claw games - ‘Akaashi I really want that toy pleaseeee’ - and even he would admit it’s absolutely adorable if not for the fact that he can’t explain why these dreams keep invading his head like a wildfire that refuses to die. 

‘I honestly don’t understand you’, she says and again, why on earth is she in this set of dreams - she doesn’t belong in them -

‘What exactly do you not understand?’

‘If you like him that much, why aren’t you jumping at the chance to hang out with him? All you do is nag me about how I’m wasting his time, I’m wasting your time, but I don’t understand -  isn’t time meant to be spent on the people you love? Unless you’re confusing love with admiration, because yes, I get that you admire his talent, but you don’t seem to have all that much patience for spending time with him outside of school.’ 

‘I suppose I do like him, but…’

‘Finally you admit it, but I don’t like the sound of that word.’ 

‘It’s nothing’, he finally says, and she huffs in annoyance, clearly wanting him to explain but he stubbornly refuses to say another word. 

His past self is skidding down the hallway with Bokuto hot on his heels yelling ‘Akaaashiii you owe me a Yakisoba bunnnnn’ when he hears an almighty crash behind him. As he spins around, Bokuto’s sprawled on the floor, papers and books scattered around him. The older boy grimaces as he sits up, grabbing at his ankle in pain. 

‘Bokuto-san, are you ok?’ he cries, running back towards the older boy. 

‘I might have twisted my ankle. Argh this is bad - prelims are just next week!’ Bokuto groans, clutching at his ankle desperately. 

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine tomorrow, trust me’, his past self says with complete certainty, and flags down a passing student to call for a teacher. 

‘Look what you’ve done now. Are you happy with yourself?’ he hears himself say accusingly. ‘Everything might reset tomorrow, but look - he’s hurt himself today. Is this what you’ve been trying to prove to me?’ 

‘I’m sorry, Keiji’ he hears her say, her voice watery. ‘I didn’t think -’ 

‘Of course you didn’t, you never think about the consequences of your actions, do you?’ he says, glass shards in his words. 

His dream fades to black. He never hears her answer. 

His sleep remains relatively undisturbed for the next fortnight, just in time for his mid-term exams which he aces, even his course on classical Japanese literature. He’s relieved of course, because his final year grades matter most when it comes to recruitment, yet there’s a part of him that’s buried deep between ventricles and pumping flesh that childishly wonders what his dreams are going to show him next.

His wish is answered when he opens his eyes to an ocean of stars, white pinpricks of light against the vast tapestry of the purple night sky. His head is pillowed on tufts of grass and the wind whispers against his feet.

The sight takes his breath away. 

He’s a born and bred city boy, and he knows from experience it’s near impossible to see stars in the city sky amidst light pollution and masquerading satellites.  

‘Is this your way of apologising?’ he asks, his voice wry. 

‘Is it working yet?’ he hears her ask, an uncharacteristically timid note in her voice. He laughs, a fond sound, and he can hear her huff a breath through her mouth. ‘I am sorry though, Keiji. I never meant to hurt him’. 

‘It’s fine, no damage done. Besides, I was thinking about what you said.’

‘Me? About what? I know I’ve said plenty to you so far’, she says curiously. 

‘About Bokuto-san’, he supplies, and she stays silent, waiting for him to go on. The stars twinkle down at him, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine the galaxy reaching down to lend him its infinite strength. ‘You were right about how…I felt about Bokuto-san. I thought what I felt for him was something more than it really was - now I’m starting to realise I just admire his strength, and I don’t see our paths ever converging, especially if he’s going to chase his dreams of going pro all the way’. 

‘You don’t have to chase someone else’s light when you’re brilliant in your own right’, she says gently. 

‘Thanks’, he answers thickly, as if the word feels a little awkward in his mouth. 

‘So -’ she pipes up, and he can tell she’s trying her best to paper over the sudden lapse of silence. ‘Will you tell me stories about the stars, Keiji?’

He laughs fondly, raising a hand to catch the stardust from the sparkling constellations overhead. ‘I could tell you the story of Andromeda, chained to rocks as a sacrifice to satisfy the cruel demands of the sea monster?’ 

‘Ugh no gory stories, I want a happy ending!’ 

‘It has a happy ending, I promise. Just be patient and listen, okay?’ 

