#which is fine. its hardly noticable. EXCEPT. putting pressure on them makes them feel all itchy and weird

[bookshelfdreams]

.

#i think i got some light frostbite on my ears @ work #which is fine. its hardly noticable. EXCEPT. putting pressure on them makes them feel all itchy and weird #and THIS means headphones r suddenly uncomfortable #i just want to sit here listen to a podcast and sew this thrice cursed wretched dumbass shit coat! #mimimimi

[theladyismyshepard]

Could you do like a Daniela (if she’s blonde in your head) x a girl from the village? But Daniela is actually a huge mess when it comes to confessing and the girls just like wtf? But Daniela’s a cutie so she just rolls with it? :) it’s a bit specific I know. Also no pressure if this doesn’t inspire you :)

I didn’t know if you wanted an ofc, but I hope you don’t mind if it’s a fem!reader 😭 I guess I need to tell people to specify if they DON’T want a reader insert, but please let me know what you think!

Not Myself Tonight

Moonlight peered through the edges of the clouds that blanketed the night sky, casting a beam across the frost bitten blades of grass and the cobblestone streets throughout the village. The sun had set just a bit ago, and the villagers knew quite well to be indoors by nightfall.

All except you apparently. You curse silently to yourself as nerves had your fingers jittery which prompted you to fumble with the key in your hands. It was your responsibility to lock up the tavern at night, and while the closing hours were reasonable enough to give you time to make it home, something was amiss today.

It felt like your clean up routine took double the time and effort. Every wiped down tankard that you put away would mysteriously find themselves scattered back along the counter. Confusion had you furrowing your brow, but after the third time, a slight growl of irritation bubbled in your throat.

You slammed the tankard down a bit more forcefully that time, and luckily when you spun around, they had remained in their places... but then the chairs that were propped upside down on the tabletops were arranged normally once more.

You blinked. What the hell?

Your eyes scrutinized every nook and cranny of the tavern, unsurprised when you saw nothing out of the ordinary. However, you knew something was off, and a cold sweat instantly broke out over your body. It took a moment for your brain to convince your legs to move forward.

After the last chair was propped back up for the night (your eyes darting along the walls the whole time), you turned to take care of the lighting, and caught sight of a single moth. It was almost as if it made eye contact with you because it immediately flapped its wings and took to the faint shadows hiding up in the rafters.

So now here you were, moon hanging high in the sky, and trembling as you struggled to fasten the lock. The fine hairs on your arm were standing on end, and as a shiver rushed through you, you dropped the key. Before you could even start to bend over to retrieve them, a giggle broke through the otherwise silent night, prompting you to whirl around, fist instinctively at the ready (handsy patrons had brought that reflex out of you).

A hand wrapped itself around your wrist with ease, but what surprised you the most was how... gentle the grip was. A finger grazed the inside of your wrist, and suddenly the familiar giggling returned and soothed the tension riddling your body.

“D-Daniela?”

“Who else would it be?” quipped Daniela, a playful smirk twisting her mouth.

You released a shaky breath, slumping back against the front door. A slow grin spread across your face as you examined her in what little light there was available. Her eyes repeatedly glanced between your eyes and your chest, bringing a slight flush to your cheeks. Her brow creased, almost like she was paying attention to something else entirely.

“Your heart is racing.”

You cleared your throat and asked, “Is it that obvious?”

Daniela moved closer to you, her shoulder leaning against the door next to you comfortably, her hand resting lazily on the doorknob.

Until the still unlocked door swung open behind the both of you, sending you tumbling to the floor. A soft “oof” couldn’t help but slip from your lips from the impact. Your tailbone certainly felt bruised, but what was more distracting was when you opened your eyes and noticed her breasts pressed gently against your own.

“If you were trying to get me to fall for you, all you had to do was say so.” you chuckled.

Daniela scrambled away fast at the comment, almost like she was burned. Her smile was replaced by a grimace and your stomach dropped at the quick change.

“Well maybe you should learn how to lock the door.” grumbled Daniela, her arms crossed and... was that a pout?

You physically shook your head to dispel the thought, and hoisted yourself from the floor, dusting your cloak off. You reached to pull the door closed, and locked it, your fingers lacking the tremor from before.

“You might be right about that.” You muttered, your mind circling back to the oddity of your closing routine.

A hand gripped your shoulder. It wasn’t forceful, but you felt the intent as her fingers pressed tight. As she speaks, you hear the frown in her voice before you even see it.

“I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”

You pursed your lips. It was like she had read your thoughts, but it was also like she knew something you didn’t. Your eyes flickered to her, and saw that she suddenly had a wicked grin.

“Something as pretty as you should never be soiled.”

What the hell?

You stared into her eyes, glancing rapidly between the two. You hardly knew this girl really; She had kept to the corners of the tavern for the last month and a half, and it took that half for her to approach the actual bar top. She always wore the same attire — the black hooded robe that concealed most parts of her figure, but still offered a view of some good portions as well.

You would frequently feel her stares on your body. You hated to admit that you had gotten used to the feel of eyes grazing your form, but instead of feeling on edge, you found that your stomach felt warm. And if you had felt a different sort of warmth when she had finally spoke to you, well that was your business really.

“I...”

“You smell good, has anyone ever told you that?” Daniela questioned, her nose suddenly dipping into the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply.

What?

“I... no, I can honestly say that I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Well...” —wait, did her eyes dilate?— “You do,” Daniela finished lamely.

Her eyes averted, and her bravado was gone. You frowned, realizing that maybe she was shyer at flirting than you thought. You hadn’t seen her before she entered the tavern that first night, so you figured she didn’t have many acquaintances in the village. It dawned on you that she might keep to herself and this, you are out of her comfort zone. You smile as you take pity, and you know you can’t wait to find out who the real Daniela is.

“Well, a girl does like to hear it every once in awhile.” you joked.

Daniela’s gaze snapped back to you before she slowly grinned. Her hand rose up towards your face, but didn’t stop there. Her index finger gently hooked a lock of your hair before she twirled it around.

“Oh yes, I think you are perfect for me.”

“Yeah?” you whispered, dazed. Daniela hummed and nodded.

“You absolutely have to meet my family one of these days.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu headcanons #daniela #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #lady dimitrescu

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

#technoblade #origin smp #mcyt #shara writes #human techno my beloved <3 #also sickfic mY BELOVED

[lavendersb]

Can I request for the Mandalorian in which the reader is dating Mando and helps him take care of baby Yoda? The reader suffers from high anxiety but doesn’t inform Mando about it. One day, he sees her having an episode of a panic attack for the first time and because he didn’t know about it, he was unsure of how to help her. As she was going through it, he begins to hold her as the experience scared him. She eventually settles down and he continues to comfort her.

You absolutely can :)

Cold Rock

The Mandalorian x reader

Requests are open!

  You’d spent a few months now with Mando and the child. Hired under the conditions you’d care for the little green terror and mind him whilst his adopted father collected bounties, you took pride in your job. It really wasn’t hard to, seeing the child tuckered out after a long day made you feel accomplished and gave you a sense of belonging. You could see yourself in this situation for a long time coming.

As bubbly and responsive as the child was, his beskar-clad guardian was stoic and serious. He had never been cruel to you, but when he was so hard to read it often made you nervous. Did he think you were doing your job right? Did he think you were too lenient with the child?  Frequently you found yourself putting words into Mando’s bucket, which you fought to shake off. You had to remind yourself that if he had a problem with you, he would surely raise it, right?

“Do you want to come with me today?” Mando’s modulated voice rings out as he climbs down into the hold.

“Is it safe?” you ask instinctively

Mando had picked a quiet unsuspecting planet to stock up on supplies, one with a decent population spread thin across its many villages but with a reputation for being an otherwise tranquil spot. Nobody would be tracking you here.

“I’m sure it is, but we’ll stay together” Mando approaches you and the child, and the little womp-rat in your arms wriggles impatiently. He gargles and throws his little arms about in protest and you can hardly blame him, it’s been a while since Mando has felt comfortable enough to let him out of the ship.

“He needs it” Mando comments, letting the child hold on to his gloved finger and watching as the wriggling stops.

“We all do” you comment gently.

Maker knows you need fresh air. You’ve been wound far too tight these last few weeks. The crest is spacious compared to many ships you’ve seen but its not meant for comfort. Mando is careful never to let any aspect of his job get close to you. His bounties are in carbonite before you can climb down from the cockpit, but you still can’t help the overwhelming nerves that come from being so close to danger.

You and Mando descend the ramp, both with empty satchels in hand and the child floating in his pod behind you. The planet is beautiful, in a cold and wet way. The ground beneath your feet is a dark grey rock, smooth and covered in a sheen of water. Rock pools filled with tiny little crabs and fish weave everywhere, and in the distance far behind the little village you’ve arrived at, dark mountains loom imposingly. The air is fresh and crisp. Salty too, and it’s the cleanest air you’ve breathed in a long while.

“We’ll make this quick” Mando says to your dismay “we’ll come back to the ship and rest there for a few nights. Just in case”

Just in case we’re spotted you finish in your head. You know Mando is paranoid, you both know how important it is to leave at a moments notice. Even in a place this remote, you’re never far from those that wish your little group harm.

The market in this little village is surprisingly busy for its unassuming appearance. The little orange fish from the nearby rockpools, Mando tells you, are a famed delicacy. Merchants buy them here cheap and sell them for much more to high class restaurants on wealthy city planets.

“They don’t taste good” He tells you “Its an acquired taste”

“You’ve tried them?” you question, looking at the abundance of storage containers filled with fluttering orange fish.

“When I was younger” he says simply. He rarely speaks about the time before the child, but from what you’ve heard he led an interesting life. One day you hope he’ll tell you more.

The three of you weave through the market for a while and you find yourself relaxing. You stock up on food supplies, and Mando even lets you buy one of the special fish for the child to try, after the little green menace wails and makes grabby hands at them.

“He has expensive tastes” you joke when the child swallows it whole.

You swear you hear Mando laugh at that.

The trip was thankfully uneventful. The most exciting thing to happen so far was you loosing your footing on the wet rock beneath you. Mando had reacted fast and caught you, of course and he let you hold onto the crook oh his arm for the rest of the trip.

“I think that’s enough for the day” He says, looking to the sky.

Thick clouds, dark as night had started to emerge over the mountains and drift towards the village. You couldn’t imagine this planet could get any wetter, but you didn’t really want to stick around and find out.

You let Mando lead you through the market again, somehow it seemed busier. People pushed and jostled each other as they prepared to escape the incoming rain. Instinctively you reached out to rest your hand on the child’s open pod, and Mando pulled you against him ever so slightly.

You were thankful for it. The market seemed so much less idyllic now, people pushing and calling loudly. You felt nervous again, that winding coil in your belly getting tighter with each body that brushed past you. You were nervous about the child, about yourself. What if Mando let go of you, and you lost him in the crowd? What if you couldn’t find your way back to the ship alone?

The thoughts in your head got loud enough to rival the sounds of the market, and you could feel your lungs constrict. You knew this feeling all too well, an incoming panic attack was the last thing you needed, especially in front of Mando. The more you tried to suppress the fear, the harder it was to hold in your tears.

You tripped again, in your shock letting out a wet hiccup which you disguised as a gasp. Mando kept his grip on you, preventing your fall but still he looked at you.

You prayed that your impending tears were not as obvious as you felt they were, but after meeting where you assumed his eyes were Mando pulls you to stand in front of him. Both his hands grip each of your upper arms, guiding you through the rest of the village and back towards the razor crest.

Maker you felt embarrassed. What must he think of you? Crying because of a busy village square. Mando had hired you only after you accepted the dangers of the job, that you would need to be strong. All you wanted to do now was curl up in your cot and avoid Mando, wait for this panic attack to finish and hope he doesn’t figure out what’s made you so upset.

Mando doesn’t speak a word, not even as the ramp of the ship descends and he lets you free from his grasp. You try not to make it obvious that you’re hurrying into the hold. Your chest aches with the strength it’s taking to hold in the gasping, desperate sobs that threaten to spill out. To maintain a vaguely normal breathing pattern even though your lungs spasm behind your ribs.

Tucking yourself into a quiet space near the back of the hold, you press yourself against the wall and let out the desperate gasps you’ve been holding in. You still try vainly to stay quiet, conscious that Mando might still hear you from the cockpit. Once we take off, you think, then he won’t hear me over the engines.

But the crest doesn’t move, and the engines don’t roar to life. Instead a large, warm hand presses against your shoulder.

“What’s happened?” Mando turns you around to face him. His voice and posture unreadable as ever.

“N-nothing” You manage to sputter between gasps “It’s f-fine Mando. Really”

Mando doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either. His hand trails from your shoulder to flatten oddly against your breast bone. He presses against your jittery torso, as if he can push your frantic gasps back into your lungs like this. Its strange, but the pressure grounds you as his free hand comes up to rest at the base of your skull, his thumb rubbing into the muscle running up the back of your neck.

“This isn’t nothing. I know that”

Your confusion must show on your face, because he squeezes his hands on your flesh and says

“I used to get like this too, back when I was younger. I never paced myself, got worked up and then-“ he pauses, like he’s searching for a word “and then this”

Dumbstruck at his confession, you stare blankly at him. Your tears slowing, and your breath interrupted by only a few sharp gasps.

“I didn’t have anyone to help me back then.”

His unspoken words ring loud “But I want to help you now”

It comforts you, knowing you don’t always have to pretend to be calm anymore. That he understands. That even the strongest, most capable people like Mando have their moments.

Awkwardly, Mando pulls you to him. His beskar is cold, and a little damp from outside but its far from uncomfortable. You wouldn’t dream of pushing him away. He holds you there in his grounding embrace,  silent except for the rain that beats down outside.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #Pedro pascal #my writing

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 11

Watch ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Warcraft

Theme: Anilah - Warrior 

T’aarth told her not to go. He warned her if she tried to visit her old home she would not like what she found. Some wounds long since scarred could reopen at the slightest touch, and many wounds on her people would never truly heal. Trying to find solace on Argus seemed like a waste of time to many, knowing it would only bring back memories too painful to endure.

But J’azel was not like many Draenei, and this wasn't about her. This was about her family.

The gentle trumpet of her lightforged elekk forced her to smile as they traveled across the ruined outskirts of Mac’Aree. Ko’duun was born among the stars and never set foot on the birthplace of his ancestors, but he could sense his master's pain. He avoided walking through the tall grass that managed to survive the Burning Legion’s wrath as well as the crumbling potholes along the road, not because he feared an ambush, but because this land was unstable; one wrong step could drop them both into a molten current. One day J’azel would set him free into the wilds of Azeroth to give him the closest thing she could to a natural elekk life; returning to what once was is often all she could think about, yet when Ko’duun neared the remains of the Kratisaan talbuk farms, she could barely think at all.

“Kath tonesk.” The command was friendly yet firm, causing Ko’duun to obey without delay; the massive elekk bull knelt on his front legs and waited for J’azel to climb off before sitting down completely. He snorted out a loud whine in her direction while she walked down the shattered street, but she didn't pay him any attention; she was adrift in a flood of memories that rushed her back to her tragically ended way of life.

Hardly anything remained of Kratisaan. Most of the buildings were reduced to little more than piles of rubble, with the crystal reservoirs scorched from felfire spells almost as old as she was. The overgrowth covering the few remaining walls almost concealed her own home from J’azel, but she knew exactly where she was going. The living room was in shambles just as she expected, with most of the floor covered in dirt, grass, and debris from the roof that threatened to collapse on top of her. The cupboards and nearby closet were seemingly ransacked only a month or so ago, but J’azel knew any clothing would have disintegrated long before. The other rooms either had the door sealed by dirt and foliage, or were completely caved in from years of rot and abandonment; either way they were inaccessible.

“Ku… ku...k-k-kuuu-uu-uuu…” A faint voice whispered from beneath the packed dirt mere inches behind her hooves. Immediately she turned to investigate, scooping handfuls to toss aimlessly away; the sight of her family's arcane-infused construct made her heart flutter. Such a simple machine lasting this long without maintenance was a testament to Argussian ingenuity.

Still, it was in some seriously bad shape. Dirt has been causing the little construct considerable trouble, preventing fine motor control and likely breaking hardware it needed to properly function. J’azel was careful when she pulled it out of the ground like a vegetable, fearing it would crumble in her hands at the slightest pressure. “A-a-a-alert… planeta-a-a-ary invasion in progress-ess. E-e-evacuate immediately-y. Eredar safety-y top priori-i-i...”

“Poor Tilbi… stuck in mode for twenty five thousand years...” J’azel cradled the construct in her arms, occasionally flicking clumps of dirt away from its sensors. “Deactivate emergency protocols. Run diagnostics.”

“Voice recogni-i-ized. Diagnostics… c-c-c-c-omplete.” Tilbi tried to move its arms, but the damage rendered it paralyzed. “E-e-e-error. Internal-al power core… f-fail…ure….” The Draenei was quickly running out of time; if she didn’t restore power, the data stored within would be lost forever. Unfortunately it used arcane magic to power itself, and it was far too outdated for J’azel to requisition anything useful from the Vindicaar before it was too late. She was forced to improvise, and use the only thing left she had at her disposal. Her runic tattoos lit up with the Gift of the Light Mother, which surged forth from the Draenei’s hands and enveloped the construct in a soft golden light. “P… p… p-p-power restored. Retrievink-ink archived video recordink.” It was not her intention to put any strain on Tilbi way out here. J’azel merely wanted to sustain it until she could return to the Vindicaar for repairs, but when it managed to turn its head around to face the center of the living room, and the grainy projection started playing, all she could do was stare wide-eyed with her mouth hanging open.

“Alright alright! Gather ‘round, little ones!” Her father's booming voice sent chills up her spine moments before he stepped in front of the camera. His giant face filled the entire living room and his hardened eyes stared right through her while he fiddled with Tilbi, clearly struggling to make it do what he wanted. “Damn zing too tiny for hands… ah! I got it! Hurry before picture taken!”

Her mother appeared next, slowly stepping into view with both of her hands resting on her extended belly. “Miraan! J’azel! Get out here so father let me rest!” She was more beautiful than J’azel remembered; an absolutely stunning woman aglow with her pregnancy. She struggled to pull out a chair to sit down in, but her father moved faster than Tilbi could follow, causing his image to sputter and glitch when he rushed to her aid. J’azel held the ancient construct with trembling hands which made the image shake and shudder; with another surge of light she soothed herself to continue watching.

Miraan staggered out of her room with an obnoxious yawn. She was so innocent back then, before the Legion came and took her away; J’azel didn’t know how to feel in knowing her older sister was now a power-hungry tyrant who serves the very monsters that murdered their parents and molested their homeworld. “Miraan... vhere is sister? Ve are runnink out of time, yes?” She gave their mother a carefree shrug and plopped down next to her. What an absolute brat.

“Ah- I vill fetch her. One moment.” Her father hurried out of sight to return a minute later, slowly leading a tiny J’azel into frame by her hand. The Draenei couldn't help but laugh at her four year old self with her stubby legs and messy crown of hair; back then her horns were still barely visible too, sticking maybe an inch or two out of her head. It looked like she was rudely interrupted from a nap. “This vay little Comet.” Her father swept her up into his massive arms and carried her the rest of the way. “Alright! Everyone ready? Lean in close!” J’azel felt her eyes begin to burn, but she did her best to stay as quiet and as still as she was able. “Three! Two! One!”

“SOVAAKI" They all shouted at once, except J’azel, who was already falling back asleep in her father's arms. They kept their grins for a few more moments until her mother began growing impatient. Watching her family stare at her put the biggest smile on the her face. She couldn't stop the gigantic tears from falling either, but she neither noticed nor cared. There was so much she wanted to tell them. So much they needed to know. J’azel would give up what little she had for just five minutes to speak to them again… but they were long gone.

“Vhere is flash?” Their mother asked, mildly annoyed. “Did you set Tilbi to camera or video?”

“It is video.” Miraan confirmed before stretching. “Next time I vill set Tilbi. Father bad at this.”

Their father let out an embarrassed chuckle before scratching the back of his head. “Kids and their tech these days… I vill figure it out after vork, yes? Vhen J’azel wakes up, tell h-her d-d-daddy-y l-lo-o-ov…” The images began to flicker in and out, causing J’azel to stiffen with fear; at long last Tilbi was shutting down! She was blinded by her tears and desperate to hear the rest of this recording. Another surge of Light flowed from her trembling palms, but the intensity became too much for the decrepit construct! The frozen image of her and her family turned a sickly yellowish brown before they melted before her eyes like hot wax; Tilbi twitched in her trembling hands before drooping its head and popping, its internal hardware catching on fire with a low whirring sounding off Tilbi’s death rattle.

The last thing she had of her family was destroyed. J’azel pressed the remains of the construct against her breastplate and began sobbing uncontrollably; what started as weak sniffling and whimpering devolved into a loud wail, a lamented crescendo for twenty five thousand years of anguish out at once, at last.

Then the house shook, snapping her out of her mindless suffering just long enough for her to drop Tilbi and reach for her sword. Was it a demon attack? A wild animal fighting Ko’duun? Horde scavengers hunting down anything of value? Possibilities kept dancing around in her h-

The filtered light from her left cast in the living room was blocked by a giant shadow. J’azel snapped her gaze to the remains of the window, seeing a beady eye with long eyelashes blinking at her before a concerned trumpeting whine shook the house again. “I'm fine… I'm fine…” She tried to wipe her face dry, but the tears refused to stop. Unconvinced the elekk bull reached into the window with his trunk and began tugging at the wall to get inside. J’azel had just enough time to scramble onto her hooves before his third tug, which ripped what was left of the house apart.