Akaashi wakes up before his past self can finish telling the tale of Persues’ rescue of Andromeda from the jaws of defeat. It’s barely three in the morning, but he knows it’s futile to try to go back to sleep. He wanders to the window, and wonders whether the lone star hanging in the cloudy sky is merely a satellite in disguise. 

Against his better judgment, he dials Bokuto’s number. 

‘What’s up, Akaashi!’ he hears the older man mumble sleepily, sheets rustling. 

‘Was it obvious I had a crush on you in high school?’ he asks plainly. If seeking closure is what he needs to end this slew of dreams, then he’s going to do it, never mind the embarrassment thick in the blood in his veins.

‘Huh?’ 

Akaashi’s pretty sure he can hear Bokuto blink rapidly. ‘A crush on you’, he repeats, and for good measure he adds - ‘sometime in your third year of high school’. 

‘Ehhhh…’ Bokuto’s voice trails off over the phone. ‘You did?’ 

The sigh that trips out of Akaashi’s mouth is worn, weary. ‘I did’, he confirms, embarrassment writhing in his belly. 

‘But you stopped right? Just before I graduated? You started becoming distracted after Spring High and I thought you were just worrying about university entrance exams.’

‘I suppose.’ And Akaashi should really get a grip on himself but his dreams have been doing a number on him so to his horror, he starts to ramble. ’ It’s probably the lack of sleep, but look - this sounds really stupid but I was having a lot of really weird dreams and I don’t understand what’s happening but I’m hoping getting this off my chest helps me get some more sleep and I hope you don’t think I’m completely weird and don’t mind still being my friend -’

‘Woah, ‘kaashi, slow down! You’re overthinking again - what, you think I’m not going to be your friend anymore?’ Bokuto booms, laughing widely. 

‘Uh. I don’t know?’ 

‘Relax! I’m flattered, but I think it’s a good thing we never went out! You were already so stressed dealing with me in high school Washio used to joke about your hair falling out, but I’ve changed! Now I’m just an ordinary ace!’ 

‘Bokuto-san, I don’t think anyone would call you ordinary’, Akaashi interjects, rubbing circles against his temple. 

‘You know what I mean!’ Bokuto laughs, the sound so round and boisterous that it makes Akaashi quirk his lips up in affection. 

‘Yes, Bokuto-san. Anyway, sorry for disturbing your sleep.’ 

‘Anytime, Akaashi!’ They bid each other goodnight, and the relief he feels after the call settles on his chest like a blanket, and he falls back to sleep. 

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official

#akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x y/n #akaashi keiji #haikyuu angst #haikyuu!! #hq #haikyuu imagines #haikyuucreations #haikyuu romance #haikyuu headcanons #hq imagines #hq fluff #haikyuu fic rec #fukurodani #kimi no nawa #your name

[supernova-variations]

12th Doctor, Embracing the essence of chaos

(not my gif!)

12th Doctor x reader

warnings: none! fluff in its purest form x wordcount: 500 request: reader dancing with the 12th doctor A/N: wrote this for my friend, who loves to challenge me. she pointed out that i’ve never written anything for the 12th doctor. so here i come with the fluff. enjoy! xx

PS. my friend also wants me to write a series of fluffy 12th doctor imagines. would any of you be up to it? let me know!

“Embracing the essence of chaos.”

„Come on, put one hand on my waist.” Y/N cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the expression of amusement that was lifting the corner of her eyes upwards.

“Why would I do that.” The Doctor was confused, resting his cold-green eyes on the figure of the companion, brows furrowed. It wasn’t even a question that has escaped his mouth, it was more of a confused statement in the tone similar to why-would-you-make-me-do-this-human.

“Because that’s how you dance.” She brought one hand to her mouth to stop the oncoming laugh forming on her lips. “You told me you could dance, moreover, you promised to dance with me.” The girl’s finger poked his jacket-clothed chest.

“Don’t you, humans, dance without touching nowadays?” The bewilderment in his voice, dripping with a Scottish accent, made the situation even funnier than it already was. “You and your clubs, waving your arms like a bunch of monkeys,” he went on and demonstrated a couple of jerky movements that resembled something more of a drunken giraffe than actual dance movements.

“Oh, that’s something I will imprint in my memory, but no.” She couldn’t stop the laughter any longer. “Come closer.” Y/N’s eyes burned with determination, hands resting at her hips provocatively.

“But there’s no music.” The Time Lord’s face was dead serious, which gave Y/N an impression that he wasn’t trying to turn her attention towards something else, but was genuinely confused. He tore his fingers through his curly, wild hair.

“We don’t need music. We have the TARDIS,” she smiled, looking up at the dark ceiling, glowing softly with tiny lights, like stars dipped into the Supernova. The time machine’s humming always reminded her of a waltz tempo. When she laid her eyes on him again, she took a step forwards and gently grabbed his fragile, almost overworked, tender fingers. “I’ll put your hand in mine and place the other on my waist, okay?” She asked while examining the blush that has emerged on the Time Lord’s cheeks, contrasting sharply with the silver of his hair. He didn’t flinch, however, which was a good sing.

“Dancing is just another way to hide your face,” he accused her, remembering all the unsuccessful hugging attempts.

“No,” she laughed softly, “I want you to look at me.” She wanted to look into his eyes. See all the years and lives he has experienced before. Sparkles, fire and snow dancing in the green of the Time Lord’s irises.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re beautiful. And I love to see the kindness inside your eyes.” She said and took the first step of the waltz. And by God, she didn’t even realize how much the Doctor needed to hear that.

“This is going to end in a disaster.” The Doctor fixed his eyes on her, taking in the innocent and mesmerizing way in which his companion curled her lips.

“How very optimistic of you, Doctor.”

In the presence of Y/N, his eyes truly glowed. They waltzed, and together, they embraced the essence of chaos.

#12th doctor x reader #12th doctor/you #reader insert #twelfth doctor #twelfth doctor x reader #twelfth doctor imagine #12th doctor #doctor x reader #doctor who #doctor who oneshot #doctor who imagine #dw #dw imagine #dw oneshot

[helveticabrown]

Hi! I love your writing and just wanted to ask if you want to continue Emmatropia someday? Or is it abandoned?

Hello nonnie. I freely admit that I am hopeless and according to the save data on my WIP file, the last time I worked on it was March 31 this year. And in between then and now I've written 2 Supernova fics that add up to about 5 times the current wordcount of Emmatropia (which I started 5 years ago).

All of this is to say that no I have not abandoned it (despite appearances) and yes I am a writer who thrives on a deadline. To that end, I will publicly announce an artificial deadline of December 31 this year to finish writing. Please feel free to come back and harangue me in the meantime to assist me with my productivity.

[cat-soda]

(please, oh please) just throw it all away

Near and Mello are two halves of a whole disaster waiting to happen.

Pairings: meronia, slight lindaxmatt

Wordcount: 760

Warnings for: hanahaki disease, hurt no comfort, angst

[AO3 Link]

The orphans of Wammy’s House whisper amongst themselves as Roger and Near return from the hospital; Roger is haggard-looking with bags under his eyes, and Near is pale and blinking slowly. Not an altogether unusual sight, but one that brings Linda barreling down the steps like some kind of freight train anyways.

Or, at least, that’s what it looks like from the second story window, where Mello is watching the proceedings.

“Did you want to go greet him?” asks Matt. His gaze is firmly set on his GameBoy, but his fingers are paused, hovering over the buttons.

Don’t you want to go greet him, Mello?

Linda wraps her arms around Near gingerly, not wanting to break whatever it is about him they’ve just fixed, and Near, sluggishly, brings his own up to pat her on the back. He says something to her and she pulls back, smiling. Near responds with a smile of his own, small but genuine. Present. Mello’s finger ta-ta-taps against the windowsill. “Why would I wanna do that?”

Matt finally glances over, eyes half-mast. “Gee, I wonder.”

Mello glares, but Matt’s already turned his focus back to his game, and when he looks back out the window, Near and the rest of the procession have reentered the building. He rolls his eyes, then sharply closes the blinds.

—

The thing is that Matt has this habit of encrypting and scrambling rumors and secrets behind his playful tone, behind the blue light shining off his goggles, his gardening-glove-clad hands. He keeps it all hidden away, except for the one thing that’s mostly an open secret by now: that Near and Mello are two halves of a whole disaster waiting to happen.