The Draenei covered her head while the rest of the house came down around her in a thick cloud of smoke. When she opened her eyes she found herself standing atop an unrecognizable ruin, surrounded by shattered stone and twisted debris. Ko’duun waddled forward with a guilty snort, and watched her closely with his shimmering eyes. J’azel wanted to yell at him for what he did, but once he slowly wrapped his trunk around her slender waist and lifted her into the air, any anger she had disappeared. He gently swung her around until she started laughing again.

Eventually J’azel wrapped her arms around his lumpy face and pressed her forehead against him, listening to his steady breathing and the subtle grinding of his flat teeth. “Thank you, Ko’duun.” She sighed, feeling her hooves touch the ground again. She was ready to leave Kratisaan and never return to this tragic place again.

“Let us go home.”

#dwc2021 #day112021 #ijirothehero

[arvandus]

A Quiet Kind of Love (ONESHOT)

WARNINGS: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Kirishima X Fem!Reader

Word count: 6.2k

Summary: Prom night is here, and you can’t avoid it any longer.  You’re going to have to confess to your best friend, a certain red-headed, shark-toothed man.  But things don’t quite go as planned...

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

Kirishima stared at himself in the mirror.  His reflection stared back at him in a black suit, a deep red shirt and black tie, his hands nervously adjusting it once again.  However, he was more focused on the red that dusted across his cheeks and the nervous glimmer that he saw in his own eyes.

Dear God, he hadn’t even left his room and he was already a mess of nerves.  His mind kept circling back to a single thought:  You would be there.

Granted, everyone would be there.  It was prom, after all.  Even more importantly, it would be the last major gathering for Class 3A before everyone graduated and moved on to work at different hero agencies.  The finality of it almost brought tears to his eyes.  It wasn’t that he wouldn’t keep in touch with his friends or continue to hang out after graduation, but no one could deny that life would be very different once their time at UA ended.

Kirishima couldn’t help but wonder if you would keep in touch with him.  You were friends, of course, but as of late you’d lost some of that closeness and he wasn’t sure why.  He had gotten so used to you being a presence in his life that when you suddenly began to become unavailable, he couldn’t help but wonder if he did something wrong.  Sure, you always had a good reason for not being around.  You had a huge report you had to write, or an interview to prepare for, or extended family visiting... the list of excuses went on and on.  He had racked his brain trying to pinpoint the moment things changed between you two, but came up with nothing, which bothered him even more.  All he wanted was to see you smile at him again, to hang out together late into the evening talking about everything and nothing, to send stupid text messages to each other.  He felt your absence painfully and began to realize just how much you were a part of his life and how important you really were to him.  His days were feeling empty without you.

He didn’t even know if you had a date tonight.  The thought festered in his head and an uncharacteristic frown grew on his face.  He knew that if you came with a date, that he would leave you alone and not bring up what’d been plaguing his mind the past few weeks.  He was a gentleman after all, and he saw no point in chasing you down and cornering you to talk to him if you clearly weren’t interested.  If, however, you were by yourself, then he promised himself that he would find a chance to talk to you.

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

Of course, little did he know, you were getting ready in your own room with thoughts of your own regarding the red-headed man.  Contrary to him, however, you know exactly why you had made yourself scarce around him.

To put it quite frankly, you realized that you were in love with him.  Not a crush, like what your friend Mina often went through.  Not lust, although you couldn’t deny that you were definitely attracted to him.  It was love, quiet and sneaky and unassuming.  It found a warm place in your heart unbeknownst to you and grew there, fed by friendship, trust, and openness.  You were so unaware of its presence that you couldn’t even really say or pinpoint when your feelings for him became love.  Instead, it hit you by surprise one day, like finding a beautiful flower in your garden.  You were hanging out with Kirishima and the others, everyone laughing and telling jokes (except for Bakugou of course, who hardly participated but never left). Sero was sharing a hilarious story from one of his internships when both you and Kirishima, laughing hysterically, made eye contact.

That was it.  You’d looked at each other countless times in countless scenarios.  But that time… that time all you could think about was how you didn’t want him to stop looking at you, how you wondered what his lips would feel like on yours.

After that moment, everything changed.  Suddenly Kirishima occupied every thought in your waking and sleeping brain.  That one moment was like a dam being broken, its turbulent watery torrents sweeping you away.  You were remembering everything, every detail of your friendship with him. The way he always treated you with respect, the way he made you laugh, the way he let you cry on his shoulder when you had a bad day.  Memory after memory flooded through you, each with new meaning to it.  How he had held your hair for you the first time you drank too much.  How he had checked on you when you got hurt in a fight. How he carried you back to the dorms, piggyback style, when you had sprained your ankle.

After that, you couldn’t bear to be around him.  You began making yourself scarce, creating reasons why you couldn’t hang out with the gang, knowing he’d be there.  That alone was difficult, since it required you to distance yourself from everyone, not just him.  Kirishima texted you often to check in with you and talked to you during class, but you always did your best to reassure him everything was fine, even as you distanced yourself from him.  You could tell it was taking a toll on your friendship, but at the time it seemed better to put a little bit of strain and hope it could bend under the pressure, instead of outright breaking it by confessing.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around him.  In fact, it was the opposite: you wanted to be around him too much.  You didn’t know how to act around him anymore. You just needed time to get your feelings in check.  You were terrified that you would either do something you’d regret, or he’d somehow read your mind and see what you were feeling.  Sure, he had a reputation for being a little dense, but when it came to the two of you, there were hardly any secrets. You’d gotten so familiar with each other that you were in tune with each other’s mannerisms. One slip-up is all it would take.

That was what scared you the most.  Kirishima was one of your closest friends, and you didn’t want to ruin that by confessing something to him that you were still struggling to understand.  With the love, came the fear.  The fear of not just rejection but of losing him entirely. So your brain replayed all of the ways that you loved him, all the things he did, and your brain callously took those memories and chalked them up to ‘well, he’s just a really nice guy’ and ‘that didn’t really mean anything, he was just doing what he thought was right.’  And then you felt guilty, as if you were betraying him somehow by taking all of the ways that he had been kind to you and putting them into a romantic context without his permission.  Were you, in some strange way, betraying his trust?  He had always been so kind and respectful to you because he valued you as a friend.  So, shouldn’t you just continue to think of him the same way?

Easier said than done.

In all honesty, you weren’t planning on going to prom.  You had a feeling he would be there, and you really couldn’t bear to face him again just yet.  But Mina and Tsuyu convinced you to go, and you couldn’t let your friends down.  You felt as if you were walking a tight rope across a ravine with no way out, just empty air on either side, and all it would take would be a single gust to make you fall down, down, down… there were no good choices.  If you couldn’t get your feelings in check then you’d have to confess.  You at least owed him that much.  He deserved an explanation if things couldn’t go back to normal.

What if he had a date? The thought made your stomach drop to your toes and a lightheaded nausea swept over you as you braced yourself against your chair in your room.  Just imagining it was painful.  How could you even face him after that?

You blinked your eyes rapidly in an attempt to fight the wetness without ruining your makeup. There was no point in getting worked up on the what-ifs.  Prepare for the worst but hope for the best.

You stared at your reflection one last time, taking in your appearance. How you styled your hair, how you styled your makeup, the dress you wore… black with a red floral design.  You had realized too late that you had gravitated towards his color palette, but nothing could be done about it now.  You wondered if he’d notice.

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

He noticed.  In fact, it was the first thing he noticed when he saw you walk into the large auditorium, music blaring and lights flashing in beat to the music. Kirishima’s breath caught in his throat and he was grateful the poor lighting hid his blush.  You arrived with the other girls of course, one big wave of colorful, feminine dresses.

Your eyes found his instantly and you froze.  God, he looked good.  Then you realized… you matched.   Before you could organize your frazzled brain, he walked over with Bakugou, Sero, and Kaminari in tow.

“Hey!” He said with his signature smile, while the others greeted each other.

“H-Hey.” You replied, struggling to keep your voice casual.

“Long time no see.” He said.

“Yeah, sorry about that…” you offered a sheepish half-smile.

“It’s ok. You look nice!” Kirishima offered.

You averted your gaze in embarrassment.  “…thanks. You too.”  He’s just being nice, you thought.

“We match,” he pointed out teasingly.

Your words caught in your throat at his blatant comment, your mouth open like a fish as his words hit too close to home for you.  You weren’t ready for it.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll be right back.” You forced out, before bolting away into the crowd, leaving Kirishima dumbfounded.

It wasn’t long before you found what you were looking for: the snack bar.  You grabbed a water bottle and downed its contents before immediately grabbing the cup of popcorn and stuffing your face.

Why.  Why did you do that?? Just run away from him like that?

You spotted Tsuyu approaching you out of the corner of your eye, and she gave you a knowing look. She was the only one who knew of your predicament, which you were grateful for. She was excellent at keeping a secret and always approached an issue with a level head.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“No… I’m such an idiot!” you seethed.  “why did I run off like that?”

“He did look a little crushed…” She replied.

“Tsuyu!” you scolded. “Not helping!”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?” she pointed out.  “If he was sad that you left, then that means he wanted you to stick around.”

“Or he was sad because he thinks I hate him or something.” You replied, which didn’t sound much better. In fact, it sounded worse.  “Geez, why did I even come to this.”

“Because if you didn’t then you’d regret it.” Tsuyu replied.  “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

“Well, you also miss 100% of the shots if you scare away your target.”

“Relax.” She soothed. “Just go back and hang out with the group.  They won’t think anything of it.”

“I can’t.” you mumbled. “Not yet, anyway.  I just… need time to adjust so I don’t say something stupid to him.  Or worse, do something stupid. Ugh, Tsuyu, did you see how handsome he was?  It’s not fair.”

Tsuyu grinned at your lovestruck expression.  “Well, you can come hang out with Uraraka, Tenya, Midoriya and I if you’d like.” Tsuyu offered.

You gave a grateful smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Tsuyu.  Just for a little bit.”

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

Kirishima shifted in his spot next to Bakugou as the two men leaned against the wall together.  Mina, Sero and Kaminari has long-since abandoned them for the festivities when their repeated attempts to include them failed. Bakugou, of course, was mostly silent, casting his glare at every pretty girl that tried to ask him for a dance. Kirishima, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting as his thoughts ran wild.

You never came back.

His eyes spotted you multiple times across the dance floor as you danced with your other friends.  You somehow never made eye contact with him, which only told him one thing: you weren’t looking for him.  This in turn, led to another discovery: he probably scared you away.

“Dammit, what was I thinking?” he muttered to himself.

Bakugou gave Kirishima a side glance and followed his gaze to see you dancing on the dance floor. “What are you doing here, Shitty Hair?” he grumbled.

“What, me?” Kirishima exclaimed.  

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “No, the other Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima let Bakugou’s sarcasm slide over him.  He gave a heavy sigh and hung his head, his brows furrowed together.  “Watching my nonexistent love life go down the toilet.”

Bakugou’s face twitched in anger.  “What kind of bullshit answer is that?!”

“What??”

“Aren’t you all about being ‘manly’?”  Bakugou scolded.  “How is giving up ‘manly’?”

“I’m not going to force myself on her.” Kirishima responded.  “She practically ran away, you saw it earlier.  I think it’s pretty obvious she’s not interested.”

“So fucking what!” Bakugou exclaimed. “If you don’t put yourself out there, then you’re just another extra. You don’t have to be a dick about it, but you can still talk to her. You won’t know for sure unless you do. Besides, if she rejects you, then it’s her fucking loss.”

Kirishima stared at him wide-eyed.  “Wow, bro… that was… actually really nice of you.”

Bakugou scoffed and looked away. “Shut up.  If you don’t go talk to her then I will.” He sneered.

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “No… that’s a terrible idea.”

“You’re damn right it is.” Bakugou grumbled.  “So get the fuck off this wall and go be manly or whatever.”

Kirishima grinned at Bakugou’s pep-talk.  He wasn’t going to deny that it stirred something in him.  Kirishima prepared himself, squaring his shoulders, and setting his jaw before marching out onto the dance floor.

Of course, he only made it about halfway when he saw something that made him falter.

His ragtag friends managed to find you in the throng of people, led by Mina who waved you down. He watched as everyone exchanged greetings.  When Kaminari greeted you with smiles and laughs, you smiled back at him and gave him a hug, your face lighting up in a way that stirred something in Kirishima. It stabbed him in his gut and twisted, making him feel nauseous and… angry?

Jealous.  He was jealous.  He wanted you to look at him like that.  You used to look at him like that, like you were happy to have him around. You used to hug him when you greeted him, your arms wrapping around him in a playful squeeze.  He missed it.  He missed all of it, and there you were giving it freely to everyone else but him. You looked happy without him and the realization twisted like a knife.

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

When the squad first approached, your heart leapt into your throat as your eyes immediately scanned for the familiar spikey red hair.  You didn’t see him though, or Bakugou for that matter.  A confusing wave of relief and longing washed over you.  You wanted to ask where he was, but you weren’t ready yet. You still didn’t know what you were going to say to him.

“So this is where you ran off to!” Mina exclaimed, as everyone exchanged hugs.

“What, are we not good enough for you?” Kaminari teased.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” You scoffed, punching his arm playfully and he grinned.  

“It was my fault.” Tsuyu chimed in.  “We got caught up talking at the snack bar then ended up hanging out over here with everyone.”  The rest of the group behind her smiled and nodded in agreement.

“The snack bar, huh?” Sero teased.

You offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I skipped lunch and you know how I am about free food…”

“It’s cool.  Why don’t we all hang together then?” Sero offered.

“Where’s Kacchan?” Midoriya asked.

Kaminari shrugged. “Being a wallflower as usual. Kirishima is keeping him company.”

Your eyes immediately scanned for him along the periphery, but from your position you couldn’t see much beyond the dancing people and flashing colors.

“Someone should probably rescue him…” Mina said pointedly as she locked eyes with you, and you knew immediately she wasn’t talking about Bakugou.  

Your mouth went dry. She knew.  Somehow, she figured it out.  Well, maybe it wasn’t that hard to figure out, especially with her penchant for romance and your friendship with her.  Still, the sudden discovery froze you like a deer in headlights.  You loved Mina, but you had chosen not to tell her because she was also close friends with Kiri.  She was a great friend and always meant well but you didn’t want her to try to play matchmaker before you were ready.  You struggled to hide the guilty look on your face while she gave you a teasing grin and the slightest raise of an eyebrow.

Kaminari chimed in before you could speak.  “Eh, I’m sure they’re fine.  Besides, we tried, didn’t we?  They both kept turning us down.”

“Maybe we can try again in a little bit.” You added, giving Mina a look of your own.

Soon. You were going to do it.  But first you wanted to hang out with friends for a little bit longer, just in case things turned sour later. It’d been a while since you’d really hung out with everyone all at once.  Besides, Kiri was such a social butterfly that you figured he’d show up soon anyway. Maybe that would be your cue to ask to talk privately.  All you had to do was wait.

------------------ 

Kirishima froze in his tracks, unsure of what to do.  He clenched his fists at his sides.  This was stupid.  How unmanly of him being jealous of your friendship with Kaminari.  He reminded himself that there was nothing to worry about, and that it was all just a misunderstanding that had to be cleared up. You’d always been able to resolve any issues in the past, so why should this be any different?

He began to move forward when a slow song suddenly came on.  He watched as Kaminari offered you his hand with an exaggerated flourish while Mina paired up with Sero.  In utter mortification, Kirishima watched as you laughed and took it, allowing him to pull you into a slow dance with your proximity far too close for Kirishima’s taste. You continued to smile and laugh, and the crack in Kirishima’s armor fractured.

Like a wave of destruction, his insecurities and fears came crashing down on him.  It felt like he was in middle school again, paralyzed and useless.  Was he wrong?  Did he miss something?  He never noticed anything between you and Kaminari before.  You’d never said anything to him about it, never even hinted at it.  Sure, you and Kaminari joked around a lot, but it never seemed like anything else.  

All this time, the past few months you’d been drifting away, he thought it had to do with him, that it was something he’d unintentionally broken that he’d be able to fix if he could just get a chance to talk to you.  He had so much he wanted to say.

Instead, a worse realization came to the forefront of his mind: What if this had nothing to do with him?  What if he was losing you and it was beyond his control?  Was this how friendships drifted apart?  Did he already lose you?

He wanted to disappear, to let the earth swallow him whole.  He could feel hot tears brimming his eyes.  He tried to will them away, but he couldn’t. Instead, his feet carried him swiftly off the dance floor and out the double doors.

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

Bakugou saw the whole thing from his perch and swore.  “Fuck.”

He stomped his way through the throng of people, not caring who he bumped shoulders with, earning a few glares until his peers realized who he was.

“What a bunch of fucking morons.” He grumbled.

He reached you and Kaminari and without a word he grabbed Kaminari by the ear and began dragging him away.

“Hey, what the hell man?!” Kaminari shouted.

You stood there dumbfounded before you furrowed your brow in anger.  “Bakugou, knock it off!” You yelled.  The space around your group was swiftly opening up as others distances themselves from the drama unfolding.

Bakugou pointed an accusing finger at you.   “Shut up.” He demanded, his face scrunched up in anger.  

You stood there dumbfounded. It wasn’t the first time Bakugou spoke to you roughly, but this time was different.  There was no underlying teasing to bring warmth to his harsh words. Instead, the words were like an icy whiplash.  He meant them, and he was pissed.

He turned to Kaminari. “And you!  Are you really that fucking dense, dunce face??”

“Dude, what are you talking about??” Kaminari demanded, confusion written all over his face. “Bro, are you jealous?”

Bakugou’s face turned red with anger and his hands started to smoke.  The gap between the group and the other students grew wider.  A single thought occupied the forefront of your brain – where was Kirishima? He was always the best at calming Bakugou’s temper.

“You think I’m jealous??” Bakugou spat.

Sero chimed in to try to mitigate.  “It was just a dance, Bakugou!”

“Tell that to Kirishima, you idiot!” Bakugou snapped.

You suddenly felt lightheaded and your legs turned to jelly.  Realization began to dawn on you.

“W-what…?” You stuttered, and suddenly you could feel all eyes on you. But it didn’t matter because you only wanted to know one thing.  “Where is Kirishima??”

Bakugou scrutinized you with his glare.  “He fucking left.” Your breath caught in your throat and your heart pounded in your chest painfully as Bakugou continued.  “He was coming over to talk to you but left when it looked like you two were hooking up!”

“What?!” Kaminari exclaimed. “We weren’t hooking up! No offense, Y/N.”

You put your face in your hands.  “No! No, no, no.  This is all wrong.  I was going to talk to him, I just didn’t know how, I… I…” tears started to spill down your cheeks.

‘He cares.  He cares, and I just completely hurt him!’ Your thoughts echoed on repeat in your mind.  You could feel the panic boiling inside you, sucking away your breaths. You began gasping for air, the auditorium suddenly feeling far too small and too hot.

Suddenly, you felt Mina’s comforting hand on your shoulder blade, grounding you.

“It’s okay.” She said softly. “There’s still time. We can find him.”

You nodded and wiped your tears with the napkin that Uraraka handed to you.

Immediately the hunt began. More than half of class 3A exited through the double doors to begin searching the building for Kirishima.  Everyone split off into groups, with you being followed by Mina and Tsuyu.  Bakugou teamed up with Sero and Kaminari, and Tenya, Uraraka and Midoriya formed their own search party.

As you and your two friends searched, Mina began her round of twenty questions.

“So, how long?” she asked.

“What?” you replied, distractedly as you checked the empty cafeteria.

“How long have you been in love with Kirishima?”

Your brow furrowed. “I don’t know… a while?  Since the beginning of the semester was when I realized it, but maybe it was sooner than that.”

“And that’s why you stopped coming around as much?”

“Yeah.  I’m sorry, I just… didn’t want to ruin my friendships with everyone.  Especially him.” You felt the familiar lump form in your throat again. “Looks like I might be too late, though.”

“You should give him more credit than that.” Mina reassured.  “He’s one of the most loyal and forgiving people I know.”

You clenched your jaw as your pace quickened.  You only hoped that she was right.

Everyone searched high and low.  The classrooms, the rooftops, the training fields… Kirishima was nowhere to be found.

An hour had passed with no success before everyone reconvened outside the auditorium, the music inside still loud, the hum of thousands of voices inside chattering and laughing.  It felt almost cruel hearing everyone else having such a good time, completely oblivious of the catastrophe unfolding before your eyes.  How could you have fucked this up so badly?

“Maybe he came back and he’s inside looking for you.” Tsuyu offered.

“He’s not in there, I checked.” Bakugou replied.

“So… do we keep looking?” Sero asked.

“He’s not responding to his text messages.” Bakugou said.  “If he doesn’t want to be found, then we should leave him alone.”

You felt the defeat heavy on your shoulders.  “It’s okay. You all should go back to the dance and enjoy it.  You shouldn’t waste your night trying to fix my mess.”

“We wanted to help.” Midoriya replied, offering a kind smile.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. But this night isn’t just about me, so you guys go have fun.  I’m… I’m gonna go back to the dorms.” You replied as you felt fresh tears filling your eyes again.  The lump in your throat felt like you were trying to swallow a rock.  You needed to get out of here, to go home and be by yourself so you could break down completely.

“There’s always tomorrow.” Kaminari offered, but his words, while meant to be helpful, only left you feeling hollow.