Linda puts it differently. She argues, instead —with dark pencil sketches and decisive, unflinching strokes of her paintbrush— that it’d look something more like a supernova, whatever it is that those two will make. They circle each other like stars. Duh, she adds.  

Stars don’t do that, though, he points out.

Ever heard of poetry? she shoots back, then goes flustered when Matt smiles at her like daybreak.

What is not a secret, nor a hushed rumor, nor whispered in the halls —rather, it’s openly gawked at, gossiped about, and “did you hear? did you hear?”— Pkah and Key and Rose and Fuel and, yes, Matt and Linda, too— they all notice when Near stops returning Mello’s glances.

—

“So hey,” says Mello, because they’re partnered together for a project and, with Near having been stuck in the hospital, it was obvious that they needed to make up for lost time. That is what he’s telling himself when he catches Near by the shoulder and turns the other boy around. He stops, though, at the way Near’s gaze meets his, searching, uncertain —what reason would Near have to ever feel uncertain? — before blinking.

“Oh.” Near tilts his head, and his white-haired fringe falls into charcoal-colored eyes. Unrelenting and inquisitive, the stare almost makes Mello flinch. “You must be Mello.”

And what the hell is that supposed to mean?

—

Well.

Here’s a picture: Near sitting with his back against the wall, and his dorm room bathed in the light of a dying sunset. He clutches bloody edelweiss tight in small, pale fists, and whispers to himself, over and over, “I will not die, I will not die, I will not die for someone who does not love me back.”

—

It’d be easy to put the pieces together, if Mello could think, or take a steady breath, or do something other than focus on the scar that mars Near’s chest. “It’s a clever procedure,” says Near, matter-of-fact. “Minimally invasive and highly efficient.”

Mello feels a tickling start at the back of his squeezed-shut throat. He coughs to clear it. Near quietly redoes the top three buttons of his shirt.

They look at each other.

Near does his curious “Near”-like half-smile. “I suppose introductions are in order?”

And Mello can’t explain the disgust that wells up in him in that moment. Just that it makes his stomach roil with nausea, just that it chokes him from the inside-out, just that it soaks his tongue in poison as he spits, “Go fuck yourself.”

(He can't bring himself to say much else.)

—

Later finds Mello holding a fistful of white violets in his hands, the petals limp with saliva. Moonlight and Matt’s concerned shouting fill the room, and Mello leans his head back against the wall; when he laughs, the sound is hollow, bitter.

—

.

.

.

Near and Mello have matching scars on their chests.

---

a/n: uh. so i may have gone overboard with the purple prose ;; sorry

hanahaki is a really interesting concept!! i think its mostly about perceived unrequited love, and a lot of people write really beautiful and creative things with it,,, it does seem that no one can really decide what the surgery does besides that It's Bad so. for the purposes of this fic, i went with the surgery causing you to lose all memories of that loved one, yep yep.

i'm not used to writing angst, so it was really challenging to try to get those impactful, emotional lines without having them sound too hammy haha!! this was also a different style of formatting/storytelling to me,,, i tried to get that "greyscale" feeling across, but lol... i do have more lighthearted meronia in the works (i also have a near-centric bachelor au with near as --you guessed it!!-- the nation's hottest new bachelor LMAO), so pls look forward to them!! (i'm really slow at writing tho orz) ...anyways i hope you all enjoyed!! pls lemme know what you think, if you can, and have an absolutely groovy day!!! byeeee

oh btw the title is from juby's cover of patchwork staccato!! i also really recommend listening to jefferz's cover ft. k*chan as well as lambia's cover!!! (and for funsies, another cover by McKatherine ft. kagamine rin, aka the love of my life and another by Epiaeon ft. all of miku's voicebanks haha)

#death note #meronia #mihael keehl #nate river #mello death note #near death note #mail jeevas #matt death note #linda death note #my writing #dn #hanahaki disease

[behot]

turn to hate

Character: Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Pairings: none

Rating: pg-13

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, dark/heavy themes, description of self-hatred, emotional repression

a/n: listen idk what else to warn y’all it’s some blurbs about inquisitor!Cal’s experience with the darkside, falling deeper into the dark. His unhealthy reactions to unhealthy situations, it’s not a feel good fic its a Deep Thoughts and How Do Emotions Work fic. Character study for Calquisitor. It’s also my first fic here, so any thoughts or responses would be appreciated! Let me know if I need to add anything to the warnings

Title song: Turn to Hate - Orville Peck

MASTERLIST

He wondered how he ended up like this.

The fortress and Bracca were eerily the same. Scrapper or inquisitor, neither was better or worse. Why was he always tearing apart his past with his own hands?

Anger wasn’t very different from the fear that kept him motivated before. Both kept him moving when it felt like nothing was left, lit a fire in his core that kept him running. Anger was a comfort, and was better than the misery that would swallow him whole if he ever stopped to breathe. So he kept his head underwater, where what he had done was muffled, as he sank lower and lower.

Hatred was easy when he hated himself. Manic energy was better than the guilt and hopelessness that promised to tear him apart if he ever stopped. So he trained and trained, until the red of his lightsaber stopped reminding him of the blood on his hands. He cut down countless droids until he was cutting down troopers. He trained until the arena walls stopped blurring with the white of another practice arena (one from a ship that used to float above Bracca), and until he could use the force without it tearing him up inside and out. It burned, but he couldn’t stop. Even if his path promised nothing but his own destruction.

.

The Second Sister liked to gloat about her success in bringing him in and breaking him down. When she was particularly haughty, she would brag as such to him.

“Look at what you have become, pup. Look how far you’ve fallen since I dragged you down.”

She never treated it like a good thing, her breaking him down and keeping the pieces. At least she had the decency to never act like she raised him up, instead that she dragged him down with her to drown.

A real fallen angel.

“It took so long to teach you some obedience, but here you are. You became the very thing you once swore to destroy!”

Cal sneered and reached for his lightsaber, but she was quick to grab his arm.

“Ah. Not so fast, mutt.” Her fingers clamped a bruising grip as she tightened her hold. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you if you have nowhere else to go.”

Her yellow eyes bore into his, almost begging for a confrontation. Goading him to strike at her, and lose everything. Instead, he tore his arm out of her grasp, and bowed his head.

He couldn’t see it, but he was sure she was grinning.

“Good boy. You were once so persistent. I’m glad to have beaten that out of you, too.”

Shame brushed his limbs, swirled in the air. Maybe he’d have proven her wrong, not so long ago. Maybe, in another life, he would have left her abusive hands and turned against the Empire again. 

Maybe, in another life, he never joined the Empire at all. 

But this time, all he could do was turn his heel and walk away, rage burning in his chest until he could taste smoke on his tongue. It only burned hotter as he realized that this was exactly what she wanted.

Above water was who he once was but he had nowhere to go but down. As if rocks were tied to his ankles, he was sinking deeper, deeper, deeper. It was a real paradox, unable to stop burning as he drowned under the water. 

Unlike the fallen angels, he never had a choice.

.

Whenever Cal looked into a mirror, it always felt like his reflection was mocking him. Like he was an impostor in his own life, acting the role he was given until he had to believe it himself. He didn’t know who he really was, but his reflection always did.

He woke up restless, plagued by dreams that weren’t quite nightmares (memories, something inside him whispered, of a city that stretched across an entire planet and soft brown robes that kept him warm), and he went to his refresher. There, he cupped his hands and drank water from the faucet until he felt a little more real, and peered at his reflection.

Yellow eyes stared back and reminded him of who he was, what he had become. They always taunted him, mocking his failures, his falling. Failing his master, failing Prauf, Cere. All he ever did was fail those he cared about the most. Failed to protect them, and failed to live up to what they fought for. 

He stared into those yellow eyes, and for a split second he remembered blue ones instead.

Anger shot through him - from the feeling of longing he felt of who he once was, from the disgust of who he had become, he couldn’t tell - and glass shattered with the force of his palm. The counter table cracked under his grip. He didn’t realize what he’d done until his blood smeared across the marble. 

All you could ever do was destroy. How perfect you must fit in here.

The spark of anger was gone, extinguished by whatever emotion filled his lungs and tightened his throat. He couldn’t ignite his anger again when such misery put out the flames, so instead he hung his head and he cried.

.

Cal looked outside the viewport with little interest. In contrast to the deep blacks and dark reds that decorated the room, the explosion outside was ridiculously bright and colorful. Blinding white and yellow, with shocks of green and blue. 