“Y-yeah.” You replied. “Have a good night, everyone.”  Before the tears spilled over, you began your solitary trek back to the dorms, your shoes in your hands.  Your feet were killing you now from all of the running around you had done, and you had fresh blisters on your heels.

Or, the trek was supposed to be alone.  It didn’t take long to realize that Bakugou was following you.  You paused and turned to him, a confused expression on your face.

“Aren’t you going to stay?”

Bakugou scoffed. “Hell, no.” he replied.  “I hate shit like this.”

You weren’t so convinced. Maybe he was planning on following you back to see if Kirishima was at the dorms.

“You’re a good friend.” You commented as you began walking again.

“Hah??” he replied. He frowned and looked away as a blush creeped across his cheeks.  He put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.  “Don’t try to get on my good side.”

“I’m not!” you protested. “I’m just glad that Kirishima has someone like you he can count on.”

You walked in silence for a bit, guilt gnawing at you before you spoke up again.  “I’m sorry I messed everything up.”

“You people make shit too complicated.” Bakugou grumbled. “You just gotta say what you mean.”

“I wish I had your confidence.  You make it sound so easy.” You replied.

“It’s not easy.” Bakugou said as he stared straight ahead.  You waited for him to say more, but he never did.  Instead, the two of you fell into a somewhat comfortable silence as you approached the dorms.

It didn’t take long to recognize the figure sitting on the front steps of the building, and you faltered in your steps, your breath hitching in your throat.  He was here.  This whole time, he was right here.  You had thought he might come here, but you had assumed he would have gone inside to his room… you didn’t expect to see him.  He sat with his knees drawn up, propping up his arms that held his head tucked into them.  Kirishima lifted his head when he heard Bakugou’s footfalls and froze when his eyes met yours. It was hard to read his expression from this distance in the middle of the night.  But even from here you could see how handsome he was; the broadness of his muscled shoulders straining against his suit blazer; his tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck; his collarbone peeking out from the undone top button of his shirt.  It felt like electricity was coursing through your veins.  Just the sight of him was enough to give you life.

“Don’t fuck this up.” Bakugou said quietly to you and continued walking, ignoring the fact that you were no longer following him.  

As he passed Kirishima, he placed a hand on his shoulder briefly, giving it a squeeze. Kirishima gave him a confused look as Bakugou went into the dorms, closing the door behind him.

You paused for a moment, feeling the pull of the man in front of you, like two magnets being held apart.  It was painful.  You forced your legs forward until you were close enough that you could read his expression. His eyes were downcast again onto the ground, but you could see the hurt in them.

Kirishima spoke first, his voice low and strained.  “Did… did I do something wrong?  Did I hurt you in some way and not know it?” he asked.  He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours and you gasped.  His eyes were slightly red, and his cheeks shined under the entryway lights.  He had been crying.  You made Kirishima cry.

You dropped your shoes and rushed forward, closing the distance between you two.  You put your hands on his forearms that rested on his knees. “No!  God, no.  Kiri, I’m so sorry.” You replied, tears spilling down your own cheeks.

“Then why?” he asked, straightening his back and drawing his arms away from your touch.  “You’ve stopped talking to me, you don’t really smile at me… you barely even look at me.”

“I… I realized something about myself and I didn’t know how to handle it.” You replied, drawing your hands back from his rejection and wrapping your arms around your core protectively.

Kirishima stood up and looked down at you from his perch on the steps.  “What did you realize?”  The deepness of his voice, the way it reverberated through the space between you made goosebumps crawl across your skin.

You stared at his face, drinking in the details.  The color of his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the sharpness of his teeth… it’d been a long time since you’d been this close to him and it felt like basking in warm sunlight on a spring day after a long, dark winter.  Your eyes traced over his features before finally landing on his wet cheeks.  Instinctively, you brought a hand up and rubbed your thumb across his cheek, smearing the moisture away.  His own hand, larger than yours, warm and calloused, came up and covered yours.  

You averted your eyes down to his chest in embarrassment.  You didn’t know why you were still nervous.  Perhaps it was the finality of it, of saying it out loud.

Your hand followed your eyes, slipping from his fingers to rest on his chest. You were strangely aware of the soft texture of his shirt, and you absently fiddled with his loose tie. “I love you.” You finally said, just barely above a whisper.  “I have for a while.”

“You do?” he replied, his voice laced with surprise.  “But what about Kaminari?”

“What??”

“Earlier. I dunno, it just looked…” You watched as he looked away, a blush across his cheeks.

“Like we were dancing?” you replied.

“Yeah, well… you looked happy.  Happier than I’d seen you in a long time.” He confessed.

“I was happy to spend time with my friends, and Kaminari is a funny guy.  But I don’t have feelings for him.” You explained.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize how it must have looked.  Honestly, I didn’t even know you were paying attention.”

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention?”

“Well, I figured you might, I don’t know… hate me or something.” You wiggled your bare toes as you looked down at them.

“What??” Kirishima sounded angry now, and you whipped your gaze up to look at him.  “Why would you think I hate you?  You stopped talking to me!”

“I know!” your voice raising to meet his.  “So, I’d understand if you’d hate me!  I’ve handled this whole thing like crap, and I’m so sorry.  You deserve better.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” his voice softened, which you were grateful for.  You could tell he didn’t want to fight, and neither did you.

“I was afraid.  You’re my best friend and if you didn’t feel the same, well… I was afraid of losing you.”

His hand once again grabbed your fidgeting one, his touch soft and gentle.  “I could never hate you.”

Deep down, you knew he was right.  The man didn’t have a hateful bone in his body.  “I know.” You breathed, your eyes downcast again.

“And you won’t lose me.” He said.  Your eyes met his again, and you were captivated as you watched the next words fall from his lips, “I love you too.”

And just like that, time moved forward again and air was filling your lungs.  Your first real smile in months spread across your face.

“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” You joked.

Kirishima chuckled and placed his free hand on your jawline, cradling you as his thumb softly stroked your cheek.  He dipped his head down, his lips capturing yours in their warmth.

Your mind went blank, washed away in the sensation of Kirishima.  He was everywhere.  His arm held you flush against him, his mouth molded with yours, his hand on your neck. You could smell his scent from his clean shirt to his shampoo to something that was so distinctly him.  You could taste him on your lips.  It took every ounce of strength not to collapse right then and there.  This was it.  This was all you ever wanted, all you ever thought about.  It was everything you hoped it would be and more.  You couldn’t stop the sappy smile and the bubble of laughter that came from your core, breaking the kiss.

Kirishima smiled down at you, full and bright.  He still held you in his arms.  “That was awesome.” He breathed.

“We should do it again.” You grinned.

But before you could lean in for a second round, you heard familiar voices behind you.

“Ho Ho!  It looks like everything worked out after all!” Sero teased.

“I knew it would!” Mina chimed in.  “Love always wins!”

Kaminari rushed to Kirishima. “Bro!  I am so sorry! I had no idea!”

“Dude, it’s cool.” Kirishima laughed.

“Nah, you were supposed to dance with her! I ruined your prom! I’m so sorry!” Kaminari cried.

“Get a grip, man…” Sero chided, as Mina started to drag Kaminari away.

“We got him…” she reassured. “He’ll be fine.”

You chuckled with amusement as you watched your friends drag the blonde man through the dormitory door, his cries silenced as the door closed. Your smile faltered.

“He’s right…” you said quietly.

Kirishima gave you a curious look.  “Who?”

“Kaminari.  We did miss our prom.  We wouldn’t have missed it if I didn’t mess everything up.  I’m sorry.” You replied.

He continued, “I don’t really think tonight was ruined, do you?”

You scratched at your cheek.  “Well, I was hoping to at least get a dance in with you…”

Kirishima laughed.  “I’m terrible at dancing, you know that.”

You smiled.  “It wouldn’t have mattered to me… anyway, a slow dance isn’t so bad, right?”

“A slow dance, huh? You want a slow dance?” a mischievous grin showed off his sharp teeth and he pulled you into his arms, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding your hand out in his.

“Kirishima, what’re you…?”

Suddenly, he began to sing. It was a song you didn’t know and to be honest, he was a terrible singer.  But as he sang, his voice heavy with vibrato, he swayed the two of you back and forth, each dance move exaggerated until he was spinning you and dipping you.  Laughter bubbled up, starting low in your gut and spilling out of your mouth, filling the night with your sound.  Kirishima grinned, loving it, loving the look of you here and happy with him, dancing barefoot to his terrible singing.

And when that was done, the two of you entered the main entrance of the dorms, with your shoes in Kirishima’s hand while his other hand held yours.  You both were still riding the high of all that had happened, and you both knew that sleep was an impossibility despite the late hour.  So instead, the two of you cuddled up on the couch in the common room, talking late into the early morning about anything and everything.  All the things you had missed with each other when you were apart, all the ways you realized you loved each other, and how things would progress now that your futures were joined together.  As you both quieted down into each other’s arms, basking in the presence of each other, drowsiness fell over both of you like a blanket, warm and safe, until you both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

#bnha fanfic #bnha imagine #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #bnha #mha #mha fanfic #reader is bad at feelings

[writingtoforgetreality]

I‘ll make you believe in yourself again (Derek Hale x Reader)

Summary: Your parents pressure you into having good grades, not caring about you or your friends. They simply want you to be successful. One night, after a pack meeting, things escalate between you & your parents & the first person you thought about running to was him., [Teen Wolf-Masterlist]

Words: 2,719

Warnings: verbal abusive parents, angst, fluff, sadness, soft Derek (Is this a warning? It is now.), cursing but that‘s bc it‘s me

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

To say school had been stressful lately would be an understatement. You had essays to write, tests to study for & homework to finish. Teachers were always content with you though since you were one of the only students who payed attention, studied hard & always gave 100%. Spending time with your friends was rare but ever since you had been involved with the pack, you had been quite busy with helping them. You were human but a smart one at that. The pack simply was not complete without you.

Seems peachy, am I right? So thinks everyone. You just did not spill your problems to your friends, thinking they had better things to take care of. Matter of fact, every time you were with the pack was like an escape from your reality. You were finally able to accomplish stuff that was appreciated by everybody. This is why, whenever you told your parents you would be studying with Scott & Stiles, you were actually at a pack meeting, school completely forgotten.

Here is the thing: your parents. Even though they were hardly ever at home, they managed to create a living hell for you. The pressure they put on you was almost unbearable yet you wanted to make them feel proud. To make them feel like their child was not a complete fuck-up. Your mom & dad often were on business trips, you did not even know what they were doing on such trips & you did not want to ask either. All you knew is that, when your parents were at home, they always found a reason to scream at you & call you names. They wanted their kid to be the most successful of everyone. They wanted their kid to write straight A‘s. For a long time you had managed to do exactly this. Then the pack came along & you started to focus more on their tasks. It was more important, you helped saving lives. Of course your parents did not know this & you never meant on telling them.

Friday. Your favorite day of the week. You got up, went to the bathroom, picked out a nice outfit & packed your stuff to head to school. Your parents would not come back until Sunday so you could hang out with your friends the entire weekend. Your third period was chemistry. You had the class with Scott & Stiles, your best friends. When you found out about Scott being a werewolf, you were not scared, as someone would think. You were amazed & wanted to find out more about it. He was the one who introduced you to Derek. The oh so emotionless Derek Hale. You thought he hated you at first. He gave you the impression that he was fed up with you, reminding you of your own parents. You became more quiet every time he was around. Yet it did not stop you from having a crush on him. Derek actually enjoyed your company but of course he tried to push his emotions down. He would not get close to someone again. Still, he noticed when you grew more distant, he always had an eye on you but would not let you know.

Anyway, chemistry. Last time you wrote a test but you had not studied as much. Chemistry was one of your favorite subjects so you had never studied that much. You still managed to get a C which made you proud. You knew your parents would not be back today so you planned on not telling them about your grade.

As your last period was over, you went to your locker, meeting up with Scott, Stiles, Isaac, Lydia & Allison. You would all meet at Derek‘s Loft in three hours so you got home, put your test on the kitchen table, meaning to put it away later, & made your way up to your room. Opening your drawer, you searched for comfy clothes & put them on. You decided on a big red jersey shirt & grey sweatpants. Pack meetings at Friday‘s always meant a movie night afterwards, your favorite.

You made your way to Derek, not caring to take your bike, you liked walking & the way to his loft was not that long. Arriving in front of his door, you wanted to knock but before you had the chance to do so, the door flung open, revealing a sternly looking Derek. He could sense you were here already & was a bit too eager to see you. You smiled shyly at him, focusing your eyes down at your feet. Derek shot you a smirk back but he knew you did not see it.

"Hi there.“ he said with his intimidating, deep voice that sent shivers down your spine.

„H- Hi, Derek.“ you replied, your voice shaking, making you cringe.

Derek stepped aside, motioning for you to come in. Surprisingly, you were the first one to arrive. Usually this did not happen, you were not as comfortable when you were alone with him so you always made sure that at least someone else was there already. You did not check the time though, way too excited for tonight.

"Can I bring you anything? (Y/N)?“ Derek asked, noticing you were not really paying attention.

"Um...actually, I‘m fine for now, thanks.“ you started blushing. The things this man could do to you.

"The others should be here soon. Make yourself as comfortable as possible, I know you don‘t like me that much. I don’t know if I scare you or anything but at least try to calm down a bit. I know your heart is beating faster than usual.“ Derek stated.

"Why would you think I‘m scared of you?“ you were taken aback by his statement. You thought he was the one who despised you.

"It‘s quite obvious, (Y/N)...You hardly ever talk to me, avoid my gaze & your heart doesn’t sound healthy at all when you’re around, like...ever.“ Derek said, his words somehow seeming hurt. Something you were not used to from him.

"I‘m sorry, I jus-" you actually were about to tell him why you behaved that way around him but before you had the chance to do so the door flung open, the others entering the loft. You shot a last look at Derek, eyes desperate to let him know & he knew something was up but now would not be the time.

You were all gathered around Derek‘s table, sheets spread across it. This was harder than you all thought it would be. After hours of what seemed like useless research you decided to wrap it up for today, settling up the movie night. Derek made popcorn & Stiles set up the movie. He chose Star Wars, of course he did. You were sitting at the end of the couch, this being your favorite place in Derek‘s loft. Before you could react, Derek places himself right next to you, offering you popcorn. You happily took some, starting to eat it. You could feel your heart picking up its pace & you knew Derek could feel it too. Anyway, you tried to ignore it & focused on the screen in front of you.

As the movie went on, you grew more & more tired. Your head leaning on Derek‘s shoulder. You did not really notice but he stirred, this being completely new to him. After a few minutes, he relaxed a bit more, draping his arm across your body. You snuggled closer into him, enjoying the closeness you two shared.

By the time the movie was over, you fell asleep on Derek‘s shoulder. The others already bid their goodbyes, silently making their way out of the loft, trying not to wake you. Then it was just you & him, alone. The moonlight let your face lit up in such a beautiful way. He admired your sleeping form, feeling happy you finally found your peace even though he was next to you. Your heartbeat was steady & peaceful. As much as he hated it, he had to wake you. You have to go back home, get some more sleep & meet up with the pack tomorrow.

"(Y/N)? Hey, (Y/N), wake up.“ Derek whispered.

You groaned, not wanting to leave your comfortable position.

"Come on, you have to head back home, we have to work some more tomorrow.“ Derek said lovely. Oh how much you admired this side of him. You felt safe within his arms, something you have not felt in a long, long time.

"What time is it?“ you opened your (Y/E) eyes & looked at him through your lashes. He could have kissed you right then & there but it would not have been the right time. He will get the chance someday...hopefully.

"11 pm, it‘s time you go to your bed.“ Derek answered, not wanting to let you go but knowing he had to. You started to get up, stretched & searched for your jacket. This was when you realized that you did not wear a jacket, just your jersey shirt. Derek already knew this so he handed you one of his jackets to throw over.

"Thanks.“

"No problem. Do you want me to bring you home?“ Derek asked concerned.

"Nah, I‘ll be fine, it‘s not far. Thanks though.“ you moved to his door. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you.“ Derek watched you leave. He then smiled to himself. So you were not scared of him. Maybe you all were just too oblivious to realize. Maybe everything will turn out to be fine in the end.

Standing at your front door, you searched for your keys. When you found them, you opened the door, stepping inside. You were surprised when you saw a light inside. You could have sworn you had switched off the lights before leaving. Maybe you had forgot one. Stepping into your leaving room you let out a short scream. Your mom & dad were sitting on the couch, looking quite angry. Why were they back already? It was not Sunday?

"Oh so you did decide to show up?“ your dad mocked.

"I think we made it clear that you are not allowed to go out except when you‘re studying. By the way...what is THIS?!“ your mother raised her voice at the end. You flinched away, knowing what was about to happen. Your mom held your chemistry test in front of your face, a look of pure anger & disappointment on her face.

"I- I can explain. It was a surpr-"

"CUT IT!“ your dad chimed in. Again you flinched away, trying to step back until your back hit a wall. This will not end well.

"You really don’t get it, do you?“ your mom asked. "We want you to be better but all you do is fuck things up. You‘re such a useless little bitch. You know what? Whenever someone asks me if I have kids I tell them no because I would be ashamed to talk about your pathetic ass.“ with each word her voice became louder & louder. Tears were streaming down your face. You did not understand why your parents treated you that way but you started to believe their words.

"I wish I wouldn’t be your father. You‘re the worst kid one can have. I HATE YOU, WE HATE YOU!!“ your father screamed. By now you were seriously scared they were about to hit you. They never really laid a hand on you but they had never been this angry before.

"I‘m sorry, I‘ll try to be bett-"

"Leave.“ your dad said dangerously low.

"W- What?“ you could not believe what you just heard. They wanted to kick you out. Yeah, they were verbally abusive but they were your parents. Your parents who were supposed to love you.

"LEAVE YOU STUPID BITCH."

This was all it took for you to turn around & sprint out of your, well not anymore, house. You did not even care to take your belongings. To be honest, you had nothing that really kept you there in the first place. You should have been glad, you were finally free. Free of your parents. That did not stop your from crying.

Without knowing where your feet dragged you, you only stopped running when you saw a big familiar building. Your tears blurred your vision but you knew exactly where you were. Derek‘s loft. You contemplated if you really should head in. Why would Derek want to deal with you anyway? Your parents were right, you were a fuck up, useless, pathetic. But where else could you possibly go? It was only then when you realized that it had been raining. Your clothes were drenched & you started shaking because of the cold.

You did not care. You were standing in front of his door, deciding to finally knock. You knocked for about three times, slowly losing hope. Derek was probably asleep. Maybe it was better that way. When you started turning around you heard the door squeaking.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here? Are you okay?“ Derek asked, concerning features crossing his face.

"I- I‘m-" you could not finish because your voice started to break. Derek took you in for a hug immediately. You held onto him like your life depended on it & cried into his chest.

"I‘ve got you, sweetie. I‘m here.“, (Y/N).“ Derek soothed you. Somehow his words made you cry even more but not in a bad way. You were so glad he was the one you were going to. How you ended up on his couch? You did not know. Eventually your tears stopped & you calmed down, exhausted by everything that had happened to you that night.

"I‘m sorry, Derek. I just...I didn’t know where to go.“

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?“

"Okay..." you breathed. "My parents, they have been obsessed with my grades for as long as I can remember. It all started out with them being disappointed but it got worse. They started calling me names, screaming at me whenever I didn’t get an A. Derek, they made my life a living hell. When I got back home, they were waiting for me, my chemistry test in my mom‘s hands. They started screaming, they scared me & then all of a sudden they told me to leave.“

Derek needed a few seconds to let your words sink in. Before he could speak up, you continued.

"I started to believe their words. Them calling me pathetic, useless...a disappointment. So when we first met & you acted quite cold towards me I thought you‘d think the same as my parents. I didn’t wanna bother you, that‘s why I kept quiet whenever you were around. Truth is, I‘ve been scared, Derek. I am so so scared.“ you confessed.

"Shhh, I‘m here. If I had known I would‘ve said something way sooner. I simply thought you hated me but as a matter of fact, I always had an eye on you & saw you slowly disappearing. (Y/N), you‘re not alone. You don’t need to be scared. You‘re safe with me.“ he pressed a kiss on your forehead.

"I don’t know what to do...I have nowhere to go. I have nothing, Derek."

"You have me, sweetheart. I‘m right here. You‘ll be staying with me, okay? We‘re gonna get through this together. I‘ll make you believe in yourself again, I promise." he said sincerely.

"The thing is...I can’t be saved. How will you make me believe in myself again?"

"Well, for starters, I believe in you.“ Derek looked into your (Y/E) eyes.

"Why though?" you asked?

Derek slowly leaned in, searching for any rejection. When he saw you did not move, he put his soft lips onto your own, moving in sync. When Derek could not make you believe with his words, he would try to make you believe with his actions. You scooted closer to him if that was possible at this point. After your kiss, you stayed close together, simply enjoying each other’s company.

"And I thought you hated me." you whispered.

"And I thought YOU hated me.“ Derek chuckled. Maybe he was right. Maybe everything was meant to turn out like this. For now, you felt safer than ever, in the arms of Derek. Derek, who would try everything to keep you happy. Forever.

Published 02/29/2020 by Cathy

#derek hale x reader #derek hale x stiles stilinski #derek hale x oc #derek hale x you #derek hale x y/n #derek x reader #derek x stiles #tyler hoechlin #derek hale imagine #mtv teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #superman #superman x reader #supergirl #dylan x reader #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #scott mccall x reader #tyler posey #chris argent #peter hale #peter hale x stiles stilinski #peter hale x reader #lydia martin #holland roden

[firesoulstuff]

Captain Canary + “you’re not safe here.”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544165/chapters/71160003

Sara can feel her stomach churning, and tears burning beneath her eyelids.

She has hated Lewis Snart for a long time now. The only comfort she has ever been able to take with the thought of him is that he is dead, and it was a very painful death.

Or at least, that was his fate before an aberration appeared.

She and Leonard were in the training room this morning, each doing their separate exercises. She’d been going through some of her forms whilst Len had been behind her across the room and hitting the punching bag. Eventually she noticed she hadn’t heard him in awhile, but she hadn’t heard him leave either. When she turned around he was gone, and before she could start looking for him Gideon called her to bridge.

She found out what happened, and immediately she had wanted to throw up.

It was the same thing that happened with Ray on the mission that brought them to the 80’s. There’s an aberration, and a past version of Leonard died.

That aberration? An extra crewmember for Lewis being free on the weekend of a heist because turns out the Time Masters pulling strings had been what kept him away. The heist still failed, but instead of getting busted this extra crewmember was able to get a very ill tempered Lewis out and home free. Where he took out his anger on his pregnant wife, and then his nine-year-old son who ran in to protect his mom and baby sister.

Little Leonard didn’t stand a chance.

Leonard – their Leonard – is back for now, because they’ve traveled back to before Lewis returns home and so the timeline isn’t yet set.

“You ok?”

No, she is not ok.

She’s with Mick, heading to the Snart household to get Little Leonard and his mom out. Their Len is with Ray and Amaya, staking out the heist and making sure the police come early, which they will so long as they act on the tip Zari is sending them.

She glares over at Mick, her expression saying for her how she is very much not ok, and then she sets her eyes forward again.

“His mom is pregnant.” She says as they come up on the house, and Mick hums.

“Yeah.” He agrees, “Time keeps on track, Lisa will be here and pissing everyone off in ‘bout a month.”

“That’s not the point.”

She doesn’t look, but she can feel Mick eyeing her. He gives it a minute, until they’re at the front gate made of rotting white-picket-fence, and he sighs as he nudges it open.

“Believe me Blondie, nothing would make me happier than putting that asshole eight feet in the ground, especially before he hurts Lisa. But if we do that her and Snart become different people.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She mumbles before she can stop herself.

Mick rumbles at the back of his throat and eyes her, but he doesn’t say anything about her choice of words; he knows what she means.

They get up to the front door and he reaches for the knob, but his hand hovers above it, his eyes locked firmly on the door.

“Snart will get his chance.” He says, almost more to himself than to her, before he finally looks at her. “If Lewis shows up here, he made the choice.”

She… She knows he’s right. She still feels sick, and like she isn’t going to be sleeping for a long time after tonight, but he’s right. This is Leonard’s life and his decision. Unless he comes over the comms and tells her otherwise, if Lewis shows up here she won’t kill him; no matter how much she wants to.

Mick opens the door and it creaks open, and right away there’s the sound of movement coming from the kitchen. Its dishes rummaging around, glass, and given the time it’s a safe bet it isn’t a third grade Leonard Snart looking around for a late-night snack.

“I’ll get her.” Mick says, and then nods to the stairs next to them. “You get him.”

She nods; content to let him make the plan this one time, and hurries up the stairs. She doesn’t take enough precaution to keep her footsteps quiet, she wants him to wake up. She does, however, keep them light and quick; because what she doesn’t want is to take the risk he might mistake her for his father.

The upstairs hallway is small, barely five feet long and with two doors on each wall. The first is propped open, a dark bathroom on the inside. The second is closed, but the plush L hanging on it being a soft white color with tiny pink flowers clues her in that it might not be the dwelling of a nine-year-old boy. The next door, however, it has a nameplate with Leonard spelled out on it in crooked stickers and it’s frame is decorated with the images of astronauts and aliens.

She allows herself a tiny smile; letting herself forget for just half a second the reason she is here and instead bask in the peek into Leonard’s childhood.

Then her half-second is over, and with a gentle hand on the knob she turns it and lets herself into the room.

It’s dark, not even the dimmest of nightlights to offer comfort. She wonders, idly, about that. She knows Leonard now prefers to sleep without a hint of light, but she doubts he became that way this young of his own accord.

She decides not to dwell on it, not now anyway. Instead she pads across the room and kneels down next to his bed. His adult self would have heard her by now. He would have opened his eyes; he might even have jumped. But this Leonard is still snoring softly and it breaks her heart that she has to wake him.

“Leo.” She whispers, her hand coming to ghost over his back.

He stiffens, his entire body giving a jolt as is eyes snap open.

“Shh… It’s ok.” She hurries to say. “It’s ok, I know you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your mom’s. She called me, you guys are going to come with me and my friend for a sleepover.”

God, she hopes little Snart hasn’t been well taught in the art of not getting kidnapped.

He sits up; looking at her in very much the same way her Leonard does when he’s trying to determine where her plan is going to land them.

“Why?”

Her breath hitches as she tries to think of a lie. Except what’s worse is she realizes he’s nine. Leonard has told her Lewis first came after him at the age of eight, and while he didn’t earn himself a permanent scar until eleven, at nine he already knew it was best to avoid daddy when he was angry.

“You’re dad called from work.” She says, watching his eyes for some kind of sign of fear, and she sees it. A flicker, a faint tightening of his body, and it makes her gut twist even more. “Something went wrong tonight, and he’s very angry about it.”

There’s another tightening of his body. His shoulders close in and his eyes flit away from her, and automatically she spreads her fingers out on his back.

“It’s ok.” She promises him, and licks her lips to force herself to continue. “But you’re not safe here.”

He shifts by only the tiniest amount, but it’s towards her, and she needs him to hurry but she doesn’t want to rush him.

“Boss!” Mick’s voice suddenly shouts from downstairs, and Leo jumps where he is. “We gotta move, you coming?”

She looks back to Leo, and she almost wants to call back and see if his mother will yell up that it’s ok, but it’s Mick in charge if getting her. She’s probably unconscious by now.

She dares to put a little more pressure forward with the hand on his back, and he follows it. He lets himself fall into her and wrap his arms around her neck. He’s a little awkward to stand up with and carry, tall enough that he should be walking himself. But she isn’t going to put him down unless she absolutely has to.

.

.

“You didn’t kill him.”

Leonard – her Leonard – looks up at her, and after holding her eyes for a long moment he sighs and puts his partially assembled cold gun on his nightstand.

“Raymond wouldn’t let me.”

She raises her eyebrow, not that he’s looking anymore. His eyes are downcast, his mouth a firm line, and she gives him time but she’s starting to think he isn’t going to elaborate. That’s fine, she can’t expect him to want to share anything. She’s about to bid him goodnight and then go spend the next six to ten hours sharpening her knives and imagine them carving into the flesh of Lewis-

“I couldn’t.”

His words are quiet, so much so that a part of her thinks she might have imagined them. But then he sighs and leans over to the nightstand again, this time picking up his famous deck of cards and beginning to shuffle them mindlessly.

He glances up at her, and she takes the hint and steps into his room and closes the door behind her.

Even so, it’s some time before he speaks.

“I wanted to.” He finally says, “And you know I could’ve gotten through Raymond.”

He finally looks at her with that, waiting for her to acknowledge his attempt at humor, and she gives him a smirk.

Then it’s back to shuffling the cards.

“But… If I had… then I wouldn’t be here would I?”

He brings his eyes back to her, and she looks away.

“No.” She agrees, “You would’ve had a different life.”

A better life, but she doesn’t need to say that.

“No telling what that might have brought.” He acknowledges, “You wipe the memory of little me?”

She nods, “And your mom.”

He nods this time, and gives the cards another shuffle.

“My and Lisa’s childhoods were… awful.” He says, “Not a day goes by I don’t wish things had been different. Getting the chance…”

He trails off, gathering his thoughts, and she’ll give him that. She’ll give him all the time that he needs.

“Lisa’s happy now.” He finally says, “She has Ramon, and all those other idiots. And I…” He swallows, “I have some idiots of my own. Couldn’t risk that.”

She smiles, and she wants to tease him. She wants to taunt that Captain Cold does have a heart and she’ll never tell. Maybe tomorrow she will, but not right now. Right now he has unshed tears in his eyes, and his face is pale. He’s even less likely to sleep tonight than she is.

So she crosses the room and without a word crawls in to sit next to him on his mattress. He scoots enough to give her space, but she still presses right into his side and lays a hand down over his wrist with hardly any weight to it.

“Good.” She finds herself saying, and she runs her fingers up is hand until she dips them between his knuckles. “Because these idiots would be lost without you.”

#fic rec #Captain Canary

[turningtummyrubs]

Hey! Are you still taking requests? I’d love to request something detailing the aftermath of someone overeating if that is ok? I just adore your detailed descriptions of the full, aching tummy, the way you describe it is just divine! Just the emphasis on the swollen tummy with all the gurgles ahhh 😍Loving the blog! Brilliant content 🥰

oh my gosh thank you so much! people like you are why i keep writing! i hope this is what you were looking for :))

cw: burping, minor nausea (not the actual process, though)

———

Carter drives home from work angry and exhausted, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel. He doesn’t usually find himself getting so heated considering his workplace is generally quite boring, but today is an exception. 

Aspen wasn’t there, for one, which is always a downer. He’s always telling Carter to focus on work because “Your analytics document is due in an hour” or some other stupid thing like that but it’s nice to have him there.

Second, he hadn’t had time to eat breakfast or lunch so his stomach’s been growling and gnawing at him all day.

And third, corporate came by to do a check-in. It’s a well-known fact that everyone hates corporate but this time was the absolute worst. They stopped by everyone’s individual cubicle and office and just stood there breathing over their shoulder. Like, personal space, am I right? Carter usually doesn’t mind too much, but today it was this balding dude wearing this obnoxiously red turtleneck and he had the audacity to tell Carter that the way he typed was wrong. Not what he was typing, but the way he was typing it. Carter, of course, smiled politely and nodded but inside he was seething.

He resists the urge to slam the door when he arrives at his apartment and heads straight for the kitchen. He groans thinking of how upset his stomach’s going to feel after he eats considering he hasn’t put anything in it in almost 24 hours but knows it’ll only feel worse the longer he waits.

He just went grocery shopping yesterday so his fridge and cupboards are stocked full with food. He makes spaghetti, boiling a big pot of water and cooking the noodles before straining everything and adding this Filipino tomato sauce Aspen swears by.

Carter fixes himself a small bowl and turns on the TV to watch Brooklyn 99 while he eats. He hardly notices by the time he finishes his first serving of spaghetti, blinking at the empty bowl when his fork resurfaces without anything on it. He puts an appraising hand on his belly and is surprised to find that it feels fine, though it’s still hungry. He gets up and gets some more spaghetti from the pot.

Before he knows it, that one’s finished, too, and he’s absentmindedly grabbing more and more and more until he realizes with a sickening lurch that he’s eaten it all. He hadn’t realized it while he was eating, but now that he’s paying attention his stomach feels groaningly tight against his jeans and something is definitely going to be hurting very soon. Oh no.

He sets the bowl down in the sink, feeling slightly woozy as the extent of his fullness hits him, before sinking down into the couch, turning to lie on his side. He turns off the TV as it’s started to intensify the discomfort he’s feeling and begins to rub broad circles over his somewhat swollen belly. 

It’s begun to twinge and cramp, churning with too much food, and his hand stills as something seizes and sends a jolt of pain through his body. He rubs frantically at the tense area, palm sliding back and forth in a desperate attempt to loosen up the cramping muscles, before easing up with a groan as the tight pressure makes his tummy gurgle and whine with unease. He squirms slightly, muffling a curse into his arm, until the tension lets up.

Carter palpates once with firm pressure at the formerly afflicted area and a low, rumbling belch provides some momentary relief.

He tries to get comfortable, lying flat on his back and massaging small circles at the top of the bloated swell, but soon realizes that that just isn’t possible with his pants being as tight as they are. Carter sighs and gingerly eases himself up, holding his stomach with a careful palm as it churns and burbles with unrest.

He forces himself to walk to his bedroom and changes into a pair of loose sweatpants. The soft material feels infinitely better against the hard curve of his belly and he sighs with a small amount of relief as he lies down on his bed.

Carter’s overfull stomach has started to gurgle noisily now, the loudest ones burbling tensely in his lower belly. He smooths his palm heavily down the center of his stomach and winces as that pushes some of the food down. His intestines squeeze and squelch as they begin to digest the cramping contents of his belly and he inhales sharply at the uncomfortable feeling and rests both his hands atop the softer area, hoping the weight will help calm some of the noisy upset.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to how much he was eating, especially on an empty stomach, so he wouldn’t’ve ended up with such a stomach ache.

Carter’s also filled with that deeply uncomfortable feeling of being stuffed further than your stomach’s capacity, where his skin is all hot and sensitive and there’s something like nausea pooling in his chest.

That nauseous feeling increases tenfold as his palm palpates roughly into a distressed, gurgly area on his lower left side. Something squelches beneath the pressure of his hand and sickly, hot air wells up his throat. A small, queasy burp works its way up and he moans quietly at the discomfort, rubbing over and over again at that aching area.

His swollen belly has begun to bloat further as the food digests and fills it with queasy gas, and he massages lightly at the cramping tightness, trailing his fingertips in circles over the sides of his distended belly as it rolls and gurgles with a pulsing ache.

Carter carefully probes all over his sick belly to identify the areas cramping with pockets of gas and kneads at them firmly until they let up to momentarily relieving belches. His swollen tummy sinks a little with every release of hot air, painfully tender to the touch.

As the gas begins to dissipate but the cramps start to worsen, Carter moans and shifts onto his side, curling up slightly. He wraps an arm around his tummy and massages at the hard lump of fullness struggling to digest in his guts. Nauseating stomach bile burbles tight against his pressing hand and he smooths his palm continuously over the rumbling gurgles.

As time wears on, the feeling of overwhelming fullness starts to fade, but his belly’s still tenderly bloated and aching and he still feels generally horrible, so he texts Aspen and asks him to come over.

Aspen arrives in five minutes, expression softening in sympathy at how miserable Carter looks curled up on the bed. He sits down beside him and gently smooths his hair back.

“Not feeling too good?” he murmurs.

Carter shakes his head, a pathetic whimpering noise leaving his mouth against his will. “Stomach hurts...”

“I’m sorry, Cat,” Aspen says, gently smoothing his palm up and down Carter’s back until he uncurls. Aspen slips his hand beneath Carter’s shirt and tenderly rubs at the bloated mess of Carter’s belly.

Carter groans and presses into his touch, provided with the relief he’d so desperately been craving.

“How was work?” Aspen asks, continuing his gentle massage. His palm rocks over a liquidy gurgle and firmly works away a sharp cramp in a broad sweeping motion.

“Don’t even get me started,” Carter grumbles, annoyance building again at the memory.

Aspen laughs softly. “Uh oh. What happened?”

Carter goes on to tell the story, voice amping up with passion before slowly trailing off as Aspen’s hand dips into a particularly comforting spot. Carter groans and presses Aspen’s palm in over the area, sighing contentedly when Aspen continues to rub there. The heavy weight of his hand feels achingly nice on his belly.

Aspen continues soothing the nausea and cramps plaguing Carter’s stomach until his voice fades off, heavy with sleep.

———

As you can see, ending fics isn’t my forte haha

#belly kink #my ocs #my writing #stomach ache #tummy ache #belly rubs #bloated #stuffing #whump

[starlightsearches]

A New Life Pt. 4

Whoops, I said that there would be no more of the Kylo Ren soulmate AU but apparently I lied! This came to me earlier today and I had to write it. Hope you like it! 

(Here’s the first part, second part, and third part if you missed them)

Requests are closed for now ✨

Kylo Ren X female reader soulmate! AU Pt. 4

AN: Some language, and it’s vaguely NSFW towards the end! 

Ren never touched you first. Not in private, and certainly not in public. It was a compromise of some kind, you assumed, that he had made with himself. You knew he worried about it, even now—the ridiculous notion that he would somehow scare you off, that he would hurt you. So you initiated all contact, and you were gentle, and you let him be gentle. You weren’t too bothered by it. After all, there were exceptions to every rule.

When the general was around, Ren was always touching you. Holding you by the waist, resting a hand on your shoulder, at the back of your neck: if General Hux was in the room, you were never out of Ren’s reach. This was true now, too, his hand solidly on your back at your waist as you board the transport, headed to Ryyn with Phasma and the general.

It’s exciting, to finally go somewhere, to have the opportunity to be somewhere besides the Finalizer. Ren left the ship fairly often and the time you spent by yourself—sometimes for weeks on end—was . . . boring. Lonely. When he had mentioned that he would be going off base again after only returning a few days ago, you had been crushed, a feeling that had been immediately replaced with joy when he had asked if you would like to join him.

The general had grumbled, of course, when he saw that you would also be coming but you paid him no mind. He was always complaining about something, making snide remarks when you were there, and even though it drove Ren crazy, you could see through the act; the man was very obviously lonely. He tried to hide it, and did hide it successfully, from Ren and the captain. But not from you.

Against your better judgement, you liked the general, or at least, you found him interesting. He may have been rude and judgemental, but it was hard for you to take him seriously. He reminded you sometimes of the zeefas your family had kept for milk and meat back home—grumpy old animals, but harmless enough. You had a knack for working with livestock like that; it never took long before even the most stubborn of them were eating out of the palm of your hand. Apparently your charms were limited to farm life; despite the concerted effort you had put into being as inoffensive as possible, the general showed no signs of warming up to you in the slightest. Which was too bad, because part of you believed that—if he gave you a chance—you might be friends. And you’d really like to have a friend.

You take your seat on the transport, strapping in, and Ren sits beside you, only letting go of you for a moment to secure his own restraints before replacing his hand on your knee. Hux rolls his eyes, finding a seat on the other side and Phasma joins him. The anticipation in your chest only grows more potent as the pilot prepares for launch, and you can hardly wait for what was in store. You were going to Ryyn—a place you had only heard about in wild stories—to the capital city Cearrau; you would be staying in the palace there. You would meet the queen and attend the ball she would hold in honor of the First Order guests. You would wear the dress you had picked out especially for the event, blood-red and beautiful, and you would be on Ren’s arm the entire night. It was sure to be incredible.

“I still don’t see why you’re coming,” Hux says, leveling a glare in your direction, and Ren’s grip tightens on your knee. He’s ready to spit out some retort, you can tell, but you stop him with a hand gently rested on his arm.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, and he relaxes minutely before you address the general, “I’m actually very excited for the trip, General. I think it will be interesting.” Hux scoffs in response and opens up his data pad, choosing to ignore you.

Everyone settles into their seats as the ship launches and you decide to distract yourself, pulling out your sketchpad and a stylus, tapping the end of it against your mouth, deep in thought. You could draw Ren, of course, but you had plenty of drawings of him, stacks and stacks of them—enough to cover the walls of your quarters if you wanted. You didn’t even need a reference anymore, the exact shape of his nose and the planes of his cheeks appearing easily to you from memory. You need something new, some kind of a challenge.

The general was obviously out of the question, for a number of reasons. For one, he isn’t sitting still enough for you to complete a proper sketch, shifting from one position to the next every few minutes, engrossed in something on his data pad. Plus, you’re afraid of what would happen if he caught you, what insult he would come up with that would send Ren into a rage. Not worth the risk. The captain, on the other hand, might work. 

She is lounging, her helmet resting on the wall behind her, maybe sleeping—it’s difficult to tell with the mask on, but her pose is dynamic and the reflection of the lights in her chromium armor adds depth and shadows where there are none. Your hand begins to move across the flimsi without your direction, working to capture the cool authority she always seems to emanate.

Ren dozes next to you, occasionally rolling his head to the side to check your progress, drumming his fingers lightly against your thigh in approval. The likeness is pretty good, although it’s lacking something in your opinion. You wish that you had brought your paints with you; maybe you’d have better luck communicating the shine of her armor in a different medium.

“What are you doing?” General Hux says, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze on you, although you don’t return it, still focused on the captain.

“Sketching,” you respond, adding a little depth in the background, “but I can stop if it’s bothering you.” 

“Sketching?” he asks, and for the first time since you’d met him, there is no trace of disdain in his voice. In fact, he sounds intrigued. You place the stylus behind your ear, passing him the sketchbook, and he reaches for it skeptically. You watch him closely as he studies the drawing, waiting anxiously to see how he’d react. 

“Hmm,” Hux says after a long moment, returning the book to you and studying you with his eyes narrowed, like he’s trying to read something from a distance, “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Home,” you say, trying your hardest not to seem too eager now that he had initiated a conversation, “my father was an artist.”

“I thought both of your parents were farmers,” the disdain is back, but cracking a little, a glimmer of genuine interest showing through, and you laugh gently to show that you’re not offended.

“We’re all farmers where I’m from, but he spends his free time drawing. Painting, too. I usually prefer paints, but they’re difficult to transport.” You stop yourself, looking at your drawing again, afraid that you’re rambling, and the general sits in silence for a moment, his eyes still on your sketchbook.

“I could paint you,” you venture, not wanting to lose the tenuous connection you had created,” if you want, when we get back to the Finalizer? You have such striking features; I think they’d translate well to the page.” You’re laying on the praise very thick, you know, and you’re worried it will come off as too much, but the general flushes pink, and you smile, the thrill of victory sharp in your veins. Was this all it would take to endear the general to you? To make him stop hating you? You wish you had known that weeks ago.

“That would be fine,” Hux responds, with a small cough, guarding his expression against your obvious cheer, but your spirits cannot be dampened by his apparent indifference. Pleased, you go back to sketching, another one of Ren this time, happy with the progress you’ve made with Hux. Happy, that is, until you notice that Ren had pulled away from you, releasing his grip on your leg.

The ship drops out of light speed and begins to make its approach, but you take no notice, a coldness settling beneath your skin. You nudge him gently with your knee, but there’s no response. He’s motionless, quiet, staring forward with an obstinate amount of determination, and he stays this way, avoiding you as the four of you make your way out of the transport. You can’t help but notice that Ryyn is beautiful, the warmth and the wind greeting you as you step out onto the palace grounds, but the heat the sun offers refuses to clear away any the chill you feel.

After parting with Hux and Phasma, you and Ren are led by a servant to your guest quarters, and you prattle nonsensically as you walk hoping to put the man at ease—and hoping to release some of your own nerves as well. Ren says nothing, silent as a shadow, and you watch as the palace’s other inhabitants steal glances from around corners as you pass, eager to get a glimpse of the infamous Jedi Killer.

The room is lovely—and enormous—with large, open windows and an even larger balcony, overlooking the valley below. You move tentatively towards the view, but Ren doesn’t join you, choosing instead to stand ominously in the center of the room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting on the bed and running your hand over the covers. There’s distance between you, not only physical, and you want to address it now before it grows. Was he really so mad that you had spoken to Hux?

“It’s nothing,” he says, but he’s still wearing the mask, and you assume it’s to keep you out. This is the first time you’ve seen him like this, and it’s beginning to scare you. This was how he acted with other people, not with you.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you say, standing from the bed but moving no closer, “please? I know you’re angry with me. I want to make it right.” He faces away from you, his powerful shoulders rolling as he moves to lift the helmet from his head, discarding it on the floor with a thud. The sound makes you jump, and you watch him perceptively, hoping to read the answer to your question in his expression, but he still guards his face from you. “Why don’t you go find the general?” he says harshly, and you catch the barest glimpse of his profile as he looks over his shoulder, “since you find him so interesting.” Your jaw drops in shock.

“Are you jealous?” you ask, and he doesn’t respond, but you can tell that you’re right. Despite the tension, a smile threatens its way onto your face and you smother it with your hand.

“It’s not funny,” he says, picking up thoughts but still avoiding your eyes.

“I know it’s not,” you respond, back in control of your mind and your expression, “I’m just surprised.” He laughs, but there’s no joy in it, a short, angry sound that bounces back at you off of the polished walls. 

“I just don’t want him to hate me, that’s all,” you say, quietly. You’ve seen Ren angry before, but never like this. Never at you. But there’s something else besides anger, and that’s what scares you more. You can feel it roll off of him, see it clearly in his posture; he’s doubting your love for him.

“You know you have nothing to worry about, right? I could never want someone else the way I want you.” His shoulders relax slightly, and you’re able to breathe again, now that he’s listening to you. It’s difficult to see him this way, catching brief glimpses of his fears. He thinks you’ll leave him, but that would never happen. You repeat yourself once again, hoping that this time he’ll finally believe what you’re saying. “I only want you.”

Those words work like magic, or maybe it’s the feeling behind them, but either way the doubt is gone, and he’s facing you with a look in his eyes like pure sin, his anger transformed into something else. You hold his gaze and the intensity of it goes straight to the space between your legs, weakening you at the knees.

“How?” he asks, stalking towards you, impossibly large and your heart beats loudly in your chest. You feel for a moment in some wild part of you that you should run, but you're frozen in place, and you like it. A lot. Now this is a side of him you’ve never seen before.

“How what?” you ask; your voice shakes when you speak. He laughs, low and deep and through his teeth as he bites one glove off and then the other, a warm hand finding its way to your waist and gripping the fabric of your dress tightly, pulling you closer. The first point of contact.

“Tell me how you want me,” he whispers, staring you down with his unfathomable eyes, his tongue darting out over full, pink lips. There are no thoughts in your head now, your mind is completely empty and for a moment you try to remember how you landed yourself in this particular situation. Maybe, if you remember, you’ll be able to work him up like this again.

He steps closer, his body like a brick wall against yours and you stumble backwards, falling onto the bed with a light bounce, propped up on your elbows, still in shock that he’s acting this way, and that you don’t want him to stop. He smirks, gripping both of your knees with burning fingers, sliding his hands under the hem of your dress and climbing up your thighs, leaning in close over you to whisper in your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he says again, and the feeling of his mouth on your ear sends vibrations through your whole body; your eyes roll back with anticipation.

“Fuck,” it’s the only word that you can think of right now, your mind wholy preoccupied by the feeling of his thumb as it traces small circles over the skin your inner thigh, inching ever higher.

“That’s what I thought,” he kisses you hard, hard enough to bruise and you moan, open-mouthed, a deep, desperate sound you had never made before.

“Shit,” you mumble, and he doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s moving, his mouth working down your jaw and to your chest with hot, harsh kisses. You try to relax into it, into the work of his hands, still below your skirt, but he draws a yelp from you when you least expect it, biting at the skin just above your breast. He looks up at you, anger from before gone and replaced with a strident need, daring you to beg for more.

“Someone might hear,” you say quietly, your voice hitching slightly with the movement of his fingers. The windows are open after all, and with the way he’s acting, you know you won’t be able to stay quiet.

“I hope they do,” he says, nudging a space between your knees with his shoulders, finding a place between your legs. “I hope they all hear you begging for me, and I hope that by the end of it everyone on this damn planet knows that you’re mine.”

#kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren au #soulmate au #my writing #long post

[caiminnent]

not designed for the cynical [kylux with side phasma/rey, rated T]

PROMPTS: communication suddenly cut off (@badthingshappenbingo​, 8/25) & bed sharing - pet - delivery (@kyluxxoxo​)

SUMMARY:

Whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. The job offer he accepts turns out to be far more than he's bargained for.

(This is a low-key Inception AU that requires little to no knowledge of the movie.)

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, except not really, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related

NOTES: This was written mostly during commute and/or sleep-deprived within an inch of my life and edited under the same circumstances. As such, I don't have the faintest clue what this is, but I love it.

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

He is prone to stress, and he’s got the blood pressure to prove it—but that’s a necessity of the life they lead. It’s got its uses. Worry, however, is for when you don’t have an alphabetised, colour-coded list of plans for every situation that may arise. Worry is for the under-prepared.

Worry is a waste of time.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the fist around his heart from squeezing tight every time he hits redial and finds Ren’s phone still switched off, however.

Then again, there’s no real reason to worry about it. It’s a perfectly Ren move to go off the radar for weeks on end and turn up three countries away from where he was supposed to be, shrugging off all reprimand like he can’t understand why they’re so angry about it. It’s just what he does—he disappears, then he shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

He will this time, too. He promised—he will be back by Hux’s birthday.

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

Contrary to the popular (re: Ren’s) belief, life doesn’t stop just because Ren is off doing what Ren does somewhere else.

Even with all the safe houses and personas they maintain all across the world, the unreasonable amounts of money Snoke throws at them to be at his beck and call is more than enough to keep them afloat. Ren would be fine with not taking another independent job ever again; but Hux knows better than to rely on Snoke alone. He’s been burned enough times by fickle employers; he’s not ready to bet on the wrong horse and have to build his reputation up from scratch yet again.

That’s part of why, whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. It keeps him in the game, on the occasion he gets an offer worth considering—and if he doesn’t, he calls it getting a feel for the market and moves on.

Monday morning finds him curled on the sofa, going through the responses on his phone. Most offers he received are below his notice like he expected, some downright insulting—and then there’s the e-mail from Enric Pryde himself.

He sits up so fast he almost knocks over his empty cup.

Among the dreamshare community, the First Order is as revered as it is despised. They reach out to very few and pay three times what they should; but the cost of failure is equally severe, growing proportionately to the project’s worth. Which seems to be a lot, in this case. While he can’t tell from the sparse details in the e-mail whether this Project Starkiller is meant to be a moving city or some sort of weapon—perhaps both, knowing the First Order—he already estimates at least two layers, more likely three, and a special blend of stabiliser for the dreamer and the architect both, who cannot be the same person for this design.

Because they want him on board as the main architect and his dreams never hold steady after the first layer, special blend or no.

Whatever he was looking for as a quick job, this is not it. It’s far more involved and challenging than he could have imagined—and, he’s finding, everything he needed. He could do this for himself. He could work a job he enjoys, instead of running point to Ren or Phasma’s picks all the time to keep them from working with incompetent point men.

Ren and Phasma, who might be working with incompetent point men halfway across the world this very moment.

No. No, he’s not thinking that. His birthday is only three days away. Everything is fine.

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

He e-mails back to say he’s honoured and asks for one week to get his team together. Pryde gives him five days and a thinly-veiled warning that there are others who would jump at this opportunity.

Stomach at his feet, Hux throws his phone on the coffee table and gets up to make more tea.

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

As expected, research gives him little of substance about the First Order’s operations and nothing at all about the Starkiller, although he finds a low-quality close-up of Pryde to glare at as he sketches out some ideas. They will get binned once he gets his hands on the self-destructing dossiers or whatever ridiculous security protocols the First Order may work with; but it keeps him busy. Better than watching the hours tick by.

When the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight on what is now Thursday, he considers texting Rey to ask if she’s heard from Phasma recently—changes his mind before he even picks up the phone. Ren wouldn’t like it. Hux has been accused of being a control freak more times than he can count as it is; he doesn’t want to add clingy to the list of his unattractive qualities.

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

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

The door had never felt so close or so far as he rushes to it, heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to let Ren in, he’s going to check him for injuries and he’s going to disembowel that infuriating, thoughtless, selfish piece of shite if he’s had Hux fret all this time for no reason—

“Hi,” Rey chirps, looking up at him with damp eyes and a brittle smile. She raises a bottle of whiskey—Phasma’s favourite. “Happy birthday?”

He opens the door wider.

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

Admittedly—not out loud; he would never hear the end of it, from her or her cousin—Rey scores high on the short list of people whose company he enjoys. The booze helps, too. They drink in front of the television Hux hasn’t switched off in days and talk about everything but the aching holes in their chests.

She falls asleep on the sofa. He puts a blanket over her and goes to bed.

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

In the morning—practically afternoon, if he’s being honest—he tells her about the Starkiller. The plan was to pitch it to Ren first, to see what he thinks before bringing in the others. As it is, Ren isn’t here and none of Hux’s messages has gone through since their interrupted conversation and Hux is going to bloody explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

“I’m not sure, Armie,” she says around a spoonful of breakfast cereal he certainly didn’t buy. “He will never agree to work for the First Order.”

“Why the hell not? He works for Snoke.” Rather happily, in fact. Ren never prepares more carefully for a job than one of Snoke’s plentiful errands, no matter how simple. “Why wouldn’t he work for Snoke’s own company?”

She considers him for a long moment, chewing slowly. “He hasn’t told you the story.”

The implication—accusation—stings deep. “What story?” he demands, pushing his tea away to lean closer. The words held the intonation of capital letters, which means missing information that could potentially blindside them down the line. His respect for Ren’s private business isn’t greater than his responsibilities.

“Not mine to tell,” she says sternly, pinching her lips in disappointment like he should be ashamed to have asked to begin with. “Ask him.”

He snorts. Ren is hardly the sharing type, especially where Hux is concerned. Everything he’s ever learned about Ren has come through other means—and vice versa, he imagines.

She frowns, a question rising behind her eyes. He tenses on instinct. “Anyway,” she continues, shaking her head—and he can breathe more easily again. “My point is, if we’re doing this, we’ll need another forger.”

We. He doesn’t suppress his smile, relief coating his insides. “I suspect we won’t need a forger for this one. A chemist, on the other hand…”

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

She doesn’t leave and he doesn’t ask her to. They polish off the whiskey and pretend not to check their phones every ten minutes while binge-watching Star Wars, including the newest releases even their resident space nerd couldn’t finish.

He visualises Ren’s horrified expression when Hux reveals how he and Rey bonded over their shared love for big guns and hot villains in Ren’s absence. Laughter gets stuck in his throat, forming a painful lump instead.

He bids her good night and slinks away into his bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

Barely ten minutes pass before the television switches off in the next room, soft footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. He turns his back to the door and feigns sleep as it opens and closes—which is a coward’s way, but he’s never claimed to be a particularly brave man. If he were, he would have asked Ren to stop working for Snoke instead of stewing in his misery right now.

Compared to her cousin, Rey’s weight barely shifts the mattress as she climbs in, sliding under the covers without fanfare. He shuts his eyes tighter and allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Ren is back.

“I haven’t heard from Phasma in over a month.”

Over a month? Hells, no wonder she sought him out. “Ren and I talked two weeks ago,” he says—realises with a sinking feeling that it sounded like he was rubbing it in. “Closer to three, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much that I could understand. The reception was horrible.” Bits and pieces through constant breaking: Hux, shit, in case, person and, inexplicably, home. “I didn’t get the impression they were in danger—just inconvenienced.” As is often the case with these missions. Snoke’s got a small army of trained private security under his command and he still sends Ren to the most out-of-the-way places.

That Snoke’s hired Phasma as well for this one is a little more concerning, but not overly so. Reckless as they both can be, Ren and Phasma are forces to be reckoned with on the field—Hux would be more inclined to feel sorry for their adversaries.

Rey sighs. “Hope you’re right, Armie.”

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

If Mitaka is surprised to see Rey strut about in Hux’s shortest joggers she still needed to fold at the ankles and an old shirt, he politely doesn’t mention it. He and Rey exchange banal pleasantries over coffee and day-old cake while Hux finishes typing up his notes, then they get to work.

Mitaka listens to the briefing with unwavering attention, his fingers stapled in front of him like a front-row student. Like everyone else in their extended team, Mitaka is an experienced, accomplished dreamer—and yet, Hux can’t help looking at him and seeing the fresh-faced cadet Phasma had dragged in ages ago, barely into his twenties and all the more naive for it.

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

Once Hux finishes, “If you both are building this time,” Mitaka starts, looking between the two. “Who will be taking point? The Captain?”

Next to him, Rey inhales sharply, her face mostly hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Shame crosses through Mitaka’s face at the realised misstep.

“She’s otherwise occupied,” Hux responds before Mitaka can break into apologies. No need to make this more painful or awkward than it needs to be. “I will be running point as usual, and Rey is here to help with the heavy-lifting.”

Mitaka nods, glancing at Rey with concern before turning to Hux fully. “Where do I sign?”

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

They sign a heavily-encrypted stack of documents digitally, sending them through the First Order’s own communication system. The next day, they receive a link to a private cloud service with a convoluted unlock sequence that can be accessed by one device at a time, read-only.

Hux alone works on three different devices.

On the bright side, the project they receive is well-worth the inconvenience. Their objective is to design and build a superweapon out of an extensively described ice planet in the dreamspace, which must be capable of hitting five targets simultaneously and obliterating all affected life forms on them without causing a single non-predetermined casualty. Controlled chaos, if you will. The First Order wants a catastrophe they can tame and leash.

Hux can make it happen.

Whether he can make it happen in eight weeks is a different question entirely.

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

Without Ren to drag him away from work, he’s free to divide his waking hours between his screens and the sitting room, which they repurposed into a workshop-slash-dream den. While Hux is a decent architect in a pinch, he could never build the way Rey does—the way she bends the dreamspace to her will and creates cities that feel alive around them. Between the two of them, they have the groundwork laid out within days, quickly moving on to revising the base design according to the specifications in the main file and the numbers Hux runs.

Instead of using pre-mixed batches, Mitaka mixes their Somnacin from scratch on the kitchen table, reworking the formula per the reactions. None he comes up with works to keep Hux’s dreams steady, although a couple seem to ground his control over the dreamspace. Most just turn the dreams into nightmares for everyone involved.

Many of the nightmares are about Ren. Every time they manage to wake up from one of those, he looks at Rey to apologise. She never meets his eyes.

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

Unlike the two of them, Mitaka has family to return to and so he does when it gets late, leaving them to eat take-away and talk around the elephant in the room. On the rare occasion they do talk. Even though Hux gets the most shit for his workaholic tendencies, they all are guilty of it in different degrees; most nights are spent hunched over desks or tablets until they come close to shooting each other over the smallest noise or mistake, then they retire for the night.

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

“They might need our help,” she murmurs, lowly enough that the words could get lost among the howling wind outside. “They might be injured or—or lost, waiting for rescue. And we would be here arguing about heat transfer.”

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He sighs loudly, turning to face Rey. Her eyes are big and eerily bright in the darkness, shining. “Look, Ren and I have been through this before. We’ve got contingencies in place for any kind of emergency—strategies to scarper and regroup as needed, fake identities with paper trail, codes to slip into lines of communication that will find their way to the other’s ear—all of which tied to systems that would alert us both if ever used. So far?” He gestures vaguely to his phones on the nightstand. “Complete radio silence.”

“Well it might be because he’s—”

His stomach lurching, “Don’t,” he bites out. He’s had enough nights contemplating that possibility himself, reasoning himself out of that line of thinking with more effort each time; he can’t handle someone else saying it.

Especially not Rey, whose unfailing optimism has seen them through many a dark spot.

“They will be back soon,” he says with conviction he forces himself to feel. They always do. This is just taking longer than expected.

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

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

At the end of the third week, Enric Pryde reaches out to him. His voice is as cold and serpent-like as he looks.

They talk for two and a half minutes—more accurately, Pryde relays his demands for two minutes and rebuffs Hux’s protests for the next half, then hangs up unceremoniously on him.

Fuming, Hux tries to glare a hole into his phone for about as long before going to wake Rey up.

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

“What do you mean, they are relocating us?”

Latching his fingers tight to keep from scraping at his already raw palms, “I mean exactly what I said,” Hux grinds out. “They want to move us into some safe house where they will provide us with everything we’ll need for the rest of the project. We don’t have the option to refuse their generosity.”

“They want to monitor us,” Mitaka says on the other end of the line, ever fond of pointing out the obvious. “Can they do that?”

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they can’t?” Hux shakes his head. They are not small fish; but the First Order is big enough to swallow them whole and not suffer for it. He knows to pick his fights. “If you’d like to drop off the face of the earth, now is the time.”

Rey snorts—as much of an answer as Mitaka’s bitter laughter.

“Well,” Rey says, scraping her chair back. “I should pack some clean underwear. When are they coming to get us?”

“As we speak.”

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

Before they leave, they make sure to sketch out First Order insignias on every available place. Just in case.

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

The safe house is, for all intents and purposes, a veritable villa in the middle of nowhere.

“A little excessive,” Mitaka comments as they tour the place, noting the bolted down furniture and darkened windows, locked conspicuously on the outside. The cupboards and the fridge are well-stocked enough to keep them fed for several months.

There is no mobile coverage.

In fact, there is no wireless connection of any sort. The multitude of devices strewn about in the house are all connected to the First Order’s own network and communications system, which provides access to every archive they might need for the project and nothing else.

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

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

Progress is much faster with so much information at their fingertips.

Hux is envious of the berths of the First Order databases. Effective as his own methods of gathering intelligence are, his network couldn’t hope to have the same reach as a well-funded PMC—which he could have been a part of, had he not gone freelance instead of corporate after leaving the military.

The idea is tempting, still. He’s ruined for the civilian workforce—has been since childhood, with a father like General Brendol Hux was—but he seeks the structure and order that comes with being part of an organisation. Under different circumstances, he may have considered applying to the First Order after this project.

As their prisoner in everything but name, he wants little more than to be as far away from them as possible.

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

Everything they’ll need doesn’t involve a private chef or buffet, but it involves private delivery people who pick up whatever they want, no matter what they want, in a timely fashion. Because they are spiteful opportunists, they order the most extravagant and unreasonable meals they can think of. The food always arrives hot.

Hux marks the potential restaurants for each food item and how long it took to arrive on a small map every time. Just in case.

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

Sleeping in the same bed while Mitaka is in the next room feels too awkward, so they don’t. They don’t sleep much in general, either—not with the question of how to power a machine of the Starkiller’s scale without it overheating hanging heavy over their heads. Dreamshare mechanics are a lot more forgiving than their real-world counterparts; if they can’t pull it off down there, they sure as hell won’t make it work topside.

They have to make it work topside, they now know. The First Order wouldn’t have poured so much money and resources into what is merely Pryde’s pet design project.

“They probably have people looking into it,” Rey says, spinning her pen around her fingers with smugness dripping from her expression. He’s not petty enough to dare her to replicate it in the real world, but the thought is there. “Some super high-tech R&D division working on preventing a weapon of mass-destruction from exploding instead of, like, climate change.”

Watching her fingers like the secrets of the universe lie between them, “I don’t think so,” Mitaka responds. “It’s too much of a commitment. I bet they just wait for someone else to figure it out, then steal the designs from them.”

Something flares at the back of Hux’s mind like static, a connection he doesn’t want to make forcing itself into his awareness.

He shakes his head hard to clear it. Even with the dilation, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on things he’s got no control over.

“If you two are quite done gossiping,” he cuts in, smoothing over the blueprints in front of him for effect. “We’ve got work to do.”

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

We’re going to take something someone else worked very hard for, was all Ren had said the night before his departure—the only time Hux dared ask about his new job, once it became apparent Ren wasn’t going to say a word about it on his own. It’s such a non-answer that Hux couldn’t tell if Ren wanted to leave him space for plausible deniability or simply didn’t want to tell him.

He still can’t. As a matter of fact, he can’t say for sure Snoke’s job and this project are connected, either; all he’s got is a hunch.

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

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

Mitaka’s newest blend is the most successful yet. They go down as far as the third level with only minor tremors under their feet—a huge leap of progress, after weeks of the ground swallowing them up whole.

Knowing better than to push their luck, they call it an early night and celebrate by ordering a feast they’ll have to take their time with. With the dinner table and every other horizontal space that could reasonably hold food covered in their work, they sprawl about the sofa set that hasn’t seen nearly enough use over their involuntary stay.

Once their food arrives and Rey realises what he ordered, a soft look crosses over her face. He ignores it. There’s only one place that serves Ren’s favourite food; it makes for a good reference point on his map. It’s not sentimental if it’s also practical.

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

He knew, from a logical standpoint, that having access to communication systems meant people could communicate with them and vice versa. On account of the fact that Pryde and the delivery people are the only ones to use it, he didn’t particularly care.

When the name Blysma pops up on the main screen, he realises what a gross oversight that was.

Heart at his throat, he accepts the request with shaking hands, grateful that no one is awake to see him like this. “Hux speaking.”

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

“Don’t say my name,” Ren adds quickly, as if he sensed that Hux was about to curse his name six ways to Sunday. “Or any other names. They don’t actively monitor your communications, but we’re pretty sure some keywords are flagged. Best not to take any chances.”

“We,” he repeats dumbly. So many questions are buzzing in his head that he doesn’t know which should take priority. “You and—ah, our mutual terrifying friend?”

Phasma’s melodic laughter rings through the other end of the line. Hux’s heart soars.

“Yeah,” Ren says, a little breathy. “Yes, we’re both here. And fine. The job ran late. Where the fuck are you?”

About that… “I don’t actually know,” he admits, the truth of it settling dark and deep into his gut. Trying to map out their location left him with more questions than answers. “Near the ocean. Far north of the city, I think; but we shouldn’t have crossed any borders.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Ren says.

Irritation rising in him, “We were hardly given a tour guide for the road,” he snaps. You should have been there to take notes, is on the tip of his tongue—he swallows the words. Ren is here now, in a way. They’ve found Hux and the others. The insignias must have pointed them in the right direction; but figuring out how to contact Hux through the First Order’s own systems? That’s all their doing.

Taking a long breath to calm himself down, “How did you contact us anyway?” he asks.

“By calling in more favours than your sorry life is worth,” Phasma says, amusement lingering in her tone. He has never been happier to hear her mocking drawl. “So you had better give us something concrete to work with before we decide to leave you to rot there.”

Racking his brain, he takes a deep breath to ground himself. He’s got to focus. However Ren and Phasma managed to get into the First Order’s systems, they are unlikely to remain unnoticed for long. He needs to make the most of it.

The answer is so simple, he wants to smack himself upside the head.

“At noon, we will place an order for three servings of Bivoli tempari from the Hosnian. Track whoever is delivering it. They should lead you to us.”

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

He doesn’t tell the others about it. For one, he’s not fully sure his stress-addled brain didn’t make up the whole interaction—for another, they have a check-in with Pryde scheduled at 3, during which they’re going to disappoint him again with their lack of progress regarding the overheating issue. They are on thin ice as it is; he can’t take a gamble on the quality of the others’ poker faces and risk attracting Pryde’s suspicion.

At exactly noon, he contacts the delivery people and relays the order. In his periphery, Mitaka and Rey share a look.

Once he takes his seat again, “I thought the Hosnian was eat-in only,” Rey says.

Hux shrugs. “They said everything you’ll need.”

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

He orders something different from the Hosnian at the same time for the next four days, just in case. Mitaka is too polite to protest, despite the cuisine clearly not agreeing with him.

Rey eyes him suspiciously every time but says nothing, waiting for him to come to her instead of forcing an explanation out of him. He appreciates it more than he can put into words. He can only hope she understands.

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

Dying in an explosion ten times in a row tends to throw a wrench in group morale.

Unwilling to kill themselves just to wake up in the safe house, they wordlessly agree to wait out the timer. The burnout has settled deep onto their bones; Pryde’s implicit threats after every check-in don’t help their mental state, either. If Ren and Phasma hadn’t made contact, Hux might have considered taking his chances with a desperate escape attempt instead of sticking around to see what punishment the First Order would dole out for their inevitable failure. It might prove the better end, at any rate.

“I am going back to my children after this,” Mitaka says with more conviction than Hux has been able to muster up about anything in months. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if they kill me for it—I won’t die without seeing my family again.”

“We are not dying,” Hux reassures him. With three real-world seconds to the scheduled kick, he explains everything—Ren and Phasma making contact, the bare-bones of the plan and Blysma’s carefully vague progress update texts, the precautions they’re taking to keep Mitaka’s family safe should something go wrong.

Mitaka cries silent, happy tears at the news. Rey gives Mitaka a warm smile and pulls him close.

“That’s it,” she tells Hux, rubbing at Mitaka’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not letting her take a job without me ever again.”

Raising a brow, “You would be announcing to everyone in the community that she’s the best leverage against you,” he points out, not unkindly. He understands the sentiment—truly, he does—but it’s woefully impractical. Not to mention the kind of commitment it would take.

Her eyes gleam, smile turning secretive in that way he’s learned not to trust. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, “I was already going to do that,” she says airily, taking out a small, velvet box.

Ah. Fair enough, then.

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

Hux is above lying to his employers.

Rather, he likes to think he is. Dreamshare, sophisticated as it may be at its heart, is an underground science—as such, it attracts a certain crowd. In a community where lying through one’s teeth is a survival skill, Hux knows to look someone in the eye and spin a tale truer than the truth as well as the next crook; he just prefers to tell the truth as long as it will leave his head connected to his body.

As it happens, this is the last scheduled check-in before the deadline. Giving Pryde bad news now would be signing their death warrant.

When Hux reports their success, Pryde smiles. The sight haunts Hux’s nightmares for days.

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

Blysma’s communication request comes the night before the grand plan, unscheduled.

His mind racing with possibilities, he grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand before the notification wakes the others, accepting the request with, “Hux speaking.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about. Phasma has already laid out all she could of the plan without tipping off the First Order; a recap now would do more harm than good.

If this is about a last-minute change—well. Adaptability is another survival skill in their line of work.

“I missed your birthday.”

Hux blinks at the screen in his hands. “I—yes.” By a couple of months, at this stage. Where did that come from? Surely Ren didn’t realise it only now? “If you contacted me to wish me a happy belated birthday…”

“Of course not. I—uh, I called to hear your voice.” Hux’s lungs tighten, all too aware of his heartbeat. “Since we never finished our conversation.”

Their conversation. The handful of words Hux has been turning over in his head for months, to no apparent meaning or answer.

He’s bloody desperate to ask and finally, finally find out; but they’ve waited this long. They can be patient a little longer. “This is neither the time nor the place,” Hux says, as gently as he’s able, biting down on the instinctive Ren at the end. Now would be the absolute worst time for a slip-up. “Whatever it was, you can tell me tomorrow. In person.”

“That’s just it,” Ren mutters. “The last time I tried to tell you, we kept getting cut-off until signal completely went away and I thought, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll just tell him then. In person.” He laughs, a breathy, bitter sound. “But then…”

But then Ren couldn’t get back until a few weeks after—and when he did, Hux wasn’t there anymore.

He clears his throat to get out the lump lodged there. “Then you’ll just have to be there this time,” he says firmly—his point man voice. “Because I will be, and I won’t accept any excuses.”

After a long beat, “Yes, sir,” Ren says, a smile in his voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Sleep well.”

#Kylux Summer Fest 2020 #Bad Things Happen Bingo #kylux #Armitage Hux #Kylo Ren #Rey #Dopheld Mitaka #Phasma #Star Wars #Cai does words #finished fics #I know I say this for every fic #but this fic was a ride #I can happily go back to my KBB fic now #not designed for the cynical

[txtdiaries]

Momentum - Chapter One

SUMMARY | Your perennial crush on campus golden boy, Choi Soobin, isn’t one you think is shared; but a late night study session in the library with the man of the hour might just be enough to prove you wrong.

PAIRING | Soobin X Reader

CATEGORY | college au, crush, slow burn, studying, academia, etc.

WORD COUNT | 4.1k

WARNINGS | swearing

SONG REC | Edge Of Desire - John Mayer

PLAYLIST | momentum playlist

Preview / Chapter One / Chapter Two

Your fingers are itching to slam the book in front of you shut.

Itching to slam it shut so hard that it echoes throughout the practically empty library you’re in - so loudly that the librarians shoot daggers at you with their eyes. You want to lean over, zip your backpack closed, and run out of the ancient hell hole as fast as you can.

You don’t.

You know you could - exams and you don’t mix well, so you’ll probably flunk all of them anyway - but you force yourself to stay rooted in the uncomfortable wooden chair beneath you. You force yourself, for the sake of your future.

Studying physics isn’t exactly what you’d like to be doing on any given Friday night, especially this one, but here you are. After flipping through a book twice the size of your pencil case propped next to you, you finally settle on a chapter explaining thermodynamics. Your eyes scan the words helplessly. You’re totally going to flunk. Luckily for you, though, you don’t have a lot of time to dwell on this sad fact, because a certain gray haired boy makes his presence known suddenly, taking you away from the matter at hand.

“Hey loser.” His voice cuts through the silence surrounding you, and you look up to see Yeonjun, your best friend, sliding into the chair across from you. He’s grinning widely like he knows something you don’t, and you tilt your head at him in curiosity.

“Hi yourself. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just that your soulmate is on his way down to the library and should be here in about thirty or so seconds.”

Now you’re really not worried about physics. Except maybe the kind going on with you.

His words send your heart lurching in your chest, and your hands fly up to sort out your hair, your top, and embarrassingly, even your skirt.

“Twenty seconds,” Yeonjun chuckles as you rip open your pencil case, flipping open your small compact mirror to try and fix your appearance, “Not much longer now.”

“Shut up.” You hiss. Usually, you wouldn’t care about how you looked, especially not for a guy. But this was different.

Because it was Soobin. And Soobin was different.

You’d be dumb to pretend that you were the only one on campus to like him. Most of the girls did, and even a few guys did, but you couldn’t blame any of them. The boy was a sight for sore eyes, and his personality only made him that much better. You didn’t put him on a pedestal by any means, you just really liked him. Unfortunately though, other people did too, and the black-haired boy probably knew it. Which means that your chances were close to non-existent. That being said, it didn’t ever hurt to try and put a little more effort in.

“Five, four, three…” Yeonjun counts after awhile of you straightening out your makeup. You click the small compact shut and shove it back into your case, coughing lightly to clear your throat before straightening in your seat. Perfectly on cue, as if timed by Yeonjun exactly, the one and only Choi Soobin walks into the library silently, bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder.

Your breath shouldn’t squeeze from your lungs when you see him, but it does. Amid staring the tall boy down as he walks cluelessly to a table just to the left of you, Yeonjun laughs at you. You ignore him and watch sneakily as Soobin sits down. You’re completely enthralled by his very being, and all he’s doing is sitting down. God, get it together, you think to yourself.

It’s completely silent on your part as Soobin unzips his backpack and pulls out his laptop and study supplies, but you’re internally screaming. You truly understand right then, just why they call it a crush. Every single thing he does adds a dangerous pressure to your chest, and you feel like you could burst with adoration just by watching him do a regular, everyday thing. Yeonjun on the other hand fails to take notice your internal battle as he pulls out his own supplies himself, slapping his notebook and textbook on the table noisily.

You’re about to glare, but you catch sight of something on one of Soobin’s notebooks suddenly, and your heart starts pounding again.

A small bunny sticker in all its glory is stuck to the bottom right corner of his black notebook, and for some reason, it’s absolutely adorable to you.

Choi Soobin, the six foot something man, who - when he’s not wearing his usual button up and skinny jean combo, is usually clad in all black head to toe - has a bunny sticker on his English notebook. Your heart is about to burst on sight, so you look away with a dumb smile adorning your face.

Yeonjun flips through his math textbook, but stops when he sees you.

“What- he can’t be that cute, can he?” The boy glances over as you hide your face shyly, hoping he doesn’t draw attention to the two of you.

“He can, but it was just something I saw. Don’t even worry about it.”

“I think you should go sit with him.” Yeonjun suggests as he pulls a worksheet from its place in-between his textbook’s pages before starting to work.

“What?” Your voice raises a few octaves and a librarian glares at you from behind the front counter rudely. You smile apologetically before leaning in a bit closer to Yeonjun, shocked, “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t just go... sit with him. He probably already saw us sitting here together anyway. It’ll look desperate.”

“Desperate is your middle name, is it not?” Yeonjun smirks at you playfully.

“I will not hesitate to deck you in the face right now.” You frown at him. He snorts at this before doing an equation on his paper.

“Maybe I should just make the move for you then, since it’s clear you won’t ever speak to him.” He jokes, unaware of the fear that shows through your eyes as you register his words. You’re unable to speak as panic shoots through your entire body, and Yeonjun only looks up with a wide smile, as if he’s just figured out the entire meaning of life.

“Actually,” He starts again, eyes lighting up, “I think I will make the move for you. What do you think of that?”

“Yeonjun, don’t-”

You’re too late as the gray-haired boy leans over in his seat boldly, hands pressed flat against the oak table to stable himself as he calls out gently, “Hey, Soobin right?”

Your blood runs cold as Soobin looks up from his laptop, eyes landing on Yeonjun before flicking to you. He hesitates a second before looking back at the boy, head nodding gently as he says, “Um, yeah. What’s up?”

You feel heat pool in your stomach when he speaks, because damn, you really fucking forgot just how deep his voice actually was, and you feel dizzy as he smiles softly, his kindness evident.

“Well the thing is,” Yeonjun starts, your eyes moving from Soobin to your best friend, “Y/N here, she’s really bad at physics. Like, embarrassingly bad, and I was just wondering if maybe you could be of any assistance? That is, if you’re good at it. I’d help her, but I’m only good at Math, and I’ve also gotta get going soon.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself because one, you’re not that bad at physics, and two, what the hell is Yeonjun actually doing? Before you can say anything, though, he’s talking again, and you silently ask God if the ground can swallow all of you collectively up or something equally as tragic because the boy in front of you will not shut the fuck up for the life of him.

“She’s really shy so she didn’t want to ask you herself, but I said I’d do her a solid just this once and ask instead. Isn’t that right, Y/N?” Yeonjun finally looks at you, and so does Soobin, causing you to feel sick.

“I-”

“Well there you go.” Yeonjun nods firmly, flipping his math book shut before stuffing it in his backpack. He hardly lets anyone else talk before he’s speaking again, “Anyway, thanks Soobin! You’re the man. I hope the study sesh doesn’t cut into any of your own work. If it does, Y/N can buy you a coffee or something to make up for it.”

Your eyes find Soobin again, and he looks just as confused as you. You could kill Yeonjun for this.

“I’ll see you later.” The boy finishes before lifting his backpack over his shoulders and giving you a playful salute, walking backwards towards the exit while giving you a double thumbs up as he leaves, only causing the anxiety in you to grow even more. Scratch what you said earlier, you were definitely going to kill him for this.

“I’m sorry.” You start breathlessly when Yeonuun finally disappears. You look at Soobin, and your cheeks burn when you meet his eyes again, but he doesn’t look annoyed like you expect him to. Instead, his lips are tilted up in a small grin, and one perfect dimple is hollowing out on his right cheek.

“Uh,” He starts, “Do you want to come over to my table or should I move to yours?”

You’re taken aback at his words, and you watch as his eyes widen slightly.

“I mean- what I mean by that is, like, I’m not the best at physics but I can help you if you want.” The boy clarifies, his shyness seemingly getting the best of him. You want to laugh at his change in attitude.

“No it’s fine I can-”

“I’ll just-” Soobin says at the same time, standing clumsily before swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He struggles to get all of his things together, and you pretend to not notice when his pencil falls on the floor as he walks over. He sets down his things, bends over to swipe his pencil off the ground, and you’re hit with the smell of his cologne suddenly as his stuff surrounds you. You could pass out.

You bite your lip and turn your focus to the window, trying to not stare directly at the boy now less than ten inches in front of you as he flicks through his notebook again. It’s snowing outside, mercilessly coming down in small white clumps, and you already know you’re going to dread the walk back to your dorm later.

Soobin clears his throat and flattens the bent page in front of him, finally getting your attention again. The last thing you expected when you came into the library tonight was to be sitting right in front of the boy you were helplessly in love with, but here you were. And it was all thanks to your pain in the ass best friend Yeonjun. Maybe he was onto something when he had Soobin come over, though.

“So, uh, what are you having trouble with?” Soobin asks. His glasses are perched on the edge of his nose, and the lenses glare slightly when he moves his head just a bit closer, talking softly. You try to not stare at his white button up, or the way the sleeves are rolled up to expose his arms, before clearing your own throat and looking down at your book.

“Um, thermodynamics.”

You look up as Soobin hisses almost silently, “Ooo, yikes. Thermodynamics and me, we don’t mix well.”

You grin just a bit and breathe out a laugh, because that’s exactly something you would say, Soobin smiles back shyly.

“It’s fine,” You shake your head, “I understand if you only came over because of what Yeon said. I’m actually not that bad at physics so I’ll manage if you wanna head back over to your table.”

Soobin furrows his eyebrows at you, as if he’s actually confused on why you could have said such a thing. You feel dumb all of a sudden. You should have kept your mouth shut.

“No, it’s okay,” He shakes his head gently, “It’s actually nice sitting with someone else while studying. It’s a nice distraction when things get boring.”

You try to not stare at his lips when he talks, but you can’t help but notice the slight lisp that softens his speech, which causes your eyes to switch from his gaze to his lips. You nod in agreement with him, even though you barely comprehend his actual words. He’s just that distracting.

“Oh- okay then.”

Soobin grins at you and then opens up his english book, starting to write on the paper in front of him messily. 

You try your very best to try and read again, you really do, but there’s no way it’s happening now. If you couldn’t understand the words before, there’s no chance you can now, with Soobin sitting right in front of you.

You’re staring at the pages, eyes moving left to right to feign reading, but really - you’re hyperfocusing on Soobin’s every little detail - scared that if you don’t, you won’t be able to remember any of it the next time he isn’t near.

“What are you studying?” You speak up, surprising even yourself as you look away from your work and over to Soobin’s, leaning over greedily; desperately. You’re sharing the same space as him, you may as well make it worth it.

“Subject and object pronouns,” His dark eyes flick up to you, “And when to use them.”

“That’s not that bad.” You smile softly, meeting his eyes. He looks down quickly, back to his messy handwriting. “No, it’s not.”

Silence falls over the two of you again, and you mentally curse yourself for not being able to hold a conversation. You’ve fantasized about this moment for months: The day when you’d finally talking to Soobin and capture his attention long enough that he can’t physically look away, so much that he has no chance but to fall for you. It’s sad, really. You’ve thought of making him laugh so hard he throws his head back in amusement, or making him smile so big both of his dimples carve a permanent place on his cheeks. You’ve thought a hundred times over about everything except this - sitting right in front of him - in pure silence.

You take notice of the slight bags under Soobin’s eyes as he works, before you look down at your book again. You allow yourself to really hope that he isn’t overworking himself, but you know better. Soobin, who was clearly an overachiever, admittedly did a lot. Not only was he one of the very few University Prefects on campus, but he also did a number of extracurriculars, followed by sports as well. Because Choi Soobin was just that: a golden boy who was just good at… well, everything. As well as being one of the very rare students to be in the top percentile grade-wise at your university, he was also the type of person to always work, work, work. He wasn’t just a pretty face, and he proved that to everyone, every single day.

“So your friend got out of here pretty fast,” Soobin speaks up, still looking at his work, “That wouldn’t be because of me... would it?”

You open your mouth to deny it, but a part of you - a really small part of you - wonders what would happen if you were to actually tell Soobin the truth. That, yes, he left so we could be alone and I will probably kick his ass later for it. Soobin looks up at you slowly, folding his arms gently on the table as he leans forward just a bit more. He’s testing the waters, you realize. He’s offering himself up. 

You almost choke.

“I-I don’t know.” You lie, “I think he just really hates studying.”

What the fuck? You want to scream at yourself. You weren’t normally so bad at lying, but under Soobin’s stare, you could barely remember your own name, let alone an excuse to save your behind.

You think all hope is lost, and you’re mentally planning your own funeral before the edge of Soobin’s lip twitches, and then stretches into a tiny grin.

“Well,” He says, almost hesitantly, “I’m glad he hates studying, then. I actually, uh, I wanted to come sit at your table when I walked in, I just didn’t want to intrude or anything.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if you should take it as a compliment or not. Surely it was meant to be taken positively, but you just didn’t know how to process it - Soobin complimenting you.

“You wouldn’t have been intruding,” You finally say, noticing how his brown eyes soften a bit when you do, “Yeonjun doesn’t really study anyway, he just talks the whole time.”

Soobin laughs suddenly, and you feel your heart practically explode in your chest at this because you made Soobin laugh, and the sound was so beautiful it left you laughing along with him. You barely feel bad for exposing Yeonjun. After all, he was the one who got you into this mess. He deserves to be exposed.

“I have a friend like that,” Soobin momentarily drops his pencil as he perks up a bit. You do the same, listening to him intently.

“His name’s Tae, and whenever we get together to study, like, debate topics or whatever-” 

You mentally clock that Soobin does that as well - Debate Team. He really has no limits.

“-I’ll be trying to do flash cards or something, and he’s there like, ‘Hey Bin, why don’t we play some video games instead?’ or, ‘Honestly, who cares about the economic crisis in Venezuela?’”

You laugh at his words, and he scratches the back of his neck, visibly blushing. You notice as he looks down, most likely mentally checking himself.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bore you with studying stories or anything, I just think it’s funny that our friends are so similar.”

“No, it’s fine,” You give him a genuine smile, “You aren’t boring me. I kind of wanted to take a break anyway. Physics is boring.”

“Not as boring as english.” Soobin quirks an eyebrow, “The questions are all, ‘which pronoun should be placed in the sentence, blank walked in the classroom.’ like, this is elementary stuff. I could do it in my sleep, if I ever got any.”

“Oh my god, literally.” You agree, “It’s not hard to tell a pronoun from a noun, or vice versa. I wish they’d actually give us challenging stuff to do for English rather than just refreshing us on grammar or, uh, parts of speech? It’s draining.”

“It is,” Soobin says, voice deepening slightly, as if his exhaustion agrees with you as well. You nod again, still looking at him.

“I feel like… well, you do a lot, don’t you? Apart from studies.” You creep dangerously close to the line dividing curiousity and nosiness, allowing yourself to voice your thoughts at his small comment. After all, if you were careful, what could it hurt?

Soobin rests his chin on his folded arms on the table before nodding up at you, looking a lot younger in the moment. Your heart skips a beat at the sight.

“Yeah, I do way too much. Sports like baseball and soccer that have overlapping seasons -  which is literal hell by the way- and also stuff like debate and student council. I’m also part of this literary club which, if I’m being honest, really kills me.”

“Yeah, I’d die on sight. Even hearing all of that makes me wanna collapse.” You tell Soobin honestly, and he chuckles at your words. The effect is not lost on you as your heart starts picks up frantically against your chest again.

“It’s not too bad, I just consume a lot of coffee and run on exactly zero hours of sleep.”

“All while keeping honors?” You question, giving him a teasing grin.

“All while keeping honors.” He shakes his head at himself, almost in disbelief. You notice this and tilt your head.

“I actually think that’s pretty amazing you know, the fact that you’re able to do so much.”

“It could be more.” He says, shaking his head. You furrow your brows and he backtracks.

“I mean - it’s a lot, don’t get me wrong - but I could be doing more. A lot of people think I should be doing more, anyway.”

You think of your words carefully before saying them, “I think that if it was more, you’d run yourself into the ground. You’re already great, don’t strive to wreck yourself.”

Soobin stares into your eyes as you say this, looking almost stunned. He was probably glad you weren’t telling him to pile on club after club. Telling him that the him he is now, the him who tries as hard as humanly possible, isn’t good enough. For a second, you’re saddened at the thought that someone, somewhere, already had.

“That’s just what I think anyway-” You get cut off by Soobin speaking again in a rushed voice.

“Do you want to do something sometime?”

The question shuts you up instantly.

“Do I… what?” You ask incredulously, staring into his eyes.

Soobin hides his face in his hands suddenly, his shoulders shaking with his laughter.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” He says, hands dropping only after a few moments, “I didn’t mean to spring that onto you like that.” 

You almost think that he’s going to take the whole thing back, and the thought makes you panic. Instead though, the dark-haired boy shakes his head before he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was-” He clears his throat, “Would you want to do something with me sometime? Like, dinner or something?”

You catch onto his awkwardness and bite your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“Where did that come from?” You ask shyly, trying to keep it together. Soobin bites his bottom lip gently before saying, “I just... well, I’ve been wanting to ask you for awhile. Last week in our communications class when you did that really pretty thing with your hair. When you smiled at me when you saw me leaving my literary club. I don’t know, I’ve been meaning to ask for awhile, I just never got the chance to... until now. Also, we haven’t exactly talked until now, to be fair.”

You feel like you can’t breathe. You didn’t think in a million years that you would even talk to Soobin, let alone be asked on a date by him. He takes your silence as doubt before starting to ramble.

“We could go see a movie or something- oh! We could go to that cool new roller skating place they just built off campus? I can’t remember the name of it right now but maybe that would be fun?”

You chuckle as he continues.

“Um… maybe a picnic? Wait, actually, it’s too cold for a picnic. An indoor picnic could be cool though?”

You lift your hand up between the two of you, momentarily silencing the boy in front of you so you can speak, “Yes I’d like to do something with you, whatever it is.” You watch as he visibly sighs.

“I mean-” Your eyes go wide at yourself, “A date! Obviously. I don’t mean anything else.”

Soobin visibly panics as well, cheeks tinting a harsh pink suddenly, “Oh! I-”

“Well, I-” You try to combat your words, but then quickly slap a hand over your mouth. You’d rather be punched in the stomach than admit to Soobin himself that you thought he was attractive - enough to the point where you thought of doing rated things with him. You feel your own cheeks heat up as he hides his face again. You look down and laugh nervously after they drop.

“It’s fine,” He chuckles, “It’s fine. I feel the same.”

You look up again and smile, noticing that he doesn’t hide his blush this time.

Soobin’s the first to make a move, and he wordlessly slips over a small piece of paper with his number scribbled onto it messily after leaning over it to write for what seems like hours. You feel your body buzz with nerves, as if it’s a sacred thing. The Choi Soobin has just given you his number, and he wants you to actually use it.

“Okay,” He finally says, slipping his stuff into his backpack, “So, uh, you’ll text me then?”

“Yeah.” You nod a bit too eagerly. Soobin doesn’t notice. And if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind as he nods back at the same pace.

“Alright, I should get going then. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with physics”

You laugh, smiling lightly, “It’s fine. I’ll text you soon.”

“I look forward to it.” He says before swinging his backpack over one shoulder and taking an awkward step back from the table.

“Bye-”

“Bye Y/N-” 

You two cut eachother off before laughing together a final time.

“Bye Soobin.” You retry, “Get to your dorm safe.”

He nods, “Bye Y/N. You too.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you on cloud nine, and ready to scream the news to Yeonjun from across campus.

You couldn’t believe it.

Because Choi fucking Soobin asked you out. And you said yes.

What could possibly happen when you finally decide to text him?

#txt #choi soobin #txtwritersnetwork #choi soobin imagine #choi soobin au #choi soobin blurb #soobin scenarios #soobin au #college au #soobin #txt drabbles #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop drabbles #kpop moodboard #yeonjun #beomgyu #huening kai #taehyun #college #boarding school #fluff #flirting

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Thirty-Three: The Phone is Ringing ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Haruno Sakura, Hyūga Hanabi, Hyūga Neji ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It takes exactly eight rings before the answering machine picks up.

When it does, a honey-sweet voice speaks.

“Hello! You’ve reached Hinata Hyūga. I can’t make it to the phone right now, but leave your name and your number, and I’ll c-call you back as soon as I can!”

She’s always hated how she stutters in it. After a dozen tries and every single one having at least one hiccup, she just gave up and took the last one. In part, she wonders if it’s played any roles in certain calls simply hanging up rather than leaving a message.

The machine is on a little table in the entryway of her apartment, the volume soft as not to be too terribly overheard by anyone walking by. Beside it is a little bowl where she typically keeps her keys, and a hook for her coat and purse. Today, all three are missing.

When the phone rings, it proceeds all the way to voicemail.

“Hinata, this is your father. This is the fourth time I’ve tried calling you the past two days, and you’ve still returned none of my messages. This is hardly becoming behavior, young lady. Something we’ll have to discuss once you finally get back to me. Your sister tells me you’ve been ignoring her texts. You can’t avoid us, Hinata. We’re family, no matter how disdainful you might find that to be.”

There’s the subtle sound of a landline being set back in its cradle, and then the apartment goes quiet again. A bright red 5 blinks along the screen, eager for attention.

No one gives it.

A few hours later, rain begins to pour. Carried by the wind, it impacts rather noisily against the windows that face the north, droplets exploding and slithering down the glass. The view from the fifth story blurs. Downtown is drenched in grey as the storm settles over, headlights a soft yellow as they struggle to cut through the gloom. Neon signs of downtown flicker and warp in the view through the water.

Just as the sun starts to go down, the phone begins to ring again. After eight tones with no answer, the machine picks up.

“Hey Hina! It’s Sakura. Just thought I’d check in on you - it’s been a while! Haven’t heard from you in a hot minute, and uh...figured I’d see if maybe you’d be down to hang for a while! I’m back in town next week for a conference, and I’d love to see you. I know you’re pretty busy, but hey, if you’ve got a spare hour or two while I’m around, let me know! Bye.”

There’s a few muffled background noises before the message cuts off completely. The 5 changes to a 6.

Night falls, and still the table remains empty save for the machine. Light creeps in around the main door, and a light on a timer in the kitchen flares to life. Otherwise, the apartment remains dark, and just as silent.

And so it goes until morning.

At seven am sharp, the phone is ringing once again. Once, twice, all the way to eight times.

“Hello Miss Hyūga. This is your supervisor Kurenai Yūhi. It was brought to my attention that you failed to appear at work yesterday with no prior notice. I know that you mentioned, in passing, that you had some...personal issues going on. But work policy mandates that, outside of an emergency, you give at least eight hours notice before a missed shift. If this happens again, I’ll have no choice but to write you up and place you on temporary suspension. You’ve been an exemplary employee during your three years with us, but I can’t make exceptions. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.”

The line goes quiet.

The table is empty.

The 6 becomes a 7.

Midafternoon, the ringing tone of the phone shrilly sounds five times...and then silence. On the phone’s caller ID, an obvious spam number displays. It leaves no message.

It’s nearly five o’clock when it rings again. And again. And again, until her pre-recorded message greets the silent apartment.

“...hey, ‘nata. It’s me, Hanabi. Look, uh...I’m seriously starting to get a little freaked out? You’ve never ignored me this long. Not even when I broke that old rabbit figurine Mom gave you. Please, just...let me know you’re okay? I dunno what I did to make you mad, or...maybe it’s not me you’re mad at. But I’m your sister. We might not always get along, but like...we’re sisters. Talk to me, ‘nata. If Dad’s being an asshole, just ignore him. But please...don’t shut me out. Okay? Love you…”

There’s a small, audible sigh...and then silence. The 7 blinks, and is reborn as an 8.

The rest of the evening passes quietly. The only interruption is a rowdy group of young men stumbling drunkenly past the door, the sober among them shushing for silence only to be ignored. They enter the apartment next door, where music begins to play and raucous laughter easily bleeds through the thin walls. But despite all of the rowdiness that carries well into the night, there’s no one home to complain.

The next morning, it’s foggy with a light misting of rain. Kurenai calls again and informs Hinata that her formal suspension is now in place. Should she miss one more day of work, she’ll be forced to terminate her employment.

The 8 becomes a 9.

A random number calls around ten, proclaiming that a recent fraud case in her town may have affected her identity, and to immediately call this number to confirm. Yet another clear case of spam.

9 makes way for the double digits of 10.

And then, in the early afternoon, another call.

“Hinata. This is your cousin Neji. Your father is furious that you have yet to return his calls, and is in the process of filing a missing person’s report. I implore you - if you are simply being obstinate - to drop this charade immediately before the police are forced to intervene. You know we can’t have a scandal like this in the family over a petty disagreement. Whatever Hiashi has done...surely it isn’t worth things becoming this complicated. Whatever has happened, you know I’m here for you. But this has carried on long enough. I only hope that...drama is all this is, and you aren’t in any trouble, cousin. Please call me as soon as you hear this message.”

...10 becomes 11.

The day continues to wane. The rain continues to fall. The machine continues to flash, seemingly desperate to be seen as the bright red numerical digits only get brighter as the ambient light fades.

...and then the door opens.

Heavy-footed, a figure steps in, exhaustion clear in their posture, but otherwise seemingly fine. A bag is tossed under the table, keys barely flung into the bowl. Coat still worn, she pauses as she spies the machine.

“...oh, s-shoot…”

A dainty finger presses the play button. The first message is a telemarketer, which she promptly deletes. The next four are from her father, and Hinata’s lips press into a thin, irritated line. Each message becomes more and more agitated, and a small part of her can’t help but feel satisfaction.

After all, he brought this all on himself.

Her gut twinges in guilt at Sakura’s message - she’ll have to call her back later. Kurenai’s earn a grimace. She has her mobile number...why didn’t she try there? Hanabi also makes her shoulders wilt guiltily. As soon as she’s done, she’ll shoot her a text. She just...hasn’t been in the headspace.

Neji’s, however, makes her swear. Sure, it probably looked bad, but...really? Really? What an idiot her father is...she’ll call Neji and let him know Hiashi can call off the stupid missing person’s case. And let him know that any drama isn’t her fault. That lies solely on her father’s stubborn shoulders!

But before she gets to any of that, she takes out her cell and scrolls through her contacts, finding the appropriate name before calling. It rings once, twice, three times.

“Hello?”

“Hey...I’m home.”

“Oh, good. Glad you made it okay. So, uh…?”

“I’ll talk to my landlord tomorrow. It’s g-going to take some doing. I don’t have much, but some should probably go into storage…”

“That’s fine. I think there’s units near my place, so we can just put what you don’t want in there.”

“All right. Um...I think I might have gotten fired…”

“Oh shit, really?”

“I’ll call Kurenai here in a minute, but...for some reason she never bothered with my mobile. And I was just so out of it…”

“Well, hopefully she’ll understand. Anyone else?”

“Family, mostly...my father being r-ridiculous. Hanabi was worried, and Neji. But I’ll talk to them, too. They aren’t going to be happy…”

“Sometimes you have to think about your own happiness, Hinata. This is what you want, right…?”

“It is.”

“...I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I don’t. I told you they’d react like this. I knew they would...it’s my fault for being so quiet about it, but...I just didn’t want to deal with it after telling him. I needed a few days. Seems even that was enough for them to go ballistic…”

“All the more reason to stick to your decision.”

“I know...thank you, Sasuke.”

“We’ll make this work, with or without them. I love you.”

“...I love you too. I better go, though...I’ve got a l-lot of phone calls to make before I can call it a night.”

“All right. You need anything, just let me know. We’ll get you moved in and settled down. And if the job thing fell through, we’ll find you something new. Maybe even something closer.”

“Yeah...I just really like this job...I feel d-dumb for not calling in, I just…”

“Well, talk to Kurenai. Maybe she can pull some strings for you.”

“Maybe…”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay? Get things straightened out, and call me when you’re done. We can plan from there.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Hearing the line go quiet, Hinata ends the call and sighs. Just the first of many...it’s going to be a long night. Glancing to the 0 on her message machine, she makes her way in to her sitting room and dials the next number.

Here we go...

                                                            .oOo.

     This is really random, and uh...I really dunno what it is xD The suspense concept kinda just hit me, and I rolled with it as best I could given how day tired and burnt out I am, lol      But in case it isn't clear: Hinata told her father she's planning on moving in with Sasuke because they're dating. Mister Uptight Jerkface decided to throw a huge tantrum because traditionalism and being a controlling father. Hinata thus just...disappeared for a few days at Sasuke's place, hence missing all the calls (and ignoring texts because she just...did NOT want to deal with that).      I dunno if I really managed to make it as suspenseful as I wanted, with the question of whether or not something had REALLY happened to her. But I tried - I don't write this sort of thing very often xD      Buuut anyway, it's late, and I have yet another looong day ahead of me tomorrow. So just a warning: I might not post tomorrow. I know I'm abysmally behind, but this whole situation is VERY draining, and I'd rather be late than post garbo for these entries.      That said, I'll do my best. But no promises. For now though, I need to get some sleep! Thank you for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #hyūga hiashi #haruno sakura #hyūga hanabi #hyūga neji #best years of your life [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina

[writingonthemoon]

Old Clothes Part 6

Masterlist

Word Count: 2846

Warnings: Mentions of death and survivors guilt

Author’s Note: God, guys, I feel so bad about this.  I don’t even actually know when part 5 was posted, but no matter what, I feel awful.  I lost my direction for the story for a little and I’ve been… struggling with some things recently.  But I’m back.  Don’t know how consistent I will be or how this is all going to play out, but I figure y’all are here to help a little with that.  So, enjoy the first part of Old Clothes of 2020.

Old clothes would help you to stick out in a crowd.  Seldom if the correct outfit was chosen, but there were always those instances. A single mistake, one misstep while dressing, and you’re outed, done for.  But there were assurances one could take. The chest buried under the motley coats in the attic was always a good place to start, but one must be wary of their findings.  Games of dress-up weren’t the same as hiding in plain sight.  My mother burned the chest once I had found it.

     Was I supposed to be in the attic that day?  Yes, I was.  But I wasn’t supposed to go beyond the wicker basket that held my mother’s sewing supplies.  I’d seen something, though, something that was amiss in the dusty space. Rays of golden sunlight shone upon an old chest beneath the round window. Plumes of dust floated into the sun as old folds of fabrics fell to the ground at the cause of my curiosity. A lock caused my childish curse to come forth as my eyes laid sight upon the blockade. My gut commanded an attempt anyway, just to be sure.

     The hinges cried with age as my fingers pried the lid away from the box. The contents were all mismatched and random, but all were surprising to me. None of these items should be with us. There were books and letters and keepsakes that were supposed to have been burned years prior. Ribbons from the old country were neatly rolled and placed in boxes along with the jewellery from generations ago. It was like a glimpse into times long before the Davenports became what they were.

     My pockets sagged as an array of artefacts found their way inside. The steps of my mother sent my heart racing and I jumped away from the box. The lid slammed shut and my lungs sharply collapsed in a violent cough at the dusty cloud that filled the atmosphere. A lie was lost in a maze on the way to my lips and I was caught red-handed.

     The scraping of the box on the floor still echoed from time to time, when my mind was at its quietest and there was no better time to ruin my false sense of security. My skin prickles with searing heat and during the summer, I can only hope for a rainstorm to cool the pain. She forced me to watch. Forced me to watch the consequences of another mistake I had made. All those ties back to our family, gone. The memories from my parents’ previous lives, gone. Everything and every one of the items still in there vanished into the night sky in flakes of ash. Except for the stowaways that were in my pillowcase.

     My pocket held many small things. A crumpled sketch of London was dated back to 1743 when America was still a colony and pleased about it. My gran must’ve drawn it. She was always the artist of the family, so my father said. There were some stamps contained in a small coin purse that jingled as it swayed from side to side. They were from the Stamp Act and dated the day of the Boston Tea Party! Incredible detail was put into the small drawings. Tiny notebooks were chock-full of random notes and ideas and appointments and thoughts, different handwritings on each page muddling the narrative further.

     The other pocket held one item that turned multitudinous. An ornate tiara lay resting in blue silk. When could that have been from? Why was it here? Pressed flowers were held between thin wax pages. Delicate strings of pearls twisted and curled among the contents. Stubs of charcoal were wrapped in tissue from burns before. I guess the charcoal tradition was older than I thought. And a golden ring, whose one side had been flattened and carved, was carefully stowed in a smaller box inside the first. Initials were worn away from decades of existence and I had no clue who this had come from. All I knew was that it was important.

     I could feel a nervous and surprised energy radiate off of Sean. He’d heard of me already. Word travels fast between the boys, it seemed, “Huh, Odette?” He nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought. My hands found their way into my pockets and I twirled the ring around my finger, my mind mulling over the ancestors that it could’ve once belonged to. “Pretty name. That’s from that show or whatever with the birds and stuff, right?”

     "Swan Lake?“ My tone was a mix of surprises. One that he forgot the name of the ballet and the second that he had even heard of it. "You know Swan Lake?”

     "Now, don’t act oh so surprised, Miss Odette. We Newsies know ‘bout more than all youse people.“ He gestured to my outfit as if making the point I was wealthy in some way.

     I floundered for a moment, my mouth opening and closing like a fish in the Fraser, "You’re right, I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. My deepest apologies to you.”

     "Nah, I understand where it’s comin’ from. Just don’t do it again, you here? Else you ain’t 'llowed here anymore.“ The tone he used was almost threatening, but I could tell by the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that it was a joke.

     I shrugged, a grin spreading across my face like butter on bread, "I suppose I should keep my belongs on my person for a quick getaway whenever I’m here. Just in case I cause a revolution.”

     Spot took a step closer to me. The smell of rain and mud wafted off him and I could hear his breathing, “I wouldn’t doubt a lady like you causin’ trouble.”

     "Well, I am British. That can cause quite a controversy when I voice my opinion on this country’s state of affairs, even if I grew up here.“ An exaggerated frown made its way to my face, "Though many of the crazy old men that run this country say a woman shouldn’t have those sorts of opinions.”

     A voice from up the stairs startled me and I jumped, looking up to see a boy standing there, “You a reporta?” Almighty forces of the universe, the boy was practically naked! I know I was intruding on the home at night, but his undershirt looked as if it had been worn as his only shirt. Coordination between his suspenders and blue bandana weren’t helping his case either. And the way he eyed me, stared me down as if choosing how to fight me best.

     Spot moved to stand between the boy and me, “Now, Myron, don’t be lookin’ for a fight.”

     "No, Sean. It’s fine.“ I placed my hand on his shoulder and lightly applied pressure to move him, "He has every right to ask questions as the others do.” My gaze locked with Myron’s, the tension growing with an impending silence, “What does it matter to you if I’m a reporter or not, Myron? Unless you have something to hide, my presence shouldn’t bother you in the slightest.”

     "So you are a reporta.“ The whites of his eyes flickered as they rolled and he mosied down the creaking steps. He was only the slightest bit taller than I was, but I was hardly intimidated. I had faced worse in much more stressful situations.

     "No, you misunderstand. I said if I were a reporter, not that I am a reporter. I wasn’t quite clear though, so I can understand your confusion.”

     "Ay, no, you said it don’t matter whether or not you a reporta. And I should only be bothered if I’m hidin’ somethin’.“ He stood before me, a dirty musk his cologne and arms crossed in defiance, "Now, I ain’t hidin’ nothin’, but I don’t much like reportas.”

     "That’s a bold opinion of an entire career. Might I know why?“

     "They’re never lookin’ out for the little guy. Never caring about anything but the story that’ll make their name get out into the world. An’ once they’re done with you, you’re dirt.” His face was in mine now, our noses just brushing, giving me a good look at his face. Dirt coated his face, filling crevasses created from scars. They were in strange patterns, the markings. And they were so pale too, his flesh like marbling. I looked into his eyes and saw my pain staring back at me. It was too much for such a short lifetime.

     I raised my hand slowly, the sight of it in his peripheral causing a flinch as if I were to strike him across the face. My fingers lightly met his cheek, which was burning to my cold skin. He pressed into my palm, savouring the gentle human touch. “Oh, little darling, what did they do to you?”

His walls crumbled at my words, every emotion flowing over the rubble, “They’re gone 'cause a me. An’ those bums in their clean shirts and with all their money, they treated me like a criminal.” Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall at a moment’s notice, “I swear the fire wasn’t my fault, but I know that they were.”

     "Why would it be your fault?“

     Myron wiped at his eyes, hoping the tears would go away, but new ones replaced the old and started running down his face in a race to the ground, "I-I was stuck an’ they came back in for me. All I remember is being pulled from underneath the ceiling and her holding me as she moved me to the exit.” He sniffed as he stuttered and choked on his words, “But they-they didn’t come out after me. I swore I could see them through that door I was pushed outta. They was so close.”

     "Who did you lose, little darling?“ Myron shook his head in response, knowing the words will only make his state worse, "Was it your parents?” He nodded vigorously, turning away from me. “It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault. It will never be your fault.”

     "B-bu-but it was. It still is.“

     "No. It was the fire, not you.” My hand came to rest on his shoulder and I turned him back to me. I gave him a soft, understanding smile, one I would’ve wished to have been presented to me when I was coming to terms with my losses. A little bit of pressure from my hand moved the fragile boy to the staircase, where I sat beside him with my arm around his shoulders. The boys around us watched on before I moved my head to send them away. The two didn’t question anything and left without words.

     "Have you mourned?“ I asked out of the silence. I could feel his confusion at the idea, "I hadn’t mourned when I lost my family. I suppose I’m still avoiding it.” I stared at my shoes as I thought of all my adventures, all my distractions from the truth.

     "You lost your folks?“

     "Not just them. I lost my brother and sister too that day.”

     "What happened? If you don’t mind.“

     "Not at all. We moved a lot when I was younger, going from place to place, never settling for too long. During one of those moves, I got separated in the woods. I searched for hours and hours, all through the night and into the morning. All I could find was some of the family heirlooms scattered on the ground in a clearing. No sign of them or the rest of our belongings. They had just vanished.” I felt awful lying about my past to this boy, but it was difficult to explain the immortality when it’s to be a secret.

     "Boy, that is awful.“ There was a sad chuckle as he spoke, which I returned as an agreement. "So, you’re an orphan like the lot of us and you’re still a reporta?” He turned his head and looked at me, some form of shock and respect on his sad face.

     "I am not a reporter.“ I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed cleaned the tears from his face. I wasn’t too attached to the fabric. I had stolen it from a man’s coat pocket when I 'accidentally’ fell into him while on the trolley. I swiftly left after the incident, escaping my mark and the fact I hadn’t paid for the transportation.

     "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Press.”

     I rolled my eyes at the boy, “My name is Odette.”

     "Nah, Imma still call you Press. It’s your Newsie name. The lot of us have all got 'em. You should too.“

     "Oh, I’m one of you now? Why’s that?”

     "I dunno. Just feels like you get us. Understand our side an’ all. And, hey,“ I could feel his tough-guy façade being put back on, "Brooklyn is the best neighbourhood in all a New York. Who wouldn’t wanna be one of us?” Myron’s walls were back up, but I could feel that they were a little shorter, not as strong. That’s progress.

     "I couldn’t think of anyone if you gave me all of Time to think.“ I laughed, bumping his shoulder. This kid, I don’t know what it was about him, but he felt like my own. He felt like my responsibility, almost as if I had adopted him.

     "Exactly.”

     "You should get to sleep. You’ve got a day and a half ahead of you.“ I motioned up the staircase with my head, indicating exactly what I meant.

     "What about you?” He asked as I stood up, eyes following me.

     I shrugged a little, looking into their common room of sorts, “I’m going to make sure everyone else is resting as well.” I looked back at him, “I guess I’m never not going to be a big sister.” A small giggle escaped me against my better judgement. I pressed a kiss to the boy’s slightly damp and dirty hair, ruffling it up before walking away from him. “Go sleep, Myron.”

     "I’ll see you in the morning?“ The look of hope he gave me reminded me of my little Elijah and my heart hurt just a little. That was why he mattered all of a sudden. He was another version of my brother.

     I nodded, "Bright and early.” He grinned at my response and ran up to the rooms as I went to herd the stragglers upstairs. Surprisingly, it was only Sean sitting by the fire, watching it with an intense stare. I stood and waited for him to acknowledge my presence. It only felt right since he was the leader.

     "I ain’t never seen Myron cry, you know.“ Spot broke the silence. I moved to sit across from him as he continued, "Not when he first came here, not even when he gets hurt. Never. Then you show up, Odette,” his eyes met mine, the fire reflecting in his dark irises, “and it’s like he’s a whole other person. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence, 'cause the way you handled that and acted like a mother to a kid you ain’t never met is suspicious. And I ain’t fond of suspicious people.”

     "It’s a gift of mine, I suppose.“ I looked to the fire, faint images of my past projecting themselves on my mind’s eye, "When you’ve seen what I’ve seen and lost everything, you get good at recognizing it in others.” I met Sean’s gaze again, “And when you get good at seeing it, people get good at letting it out.”

     "I dunno, you’re seventeen. How can you have had so much happen to you in those years?“

     "How can there be so many Newsies like you all in such a small area? The world isn’t inherently good, Sean. I learnt that the hard way and all too early.” I leaned back and the two of us had a game of wills, a contest of resilience. For what felt like hours, we held one another’s gaze, waiting for the other to give in. “You should go to sleep, Sean. These kids are counting on you.”

     "Some of them are counting on you too, now.“

     "But you’ll stay with them,” I admitted, refusing to let any form of guilt creep up on me.

     He nodded thoughtfully at my response before rising and moving silently to the stairs. I heard him stop for a moment, a pause in his thinking and planning. “Thank you, Odette. Thank you for helpin’ him.”

     "He needed it. He deserved it.“ At my reply, he mounted the steps, leaving me to watch the fire die out the darkness from the streets outside slowly seeped into the dwelling. I was left with my inner-monologue as my eyelids grew heavy and my mind went blank in exhaustion. Sleep came after a futile attempt to stay awake. For only a few hours was I a willing casualty in the battle for rest. To others, it looked peaceful, how I slept. But the inner machinations of my mind always had other plans.

#finally #it be done #just enjoy this yall #old clothes

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Now I’m just thinking about an AU where Stiles really is an arachnophobe, and Mitch is... an arachnologist. Stiles thinks he’s just about perfect in every other way, (attractive, engaging, doesn’t get annoyed by Stiles’ tendency to ramble, interesting and interested) but the universe is cruel. 

Except, Stiles doesn’t find out immediately that that’s what Mitch’s career is. All Stiles knows is that he’s a biologist, just a little detail on his dating profile that Stiles’ didn't pay much attention to past a brief huh, he doesn’t look like the nerdy type, then moved on. They talk for a bit before deciding to meet up for coffee. Stiles mentions he thoughts on how much Mitch doesn’t look like a scientist, and even less so in person. (Although to be fair, Stiles hardly looks like an FBI agent either. Honestly they should probably switch careers.)

That is when Mitch reveals exactly what kind of scientist he is, and oh, yeah, that’s horrifying. That fits his whole tall dark and handsome thing way better than the boring lab position Stiles was imagining. Except... yeah, that’s basically Mitch’s job anyway. A sterile white lab with cages of various scorpions, spiders, and-

And that’s when Stiles has to stop him because nope, nope, definitely not! Just talking about spiders makes his skin crawl. Which Mitch thinks is funny, but he lets it go, and the date continues. It goes really well, actually, and they make plans to meet up again. 

Stiles doesn’t notice that they always end up back at his place until the fifth time he’s taken Mitch back to his apartment. When he brings it up Mitch flat out tells Stiles he would hate his apartment, which is why he never brought him over. Stiles doesn’t think it could be that bad, but only because he doesn't know that Mitch tends to bring his work home. Still, Stiles insists he can handle it, because they’re all caged, right? I mean, he’s afraid of spiders, but it’s not that bad. He can handle killing/removing them when he comes across them... 

After some pestering that he wants to see Mitch in his natural habitat, Mitch finally relents, and they head over to his place. And uh... Stiles was prepared for some spiders. Like okay, sure, one or two habitats, maybe? But Mitch’s apartment is full of glass habitats for his many spiders, and Stiles actually gets several shades paler. Mitch cringes when he turns around and sees it, and asks if Stiles would rather go back to his place, (he’s used to dates noping the fuck out) but Stiles still insists it’s fine. They’re all safely behind their glass walls, right? 

They have some drinks because Stiles needed something much stronger than water. He jokes that exposure therapy is supposed to help, and then probably makes some off color innuendo that has even Mitch blushing, and Stiles realizes that there really is no end to spider-themed pick-up lines. After that first time he’s going to annoy Mitch by texting them to him whenever they op into his head, and Mitch probably responds with bad cop puns, and Stiles is a little bit in love with him. 

Stiles gradually gets comfortable in Mitch’s apartment, and the spiders just... factor into the back ground noise, no different than Mitch’s book cases. 

Until one night, he notices one of the cases is open. And the spider housed inside - a big, hairy, menacing thing named Petunia - is missing. And dear readers, you already know where this is going. 

Mitch usually isn’t concerned when his spiders get out. It happens occasionally, he’s got some crafty ones in there, but they never go far and he always finds them again. But he doesn’t usually have an arachnophobe in the apartment when it happens, and Stiles looks like he might have a panic attack if he sees a shadow move the wrong way. So Mitch tells him to stay put and goes on a Spider Hunt, checking all the usual places and coming up with nothing. Petunia is a big girl and not particularly fast, so it should be easy to catch her. Except Mitch has no idea how long the cage has been open, so she could conceivably have covered quite a bit of ground. 

Mitch takes a glance at Stiles to make sure he’s okay, and they both freeze at the same time. Stiles can feel a ticklish, tingling pressure on the back of his neck, and Mitch can see its source. Crawling along from the back of the couch to Stiles’ neck, is Petunia. 

“It’s on me, isn’t it?”

“... No.”

“Mitch.” 

“Technically, she’s on the couch.” Petunia accepts that comment for a challenge and climbs fully onto Stiles’ neck, her forelegs scuttling through his hair and his skin is actually trying to crawl off of his body to get away from it. “She’s not venomous,” Mitch amends, because that’s about the only comfort he can give. The only reason he hasn’t already crossed the room and removed her is because he’s certain any sudden movement will startle either her or Stiles, and that won’t end well for either of them. 

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“Just don’t move, okay?” 

“Get it off me right now.” 

“I’m trying, but I don’t want you to lose your shit or something.” Mitch walks over, and Stiles is definitely losing his shit. But to be fair, he’s keeping it mostly internal, aside from the hyperventilating. Every harsh breath jostles Petunia and he can very every scratching movement of her legs on his skin. Although she seems content where she is, spanning his entire neck, because she’s the size of his entire hand. And he doesn’t have small hands! “I thought cops were good at remaining calm in a crisis,” Mitch says, because Stiles was talking out loud. It’s mostly just to distract him, he’s got his hands under Petunia and is trying to untangle her legs from Stiles’ hair so he can pull her off. 

“I am calm!”

“Hang on, I've almost got her.” Petunia isn’t venomous, but she does bite, and with her size, Stiles will definitely feel it. She would sink her teeth if in Mitch just tried to yank her off, the way Stiles clearly wants him to do. He tugs one of her legs free and can’t resist teasing, “I think she likes you.”

“Well the feeling is definitely not mutual.” 

Mitch frees the other leg from her sticky grip and Stiles immediately bolts off the couch, rubbing frantically at the back of his neck. Mitch carts Petunia back off to her cage and sets her inside with a gentle scolding, and when he turns back, Stiles is gone. It’s disappointing, and actually kind of hurts, but Mitch gets it. Most people don’t like spiders as much as he does, and arachnophobia is one of the big ones. It was only a matter of time before something freaked Stiles out and he left, just like all of Mitch’s past dates. Still, he really liked Stiles and is sad to see him go. 

Fortunately Stiles comes back ten minutes later. He just went out to get some fresh air and chill out, and no he’s not breaking up with Mitch, so he can stop with the adorable sad puppy eyes. Let it not be said that Stiles isn’t a stubborn fool, because he’s still willing to deal with the spiders if he gets Mitch out of the experience. 

#cookie writes #stitch #stiles stilinski #mitch rapp #arachnophobia

[minhomas-tmr]

The Stars don’t know Shit, my Friend - Chapter 4

Warning: Angst if you sqint & Smutt

After the long massage that made him feel boneless afterwards, they lay there for a while, Thomas tucked against Minho, head resting under his chin. Minho had positioned them so Thomas was the little spoon, body completely bare when he took the shirt off without being prompted; greedy for Minho’s fingers on his skin. He must have dosed off at some point, because a faint sound of something rustling woke him up. Minho was awake and not only that, he was pressing soft kisses all over him. Thomas smiled lazily, until his sleep hazed mind registered the rough material against his skin. A blush coloured his cheeks immediately; Minho this entire time hadn’t removed a single piece of clothing. Thomas had never felt so exposed before but also unbelievably turned on, cock arching up begging to be touched. Like he could read his mind, Minho reached over his hip and began jacking it slowly. Thomas squirmed against him and gasped as his ass brushed against Minho’s pants again. “Minho…” Thomas whined. “Stop it.” “Really? ‘cause it seems like you want more.” He was right of course. Sometimes it felt like Minho knew his body better than he himself did, playing it like a finely tuned instrument. Denied for so long, Thomas couldn’t help bucking his hips into Minho’s fist around his cock but by doing that, he pushed his sore ass into the coarse fabric. The pleasure pain mix only heightened everything and in no time at all, Thomas shuddered as he came hard. It took longer than he thought to get his breathing even. Feeling wrung out, Thomas flopped on other his side so he was facing Minho, “You let me come,” he murmured surprised. “I said no fucking, nothing about not cumming,” Minho kissed his nose, nuzzling it with his own. Minho was always super cuddly after they did this. It was also the reason he’d been distant, confused at what was ‘aftercare’ and what was just them… He didn’t want to overstep, didn’t want Minho to think he was clingy. Lost it thought, Thomas didn’t realize Minho was talking to him until the Slytherin cupped his cheek, voice laced with worry. “Sorry, what was that?” Minho sighed loudly with relief. “What?” “You were under a lot longer than I thought. Kind of went in and out of it,” Minho sat against the wooden headboard, looking down at his fidgeting hands. “Was it too much?” Minho was nervous, Thomas realized. There was real worry there, a deep frown on Minho’s face. It was as endearing as it was unnecessary. Still he was careful in his actions, crawling up to straddle Minho’s lap, nothing remotely sensual about the movement. That wasn’t the goal afterall, comforting Minho was. Despite that, Minho’s shoulders remained tight and only then did Thomas realize he was shirtless too. Must have taken it off while the Ravenclaw was asleep. He took Minho’s arms just laying limply on either side and led the older boy to wrap them around Thomas’ waist. With his own hands, he made Minho look up before placing a light kiss on his lips, fingers moving to trail along the shoulders, adding some pressure to coax those tight muscles to relax which they did eventually. “It was wonderful, Minho. Hardest I’ve ever come,” he said while between words, peppered soft kisses on Minho’s cheek, then chin, along his jaw. Only when his kisses trailed to Minho’s collarbones, did the Slytherin speak. “Except that one time in the library…” Thomas straightened up, smiling wide at Minho, who returned it. There he was, that sassy fucker. “You were so good then too. And Pince was right there.” “Shut up,” Thomas mumbled cheeks colouring, remembering how hard it was to keep quiet because Minho had kept him on edge, knowing it’d be hell if they were found. Stiil, it held its position at top two in his wankbank. “If I’d known you had an exhibitionist kink, shit we missed out on so many opportunities,” Minho was smirking now. “We should revisit that.” “Since you’re feeling better now..” Thomas grumbled as he tried getting off Minho, but was stopped. “Hey. I’m sorry I couldn’t help it, you just look so cute when you blush. Stay, please.” —   Minho was surprised by Thomas’ surprise, like it was such a novel concept that Minho would want him around longer. Like he hadn’t been trying to get Thomas to stick around. Like he hadn’t— Stop it, he told himself and breathed out slowly as Thomas moved to grab the comfy pants at the end of the bed and did some weird—and unnecessary might he add—acrobatics to reach his shirt on the ground, before putting them both on. “You too,” Thomas said to him. Minho turned a questioning look on him until he noticed his own shirt in Thomas’ hands. “Why? You’re the one who’s leaving,” Minho fought not to cross his arms defensively, but a little of that bled into his tone.   “You want me to leave?” Thomas looked so uncertain in that moment, and Minho was just done. A humourless laugh bubbling in his throat, Minho said, “I always want you to stay, you idiot! You’re the one who packs up first. Always.” Thomas’ hesitant face at his words, morphed into confusion and then anger. Pointing an accusing finger at Minho, he stood, “Well, that’s your own fault!” “My fault?” Minho scoffed, also standing. “Yeah!! I mean maybe if you told me when aftercare stops and ‘just us’ starts, I wouldn’t feel like I was overstepping!” Thomas shot back. “And maybe every time you wanna ‘hang out’, that means you actually want to hang out!” “You’re kidding me, right? I asked you out to frikkin’ Hogsmeade, Thomas! You can’t be that oblivious and you had to know how I would feel tonight. Newt invited you for me! So I could kiss you in public, without you freaking out about it and then you go and kiss everyone else!” Minho’s shouting now, but he can’t seem to stop, all his frustrations pouring out at once. “All those people kissing you tonight, I was so fucking angry okay and I’m well aware that you are familiar with the word no. You use it enough with me. All. The. Damn. Time!”   “Oh.” “Really?” Minho snarked. “That’s all you have to say??” “How was I supposed to know, Minho?” Thomas’ tone turned softer. “You only made rules for when I got the itch, like you call it. To ask for it.” He dropped his gaze and stared at his hands, “I didn’t have that itch. I just wanted to see you. You, you. Not this you..” he gestured to the rumpled sheets on the bed. “Oh.” Now Minho was the one with one word answers. Thomas didn’t comment on it however, and kept talking in line with his earlier statement. “I’m not lying when I say I like it. I like the marks you leave because it’s like a comfort, you know? Like you're there..even when you're not there,” Thomas fingered the bruised wrists, and only then did Minho realize they were still present. Ties didn’t create deep indents like how ropes did, which meant Thomas tugged on them hard on purpose. Shit. “So what are you saying?” Minho asked softly as he approached Thomas. “I was angry too out there, you know? And you’re a possessive bastard, Minho, so yeah. I was doing it on purpose, ‘cause I knew that would be the only way you’d come to me.” “I thought that’s what you wanted. I mean, the only thing you wanted.” “Well, it’s not,” “So what now? Are we openly dating?” he paused, “Do you even want to date me?” Minho asked hesitant. Thomas huffed exasperatedly, which made Minho smile. “So?” “I’ve only come out to one friend, so no I don’t think I’m ready for coming out to the school. I’d like to tell my family before I come out to Teresa. I just know she’d be a bitch about it and owl them, making it into a bigger mess than it needs to. This is my life you know? I hardly think the world needs be informed about it.” “Okay,” Minho nodded. He was disappointed sure, but he didn’t want to pressure Thomas into doing something he was not ready for yet.   “I want to be your boyfriend though,” Thomas said shyly, looking up at him through his lashes. Minho couldn’t help himself, he tugged Thomas flush against him and captured his mouth to kiss him deeply. Parting from the early kisses Thomas easily gave up, Minho spoke, “Do you know what we’re going to do now?” “What?” Thomas rasped. God, he was so sexy. “We’re going to join the party and every damn time a girl tries to grab your attention, you’re going to say what to those people?” “No.” Thomas whispered smiling. “Count them okay?” “What are you going to do?” “I’ll be around,” Minho said mischievously. “Minho!!” Thomas whined, pouting cutely as Minho pulled him towards the wall they appeared from, pressing his palm against it. “Tell me!” “Let’s just say…we’ll be using that kink of yours,” is the only thing Minho offered, before pushing Thomas through the magicked wall.

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A/N: More sexy times ahead!! Thinking I have maybe 2 more chapters to dole out? Hope you liked, cheers~nenz

#hogwarts au #thominho fanfiction #thominho #thominho fic #thominho love #secret relationship