Supernovae used to intrigue him as a youngling, his innocence and youth finding awe at the phenomena. Something that was destined in the force to happen, something so massive in such a large galaxy, and he was there to witness it. To see a single star collapse, and then explode outward into something much larger than it once was.

Now, however, he didn’t see much wonder. 

It was just another moment in a galaxy full of stars that would all explode eventually. Full of stars that explode every rotation. 

The door behind him slid open, but he didn’t have to turn around to see who had entered. The Second Sisters reflection was easily seen in the viewport reflection, and she took a moment to stand there before removing her helmet and moving beside him.

“Inspiring, isn’t it?” She seemed to ponder, and Cal tried not to scowl. “A star, celestial and larger than life, one that has burned bright for millennia. Long enough to see more than one empire rise and fall.”

She should watch her mouth. Such a statement could easily be taken as a sign of treason, of deflection.

“A star that probably provided life. A point of light in a sky of darkness.” Something unpleasant settled in Cal’s stomach, churning at her words. “Yet, as the force has willed it, it’s doom is inevitable. It burns only to burn itself out, and collapse when all fuel is gone.”

She grinned at his reflection, and he made a point to look away from hers and focus on the sight in front of him. He tried very hard to find interest in a certain tendril of gas, watching as it slowly changed shades of red as it dispersed into nothingness. It didn’t stop her from talking.

“And so it has one final, valiant show of life. Something that has lived a life so large, so unstable, that there’s no other way it could go out of the galaxy. And when the dust settles, new stars begin to form, and the cycle continues. Again and again.”

There’s a terrible feeling that crawls up Cal’s spine, joining the weight in his stomach. The Second Sister’s eyes fixed on the supernova with an odd amount of glee.

“But sometimes, like a phoenix, out of the ashes rises something greater. Something far more powerful. For even a star, with the pull of it’s light, cannot match the gravity of a black hole.”

Somewhere there, where the core of the star once was, light was bending and twisting. An insatiable vacuum that knew nothing but darkness; not even light could escape its pull. He could almost see it there in the colors, already sucking away at the remains.

The light will fall, as darkness demands.

“We are all luminous beings,” the Second Sister continues, turning to Cal and pressing her helmet against his chest. On autopilot, his hands come up to hold it. “And I cannot wait to see the fallout of the explosion you have created.”

Cal barely registers the sound of her footsteps, or the hiss of the door closing behind her. He looks into the empty eyes of her helmet, at his reflection in the dark, until he can’t stand the nausea bubbling up his throat. 

For a brief moment he considers throwing the helmet into the steel wall behind him. Let the satisfying feeling of everything she stood for shatter at his hands. Instead, he lets the helmet drop onto the floor, the clatter echoing with her words. 

He already knew the path that he was on. So why did her words make his hands shake, and make a panic rise that threatened to choke him? 

There’s an aftershock outside the viewport, another small burst of light adding more colors to the star’s grave. Maybe, in another lifetime, the graveyard turns into a nursery for new stars, creating light to fight the darkness. 

Maybe, in another lifetime, the star had never died at all. 

But this time, powerful and hungry, the black hole is just beginning to eat at the dust and the light, it’s gravity inevitable. And all Cal does is step over the dropped helmet and leave the lounge, not looking back. 

.

Sometimes he wondered if he should have tried to swim. If he even had a chance. The light gets smaller the farther he falls, darkness the only promise on the path he was dragged to. 

Did he ever have a choice?

#c: Cal Kestis #au: inquisitor cal #cal kestis #inquisitor cal #calquisitor #star wars #g: jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #sw #jfo #angst #cal kestis fic #idk what all to tag it isn't reader insert asddkfl #jedi fallen order fic #character analysis #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #behot #fic: cal kestis #black holes and revelations

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Good morning guys, I’m back on my bullshit (although that does imply that I was ever off my bullshit) and I’m coming out to dump some tooth-rotting fluff on y’all. I’m also coming out as trans, not here but irl. (I couldn’t resist the joke, okay? Although I am actually coming out as trans most places right now.)

Anyways! Enough of my rambles, I hope you guys enjoy this! (And read at your own risk, you stand to lose significant amounts of braincells from these idiots and their softness.)

Title: Even Dust Is Made Of Stars

Wordcount: 707

Summary: The Fabulous Four stargaze with Cherri Cola and learn some things about atoms and stars.

Warnings: Implied past character death, but nothing really too bad. This is seriously extremely fluffy.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Cherri Cola glanced away from the sky to look at the people next to him. “Did you know that we’re made of stars?”

Predictably, Party Poison groaned at him. “Shut the fuck up with your poetic shit, Pepsi.”

“My name is Cherri Cola. And I’m not being poetic, I’m being literal.”

“The fuck do you mean you’re being literal?” Fun Ghoul demanded. 

The Fabulous Four were currently sprawled across the roof of Dr. Death Defying’s radio station, listening to Cherri Cola tell stories and ramble on about the stars. Well, really, there were varying levels of ‘sprawled’ going on. Jet Star had almost managed to sit like a normal person, while Party Poison was draped over them exactly like a Victorian maiden fainting into the arms of her suitor. Kobra Kid was curled into a neat little ball precisely two feet from Cherri Cola, who had managed something akin to how an anime protagonist might sit on a promotional poster for the anime. And finally, Fun Ghoul was sprawled out like xe was sunbathing. 

“I mean I was being literal,” Cherri replied. “We are made of stars.” 

Jet Star looked mildly intrigued at that, even taking their eyes off Poison for a minute, while Ghoul just seemed incredulous. 

“You’re bullshitting us.”

Cherri shook his head. “Not bullshitting you. You know atoms?”

“No?”

He searched for a way to explain it. “Everything is made of tiny little particles called atoms, even you and me.”

“Bullshit,” Ghoul said instantly.

Poison snickered as Cherri sighed. “I promise I actually know what I’m talking about this one, if you’ll let me explain.”

“Go on,” Jet said quietly. “I want to hear.”

The rest of the Fabulous Killjoys quieted down at that, letting Cherri go on. “So atoms are these tiny particles, and there are different kinds, those are called elements, but we won’t go into that. But all atoms were formed inside stars, or at least the heavier ones were. Anyways. The atoms that make up our planet and everything on it were formed by stars and supernovas. So we’re quite literally made of stardust.”

“Bullshit,” Ghoul said again, but xe looked much more convinced than before.

Jet looked pensive, staring up at the stars. “That’s a lovely thought, don’t you think, Pois?”

“Mm. Yeah.” They snuggled closer. “You must have gotten extra stardust, Star.”

Cherri smiled softly at the adorable duo as Jet turned a lovely shade of red, visible even in the starlight.

Ghoul made an ‘ick’ face. “Kobes, what do you think? Is Cola right?”

“Yeah,” Kobra said thoughtfully. “I think so.”

“Still seems like he’s pulling our legs,” Ghoul huffed, and Cherri couldn’t resist a small laugh.

“I promise I’m not pulling your leg, Ghoul. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Hey, no dyin’, that’s illegal!” 

Poison almost fell off the roof laughing and Cherri snorted. “No dying for me, don’t worry. You’re all going to be stuck with my ‘poetic shit’ forever.”

That only made Poison laugh harder, to his slight disgruntlement, but Cherri could never stay grumpy at the younger ‘joys for long. Especially not when Jet shook their head and offered him an apologetic glance as Kobra and Poison launched into a debate over what constituted ‘poetic shit’. Their conclusion seemed to be that anything Cherri said qualified as at least somewhat poetic shit, which was sending Ghoul into hysterics. 

Cherri just sighed and tilted his head back to look at the stars, shining bright despite the light pollution of Battery City. He could still pick out the stars of Orion’s Belt, even all these years after his sister had first taught him how. While the memory was bittersweet still, it wasn’t quite so painful to remember in the gentle light of the stars. The twinkling lights reminded him of both love and loss, of all the people he had seen fall and all the happy moments they had lived. But most of all, they reminded him of the teenagers sprawled around him, burning brightly with spirit and strength.

Cherri Cola took his eyes off the sky to watch the four laugh and debate whose turn it would be to drive the Trans Am tomorrow and smiled quietly to himself.

Shining stars indeed.

#cherri cola #party poison #fun ghoul #jet star #kobra kid #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #this will make you lose braincells #auri writes #cherri cola is the only one of them who ever passed high school chem #danger days #ttlofk #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys