#I drew this like a week ago but hesitated on posting it since it felt incomplete without a background

[creakincreek]

Udndhhgrjhfs.. I need to go rewatch all the tinkerbell movies-

@lara-cairncross It's the boyyyyy, the silly, the goober, he's infected my brain and won't get out

[cr-komi]

"The Distance Between Us"

Summary: You sent nudes to the biggest fuckboy on campus, what could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Female Reader

Genre: Smut, a very very small amount of fluff at the end.

Word Count: 12,400+

Warnings: Y/N is an absolute idiot, Yoongi is kind of a dick at the beginning, swearing, oral (male & female receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this, please!) missionary pos., multiple orgasms.

Author's Note: This is not proofread so I apologize if there are mistakes! This one took me forever to write because I kept having writer's block and wanted to change a bunch of it but this was the final result so I hope you all like it!

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Come on, Y/N, just send it.

It'll be like ripping off a Band-Aid.

He'll like you even more if you do this.

It's only a picture, right?

Just a blurry mix of pixels and saturation, nothing more, nothing less.

His text glared back at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You stared at the message, contemplating every word, feeling the weight of his request pressing against your chest,

You didn't know who he was, not really. You didn't even know his name, although his phone number was engraved into your memory after seeing it so many times, tracing all the way back to that random evening a few weeks ago. But there was something about his mysterious aura that drew you in, like a moth to a flame. You couldn't resist the temptation to unravel the enigma that was him.

---

You sat in your dimly lit room, legs curled up beneath you as the soft glow of your phone illuminated your face. The familiar pang of jealousy twisted in your stomach as you obsessively scrolled through Instagram, unable to tear yourself away from the seemingly perfect lives of your friends and acquaintances.

"Ugh, another vacation?" You muttered, glaring at the screen as you saw a picture--a perfect couple sipping cocktails on a pristine beach. "Of course, they're all smiles."

Your thumb swiped upward, revealing another post showcasing an enviable group of friends laughing and posing together. Their happiness felt so unattainable, further highlighting the loneliness that had become your constant companion.

"Must be nice," You whispered, voice laced with bitterness.

Your eyes scanned the screen, taking in the meticulously curated feed that presented a world you could only dream of inhabiting.

Just as your frustration reached its peak, a flicker of light caught your attention. It was a text message notification, appearing like an oasis in the digital desert you found yourself trapped in.

Eager for any distraction, you tapped the screen, feeling a flutter of hope that maybe it was someone reaching out to you,

A simple greeting was plastered across the screen, accompanied by an unfamiliar number. Your brow furrowed as you stared at the unknown sender. Confusion gnawed at you, and you hesitated before replying,

As you typed, your fingers moved cautiously across the screen before hitting send, taking a deep breath while waiting for a response.

The reply came almost instantly,

You scoffed. Whoever this was, they seemed ignorant, and you decided to play along,

You tilted your head back, attempting to recall any instance of sharing your number, but your memory failed you. How did this random stranger end up with your contact information when you couldn't remember giving it to them?

Your heart began to pound at his reply, fingertips hovering above the screen. "Is this some kind of prank?" you mumbled, mind racing with possibilities. Was it someone from school trying to mess with you? You haven't talked to Jungkook since your freshman year of college when he was your partner for a science project, why would he give your number out?

You couldn't shake off the feeling of intrigue and curiosity that coursed through your veins. Despite the skepticism that crept into your mind, a part of you wanted to believe that this encounter held some sort of significance. Perhaps it was a twist of fate, an unexpected connection waiting to be unveiled.

With hesitant determination, you decided to take a leap of faith and continue the conversation. The prospect of embarking on something new, something beyond the confines of your monotonous daily routine, enticed you. After all, what harm could it do?

You sighed, contemplating why Jungkook would be giving your number out, or how he even got it in the first place.

Your mind craved to uncover the truth behind this mysterious text conversation, even if it meant stepping into unknown territory,

You stared blankly at your phone, eager for a reply, but you were met with only silence. Minutes stretched into hours, and still no response came. Doubt began to creep in, mingling with the confusion that had settled in your mind. Maybe this was all just a cruel joke, a ploy to toy with your emotions.

But something inside you refused to believe that. There was an inkling of curiosity, a flicker of hope that urged you to hold on a little longer. So you waited, your eyes never straying far from your phone.

Days had turned into weeks, and yet the mysterious sender remained silent. The initial excitement had waned, leaving behind a sense of disappointment that weighed heavily on your shoulders. You couldn't help but wonder if you had been foolish for getting caught up in this unknown person's game.

The idea of giving up on waiting for a response finally began to creep in, but just as you were about to delete the number and move on, a notification jolted your phone awake. You hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen, afraid to hope again.

With a deep breath, you finally slid your finger across the screen, unlocking the message. Your heart sunk down into your stomach as you read the words that appeared before you,

Fuck.

--- Ever since the day he asked if you sent nudes, you had been giving yourself over to him, allowing him to slowly chip away at your self-worth. Each time he asked, you obliged, sending him a piece of yourself captured through the lens of your phone. It started as something simple, maybe a picture of your cleavage or the curve of your ass, just as you had convinced yourself in the beginning. But with each photo sent, you felt a piece of your soul fade, replaced by an emptiness that gnawed at you from the inside out.

You desperately craved his validation, his affection, believing that if you gave him what he wanted, he would finally see your worth. But no matter how many pictures you sent, it was never enough. He always asked for more. More skin, more vulnerability, more pieces of you to devour.

With every photo, you hoped for a different reaction from him - one that acknowledged your value as more than just pixels and saturation. But all he ever responded with were simple words of praise and shallow compliments that never reached beyond the surface.

You were losing yourself in the process, your identity becoming reduced to a series of explicit images sent through a screen. Each picture felt like a betrayal to your own integrity, yet you continued to send them, hoping that this time would be different, that this time he would finally see you.

But deep down, you knew the truth. He didn't truly care about you. You were nothing more than his object of desire, a means to fulfill his own selfish needs. The more pictures you sent, the more power he held over you.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, tears streaming down your face as you stared at his latest text message. It was as if a veil had been lifted from your eyes, revealing the harsh reality of what this relationship had become. You were nothing more than an object to him, a means to fulfill his desires without any regard for your own well-being.

The weight of his words pressed upon your chest, suffocating you with the realization that you had lost yourself in this desperate quest for validation. The vibrant colors of your world had faded into shades of gray, and you yearned to break free from the suffocating grip he had on your emotions.

There was a fire burning deep within you, a fire of anger and resentment that you had been trying to suppress for far too long. It was time to let it out, to confront him and put an end to this vicious cycle you had been caught in. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation that lay ahead, and that begun with asking Jungkook why he was giving your number away.

---

You spotted him on campus his familiar figure standing near the brick wall of the main building, a smirk playing on his lips as he chatted with the same group of friends he was always with, their laughter echoing through the air. It was a scene you had witnessed countless times before.

His presence sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of annoyance and frustration coursing through your veins. You felt a surge of anger rise within you, fueling your determination to confront him. With each step closer, your heart pounded louder in your ears, drowning out the noise of passing students and the rustling leaves overhead. Pushing through the crowd, you made your way toward him, ignoring the curious glances from passersby.

As you approached, Jungkook's eyes met yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before being replaced by his signature nonchalant expression. His friends noticed your arrival too, their conversations dying down as they turned their attention to the unfolding scene.

"Jungkook!" you called out, your voice stronger than you had anticipated. His attention snapped towards you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked you up and down.

"Y/N, right? Shit, I haven't talked to you in awhile. How have you be--"

"Have you been giving my number out?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with anger. His attempt at casual conversation only fueled your frustration. You crossed your arms, staring him down with unyielding determination.

Jungkook's expression shifted, a hint of guilt clouding his features for a moment. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Look, if this is about the text messages--"

"Of course it is," you snapped, your voice laced with bitterness. "What else would it be about? You're the one who gave my number away without my permission!"

Jungkook's friends exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the tension between the two of you. Jungkook ran a hand through his tousled hair, his gaze shifting to the ground beneath him.

"I didn't think it would be a big deal," he muttered, barely meeting your eyes, "he told me I wanted it so I gave it to him."

Your jaw dropped at his words, a mix of anger and disbelief bubbling up inside you. How could he so casually dismiss your privacy and consent? How could he believe that just because someone wanted your number, it was okay to give it away without your permission?

"Who are you talking about? Who did you even give my number out to?"

"Does it really matter?" Jungkook replied, his voice laced with irritation. "It's not like it's a big deal. You're making a fuss out of nothing."

"Jungkook, it absolutely matters!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with a mixture of anger and hurt. "You violated my privacy. You had no right to give out my number without my consent."

Jungkook nodded, glancing around nervously before finally meeting your gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's Yoongi," he confessed, his eyes filled with remorse, "He said he knew you from one of your classes and wanted to get to know you better."

Jungkook's words hung in the air, like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You could feel the blood rushing to your face, your heart pounding in your chest. How could he trust Yoongi with your personal information without even asking you?

"Yoongi?" You echoed, feeling a strange mix of relief and betrayal. "Why would he ask for my number in the first place?"

Jungkook hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don't know, Y/N. If you want to figure it out, ask him, he's over there."

Taking a deep breath, you turned your attention towards where Jungkook had gestured. Your eyes fell upon a figure standing a few feet away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. His expression was unreadable, a flicker of in his eyes of something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

As soon as he met your gaze, he smirked, walking off in a crowd of students with an air of nonchalance. Your anger and frustration intensified as you watched Yoongi disappear into the distance, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Thank you, Jungkook." You mumbled, but before he could offer a response, you turned on your heel and began to chase after Yoongi, set on confronting him and demanding an explanation. Those who surrounded you parted ways as you weaved through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest, fueling your determination to catch up to him.

The campus was bustling with students going about their day, but you barely registered their presence. Your focus was solely on finding Yoongi and demanding an explanation for his actions. As you made your way through the crowd, the image of his smirking face played over and over in your mind, intensifying your frustration and boldness.

You clenched your fists as you trailed behind Yoongi across the college campus, leaves crunching underfoot.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fueled by anger and determination. You had been following him for what felt like hours – down crowded halls, past classrooms filled with students, even into a noisy cafeteria where you had to duck behind a vending machine to avoid detection, and although he had looked behind him numerous times during the journey, your remained unnoticed.

You watched as he strolled casually, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded denim jacket, apparently oblivious to your presence. But every time you thought you were about to catch up to him, he would disappear around a corner or slip through a door, leaving you becoming increasingly more and more frustrated.

As you navigated through the labyrinthine campus, your mind raced. Why had he texted you in the first place? What kind of person asks someone for nudes out of the blue? And how could you have been so stupid as to trust him?

With so many questions running through your mind, you became distracted, losing sight of him yet again.

Frustrated, you gave up and retreated to the library, the closest place you could find after travelling on foot for so long.

The hushed atmosphere there was a welcome respite from the chaos of your pursuit, and you sank into a plush armchair near the back, your eyes scanning the shelves aimlessly.

And that's when you saw him.

Yoongi was standing in the history section, a heavy tome clutched in one hand.

Sighing, he glanced up and locked eyes with you, his face paling visibly. Before he could react, you stormed over, grabbing his wrist so as to not let him escape you again.

"Yoongi, why did you text me? Why did you even ask Jungkook for my number in the first place?" You demanded, your voice barely more than a whisper but seething with fury. "Why did you ask me for nudes?"

He blinked at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and irritation. "Why are you even upset?" he countered, his voice low and measured. "You're the one who sent them."

"So? You shouldn't have asked for them in the first place." You hissed, your anger boiling over.

"You shouldn't have sent them." He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look, it doesn't even matter at this point just--"

"Keep your voice down," he interrupted, glancing nervously around the library.

"No! You need to hear this," you yelled, forgetting your surroundings as your emotions took control. "You had no right to ask for those pictures, and then to turn around and act like it's no big deal? It's disgusting!"

Annoyed by your yelling, Yoongi grabbed your arm with surprising force and pulled you through the maze of bookshelves.

"Yoongi, what are you--"

"Be quiet."

You struggled against him, but he didn't relent until the two of you stumbled into a cramped supply closet. Slamming the door shut behind him, he released you, his face a mask of frustration and something else you could fully recognize.

"Listen," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You didn't have to send those pictures if you didn't want to, and I mean...I'm sorry for asking for nudes but I won't lie," he leaned in close, his warm breath brushing against your cheek, "you looked pretty damn good in every single one."

And so, you stood there, back against the door, his words washing over you like a tidal wave. For a moment, you couldn't find your voice - he was right. You had sent those pictures. You were the one who had been so flattered by his attention that you had forgotten about boundaries and given in to his request with such reckless abandon. But that still didn't give him the right to use them as he pleased! You pushed past him and walked out of the closet, trying to compose yourself.

As you stepped out, the library came rushing back into view, filled with students hushed amidst their studies. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious as everyone's eyes turned towards you as if they knew what had just gone down in the supply closet. Your face burned under their scrutiny as you tried to make your way back to your seat without making eye contact with anyone.

But before you could take a step, a strong hand gripped your wrist once again and spun you around to face Yoongi. His eyes bored into yours with unwavering intensity, his jaw tightened as he spoke lowly; "Look... I know I messed up." He paused, stepping closer, his eyes boring into yours are he spoke, "but you sent them to me, Y/N, and I didn't force you. You could have stopped me at any time, but you didn't. And for what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you. I just thought...actually, you know what? It doesn't matter."

He let go of your wrist and turned away, walking towards the stacks of books on the shelves nearby as if nothing had happened. You watched him go with a mixture of emotions churning inside of you. He was right, of course. You did send those pictures willingly. It would be your fault if they got out.

How could you be so fucking stupid? Why did you think any of this would be a good idea?

You couldn't shake the feeling that something about his apology felt half-hearted, like he was only saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But still, a small part of you yearned for him to be sincere.

---

The twilight seeped through the gauzy curtains, casting a lavender hue over your room where you sat, knees drawn up to your chest on the window seat. Outside, the world was softening into dusk, but inside, a storm brewed within you. Your eyes were fixed vacantly on the snow that began to layer on the window pane, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

"Yoongi," you murmured under your breath, the words tasting bitter. The memory of your encounter with him was like a splinter—sharp, intrusive, and impossible to ignore. You replayed your last conversation over and over, each iteration twisting the knife a little deeper.

What had you expected? For him to suddenly understand? To apologize?

"Focus on something else, anything else," you chided yourself, uncurling from your perch.

You moved towards your cluttered desk, where an array of distractions awaited: unread books, sketches half-done, a guitar that hadn't felt the warmth of your touch in days. Your fingers hovered over a novel, its spine still creased with promise. But even as you pulled it toward yourself, the printed words blurred, drowned out by the echo of Yoongi's voice.

"Of course," you scoffed, tossing the book aside with a soft thud against the hardwood floor. "Books are no refuge when your mind is this loud."

You walked over to the mirror, studying your reflection—as if searching for an answer in the contours of your own face. With a sigh, you reached up, freeing your hair from its ponytail. Strands fell around your shoulders like dark silk, a curtain to hide behind.

"Maybe I'll just go to sleep," you said to your mirrored self, "sleep it off and wake up with a fresh head."

But as you turned away from the mirror, your phone buzzed atop the nightstand, an invasive vibration that commanded attention. You hesitated, a small part of you hoping, dreading. Your hand shook slightly as you picked it up. The screen lit up, and there it was—a message from Yoongi,

It was simple. A casual, stark contrast to the chaos he'd stirred in you. Just three letters, yet they held the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

"Hey?" You repeated aloud, a laugh without humor escaping your lips. "After everything, all he can say is 'hey'?"

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, indecision warring with the urge to respond. To lash out or to leave it be? But beneath the hurt and confusion, a sliver of hope glimmered—the kind that refused to be extinguished even by the fiercest storm.

"Is this supposed to be some kind of olive branch, Min Yoongi?" You whispered, the beginning of a response forming beneath your breath,

His reply came almost instantly,

As you weighed Yoongi's message, you mulled over the possibility that he might be sincere this time. He had apologized, and now he wanted to meet at a cafe. Was this his way to make amends? Or was it just another one of his schemes to get you to do something?

"Just do it, Y/N," You told yourself, "you never know what's going to happen."

With a resolute nod, you decided that now was as good a time as any.

Y/N stood in her cramped bedroom, her breath fogging the windowpane as she looked out at the snow-dusted street below. She was about to do something she'd been dreading for days – meet Yoongi at the cafe. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. With a resolute nod, you decided that now was as good a time as any.

"Right. Let's do this," she murmured to herself.

It was bitterly cold outside, but you didn't feel like making an effort to dress up for the occasion. Instead, you pulled on a cozy grey hoodie and a pair of comfortable black sweatpants. They were simple, but warm enough for the short walk to the cafe.

As you stepped outside, the chill hit you like a physical force. You shivered, burying your face in the soft fabric of your hoodie and pulling the drawstrings tight. The wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed cheeks and turning them pink. Despite the cold, you couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the frost-covered trees and the crunch of ice beneath your boots.

Upon arriving at the cafe, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him through the window – Yoongi, sitting alone at a small table near the back, fingers tapping impatiently against his coffee cup.

You hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, even from this distance.

As you pushed open the door and made your way over to his table, you felt an unsettling warmth blossoming within her chest. It was strange, feeling drawn to someone who had caused so much turmoil in your life. But here you were, unable to look away from his dark eyes and strong jawline.

"Yoongi," you said softly, your voice wavering slightly as you took the seat across from him.

"Y/N," he replied, barely looking up from his coffee. But when he did, his gaze seemed to take you in with an intensity that made you shiver. There was a hunger in his eyes that you'd never seen before in anyone – lust, perhaps?

"Um, so," you stammered, struggling to regain your composure and focus on the task at hand. "What did you...want to talk about...?"

"Well..." he began, his voice low and smooth as he leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact.

Your mind raced with thoughts and emotions, trying to find the right words to express how you felt about everything. You knew you had to face him, and move forward. But with every second spent in Yoongi's presence, you found herself increasingly drawn to him, despite everything he'd done.

"Yoongi, I—" you started, but couldn't finish, swallowing hard as you struggled to compose herself.

"Go on," he urged, a slight smirk appearing on his lips as if he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

You hesitated, biting your lip nervously, but then steeled yourself. Your words tumbled out in a rush, "I-I don't know what you want from me, Yoongi. Are you really sorry, or is this just another game to you? Because I can't do this anymore, I can't keep feeling like this, like I'm being played."

Yoongi's smirk faded, and his eyes softened. He lowered his gaze for a moment before looking back up at you, his voice sincere when he spoke, "That's...actually why I asked you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for everything. Y/N...I-I'm so sorry. I never should have asked you for those nudes."

You avoided his eyeline, instead averting your gaze towards the floor, "Why...why did you ask me for them? It's not like you knew me before we even started texting and I--"

"Yes, I did, actually." He interrupted, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice, "I saw you at a party a few months ago a-and...Jungkook gave me your number. Don't ask me why he had it because honestly...I don't know. I wanted to talk to you but I-I just thought it would be better to text you."

You noticed the slight stutter in his voice and the way his fingers played with the edge of the table, betraying his nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, you took a moment before responding, "So you were talking to me all this time, knowing who I was?"

"Yes," he admitted, his shame evident in his eyes. "But it doesn't excuse how I acted, Y/N. I know that. I'm so sorry. If there's any way I can make it up to you, let me know. Please."

It was difficult for you to hear him say those words, but as he explained himself, something inside you began to crack. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was understanding, at least.

You looked at him, trying to decipher his words and find the truth behind them. "Why did you do it, Yoongi?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I...I don't know. I guess I thought it would be a way to get closer to you, or at least have some kind of connection. But it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Your heart ached as you stared into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in his words. You knew this wasn't the end of your struggles, but maybe it was the beginning of something different.

"Thank you for the apology. I'm sorry too, I never should have sent anything to begin with."

You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, but you didn't have anything else to say, so you remained silent.

Yoongi looked down at the table, his dark hair falling into his eyes, "If it's okay with you..." He began, avoiding your gaze, "I-I want to get to know you better."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. Did you trust him? Could you let go of the past and move forward?

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke, "Okay, Yoongi. Let's start over. But we're not doing anything like that again."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of relief in his eyes, "I understand. I won't push you, Y/N. I just...I'm so sorry."

"I-- it's fine, really."

And with that, you both sat in silence for a while, contemplating the new path that lay ahead of you. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but maybe it was worth a try.

---

It had been three months since you went to the café with Yoongi.

You found a new normal in your relationship, and although trust wasn't rebuilt overnight, you both were committed to fixing what had been broken.

The air between you and Yoongi had shifted. Instead of the tension and mistrust that had previously existed, there was now an underlying understanding and appreciation for each other's flaws and mistakes.

You appreciated how considerate Yoongi was, never pushing your boundaries or rushing things. Instead, he made an effort to listen intently, offering support and understanding as you opened up about your feelings and fears. It felt like the door to your heart was gradually creaking open, allowing the light of a blossoming bond to seep in.

One evening, you found yourself immersed in your studies at the library, the soft rustle of turning pages and hushed whispers creating a cocoon of tranquility around you.

Suddenly, your focus was interrupted by a gentle tap on your shoulder, causing your heart to skip a beat. You looked up to find Yoongi standing beside your table, his eyes crinkling as he offered his gummy smile that caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

"Hey," he said softly, like a lullaby whispered into the night. "I thought I might find you here."

"Yoongi!" You exclaimed, happiness bubbling up within your chest. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight. What brings you to the library?"

"Call it intuition," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "I had a feeling you'd be here, studying late like always."

You chuckled, gaze drifting back to the stacks of books and papers spread out before you. "You know me too well," you murmured, feeling a twinge of embarrassment at your disorganized workspace.

"Indeed, I do," Yoongi agreed, his eyes lingering on your face. "But, I also know that you deserve a break. How about we head to my place and just relax for a bit?"

You hesitated, the thought of leaving your studies unfinished gnawing at you, but you couldn't deny the allure of spending time with Yoongi away from the pressures of academia.

You glanced back at him, his eyes filled with sincerity and warmth, and you made your decision, "Alright," you conceded with a smile. "Let me just pack up my things."

"Take your time," Yoongi replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you. The simple action spoke volumes – he was in no hurry, willing to wait as long as it took for you to feel comfortable. It was moments like these that reminded you of how far the two of you have come in rebuilding trust, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the second chance you'd given him.

As the two of you walked out of the library together, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, the snowfall had eased to a near halt as the two of you began your trek back to his apartment, leaving behind an untouched blanket of white in your wake.

The cold air stung your cheeks, but neither you nor Yoongi seemed to mind it much as you walked – the world felt hushed, almost magical.

"Is it always this beautiful?" you asked, your voice soft and breathy as you watched the last flakes fall from the sky.

"Sometimes," Yoongi replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I think it's just the right kind of weather for tonight."

Your steps fell in sync with each other, crunching softly against the snow beneath your feet. The streetlights cast warm, amber halos on the frosted ground, creating a comforting contrast against the winter chill.

"Tell me about your work," you suggested, curiosity piquing your interest. Yoongi had mentioned his desire to become a music producer during your conversations, but you wanted to learn more.

"Ah, well," he began, a modest smile gracing his lips. "I've been working on this new project lately – it's got a different vibe than what I usually do. But that's what makes it exciting."

"Sounds fascinating," you commented sincerely. "I can't wait to hear it when it's finished."

"Hopefully you'll like it," Yoongi replied, his eyes shining with gratitude at your enthusiasm.

As you approached his apartment building, you couldn't help but feel a slight surge of nerves. It was the first time you would be stepping into Yoongi's personal space, and there was an undeniable intimacy in that. You glanced over at him, wondering if he could sense your apprehension. However, his gaze remained fixed on the entrance, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"Here we are," Yoongi announced as you walked into the warm, well-lit lobby. The sudden change in temperature made you shiver slightly, your body trying to adapt.

"Nice place," you commented, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks," Yoongi replied, leading you toward the elevator. The ride up was quiet, the both of you lost in your own thoughts as you anticipated what might happen once the two of you were alone in his apartment.

When you finally entered Yoongi's space, you couldn't help but take it all in – the minimalist furniture, the impressive collection of vinyl records along one wall, and the cozy atmosphere that seemed to envelop the entire room. It felt like a sanctuary, a reflection of Yoongi himself.

"Make yourself at home," he offered kindly, gesturing toward the comfortable-looking couch.

"Thank you," you whispered, suddenly aware of just how intimate this moment was. You were standing in his apartment, seeing a side of him few people had ever been privy to. And as you took a seat on his couch, feeling the warmth of the cushions beneath you, you knew that you wanted to learn even more about the enigmatic man who had captured your interest.

"Would you like something to drink?" Yoongi asked, his voice soft yet inviting. His eyes, a rich dark chocolate color, held curiosity and a touch of shyness, reflecting his guarded nature.

"Sure, do you have any wine?" You replied.

You enjoyed how the warmth of the room seemed to embrace you, making you feel comfortable. It was a rare feeling for you, considering your own life and surroundings were often chaotic.

"Of course," Yoongi said with a subtle smile. He disappeared into the kitchen area, returning moments later holding two glasses filled with the familiar deep red liquid. He carefully handed one to you before taking a seat across from you on the couch.

"Thanks." You took a sip, savoring the smooth taste of the wine as it slid down your throat.

You noticed the way the moonlight that streamed through the windows caught the glass, creating a dazzling array of colors that danced along the edges.

"You're welcome." Yoongi raised his own glass and took a small sip. His gaze lingered on the window, seeming to find solace in the familiar sight.

"Your apartment is really lovely," You said earnestly, hoping to ease the initial tension between the both of you. "It has such a unique vibe."

"Thank you. I've put a lot of time and effort into making it my own little sanctuary," Yoongi admitted with a small smile. "I'm glad you like it."

As the two of you continued to chat, you both discovered shared interests and common ground – your love for music, your desire to create something meaningful, and the challenges you both faced in your pursuit of happiness.

With each revelation, the space between both of you seemed to shrink, and you found herself drawn to Yoongi's quiet intensity.

"Sometimes," Yoongi said, pausing to choose his words carefully, "it feels like life is a constant battle against time and expectations. It's hard to find moments like this, where you can just be yourself without any judgment."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a pang of empathy for the man sitting before you. "I know exactly what you mean. It's easy to get lost in the noise and lose sight of who you really are."

"Exactly." Yoongi's eyes met yours, and you're struck by the sincerity you see there. "But sometimes, it's in those quiet moments that we can truly find ourselves."

You couldn't help but be moved by the sincerity in Yoongi's words, and as the silence fell between you both, you found your gaze drifting towards the window again. The snow had stopped, leaving a blanket of white that seemed to silence the world outside.

"It's amazing how peaceful everything can be when it snows," you remarked, your voice barely above a whisper. "It makes you feel like anything is possible."

Yoongi nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It's a reminder that sometimes, we need to slow down and appreciate the beauty of the world around us."

You smiled, silently agreeing before looking around the living room, taking more of it in, "I can't believe we've known each other for as long as we have but I've never been to your apartment until now."

"Same goes for me," Yoongi replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, "It's kind of funny to think about how we even became friends."

You scoffed, "It's funny now. But, I wouldn't have it any other way. I still have your contact name as the same thing it was when you first texted me, though."

Yoongi tilted his head in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"It's still just your phone number. For some reason...I don't know I just like it that way."

Yoongi chuckled lightly, shaking his head in amusement. "That's...quite possibly the most strange yet charming thing I've heard today." He took another sip of his wine, the warmth spreading through his body as he savored the taste.

"Is that so?"

He nodded, smiling.

"Well, maybe I should change it then." You pulled out your phone, navigating to your contacts. "What should I change it to?"

"Nah," he began, putting his wine glass down before scooting towards you, "let me do it," he said playfully, snatching the phone from your grasp. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he held your phone aloft, just out of your reach. "Besides, I want to pick my own emoji."

"Give it back!" You laughed, your cheeks flushed with excitement as your reached for your phone. Your heart raced at your playful banter, something you had grown to cherish during your time with Yoongi.

"Uh-uh, not until I'm done," he teased, his tongue peeking out between his lips in a cheeky grin. He leaned to one side, keeping the phone firmly out of your grasp.

Your determination grew, and you leaned over him, stretching your arm out as far as possible.

Your fingertips brushed against the edge of your phone, but Yoongi shifted his weight again, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Yoongi, seriously!" You huffed, laughter bubbling up despite your feigned annoyance.

"Fine, fine," he relented, bringing the phone down just enough for you to snatch it back. In your eagerness, you accidentally ended up leaning too far forward straddling him in the process, your thighs pressing against his hips.

You both froze, suddenly aware of your intimate position.

Your eyes locked, and the room seemed to fall silent around the two of you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the proximity making you all too aware of the heat radiating from Yoongi's body.

You noticed the way his breath hitched in his throat, and the way his pupils dilated as the two of you continued to stare at each other.

A minute crawled by, every second feeling like an eternity as a thousand emotions swirled within you. Your mind raced with questions, doubts, and desires, and you could see the same turmoil reflected in Yoongi's eyes.

It was only when you felt a tremble in your hands that you realized what you were doing.

Face burning, you began moving your hips slightly in an attempt to get off of him, "Shit, Yoongi, I-I'm so sorry."

Although the movement you made caused a friction beneath you, and Yoongi froze, eyes widening, "W-wait, Y/N, stop...stop moving."

"What?" You stuttered, looking at him with wide eyes. "Why?"

His hands slid down to your waist in an attempt to hold you in place, "Just...stop." He managed to get out, his voice low and rough. "Don't move, please."

As you froze in place, it dawned on you that Yoongi's hands had now settled in a more intimate position on your hips, his fingers gently gripping your sides. You could feel his breath against your skin as his eyes locked onto yours, his expression filled with a mix of desire and fear.

"Y-Yoongi, I--" You moved again in another attempt to get off him, flustered.

"Fuck..." He groaned, allowing his head to fall back, and suddenly, you felt something underneath you.

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized what it was - his erection pressing right up against the heat of your core.

In fear and confusion, you pushed his hands off your waist, abruptly standing up before him, "I-I should go," you began, rubbing your hands against your sides in an attempt to wipe the sweat off of them, "I'll see you later?"

Yoongi watched as you quickly gathered your things and stood up from his couch, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to find the right words. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and he could feel the heat radiating from your body as your cheeks flushed red.

"Y/N, wait..." Yoongi's voice was hoarse, his eyes pleading as he reached for your hand. But you were already turning to leave the room, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue.

---

You avoided Yoongi for the next few days, his calls, his texts, everything.

You immersed yourself in your schoolwork, dedicating less time to visiting the library, as a means to escape the burden that this situation had imposed on you.

But as the days went by, you found yourself thinking about him more and more. About the heat of his touch, the desires you both had felt in that moment. You knew it had been an accident, but you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more between you and Yoongi.

---

"You need to talk to him, Y/N."

"I-I know," you began, rubbing your temples, "but I have no idea where to start, I mean I just walked out on him, he probably hates me."

You and your best friend, Mina, had been sitting together in your apartment while you sulked over Yoongi, trying to figure out how you would speak to him again. Mina had been your rock through thick and thin, and now she was determined to help you out of this mess.

"Just think about it, Y/N. You owe it to yourself to at least try and resolve this. You can't just let things remain the way they are."

You nodded, biting your lip in frustration. "You're right, Mina. I just...I don't know where to start."

Mina smiled, placing her hand on your shoulder. "Well, you could start by sending him a message. You know, just a simple olive branch to let him know you're willing to talk."

"But...I walked out on him. I can't just text him after all that," you threw your face into your hands, "I feel so bad."

"Look Y/N," Mina began, "I know you feel bad but if you don't think that a text or a call is the right thing to do, then...I don't know what to say."

You scoffed, "Wow, thanks, that really puts things into perspective."

Mina laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Alright, alright. But seriously, you need to figure out what you want to do, Y/N. It's been a few days, and if you don't make a move, you could lose him all together."

"I know, I know, you're right."

"Of course I am." Mina got up from where she was sitting, a soft smile on her face, "I have to go, but keep me updated."

"I will."

---

You lay restless in your bed, moonlight casting silver shadows on the walls. The clock's red digits flickered to 12:00 A.M., taunting you with each passing second. Sleep remained elusive, for Yoongi's face flickered behind your closed eyes, his laughter echoing in your ears.

You couldn't shake the feeling that their misunderstanding had driven a wedge between them.

Why did you have to fuck everything up?

"Damn it," you muttered under your breath, tossing and turning, your tangled sheets a testament to your inner turmoil.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to find a solution to mend your fractured friendship with Yoongi. Desperation bubbled up within you until it burst like a geyser, propelling you out of bed.

"Fuck this," you hissed, flinging the covers off your body. With a newfound determination, you slipped into sweatpants and a hoodie, the fabric comforting against your skin.

You rummaged through the darkness, fingers closing around the familiar leather of your coat.

Your heart pounded like a drum as you prepared to step out into the cold night air, fueled by the need to speak with Yoongi and set things right.

You made your way through the hallway, and out the door of your apartment, each step setting a path towards your journey outside.

The cold winter night had wrapped its icy fingers around the city, but your determination burned like a fire inside your chest.

As you walked towards Yoongi's apartment, your breath condensed into fleeting clouds that disappeared as quickly as they were born.

You glanced around, taking in the peaceful serenity of the snow-covered streets, the faint glow of the streetlights casting long shadows.

"Just talk to him, Y/N," you muttered under your breath, your words barely audible over the sound of your boots crunching on the snow beneath your feet.

When you finally arrived at the building, you rushed through the lobby without so much as a glance at the receptionist who looked up from her desk, startled by your sudden entrance.

The receptionist called after you, "Wait! Ma'am!" but you were already pressing the elevator button with impatience, your thoughts consumed by the urgency to reach Yoongi and set things straight.

"Out of order?" you read aloud, voice trembling with frustration. The sign taped to the elevator door mocked you, leaving you with no choice but to turn to the stairwell.

You hesitated for a moment, staring up at the seemingly endless flights of stairs. Yoongi lived on the highest floor, and the thought of climbing all the way up there was daunting. But the fire inside you continued to rage, and you knew there was no turning back now.

"Alright then," you whispered to yourself, taking a deep breath before dashing up the stairs, utterly determined.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you hurried up flight after flight, ignoring the burning sensation in your legs. Each step brought you closer to Yoongi, closer to the confrontation you knew the both of you desperately needed.

Finally, gasping for breath, you reached the top and stood outside Yoongi's door. You raised your fist and banged on it forcefully, your voice raised in desperation, "Yoongi, I need to talk to you,"

Silence. You could feel the heaviness of it pressing down on you, but you refused to let it deter you.

"Yoongi! Open the door, please I know you're in there," you spoke again, louder this time.

The door finally swung open, revealing Yoongi's tired and weary face. As your eyes met, you saw a sadness in his that you had never seen before, and it threatened to extinguish the fire inside you.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

With a sigh, he lowered his head, but he stepped aside from the doorframe, creating room for you to enter.

"What do you want?" He mumbled, still avoiding your gaze.

The weight of his question was heavy, but you didn't waver. You stepped into his apartment, feeling the warmth of the air against your skin.

"I came here to say that I'm sorry," you began, your voice barely audible, "I shouldn't have left like that. I was scared, and I didn't know how to handle things. I was wrong to run away, and I want you to know that I'm here now."

Yoongi remained silent, staring at his hands as if they were foreign to him.

You leaned towards him, grasping his bicep in your hand.

He flinched at the sudden touch, but didn't shy away.

"Please, look at me, Yoongi," you whispered, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

Your fingers wrap tightly around his arm, and you look up into his eyes, attempting to convey the sincerity of your words.

"Please, I-I just..."

Your let your hand fall back your side, trembling slightly, as your face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and regret.

You stumbled over her words, speaking at a rapid pace, desperate to communicate the weight of her remorse.

"Look, I know I messed up, okay? I didn't mean to just...run out on you like that. It was so stupid and thoughtless and, god, I'm so sorry, I really am."

He opened his mouth to say something, "Y/N--" but you cut him off, your voice rising in pitch as your anxiety grew.

"I've been thinking about it nonstop, and I hate myself for doing that to you and then just completely avoiding you afterwards. I was scared, and I panicked, and I didn't want to face what was happening between us."

"Y/N--" Again, he tried to interrupt, but you continued your rambling, feeling a knot tighten in your chest as tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

"Every time I think about how I left you like that I feel terrible. I can't stand the thought that I hurt you like that. I never wanted to be the type of person who runs away when things like that happen, but that's exactly what I did."

Your voice faltered, and you swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure.

Still, you refused to let him get a word in, terrified that if he spoke, it would confirm your worst fears – that you had irreparably damaged you friendship with him.

"Since then, I've been replaying that night in my head over and over again, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I should have stayed. We should have talked it out like adults. But instead, I behaved like a coward, and now I'm afraid I've lost you for good."

At last, you paused for breath, your chest heaving as you stared at him with wide, pleading eyes.

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable, and she braced yourself for the impact of his words – whatever they may be.

Just as you were about the reply, Yoongi closed the distance between the two of you, his lips gently touching yours in a tender, slow kiss.

Yoongi's lips were soft as he pulled back, a small smile on his face as he looked at you, his fingers tangling in your hair. He tugged gently, causing you to lean forward, his breath hot against your lips as he spoke. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

You smiled and leaned in, your noses brushing against each other as the two of you breathed each other in deeply.

The air was filled with the scent of his cologne and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke mixing with the warmth of his body. "Oh really? How long have you wanted to?" you whispered, heart racing as he moved closer, resting his forehead against yours. His warmth seeped into you, making you shiver.

Slowly, Yoongi's lips brushed against yours teasingly before pressing firmly, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer. Your kiss was soft and gentle at first, a slow exploration of each other's mouths, tasting and teasing. The feeling of his lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, a low moan escaping your throat as you parted your lips slightly, inviting him in more. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you eagerly opened up for him, welcoming him in.

The taste of him was addictive, like fine wine and coffee, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on your tongue long after the kiss.

You ran your fingers up his neck and threaded your fingers through his messy hair.

You pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, your body melting into his as they molded together. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, his other hand finding its way to your waist and pulling you even tighter against him.

Your tongues danced together, twirling and dueling playfully, your mouths opening wider to allow for more exploration. His kiss was demanding now, and you gave in willingly, your body arching into him as he took control.

You kissed him back just as passionately, your tongue tangling with his, breaths heavy and labored. He gripped your hips tighter, grinding against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her core.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he continued to kiss you deeply, your body trembling with anticipation.

You could feel his heart racing against your chest, the sound of his rapid breaths mingling with your own.

The heat between the two of you grew, along with your desire, and you felt yourself opening up to him more than ever before.

"Jump." He growled, his lips still brushing against yours.

With a small whimper, you obeyed, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer as he stepped forward, nearly pinning you against the wall.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses along the way, making you shiver.

Your head fell back as he bit lightly on the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking gently. His hot breath fanned across your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms.

You sighed in contentment as Yoongi's warmth continued to envelop you, your heart racing in anticipation. In the nights you spent alone in your room, you had replayed this moment countless times in your head, imagining how it would feel to be in his arms, to feel the softness of his lips against yours. But the reality was far more intense than you ever could have imagined. Every touch sent shivers down your spine, every groan vibrating against your skin made you tremble with desire.

With a sudden surge of impatience, Yoongi dropped you to your feet, roughly ripping off his shirt, his muscles rippling beneath his skin in the process, revealing a chiseled torso that seemed to glow in the dim light.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him bare before you, his shoulders broad and strong, his arms corded with strength. You traced one of them with your fingertips, marveling at the definition of his biceps.

His abs were like etched stone, each dip and curve perfectly defined. As you trailed your fingers lower, you could feel his heart racing under your touch. He groaned softly, a deep rumble that vibrated through your body. You traced the trail of hair that led from his navel to his jeans, which were already unbuttoned and half-unzipped. You paused for a moment, looking up at him through hooded eyes. He growled low in his throat, a mix of irritation and desire, and you smiled before sliding your fingers inside his boxers to touch his hot skin.

He was warm and hard, pulsing beneath your fingertips. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat radiate off him like an open flame. He gasped softly as you began to stroke him, slowly at first, then faster when he closed his eyes and arched into your touch. The look of pure bliss on his face was enough to make your heart race. In response, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his neck, sucking softly on his flesh. His hands fisted in your hair, holding you close.

"F-fuck, Y/N...w-wait," he grabbed your wrist, halting your actions before burying his face into your neck.

Letting go of you, he sighed allowing his hands to roam down your back, over your hips, until he reached the hem of your hoodie. He pulled it up slowly, revealing your red lace bra beneath.

You gasped at the sudden change in temperature before he lowered his head to suck on your neck, nipping at your skin lightly.

Your heart raced as he undid the clasp, the cool air caressing your warm skin. The bra fell to the floor, leaving your chest bare for his view.

He merely glanced for a moment before drawing his eyes back up to yours, "You're so beautiful."

He trailed his fingers down your side, over the curve of your breast, and cupped it gently in his hand.

"Everything about you...I don't think I'll ever get enough."

Yoongi's breath hitched as you arched into his touch, your nipple hardening under his palm. His thumb circled around the bud, rolling it between his fingers. He dipped his head and took your other nipple into his mouth, sucking softly as you moaned.

The feeling of his lips on your skin sent shivers down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms. You felt hot and cold all at once, your knees weak.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from his face as he looked up at you, his eyes hooded with lust.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, still massaging your breast even as he slipped it lower.

He used his free hand to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants and pulled them down slowly, his lips never leaving your skin.

You were left in just your underwear now, your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage.

He swallowed your moan as he finally pulled away, his hand sliding up your thigh. He cupped you through your lacy underwear, gasping at the heat that pooled between your legs.

His fingers danced over your drenched folds, teasing your clit as he peeled your panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them, your knees shaking ever so slightly. It was like being in a trance, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him.

He slipped his fingers out of your dripping center, holding them up to the light to emphasize the shine of your slick that glistened coated them.

"Taste yourself." He whispered,his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You obeyed, closing your eyes as you leaned forward to taste yourself on his fingers. The salty-sweet flavor was intoxicating, and you swirled your tongue around his digits, feeling him watching your every move.

He groaned, his eyes locked on your mouth, as you slowly licked his fingers clean. The air was thick with anticipation as he continued to watch you.

Grinning, he suddenly dropped down onto his knees before you, kneading his fingers into the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. His eyes never left your face as he positioned himself between your legs.

You could feel his breath on your sensitive skin, the heat of his body radiating towards you as he leaned in closer. His eyes locked with yours, his gaze filled with hunger and desire. You felt your body tremble in anticipation, your breath hitched as you waited for what would come next.

"Yoongi what are you-- oh, fuck!"

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your hips jerking forward. It was barely a lick, but it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. He took his time, lapping at your folds, teasing and tasting, his fingers lightly brushing against your clit with each pass of his tongue. You moaned, throwing your head back and giving in to the pleasure.

"Yoongi..." you breathed, your voice hoarse. His name was a plea and a command all in one. He chuckled softly, the vibration sending waves of delight through you. With one hand still teasing your entrance, he used the other to spread your folds, exposing you to his hungry gaze. And then he dove in, tongue circling your entrance, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves within. Your walls clenched around his tongue, begging for more.

"Please," you whimpered, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. He hummed in agreement, pushing deeper, his nose brushing against your entrance as he lapped at it. You squirmed underneath him, your hips bucking against his face as you tried to get closer.

The taste of you, sweet and tangy and salty, filled his mouth. He lapped at you greedily, groaning around your folds as he tried to get as much of you as he could. Your moans and gasps echoed in the room, mingling with lewd sounds Yoongi was making as he lapped at your core.

With one hand still gripping his hair, you arched your back and cried out as he continued to lick and suck on your sensitive spots. Your hips rocked wildly, grinding against his face as he drove you closer and closer to orgasm.

His growls and moans were music to your ears, fueling your desire and making your heart race. You could feel the heat building deep within you, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before you reached your peak.

Yoongi is relentless, his tongue never slowing down as he continued to pleasure you. You threw your head back, your eyes screwed shut as you prepared for the moment of pure bliss.

"Yoongi, fuck I-I'm so close." you whimpered, begging for release from the pleasure building inside of you.

He chuckled slightly against your folds, loving the way you squirmed beneath him. With one hand, he spread your legs wider, giving himself better access. His mouth closed around your clit as he lapped up every drop of your arousal.

As he worked you up into a frenzy, you begged him not to stop, pleading for release, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth.

Yoongi loved the raw hunger in your voice, the way you trembled and squirmed under his expert ministrations.

His talented tongue was working wonders on you, and you began to feel familiar knot begin to build in the pit of your stomach.

You were close, so close.

"Yoongi, I-I'm gonna-- shit!"

And when you came, it was everything he'd hoped for—a scream torn from your throat as you shook and spasmed beneath him, your wet heat coating his face. Your walls clenched around his fingers as he continued to feast on your cunt, drinking in every last drop of your sweet nectar.

Finally satiated, he lifted his head, dragging his tongue over her swollen nub lazily and you flinched from over stimulation before making his way back up to meet your eyes, holding you close to keep you from falling off balance, "You taste so good."

You smiled, cupping his cheeks in your hands, "Take me to your bedroom."

Nodding, he gently lifted you into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, as he carried you towards the bedroom. His eyes remained locked with yours, brimming with longing and urgency. The sensation of your body against his, the touch of your velvety skin, and the warmth of your breath on his neck overwhelmed him, stirring a powerful desire within him.

"I want you so bad," he whispered, his voice ragged.

You rested your head on his shoulder as he carried you, "I want you too," you breathed, your heart pounding against his chest in time with his own, "more than anything."

Yoongi stumbles through the hallway, holding onto you firmly but not too tightly, his steps becoming more and more certain as he gets closer to his bedroom. He kicks the door open with his foot, almost losing his balance but managing to regain it just in time.

The room is dimly lit, with only a small desk lamp on, casting shadows across the walls and the floor. He slowly lowers himself onto the bed, cradling you in his arms as you lay your head on his chest.

To him, you hair smells like vanilla and you feel soft against his rough skin. His heart beats fast in anticipation as he looks down at you, taking in the way your eyes flutter closed and your breathing deepens as you lean into him. "Yoongi..." you whisper before trailing off, your voice barely audible even to herself.

With a sudden burst of energy, he pulls you closer, rolling so that you're on top of him and he's beneath you, your exposed cunt pressing roughly against his clothed cock.

Your hips grind together, and he groans at the feeling.

His hands trail up your sides, tracing the outline of your ribs before cupping your breasts. You gasp, your nipples hardening beneath his touch. He dips his head to capture one in his mouth, sucking gently as he groans against your skin. It tastes sweet and salty and intoxicating.

You look at him, a wry smile etched into your features as you press a chaste kiss to his lips, "Let me make you feel good,"

You slide off his waste slowly before kissing your way down his chest, tracing your fingers along his abs, along the thin trail of hair that leads from his lower abdomen to the waistband of his pants before finally reaching for the obvious tenting in his pants, palming him through his jeans.

He groans slightly, his breath hitched as your fingers brush against the evidence of his arousal. You smile without looking up, knowing the effect you're having on him.

Without any further hesitation, you unbuckled the belt of Yoongi's jeans and slid them down, his length straining painfully against his boxers.

With a smirk, you teased Yoongi by running your fingers over his underwear-clad dick through the fabric, feeling it twitch and throb.

Yoongi let out a low groan as he felt your soft hands stroking him through his boxers.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled his cock out, freeing it from its confines. Your eyes widened as you looked down at the jutting length of his dick in your hands. It was thick and veiny, standing tall against your palms.

You ran your thumb over the head, gathering the precum that had formed there before leaning down and wrapping your mouth around the tip, forcing a strained moan out of Yoongi as he quickly threaded his fingers through your hair.

"H-holy shit, Y/N, that feels so-- fuck."

The taste of Yoongi instantly filled your senses as you explored him with your tongue, circling the head and teasing his slit. The hand on your head gently began guiding you as you started to take more of him into your mouth.

Each bob of your head made a wet, sloppy noise as you sucked him off, taking more and more of him each time.

You could taste the pre-cum on the tip, and you couldn't wait to swallow it all down. As your mouth sank further down onto his cock, you let your lips brush against Yoongi's shaft and listened to the slapping noise as your wet mouth engulfed him.

You could feel the vein pulsing on top, and the smell of his arousal filled your nostrils.

You looked up at him, eyes meeting Yoongi's, and he thought about how damn attractive you looked with your cheeks hollowed out and lips red from around his dick.

With a soft moan, you leaned forward and swallowed him down, taking him to the base of his throat. You slowly started moving up and down, taking him in and out of your mouth, licking and sucking at the same time.

You could feel his hands gripping into your scalp, holding him tightly as you deepthroated him. The room fell silent, only the sounds of your tongue lapping at his cock and the wet, sucking noises could be heard.

Before you could take him deeper and swallow around him again, he grabbed your hair, roughly pulling you off of his dick.

You looked at him, confused, waiting for him to speak his mind.

"Not yet," he panted, his eyes wild and focused on your lips. "I need to be inside you."

He stood up, and you could see the strain in his muscles as he struggled to control himself.

"What are you waiting for, Yoongi?" you teased, your eyes never leaving his.

He let out a shaky breath, and you could see the hunger in his eyes. With trembling hands, he leaned down, fully removing his jeans.

Yoongi's breath hitched in his throat as he took a step closer to you, positioning himself between your legs.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he bent down, his eyes locked onto your own, filled with lust.

Your heart raced as he gently pulled your hips off the bed, lifting you up and guiding you towards the edge.

His hands trembled slightly as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your wetness as he slowly began to press inside you.

You gasped as he entered you, feeling him stretch you open.

His eyes locked onto yours, his breath hitched as you clenched around him, pulling him in deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N," he whispered, his voice ragged with desire.

Slowly, he began to move, his hips rocking gently against yours as he thrust inside you. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as your eyes met his, lost in the intensity of the moment.

With each thrust, you both let out soft moans, the sounds mingling with the wet slap of skin against skin. It felt like a million different sensations all at once - the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the friction of his dick sliding in and out of you, the pulsing veins of his cock, and the way his lips brushed against yours as he kissed you.

Your hips began to meet his thrusts, rising up to meet him as he fucked you, his eyes never leaving yours. It was as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, and you were right there with him, searching for the same thing.

"Y-Yoongi, please," You whimpered, silently begging him to move faster.

Suddenly, as if a light switch went off he gritted his teeth and growled, beginning to thrust roughly into you, filling you with each and every inch of his length.

You moaned loudly beneath him, nails digging into his back as he took you like he owned you, his hips slapping against yours in a primal rhythm that echoed in the small room.

“F-fuck, Yoongi!” You mewl, arching your back.

His breathing was ragged as he looked down at you, his gaze dark and intense. “That’s right baby girl, take my cock. Take it all.” He pulled out slightly before slamming back in, feeling yours walls clench around him, loving the sensation.

He could feel the intensity building inside of him, the need to release slowly beginning to build inside of him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his voice rough and demanding. "You feel so good." He slid one of his hands between your bodies, teasing your clit as he continued to pound into you.

"O-oh my god, Yoongi, I-I'm so close..."

He loved hearing you moan his name. It fueled his desire, made him lose control even more.

He grabbed your hair with his free hand and pulled your head back, exposing your neck to him, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down your shoulder and collarbone as you moved together.

"Yoongi, please," you pleaded, your voice quivering.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. The way he touched you, possessed you, owned you...it was unlike anything you had ever felt before.

His rough hands on your skin made you shiver, and you could feel the heat between the two of you growing more intense with every passing second.

His hips snapped forward, his cock hitting your G-spot just right, and you cried out, your body shaking. "Yes," you moaned, your whole body tingling. "Right there. Oh fuck, right there!" You arched your back, meeting his movements, your nails digging into his skin as you felt a familiar coil began form inside of you.

"F-fuck, Yoongi, I'm so close, please!"

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, princess?"

You could no longer form any words, simply responding with a strained moan.

"Beg for it."

Your eyes locked with his, pleading for the release you both craved. "Please," you whimpered, your voice barely audible. "I need you to make me cum, Yoongi, Please!"

Yoongi's face was a mix of pleasure and dominance as he watched you lose control. He thrust faster, harder, swallowing your moans among his own as they filled the room.

"Good girl," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours.

At the sound of those words, something within you snapped. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything in your life.

The air was thick with the scent of sex and desire as you both surrendered to the intensity of the moment.

You suddenly felt the pressure building, the heat between you two intensifying. Your body began to shake uncontrollably as you felt the orgasm you had been craving for so long finally taking over.

"Oh fuck, Yoongi, I'm-- shit!" you screamed, your voice echoing through the room.

Yoongi watched, his eyes filled with satisfaction, as you exploded around his cock. Your nails dug deeper into his skin, and he felt you tighten around him like a vice.

Feeling your walls clenching around his cock, it sent him over the edge as well. He moaned your name as he came inside you, his body shaking violently as he emptied himself inside you.

Your bodies kept moving, pulsing together as the wave of orgasm continued to wash over you both.

As the intensity subsides, Yoongi's weakened legs give way and he collapses against you, his chest pressed against yours, both of you breathless and covered in perspiration, utterly spent.

Gradually, as your breathing steadies, you attempt to shift and free yourself from underneath him. However, Yoongi swiftly wraps an arm around your waist, refusing to let you go, holding you close against him as he turns you both so that you're facing each other on your sides.

Yoongi's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of lust, love, and something deeper - a connection that went beyond the physical. His fingers gently traced the curves of your face, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

You could feel the heat and energy from his body pulsating through you, and the aftershocks of your orgasm still reverberating within you. The intensity of the moment had left you both breathless, and yet there was a sense of peace that enveloped you as you lay there, entwined with one another.

Without saying a word, Yoongi tenderly lifted your chin, his eyes locking onto yours, and he spoke into the silence, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Yoongi."

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hi I was wondering if I could request a Luther X Sloane cliches and tropes #33 please

A/N: Hello Nonny! It’s taken me a while to get here, but I give you what will hopefully be the first of many Luther/Sloane fics. This was a good prompt for them, because it fits really well into the canon, so I was able to find their voices and relationship before I dip into the ones that might take more of an AU, so thank you for that as well. I hope you enjoy! Word Count: 1092 Rating: T - implied smut/suggestive themes; Spoilers for The Umbrella Academy s3; minor instances of self-hatred and body image issues; cheese

Sure, the Sparrows had attacked them, Ben had swung the first hit at Klaus (for no reason, Klaus was just being Klaus). But he couldn't really blame them. After all, it wasn't that long ago (just a year and two time jumps, practically no time at all) that he would have done the same thing if a gang of black-clad wackadoos had shown up in the living room, without half the shit they'd said today. It was what Hargreeves were trained to do. And it wasn't like anyone got hurt…Seriously hurt…they recovered. 

It made total sense. It was perfectly rational. But he still wanted to kick their smug…smugness into next week (or let Five do it since he was most likely to manage to do actually that). 

Except for one. He'd only caught glimpses, not able to track any one enemy, or ally, through the chaos, but when he did there was something about her that felt like it was pulling him in. She was the Earth to his Moon. He needed to see her again. 

Being kidnapped wasn’t exactly the ideal way to meet a potential partner, but Luther was nothing if not an optimist. And the smile she gave him when the Sparrows approached wasn’t like Ben’s smirk or the bird-woman’s scowl. It was sweet, and it stayed that way. As they talked about their dreams (those absent wishes of someone who didn’t really get to choose their own destiny), and their interests, and the moon, there was no judgment or hesitation. She looked at him like he was whole and human and…maybe even handsome. He wanted to stay, just for her.

~

“Everyone thinks I should stay away from you because you’re dangerous,” Sloane murmured, almost absently while she drew hearts on his chest with his fingers. 

“That’s funny,” he chuckled awkwardly, even though it really wasn’t that funny at all. “My siblings said the same thing about you.”

He didn’t feel like he needed to flinch away from her gaze or her touch, especially after what had just happened between them. It was a new feeling and one he wanted to bask in, and the hazy post-coital glow that probably helped. But Sloane sat up suddenly, pushing away from him with a fire in her eyes, and…nope there it was again, the urge to hide himself away behind high walls and thick woolen coats. 

“What?” She looked shocked, angry, and worst of all, hurt.

“Yeah, my family thinks that yours is evil and that I'm naively falling for a honeytrap and that you're going to turn on me and kill all of us or something. Which is ridiculous.” 

“Us?! Your family is the one full of murderers! Or have you already forgotten Alphonso and Jayme? And probably Marcus. And JFK…somehow. I should be the one worried you're going to turn on me!”

“I already told you, Harlan wa–” he sighed, cutting himself off. “Actually, it doesn't matter. I promise you Sloane, I love my family, but I won't betray you for them, I promise. I would never. I…”

He couldn't finish the words. He was scared to. Some Number One. He couldn't keep his family from fighting each other. He had fallen in love with the enemy (even though he thought it was stupid to see them as the enemy, or maybe that was another point against him) and was too much of a coward to tell her. Reginald had been right, always, about Luther's flaws. 

But of course he loved her. Sloane was so…perfect. She was beautiful and powerful and so much smarter than him (than any of his siblings probably, except maybe Five). She was funny, in the same awkward way that spoke to his own sense of humor. She loved travel and reading poetry. She was actually interested in his stories about the moon. She never flinched from his touch or questioned his appearance. And she was so incredibly kind. Anyone would be stupid not to love her. 

And maybe, if he could just find the words to tell her, to tell the whole world, or what was left, the others would understand. His family and hers. And they’d be able to be together. 

“Luther,” the way she said his name made him feel like he was flying, and he wanted to hold onto it forever. “I love you too.” 

“You…” he felt like his brain couldn’t catch up with the rest of reality. His heart raced and his tongue felt clumsy and too big. He thought he might be dying. And he never wanted it to stop. “You do?”

“Yeah, of course I do. I wouldn’t have snuck you in here after everything if I didn’t.”

“I…that’s great! I mean me too. Love you. I love you, too.” She giggled as he stumbled over his words and flushed red. “Sorry. I sound stupid. I’ve just, never had someone say they love me before.”

“You don’t sound stupid, Luther. I wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

“I…sorry.”

“It’s okay, just something you have to work on, maybe we can do it together? Because you’re pretty amazing, and you should treat yourself like it.” 

“How are you so perfect?”

“Oh…I’m not perfect…”

He cradled her face gently in his big hands so that he could kiss her softly, their mouths melting together with a sigh. “Yes you are, and I love you, and I want to shout it from the rooftops, except we’re trying to sneak around right now. But someday, soon.” 

It was Sloane’s turn to blush, cheeks heating adorably as she smiled up at him. “I’d like that. As soon as we figure out how to fix our families.” 

“Right. We should probably get back to that then?”

She looked thoughtful before leaning in again, so that her breath tickled his face. “It’s late, and we can’t do anything until morning…so it could probably wait a little while, if you wanted to do something else…” 

His eyebrows scrunched as he thought, her meaning somehow going over his head despite their respective positions and nakedness.

“Just kiss me again Luther, please?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I can definitely do–”

She laughed as she cut him off, rolling them both so that she sat across his hips while she kissed him, pressing their bodies close. They could figure out the future and their families and whatever else the universe threw their way in the morning. For now, for tonight, it was just the two of them and their love and the full moon through the windowpane.

[dreamerstreamer]

Pocket Knife Prince

Pairing: c!Technoblade x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] You’ve liked Technoblade from the moment he joined Pogtopia, but you could never quite bring yourself to confess. Who knew it would only take a pocket knife and some potatoes to change that?

Warnings: minor cursing & one slightly out of pocket joke

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this a repost of an older story i had posted a while back. this story takes place back when technoblade was still allied with pogtopia. i hope you enjoy! <3

You huffed as you pulled yourself up another rung on the ladder, your arms straining as you did your best to keep yourself balanced. You still couldn’t fathom why Tommy thought it was a good idea to dig straight down.

“I’ll hit a cave, eventually,” he had told you as he grabbed a pickaxe, already starting to mine away at the space beneath his feet.

“Maybe,” you had said. “But what if you hit a lava pool? Do you really want to burn alive?”

“Oh, I have a backup plan in case I fuck up.” He held up a bucket of water, grinning at you. “Bam. Fucking foolproof.”

Yeah, sure, you thought to yourself with a grimace as you continued to haul yourself upward. You might not have died while digging down, but I might die while climbing up. 

Pausing, you reached behind you to adjust the strap of your back with a cry of frustration. This is way too heavy—I should have gone back earlier.

You looked back up again, squinting for a second before your eyes lit up. At long last, light! You were at least somewhat close to the entrance, now. “Just a bit more climbing,” you muttered to yourself as you reached up once more, “and then you’ll be able to take this stupid bag off.”

A few moments later, you gasped as you finally dragged yourself out of the vertical tunnel, standing up on shaky legs. Without even an ounce of hesitation, you swung your pack off your back, dumping it onto the dusty earth ungracefully. Your muscles practically screamed with relief as you rolled back your shoulders, a wide smile stretching across your face.

“Hey, boys!” you shouted, your voice echoing in the tall ravine. “Guess who’s back?!”

You heard some rumbling, then a tuft of blond hair peeked out from one of the overhanging pillars. “Big [Y/N]!” Tommy shouted, waving at you. “You took for-fuckin’-ever to get back.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not my fault we needed so much stuff.” You narrowed your gaze. “Also, your ladder idea sucks.” 

Tommy scowled. “My ladder idea is fucking genius, you bi—”

A new voice cut in. “Tommy, that’s enough.”

You smiled triumphantly as you watched Tommy immediately shrink back, his tone quieting as he grumbled defeatedly, “Yes, Wilbur.”

Giving him a quick ruffle of his hair, Wilbur strolled down the ravine’s cobblestone steps down to the bottom. He pulled his hands out of his coat pockets as he flashed you a grin. “Welcome back, [Y/N]. How was the trip?”

You offered him a weary but satisfied look. “Oh, you know. Dark. Dusty. The usual. But…” Bending down, you flipped open the top of your pack and pulled out a smaller sack, shaking it in front of his face. “…I got all that gold you wanted! There’s probably a little less than seven stacks in there, which will be plenty if we want to make some golden apples.”

Wilbur blinked at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise as a smile began to tug at his lips. “Not that I doubt you or anything,” he said, “but where in the world did you manage to get nearly seven stacks of gold?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, dropping the bag into his hands with a hum. “In a cave.” When he stared at you in stunned silence, you quirked a brow at him. “What? It’s not like it was hard.”

He was grinning now, shaking his head. “You’re batshit crazy, [Y/N]. That’s incredible.”

You smiled sheepishly at his words. “For the record,” you pointed out, “I didn’t do it all in a single day or anything. I was gone for, like, half a week.”

“That’s still really good work, alright?” He reached over, playfully punching your shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

You winced, shooting him a dirty look. “Ow, that hur—”

“Oh, you’re back.”

Your head whipped around at the sound of low, rumbling voice. Your frown vanished at the sight of Technoblade standing a few feet away from you, a basket of potatoes held in his gloved hands. You felt your heart swell and a bright grin replace your scowl as you bounced over to him. “Hi, Techno!” you chirped.

He smiled back at you, his gaze kind. “Hello.”

From behind you, Wilbur let out a distressed noise. “Jeez, you seem so excited to talk to him but barely batted an eye at me. Did you miss him that much?”

You stuck your tongue out at him, trying to hide the flush of your cheeks. “More than I did you.”

Tommy cackled as he walked by, adjusting the straps of the pack in his hands. “Ouch. Maybe you should get some ice for that burn, Wilbur.”

Wilbur grimaced, opening his mouth to retort when his gaze suddenly lit up. “Actually,” he said, turning, “speaking of ice, who wants to go with me to the Nether to destroy some of the SMP’s and Manberg’s ice roads?” A devilish grin split across his face. “I figured that it would slow them down a bunch and they’d spend less time focusing on us, so it’ll be easier for us to get into contact with Tubbo.”

You blinked at him, then sent him a teasing smile. “Wilbur, this might one of the only good ideas you’ve had since starting a drug cartel.”

“Thank y—wait, is that a compliment?”

“Man,” Technoblade sighed, rolling his eyes at him, “just take it as one and let your ego coast on that for the next six months.”

“Anyways,” Wilbur said, ignoring him and moving on, “who wants to come with me?”

You shook your head, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “No thanks. I just got back from a long, long mining trip. I think I’m due for some time off.”

Wilbur nodded. “Alright, fair.” His gaze moved to the figure standing next to you. “Techno?”

Technoblade simply raised the basket of potatoes in his hands. “Nah. I’ve got my hands full here.”

Wilbur made a face, a hint of desperation seeping into his eyes. “You can farm potatoes any time,” he said, his voice raising a pitch or two. “How about you just come with m—”

“Why don’t I just go?”

Wilbur froze, and he turned with a shaky smile. “A-Are you sure about that, Tommy? You sure you don’t just want to stay in the ravine with [Y/N]?”

Tommy shrugged, flipping the stick in his hand. “Not really. It’s not like I have anything better to do, anyways.” He nudged the pack at his feet. “I’m even packed and ready to go, too.”

Wilbur swallowed, and you could have sworn a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. “You really want to come?” he added, sounding more and more uncertain with each word that passed his lips.

“I dunno, Wilbur,” Technoblade spoke up, quirking his lips at him, “but it almost sounds like you don’t want to bring Tommy with you.”

Tommy gasped, looking appalled. “What the hell, Will? Of course you want me to go with you, right?”

Wilbur turned on his heel, dragging a tired hand over his face. “Sure, Tommy. Let’s just say that.” He strode away toward the stairs, practically stomping his way up to the second floor. “Just give me a second to grab a pack,” he sighed, waving a hand behind him. “I’ll be down in like five minutes.”

Tommy threw his hands in the air, waving his stick. “Fuck yeah!”

Technoblade let out a quiet chuckle, turning on his heel. “Well, I’m gonna go back to farming.”

You glanced at him shyly, trailing after him. “Can I come with?”

His step faltered, and he turned to send you a fond look. “Always.”

Your heart lit up at the sight and you grinned, following him into the garden room. The entirety of the floor had been replaced with dirt, tiny streams of water weaving their way around the potato patches. You let out a quiet hum as Technoblade set the basket of potatoes on the ground, grabbing a hoe from its place on the wall and walking over to the makeshift field. Digging the blade of the hoe into the earth, he pulled back and repeated the motion until the soft, dark soil was exposed to the air. Leaning back against the wall, a soft smile crept onto your face as you watched.

You remembered when Technoblade first arrived in the Dream SMP, all those months ago. You had been sitting in the ravine, peeling an apple with a pocket knife as you chatted with Wilbur, when Tommy burst in with a deafening shout about “the blade”. Raising your head, you had opened your mouth to make a snarky retort, but the words died in your mouth the minute you laid eyes on him.

He looked like a prince—a handsome one, at that.

While Wilbur had jumped down to greet Technoblade with a friendly hug, you had simply stared at the newcomer, pocket knife in your hand and apple slice in the other. As Tommy brought Technoblade over to you and asked you to introduce yourself, you remembered that dizzy pink feeling rising in your chest as you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Want an apple slice?”

You had expected him to be confused, shaking his head and pulling away with a disgusted look. But instead, his gaze flickered to your hand.

“I’d rather have the knife.”

You had blinked at him for a moment, stunned, then burst into laughter, outstretching your hand with the pocket knife handle extended toward him. He had offered you a small, awkward smile back, gingerly taking the knife from you. When his hands brushed against yours, that hazy, rosy feeling swelled in your chest again.

Ever since that moment, you’d only fallen harder and harder.

It was difficult to put into words just what drew you to Technoblade. Of course, he was pretty, but you weren’t that shallow. He had an awkward charm to him, something that seeped into every aspect of his being. He was hardworking, determined, sarcastic, and oh-so very real. You couldn’t name one thing about him that you didn’t like, really. You loved his laughter that came in brief, giggling bursts. Every time he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back. He never failed to keep you guessing, and you loved every second you spent with him.

You weren’t sure how far you’d fallen at this point, but you knew one thing, and it was that there was no going back.

“Hey,” a new voice said suddenly, pulling you away from your thoughts. You turned, watching Tommy stick his head into the room. “Can I have some potatoes for the trip?”

Your eyes shot to Technoblade, who paused for a moment, then nodded, gesturing to the basket at his feet. “Sure. You can have a couple.”

Tommy grinned, strolling in to lean down and pluck three potatoes from the pile. Standing back up again, he toed the basket, tossing and catching a potato in his hands. “Hey, Techno,” he said, “don’t you ever get tired of farming these things?”

Technoblade paused, patting down the dirt he had just covered another potato with. “Eh, not really.” His eyes flickered with contentment, and you felt your lips twitch. “I like it.”

Tommy frowned. “But,” he said, “it’s so fucking boring.”

You gasped, shooting him a glare. “Tommy! That’s mean.”

“What? Am I wrong?” He flung his arm out to point at the tilled dirt, clearly unimpressed. “All he’s doing is the same fucking thing over and over, again. We’re in a war, [Y/N]. Why can’t he just spar with me or something?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, deadpanning. “Tommy, the last time you sparred with Technoblade, you lasted less than ten seconds.” 

He grew quiet. “Okay, well, you didn’t have to put it like that, but—”

“What? Am I wrong?” you said, mimicking him.

A second passed. Then two.

“…touché, [Y/N].”

“Tommy!” Wilbur’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs, his head popping out from between the railings. “You ready to go?”

Without missing a beat, Tommy whipped around, rushing out of the farm room and slipping up the stairs. “I’m coming!”

A smirk tugged at Wilbur’s lips. “Heh.”

“Wha—oh, Will! That’s fucking disgusting.”

“But it was funny,” you called out after the youngest.

“Fuck off, [Y/N]!”

Beside you, Technoblade let out a laugh, his eyes curving into two crescent moons as he set down the hoe and picked up a shovel. With a fond smile gracing your lips, you took a step toward him, leaning down to take a closer look. There was something so endearing about knowing someone as powerful as Technoblade had a hobby as mundane as farming—farming potatoes, to be more specific. 

You liked it. A lot. You liked him a lot.

You wondered how much longer you could go without saying it aloud.

“Hey, Techno,” you murmured, watching his ears perk up at the sound of your voice, “could you teach me the best way to plant potatoes?”

He paused, his shovel planting itself in the earth as he turned to look at you, his lips parted in surprise. “Y-You actually want to learn?”

You bobbed your head, praying that your face wasn’t growing any warmer. “Of course. Fighting’s fun and all, but there’s more to life than just bloodshed.” You flashed him a bright grin. “Besides, an army needs food to fight!”

With a small grin, he gestured for you step closer. “You want to make sure you dig about six to eight inches down,” he explained, gesturing down the hole with his finger. “If you don’t dig deep enough, then the potato will be too close to the surface, and if you dig too deep, it’ll have a harder time reaching the top.”

You nodded, your tongue swiping over your lips in concentration. Technoblade let out a brief cough, turning away with a slight flush to his cheeks as he grabbed a potato from the basket next to him. “Then,” he continued, “grab a potato. You’ll want to cut it in half down the middle and plant it so the cut side is facing downwards.”

Sticking a hand into his pocket, he rummaged around for a second before pulling out a familiar pocket knife. Your eyes flashed with recognition as he flipped the blade open and sliced through the potato with ease.

“Is that,” you began slowly, your tone tentative and gentle, “my pocket knife? From when we first met?”

Technoblade’s hands faltered as he sliced, his gaze flickering to you with a bashful look. “It’s—um, yeah. Does… does that bother you?”

You immediately shook your head, waving your hands in front of you. “No, not at all! I-I was just wondering. I haven’t seen it in a while, that’s all.”

He lowered his chin, and you could have sworn his cheeks were pink. “I’ve been taking good care of it,” he admitted quietly, his gaze not meeting yours. “It’s important to me.”

You blinked, your heart beating faster in your chest. “It is?” you whispered.

He nodded. “It is.”

You wanted to curl up into a ball and squeal. It only took two simple words from him to send you into a flurry of awkward smiles and blushing whines. You couldn’t believe just how far gone you were.

Technoblade stretched a hand toward you, half of the potato he cut clutched between his fingers. “Here. You try planting one.”

With a shaky hand, you gently pulled the potato from his hands, nearly flinching at the feeling of his skin brushing against yours. Carefully, you reached over and set the potato face down like he had instructed. You pointed your hand toward the pile of dirt lying just beside the hole, about to start covering the potato when his arm shot out in front of you.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, making you freeze in place. “You don’t have gloves on. I don’t want your hands to get dirty.”

You sent him a small smile, waving a hand dismissively at him. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

He didn’t budge. “Please. Let me.”

That fuzzy feeling was back, and you pulled back. “Okay,” you whispered, your stomach swarming with butterflies as you watched him cover your planted potato with his hands. For someone who made a lot of jokes regarding human ethics, he was far more caring than he let on.

“Y’know,” you said softly, glancing over at him, “it’s really cool watching you do this, even if Tommy thinks it’s boring.” A small smile flitted across your face. “There are all these specific conditions that you have to know to have the most efficient farm with the best percent yield of potatoes—it’s honestly kind of surreal just how much brainpower actually goes into farming.”

Technoblade stared at you, his eyes reflecting something thoughtful and warm, and another thought popped into your head. You felt your cheeks begin to grow warm at the words swirling around your head. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you opened your mouth, again.

“I-I, um,” you began shakily, suddenly finding the scuff mark on your shoe very interesting, “I really hope you know how smart we think you really are. How smart I know you are. Because you are. Smart, that is.”

You must have been trembling, you could almost feel it. Why was it so hard to put your feelings into words? At this rate, you were never going to be able to confess how you felt. Just how much longer could you drag this out fo—

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. You turned your head, your lips parting as you looked at him in surprise. The moment his soft gaze met yours, a spark of electricity ran through your veins, and you shivered for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his head at you. “I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, he squinted his eyes at you, his carmine gaze narrowing. “Oh wait, you’ve got something on your face,” he murmured, inching closer in to take a better look.

“Oh,” you said, a hand immediately darting up to your cheek, “that’s probably just some dust or soot or something. You know, from the mines.” You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, embarrassment shooting up your spine knowing that you probably looked dumb. “Did I get it?”

He frowned, pulling off his gloves as he leaned closer. “No, here let me just—”

Suddenly, his hand was on your face, your cheek held gently in his palm. Your heart came barreling to a stop, your entire body freezing like ice. 

He was so close.

The pads of his finger were warm and calloused, yet they held a certain softness to him as his thumb slowly swiped just under her eye, careful to brush away the dirt that marred your face. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you found yourself unable to look away from him, hyperaware of the goosebumps that shot up your sides as his gaze met yours. A prince—he really did look like a prince.

For a moment, the two of you simply gazed at one another, a silent question hanging over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you opened your mouth.

“Can I say something kind of crazy?” you whispered.

“Of course,” he whispered, not moving his gaze from yours for even a heartbeat.

You sucked in a deep breath, screwing your eyes shut. “I…” You swallowed. “I really, really want to kiss you, right now.”

A moment of silence passed, and you held your breath, tension digging itself into your shoulders. Oh, I’m totally about to get rejected. This was such a bad idea. What was I even thinki—

“Can—” He started then stopped, and you could have sworn his cheeks were pink. “Can I say something even crazier?”

You heart leapt. “Yeah, totally,” you breathed.

He turned back to look at you, and you felt something deep in your chest click. “I really, really want to kiss you, too.”

Your eyes flew wide, and you couldn’t stop the giddy grin forming on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Technoblade dipped his head down close to yours, his crimson eyes darting across your face as he took in your every feature. As he leaned closer toward you, a question silently flashes in his gaze. 

Can I…?

You smiled and nodded oh-so subtly, just for him to see.

Yes, yes, yes.

Ever so slowly, he leaned down toward you, and you felt your eyelids flutter shut. Just then, his lips met yours, soft and tentative like a deer taking its first, shaky steps. Electric ran down your spine at his velvet touch, your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck and touch his cherry blossom pink hair. His crown tumbled to the ground off his head, rolling a few times before coming to a full stop, but neither of you particularly noticed, far too enraptured with one another to care.

This was everything you could have possibly asked for.

A moment later, you pulled apart, gasping for air as the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes. His hair had been mussed by your touch, his lips parted and puffy from the kiss.

You didn’t think he could look any more princely, but he still managed to prove you wrong.

Clearing your throat, you cast eyes away in shy embarrassment. “I feel like I should also clarify that this means I like you,” you added in a rush, fidgeting with your hands. “Like, way more than I thought I could ever like a person.”

Technoblade let out a sigh of relief, lips curling at the corners. “Oh, that’s good. I like you, too.” Your heart did a backflip in your chest, shouting in celebration as he added, “I was sort of thinking we were just gonna kiss and never talk about it, again.”

You shot him a quizzical look. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

He sent you a crooked smile, but his gaze was fond. “Only kind of.”

You weren’t quite sure how many minutes passed in comfortable silence, both of you simply basking in the other’s warm presence. It was nice—this was nice. You wouldn’t mind staying like this for a while longe—

“—y it, Tommy, just say it!”

Your eyes shot wide open in panic. Across from you, Technoblade’s expression mirrored your own.

They were back.

“I’m telling you it’s okay, Tommy—you can call me ‘Wilby’ if you want to!”

Flailing your arms in a panic, you immediately began to backpedal to the other side of the room, Technoblade picking up his shovel and beginning to shovel as fast as he could.

“You’re still going off about this shit? Jesus Christ, I don’t want to call you ‘Wilby’, oh my fucking go—”

Wilbur crooned as they stepped into the garden room, “Aww, Tommy, my little gremlin.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wilbu—”

“B-Back so soon?” you prompted, pretending to have been looking at the potato field with great focus as you turned to face them.

Wilbur turned away from Tommy, the smile sliding off his face. He nodded with a sigh, adjusting the pack on his back. “We almost got to the portal, but Antfrost saw us, so we had to book it.” 

Technoblade paused his movements, deadpanning with an unimpressed tone. “Tragic.”

Tommy scowled at him. “Don’t sound so cocky, bitch. You didn’t have to outrun like, half of the SMP all the way back here without getting tracked.” Suddenly his gaze shot to the ground, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “And why’s your fuckin’ crown on the ground?” he muttered, snatching it from the dusty floor and tossing it back over to Technoblade.

“No reason,” you said half a beat too quickly.

Wilbur’s eyes flitted back forth between you and Technoblade, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and Technoblade’s disheveled hair. Then, a sly, scheming smile crept onto his face. You gulped.

Oh, he totally knew.

“Tommy,” he said, the shit-eating grin still plastered to his face, “how do you feel about going on another trip with me?”

Tommy’s head whipped around, his eyes swimming with confusion. “Another trip?” he parroted.

Wilbur nodded, still smiling. “Yep. Another trip. Let’s get going, yeah? I’ve got something wonderful in mind.”

Before Tommy could even react, Wilbur had grabbed onto the handle of his pack, dragging him back and up the stairs. “Wilbur! What the fuck? Where are we even fucking going?”

“On a trip!” Wilbur sang as he trudged up the stairs with Tommy in tow. Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, he sent you a knowing wink. “You two have fun, now.”

You gaped at him as he walked off, Tommy still kicking at his heels when they vanished from sight. A moment passed in silence before you turned to look at Technoblade, again.

“He knows,” you whispered, half in awe and half in horror.

Technoblade grimaced back at you. “Oh, he absolutely does.”

A beat of silence fell over you. Your eyes locked onto his carmine ones, and something seemed to click just then, a smile crossing both of your faces.

Indeed, Wilbur had just provided you with the perfect opportunity.

Who were the two of you to not take it?

[ballorawan740]

SCP Scenarios: When they accidentally kill you

Requested by: okokok121 + @RitaRoseFromBBB

Main Masterlist | SCP Scenarios Masterlist | My Works Masterlist | Rules | Request | Socials | My Original Post

(Ok, I know you did ask for the doctors + Mikell and Strelnikov, but I've decided to add the SCPs in here if that's alright with you. And also, sorry if I didn't capture Strelnikov's attitude well as I'm not as familiar with him compared to Mikell, yet again I'm not familiar with Jack Bright's family other than TJ and 321)

Sorry if it wasn't up to your standards. I just felt that some of these characters weren't the type to kill the reader, even if it wasn't intentional.

WARNING: Slight Angst

Dr Simon Glass

Simon wouldn't be the one to accidentally kill you himself, but it's more of the situation he put you in without realising the full extent of the consequences. He was just busy writing his patients' reports, and you just strolled in his office to check upon him. Simon stopped what he was doing and smiled with you as you both ate your food in his ever so clean office. As you were about to leave, Glass requested you to deliver something to Jack Bright in which you did. You and Jack were close friends (not so surprising since you're both equally as mad as each other) so if Simon wanted to know where he is or if he needed to give him something, he would go to you first. You managed to deliver the parcel to Bright in 682's containment cell and you both laughed before you returned. Unfortunately, 682 was having a rough day due to being a subject to Bright's test (I would be too tbh) which caused him to become more aggressive than usual and attacked 3 researchers. One of them being you as 682 dragged you down to the acid bath with him and Jack rushed to save you. Bright wasn't able to and he had to fulfil;l his duty to tell Simon Glass that you passed as 682 had killed you during a test. Needless to say, Glass was forced to take time off with Bright due to this event and he became more distant for months to come. Bright had to keep it together just so Simon wouldn't have to lose the shred of sanity he had in him.

Dr Jack Bright

You and Bright were doing some tests on one of the more dangerous SCPs (no, it's not that giant mf lizard of that warrior killing machine) in which your job was to handle these creatures while Jack was doing all the lab stuff. The SCP you both were conducting your research on was ●●|●●●●●|●●|● (SCP 2521 - We're getting ripped tonight, RIP my friends) and you were doing all sorts of things which resulted in you summoning this creature out of the blue by accident. Bright had to drag you out away from the creature and you just stood there observing its behaviour until it noticed you. Jack Bright had to take you on the run yet again (cuz you do be stoopid and stubborn so all yall wanna do is stare at something that's gonna kill ya. JUST RUN BIATCH!!!) but the SCP managed to catch up with you both and snatched you before Bright could even get help. Jack was astonished and deeply depressed since the incident and was left increasingly agitated after every walking day and even Glass couldn't get him out of his shell. He would pretend that everything's fine, but deep down, everyone knows that he's not (that's a whole ass mood right there buddy). Bright was extremely guilty for making you research 2521 and tried to summon it again, but all other scientists stopped it.

Dr Alto Clef

Clef was just doing his job, managing all the Keter class SCPs with ease and without hesitation. You know this from first-hand experience on your very first day on the job 3 years ago and Clef took an interest in you so he took you under his wing. So on this mission, he's on, he wanted to take you with him so you went along (not like you'd say no to this madman anyways right?). It was a breach on one of the sites with a sh- ton of Keter class SCPs and your jobs were to exterminate/neutralise them and save all the other researchers in which your team did do well and were still alive. You on the other hand were killed in action by SCP 939 (NOW WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS RELEASED MY PETS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?!). Clef wasn't able to save you on time, but he managed to kill 2 of those SCPs. When he got back, he hid in his office and was depressed for 23.3 weeks and when he managed to drag himself out, he was bawling his eyes out. He deeply regretted taking you on a mission with him and swore an oath that if he were to ever take another person under his wing (probs in like 50 years), he would do anything in his power to not take them on a life-threatening mission.

Dr Benjamin Kondraki

You were out with Kondraki, just laying on the grass like you normally do as you just watched Kondraki take photographs of various and random stuff. Not long later, you asked him if he could teach you how to become such an avid photographer like him, so he did. However, little did you and Kondraki know that his butterfly friends felt danger lurking around the area you were in and quickly transformed into a threatening SCP to defend you both. Lurking around the woods were uncontained 939s running loose on the ground in which the booterflies attacked it. One of the red lizards was ready to pounce onto Kondraki to which you ran and pushed him out of the way (BAD DOGGO ))),:<). Luckily he was unharmed, but you, on the other hand, was heavily injured so Kondraki rushed you back to the foundation's medic. You died there shortly after and Kondraki blamed himself for getting you hurt on a harmless visit to the woods for some photographs. Bright and Clef begged Glass to do some psychological evaluation on Kondraki despite him telling them that he needs some time alone before he could do such things.

O5 Council Mikell Bright

When you're with Mikell, he would be his true self, being honest and relaxed since you're his most trusted partner. Moreover, he would tell you everything about what the O5 Council has been doing and their top secrets and you would always keep your lips sealed. The other members are wary of this at first but soon warm up to you since you're one of the most trusted individuals. Being with the cowboy is quite entertaining and you'll be quite protected being with him, so most of the time, you get free reign over the foundation, however, you still had to obey the rules as you weren't exactly a member of the O5 council and that would also help you from making people think you're sus for being treated so differently. That day was one of the days where your freedom got the better of you as you were on a mission with Mikell and he was about to aim at the target until you pushed him out of the way from danger. He quickly gained his composure and tried to shoot the anomaly behind you which he missed and shot you instead. Mikell was in shock and tried to get the medics, but by the time they arrived, you've already passed. Jack had to check up on his brother regularly to see how he's doing and to make sure he doesn't fall off the edge, reminding him that you wouldn't want to see him this way.

Agent Dmitri Arkadeyevich Strelnikov

As an agent, Strelnikov's life and his closest friends and relatives would be on the line. He wouldn't know when, where or how he would die and is in constant fear of losing everyone around him, especially you. One time, he took you on a mission with him since you were trained under him and he felt that you were ready to go onto your first-ever mission (well too bad, it's your last mission since y'all just suck at your jobs and this poor man has to drag you up from hell and y'all just fall back in) and so you guys went and attempted to gain information and track down some SCPs. Dmitri had to save you a few times since you didn't heed his advice and looked behind your back and that one time he left you on your own, you were murdered by a ruthless group from one of the GOIs. This, of course, deeply saddened agent Strelnikov as he was washed away by the guilt he had from leaving you to stand by your own 2 feet. You were a bright and gentle person who always looked up to him, always eager to learn and never want to fail him. These traits are what drew you to him and he was hoping to have you on his team permanently, however, that dream was long gone (just like your non-existent brain cells trying to keep your life together so y'all don't do stupid things) as you were snatched away from him in an instant. He wrote the report once he went back to the foundation and locked himself up for so long the doctors had to get him out (like your guardians whenever you don't wake up in the mornings).

Extras:

SCP 073 (Cain)

You and Cain were strolling around site 17 until a containment breach happened. Cain had to drag you by your arm since you froze (like a deer in headlights XD) and didn't react to anything since you were afraid. Luckily you did manage to get your senses back together and ran with him. Not long later, a Keter class SCP came charging at you and in a panic, Cain pushed you aside without a glance which caused another SCP to kill you since you were blocking the way. He looked over to you to see that you were wounded, lifted you up, and found a medic. Cain blamed himself for not looking carefully and had he done that, you wouldn't be dying. By the time the medic and you both arrived, you were already at the brink of death and when 343 finally arrived, you were long gone. 343 had to calm 073 down from trying to seek revenge once again but he can't due to the overwhelming guilt he had on him. 343 managed to ease his mind a bit which caused him to blackout. The researchers had to put him under their watchlist to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid (like you when you're studying for your important exams).

SCP 076 (Abel)

It was a normal day for you and Abel to hang around until this one mf guard angered Abel to which caused a containment breach. He went on a rampage (you do be here like Hercules! Hercules! XD) in which you had to try and calm him down. By the time you went to the main part of the facility, you saw many of the D-classes and researchers beheaded (like the previous queens in- never mind). When you had found Abel attempting to slaughter a guy, you jumped in front of the victim and by the time Abel realised that you were there, his sword cut you open in half (KO! 10 points to Gryffindor). He was overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety about him killing you by accident and returned to his box as demanded by the MTF members. The scientists noticed a change in Abel's behaviour and never questioned it. Those who knew what had happened never mentioned it in fear of another breach and left him be.

SCP 999 (Tickle Monster)

It was an ideal Saturday night at the foundation. You and our adorable 999 was wandering around the facility minding your own business until some madman came charging into the foundation. The alarm for the breach went on and everyone was confused since there weren't any dangerous SCPs on the loose. As it turns out, it was an intruder from one of the other GOIs trying to kidnap some of the SCPs. You and 999 just so happened to be in the exact same spot as the intruder and was holding a weapon of some sort. Realising what's happening, 999 pushed you out of the way just as the intruder fired her weapon which missed you both. One of the agents caught up with both of you and tried to shoot the intruder but ended up shooting you just as you got up which killed you. 999 never greeted any visitors in his cell ever again for quite some time and the researchers attempted to bribe him but failed.

SCP 682 (Hard to Destroy Reptile)

You were requested to take part in a test with 682 and another Keter class SCP in a test room and your job was to make sure 682 weren't allowed to lash out at the researchers because of this test. However, this certain Keter class SCP has decided that it wants to attack you in which 682 shoved you aside to protect you. The researchers ran in to save you but the other SCP managed to pounce on you and suffocated you to the brink of death. 682 was about to take a chonki bite out of that SCP but instead, he bit you instead, killing you instantly. He regretted every decision he has ever made and never attacked the foundation staff for months.

SCP 049 (Plague Doctor)

This doctor was just minding his own business until some dumbass researchers rushed into his room like some fanboys trying to get their noona's signatures. 049 was entertained by this remark but was soon agitated as they disturbed his work and wouldn't leave him alone. So, 049 used his lethal touch on some of the researchers as the rest ran. Luckily, they ran into you, so you managed to calm down the angri bird doctor. Unfortunately, that didn't go as planned as he had mistaken you as one of the other fanboys and stabbed you right into your heart. As soon as he had realised what he's done, he rushed you into his cell and performed surgery on you. Mid-surgery, he soon realised that you were losing too much blood and died right then and there. He mourned for quite some time as the other researchers were severely punished as it had led to your death which could've been avoided.

SCP 035 (Possessive Mask)

Like the other SCPs mentioned in the list, there was a test that resulted in your death. 035 was instructed to change to another human as the black goo was secreted from the mask and so he obeyed as you were slouching by the corner of the test room. Except for this time, it is being worn by a taller and more muscular man who was a wanted man due to his former job as a mercenary. As the researchers watched intently, the mask soon felt slightly overpowered but was resolved quickly due to his evergrowing abilities and experience in possessing those who come near it or is wearing the mask. The mask spoke of the discomfort of being overpowered to which the researchers took note of this statement and watched. You were somewhat concerned to you went closer to your beloved partner to check up on him. However, upon coming closer to 035, he switched his usual persona to the man wearing it, becoming more aggressive and unable to control this body, killing the first person he sees, which was you. This stunned the researchers as the guards tried to pry him off you. When they managed to get him off, you were no longer breathing. In the next interview with 035, he displayed extreme guilt and sadness of his inability to possess the man well enough to control him fully and made a request for him to be left alone for a while.

SCP 096 (Shy Guy)

You both met up during the breach a few steps away from 096's cell. He was wandering around to find you while covering his elongated face. All the other researchers were outside trying their best to stay calm and deal with this massive breach until they just saw 096 walking about looking for someone. It instantly clicked in their mind and offered to look for you as long as he goes back to his cell afterwards to which he agreed. Upon finding you, another SCP was attempting to attack you but was soon neutralised by the other MTFs. 096 managed to push you away beforehand but his throw was so strong that you died on the impact when you fell to the ground (you really did get yeeted lmao). As 096 and the others ran towards you to make sure you were ok, you had stopped breathing and 096 screamed in sadness which flooded the whole field. As he was contained back to his cell, they noticed a small detail about 096 which was him wailing every now and again about your death.

SCP 105 (Iris)

You and Iris were just strolling down site 17 to meet with Cain and Dr James Dantensen. Once you've arrived at the agreed location within site 17, you guys were just catching up with old times and sharing your memories and stories about your everyday lives. However, this jolly moment only lasted for so long as someone had breached the containment to target you as you were close to a lot of the SCPs, especially the humanoid ones. As you, along with the others, ran to safety, the enemy caught up with you and threatened you for your knowledge of the SCPs. Iris finally caught up with you just in time to see the commotion and shoved you out of the way. Cain managed to shield you from another guy who attempted to shoot you in which Iris retaliates by throwing a knife back, but instead, injured you instead. She ran over and screamed as you slowly blacked out. Cain had to carry you over as Dantensen was calling the medics and you barely managed to survive. During your days in the hospital, the suspect managed to suffocate you which alarmed everyone. During the days that followed, Iris had been seeking out revenge as Cain tried to make her stay calm and think more rationally.

SCP 106 (Old Man)

It was another day spending some time in 106's pocket dimension as you relaxed with him. You both talked about your past experiences and the obstacles you both had overcome. Once you both were done relaxing (aka never you lazy catto so get up and do something useful for once cuz I don't wanna see yall get screamed at by your family and non-existent friends (jk jk i hope they're treating you well)), 106 took you back to his containment cell and just sat there as the researchers looked at you both blankly. 096 caused a containment breach which, of course, freed you both from 106's cell and you made a run for it (RUN FOREST RUN!). As you and 096 came into contact, 106 tried to put himself between the both of you, knowing what 096 was capable of. Unfortunately, this resulted in 106 being attacked and you died from looking at his face (wear a damn mask 096, you're in the middle of a pandemic). Saddened by the news, 106 seek revenge but was briefly neutralised and shipped to another facility so it wouldn't cause another breach due to his rage.

[gretavandutchy]

a friendly favor | five

{danny wagner x fem!reader} fake it til you make it collection: phase four!

summary: when a friend needs a little help showing his ex that he’s moved on, you’re a little too willing to help him out.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: language, first date vibes, one or two mentions of sex

a note from me: i literally cannot believe this collection is complete--as a way of saying thank you to everyone who's said such sweet things to me, keeping up with this since the very first part, and inspired me to keep going, i'm posting the final part early (and maybe bc i'm too excited to wait to share the new things i'm working on).

You really didn't expect to be so nervous about your date with Danny.

Hell, the two of you had slept together--twice including the sleepy, lazy sex that had occurred the last morning at the Kiszka lake house. He'd seen and touched all of you, and you had done the same for him. You'd cried in his lap with your tits out after confessing your embarrassing crush on him.

Still, even after days of pretending to be his girlfriend and all of that mess, you were buzzing with nerves as you watched the minutes slowly tick by. You'd gotten ready hours ago, too anxious to wait until a more reasonable time, and you were beginning to regret it as time seemed to move slower and slower as it drew closer to his designated time. Plenty of time for you to fret over your appearance, and ponder all the ways the date could go wrong.

Already you'd changed your outfit five times. In the end, you'd ended up in the same outfit you had started out in. The pile of clothes on your bedroom floor was the only hint that you'd ever changed at all, and you had tripped over it more than a few times as you paced around your space nervously.

You had attempted to fix your makeup, and only ended up doing a shit job at eyeliner and had to start all over. Since then you'd banished yourself from even looking in the mirror, which led you to where you sat on your sofa now. Ten more minutes were all that separated you and Danny, and those ten minutes felt like centuries.

It wasn't like you hadn't seen him in awhile, because that day was the first day you'd spent away from him since the two of you had returned to your apartments the week prior. If you weren't at his, then he was at yours, and the only reason it had taken a week to finally get around to your official date was because you both were more than happy to just be homebodies together. Tonight, though, he had insisted on taking you out.

Thinking of it made you grow nervous about your choice of outfit again. He had said to dress casual, that it wasn't anything special, but the anxious energy that consumed you made you question your choices. Were the ripped jeans too casual? Was the flowery shirt too fancy?

Luckily, Danny knocked on your door before you could get up and dig through your closet again. You didn't bother to hesitate as you raced to the door and threw it open, grinning excitedly at the man who matched your energy with a beaming smile of his own. He held his arms open expectantly, catching you as you raced into his chest like you'd done every day since the two of you had gotten home.

"Ready?" he asked, and you nodded enthusiastically.

Danny's fingers intertwined with your own, his warm hand enveloping yours and squeezing your palm tenderly. "Wait!" you suddenly exclaimed before he could lead you down the hall, his body freezing as he turned to you with wide eyes. "Where's my kiss?"

He scowled, though you could see his eyes twinkling with amusement and fond affection, and mused, "I think that's supposed to come at the end of the first date, angel."

It was your turn to scowl, pouting your lips indignantly at his teasing as you refused to budge from where you stood. He playfully tried to continue down the hall, tugging on your hand lightly before turning back with a faux sigh, "Fine, if you insist--"

You didn't wait for him to finish, snatching your hand out of his grip to clasp his cheeks tightly and drag his face to your own. "I do insist." you tutted, glaring playfully one more time before you pressed your lips to his. Immediately he relaxed into you, smiling against your lips as his thumbs tucked through the belt loops on your jeans to tug you flush with his body.

He chased after you when you pulled away too soon, smirking tauntingly as you chirped, "Okay, now I'm ready. Let's go." Danny simply shook his head, a dopey lovesick grin pulling at his cheeks despite his attempts to feign annoyance as he let you grab his hand again and drag him off toward the elevator.

By the time he parked his car, you were pretty sure he wasn't faking his annoyance anymore. He was laughing, and still smiling, but he scowled the moment you opened your mouth to pester him about where you were going for the thirtieth time, and you quickly shut it. That brought his smile back, and you didn't feel embarrassed about your childishness for long when he leaned over the center console to press a sweet peck to your lips.

Danny was serious about doing things right, you realized. He raced out of the car and around to your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt, opening your door for you with a playful bow as you thanked him just as dramatically. Your eyes scanned your surroundings curiously, the late afternoon sun warming your skin as you took in the massive field of low, rolling hills of grass. There was a pond in the distance, and you could see people milling about the banks with fishing poles or just strolling the water's edge leisurely.

Just as you turned to ask what you were doing, Danny closed the rear passenger door of his car and handed you a blanket. In his hand he held a picnic basket, and after you took the blanket he held his free hand out to you expectantly. You matched his dopey, lovesick grin as you wound your fingers through his happily.

He led you across the open field slowly, chuckling to himself each time you squeezed his hand or skipped a little in your excitement. You couldn't quite explain it, but he brought out the childish side of you. His presence alone made you feel so happy and free, and you had no shame about showing it to him. In fact, it only made you happier to see him watch you flit about him with a fondness in his eye that you'd never been on the receiving end of before with anyone else.

Maybe it was just the honeymoon phase, for real this time, or maybe it was something more. Only time would tell, but you were ready to take on the challenge and find out. Even if the childlike joy he sparked within your heart faded over time, you were certain the warm and fuzzy feeling he gave you would never go away. It had been there since the very first time you saw him, and hadn't faded since.

"Here looks like a good spot, don't you think?" he asked, slowing his stride until he stopped at the top of a taller hill. From there the two of you could look out over the entire field, from the pond far below to the treeline in the distance. It was a gorgeous view, and the sun warming your skin against the gentle breeze that swept through the open space only made it all the better.

You agreed easily, finally letting go of his hand to spread out the blanket with some minor difficulty due to the wind that always seemed to pick up when a person wanted to do that very thing. After laughing at your plunder for a few moments, he eventually took pity and stepped on the corner that kept giving you trouble to hold it down. He set the basket on the opposite corner, before plopping onto his butt gracelessly beside you.

A picnic had been the last thing you'd imagined as you had pondered over what Danny's plans for your first date would be. It was perfect, though, and you told him as much as you sighed happily, "I think this is the best date anyone's ever taken me on."

"We haven't even done anything yet," he laughed, brown eyes sparkling as he met your gaze, "I could have packed really disgusting food, or a bird could poop on us. Don't jinx it."

Rolling your eyes, you smiled fondly as he reached up to twist his wild hair into a bun as the breeze picked up again. "I wouldn't care," you shrugged, "I've never had anyone take me on a picnic before, let alone surprise me with one. I was half expecting to make out in the back of a movie theater like every other first date I've been on, but this is better."

He scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense as he joked, "What, you don't want to make out right now?"

"If you're offering, I won't refuse." you retorted with a smirk, and laughed when a faint blush crept up his cheeks. "Danny, you literally choked me and called me good girl last weekend--are you really blushing over making out?"

You squealed when his hand suddenly pressed into your face, shoving you away from him with a groan, "Shut up. I'm not the one who cried in the middle--"

"Truce!" you cried, scrambling to put a hand over his mouth as your own face began to burn in embarrassment, "I give, okay? Truce. No more teasing."

He was cackling as you scowled at him, fixing your hair even though the wind immediately blew it back into your face. "If you're done being a brat," he fixed you with a pointed look and an arrogant smirk that made your entire body flush with heat, "I packed us a five-star meal."

You watched patiently as he flipped open the basket, pulling out juice boxes and the equivalent of a grade schooler's sack lunch. There were sandwiches wrapped in cling wrap, and little bags of chips, and even two baggies filled with grapes and cut strawberries. You giggled at the sight, teasing, "I didn't realize I was on a date with such a world-class chef. I'd have worn my fancy pants if I'd known."

Danny grinned and bumped his shoulder against your own, joking back, "Oh, my mom made this. I just put it all in the basket--it was pretty hard."

Regardless of the way you both devolved into laughter, you were serious as you hummed, "It's perfect. I love it, thank you, Danny."

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you began unwrapping sandwiches and tearing open bags of chips. It was peaceful and comforting as you sat side by side, arms brushing against one another with only the sounds of nature around you interrupting the tranquil quiet. There were birds chirping, and the faint sound of the pond rippling against its shore under the breeze, and you could hear the tree branches swaying and leaves rustling amidst the gentle gusts.

You'd only just swallowed your first bite when he piped up, "Did you want to make out right now?"

"Yes, please."

You had no shame at all about dropping your food onto the blanket, eagerly clambering onto his lap with your knees on either side of his legs. Wasting no time at all, you pressed your lips to his and melted into his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close with no urgency to go any further, just simply keeping you as close as possible. It was slow, and languid, and perfect.

Over the past week, you'd come to learn that Danny most often tasted of pure sugar. Sweet, almost overwhelmingly so, and it was quickly becoming your favorite taste. You were addicted to it, constantly craving his lips on yours and his essence mingling with your own. It was so much better than the overpowering taste of tequila you'd experienced the first time around.

You had also learned that Danny really did prefer to take his time. While the wild, dominant side you'd experienced the first time was definitely something you enjoyed and would have liked to fall victim to once more, you were more than content with his usual slow and steady pace. He touched you, kissed you, loved you like he had all the time in the world to do so. If you had anything to do with it, you'd make sure he did.

When the need to breathe became too urgent to ignore, you pulled away with a little sigh. It was a happy, blissful sigh, and your belly fluttered when he let out his own little sound to mirror it. Your forehead pressed gently against his, the tips of your noses brushing against one another, and you smiled.

"What's that smile for?" he murmured, and it only made you smile harder.

Hands clinging to the back of his neck, you caught his plush lips in one more shorter kiss. Your voice was barely a whisper as you replied, "I'm just happy."

Eventually, the two of you did get around to eating.

You ate your sandwiches quietly, and then threw grapes into each other's mouths with loud shouts and far more laughter than was necessary. He fed you strawberries and kissed you after each one like tasting them off your tongue was better than eating them himself. You didn't mind, in fact, you quite preferred it that way.

When all the food was gone, you packed up the trash into the basket and laid back on the blanket as the stars slowly started to flicker to life in the darkening sky. He'd mentioned watching the sunset, but you told him that was better. You'd much rather lay with your head on his chest and watch the stars light up for you than see another sunset.

As the sun faded away, and the night crept over the two of you, you were at peace. It felt like you were exactly where you were always meant to be as you laid on the ground with his arms around you, the warmth of his body easing the subtle bite of the cooler nighttime air. Things were still so new, so uncertain, but you weren't afraid.

He played with your hair and traced letters and shapes into your skin, and you could have stayed right there forever. Of course, the night grew colder, and eventually, you couldn't ignore the subtle shivers that began to crawl up and down your spine any longer. "Ready to go, angel?" he asked quietly, and you reluctantly sat up with a nod.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" you asked as the two of you made the journey back to his car, hands locked together once more.

He held your door open for you again, smiling brightly as he answered, "You don't even have to ask. The answer's always yes."

You were quiet in the car this time around, reclining in your seat with a content smile on your lips. Your eyelids were drooping slightly with lethargy, and you didn't try to fight it because you had all the time in the world. You weren't worried about missing anything by falling asleep, because you knew that come the morning Danny would still be there, right by your side.

So, you happily let your eyes slip shut and your head fall back against the headrest as the quiet music playing over his radio lulled you to sleep. His hand was warm on your thigh, thumb swirling aimless patterns against your skin through one of the holes in your jeans, and it felt like heaven. He squeezed your leg just before you slipped into a dream, and for once your dream was exactly like real life.

TAGLIST! @theweightofstardust @alltimekp @sing-against-the-sky @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @myownparadise96 @tripthelight-fanfic @imdepressedaf1996 @caravelstan @gvfvanfleet @vulture-withafile @godblessmarywanna @brokenbellz @gretavanfleas @streamsofstardust @celestialfauna @honor-gvf @jakekiszkasguitarpick @peterr-parkourr @localhideaway @anneanirac @chalametpwk @stardustdanny @trplshotofdopamine @blissfulbellss @wriwrites @stardustingold @fleetsonfire @pleasecallmemoth @ascendingtostardust @ohitselliana @carlybubs @joshyswife @guitarpedal @strangeh0rizons @depressingdarlin @s0livagant this taglist is officially closed :(

[cyndavilachase]

I’m Looking Forward Now 💖Thank you and good bye

So, it’s been a little over a week since Steven Universe Future ended… 

I’ve been hesitant to write this, honestly, but I’m tired of holding myself back from properly expressing myself in fear of appearing overly invested in the media I consume, even in private. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and feelings, and I feel like these thoughts in particular may resonate with many, so I want to share them. I want to talk about what Steven Universe has done for me personally, both as an artist, and as a person.

I’ve been around since the day the first episode of the original series aired. I actually remember when Steven Universe was just a logo on Wikipedia’s “List of Upcoming Cartoon Network Shows” list, back when I was a freshman in high school. It piqued my interest, but when commercials finally dropped for it, I thought it was going to be bad because of the way marketing handled introducing Steven as a likeable character. There was still something about it that made me want to give it a chance though, so I went online and watched the pilot before the first episode's release. I was hooked immediately. I knew I was going to love it, and I did. I fell so absolutely in love with Steven as a character, and the world that he and the gems lived in. I became obsessed. I was always so excited for new episodes to come out. Little did I know what else it would do for me as I went through my adolescence alongside it.

As the show progressed, it was evident that what I wanted out of a western animated childrens’ cartoon was finally coming into fruition: this show was becoming serialized. There was continuity, there was plot, there was character development-- it was getting deep. It was pushing the groundwork that Adventure Time laid out even further (thank you, Adventure Time).  

I will give credit where credit is due: earlier western childrens’ cartoons I grew up with like Hey Arnold, and Rugrats, among others, also touched on heavy topics, but Steven Universe was able to take similar ideas (and even more complex ones, concerning mental health and relationships) and expand on them outside of contained episodes and/or short arcs. These themes, which were a part of the show’s overarching story, spanned across its entirety. Continuity was rampant. 

What did this mean? It meant kids cartoons didn’t have to be silly and fun all the time and characters weren’t just actors playing a part in 11-minute skits. Steven and the gems would remember things that happened to them, and it affected them and how they would function and play a part in their story. This was a huge deal to me as a teenager. I always wanted the cartoons I grew up with featuring kid characters to feel more. In my own work, I often felt discouraged when combining a fun, cutesy western art style with themes as dark or layered as anime would cover. I always thought it had to be one or the other because an audience wouldn’t take a combination of the two seriously enough, based on discussions I had with classmates, friends, and online analysis I read at the time. Steven Universe proved to me otherwise. This show was opening the door for future cartoons exploring in-depth, adult concepts. I felt so seen as a kid, and was inspired to stick with what I love doing.

I was actually very worried about the show’s survival. It was in fact immensely underrated and the fandom was miniscule. Then in 2014, JailBreak dropped, and it’s popularity exploded. Part of it was because of the complex plot and the themes it was covering like I mentioned, but also because of its representation. 

I remember when fandom theorized that Garnet was a fusion due to grand, tragic reasons. Turns out, she’s simply a metaphor for a very loving w|w relationship. This was huge. I cannot stress how important it is that we continue to normalize healthy canon queer relationships in childens’ media, and Steven Universe finally was the first to do that proper. Introducing these themes offers the chance for a kid to sit there and ask themselves, “Why is this demonized by so many people?” I asked myself exactly that. Ruby and Sapphire were my cartoon LGBT rep. They were the first LGBT couple I ever ecstatically drew fanart of. I was dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and they showed me that I was allowed to love women and feel normal about it. The process of overcoming this was a long one, but they played a part in my very first steps into becoming comfortable with my sexuality. I could go on and on about it’s representation in general-- how it breaks the mold when it comes to showcasing a diverse set of characters in design, in casting, and in breaking gender roles. It’s focus on love and empathy. Steven himself is a big boy, but he's the protagonist, and the show never once makes fun of his weight, or any other bigger characters for that matter. It wasn’t hard to see why the fandom had grown so large.

Fandom was always a joy for me. It was a hobby I picked up when I was in middle school, like many of us here did. I would always cater my experience to fun, and fun only. I only started getting more deeply involved in SU’s fandom when I had just turned into an adult. During the summer of 2016, between my first and second year of college, I drew for the show almost every day non-stop when the Summer of Steven event was going on and posted them online. This was a form of practice for me in order to become not just more comfortable with experimenting with my art, but also to meet new artists, make new friends, and learn to interact with strangers without fear. I dealt with a ton of anxiety when I was in high school. When I was a senior applying to art school for animation, I decided I was going to overcome that anxiety. I made plans to take baby steps to improve myself over the course of my 4 years of college. Joining the fandom, while unforeseen, was definitely a part of that process. I started feeling more confident in sharing my ideas, even if they were fan-made. I fell in love with storyboarding after that summer, when I took my first storyboarding class, and genuinely felt like I was actually getting somewhere with all of this. I remember finally coming to a point in my classes where I could pitch and not feel hopelessly insecure about it. I was opening up more to my friends and peers. 

But this process, unfortunately, came to a screeching halt. 

My life completely, utterly crumbled under me in the Fall of 2017 due to a series of blows in my personal life that happened in the span of just a couple weeks. My mental health and sense of identity were completely destroyed. All of that confidence I had worked for-- completely ruined. I was alone. I nearly died. My stay at college was extended to 4 and half years, instead of the 4 I had intended. I lost my love for animation-- making it, and watching it. I could no longer watch Steven Universe with the same love I had for it beforehand. It’s a terrible thing, trying to give your attention to something you don’t love anymore, and wanting so desperately to love again. I dropped so many things I loved in my life, including the fandom.

Healing was a long and complicated road. I continued to watch the show all the way up until Change Your Mind aired in the beginning of 2019, and while I still felt empty, that was definitely a turning point for me with it’s encapsulation of self-love. I was hoping James Baxter would get to work on Steven Universe since he guest-animated on Adventure Time, and it was incredible seeing that wish actually come true. The movie came out and while I enjoyed it and thought highly of it, I was still having issues letting myself genuinely love things again, old and new. It was especially difficult because cartoons were my solace as a kid, when things got rough at home. I remember feeling sad because the show ended, and not getting the chance to love it again like I used to while it was still going.

By the time Steven Universe Future was announced, I was finally coming around. I was genuinely starting to feel excitement for art and animation again. I wasn’t expecting there to be a whole new epilogue series, but happily ever after, there we were! Prickly Pear aired, and the implications it left in terms of where the story was going did it. I was finally ready to let myself take the dive back into fandom in January of this year. My art blew up, something I wasn’t expecting considering my 2-year hiatus. Following this, I was invited into a discord server containing some of the biggest writers, artists, editors, and analysts in the fandom. I had no idea there were so many talented people in the fandom, some already with degrees, some getting their degrees-- creating stuff for it on the side just for fun. The amount of passion and productivity level here is insane, and so is the amount of discussion that has come out of it.

I didn’t realize it at first, but it was actually helping me gain back the courage to share ideas. I lost my confidence in pitching while I was taking the time to heal, and graduating meant there would no longer be a classroom setting I could practice in. This group helped immensely. 

I have made so many friends through this wonderful series, and I have so many fond memories talking to like-minded creatives, getting feedback and a myriad of sources for inspiration, as well as all of the memes and jokes and weekly theorizations that came about as we all waited on the edges of our seats for episodes to air. I needed this so badly, I needed to get back in touch with my roots, when I would go absolutely hog-wild over a cartoon I loved with people who loved it as much I did. Future has been a blessing for me in this way. I graduated feeling like I was back at square-one, but now I feel like I’m on my way again.

It’s 2020 and while I’m doing great right now, I am honestly still recovering from the total exhaustion that followed after graduating a few months ago, and finally leaving the campus where my life fell apart behind. Needless to say, watching Future was like looking into a mirror. Watching one of my favorite characters of all time-- one that grew up with me-- go through so many of the same things I went through not too long ago was absolutely insane to watch unfold. It’s such an important thing too, to show a character go through the process of breaking down over trauma and all the nasty things that come with it, and to have them go on the road to healing. Steven got that therapy. He wasn’t blamed. The gems were called out. The finale was everything I could have ever hoped for. The catharsis I experienced watching it was out of this world.

As I continue my own healing journey, I will always look up to the storyboard artists, revisionists, and designers that I have been following over these past 7 years, as well as the new ones introduced in Future. It's been such a joy watching these artists release their promo art for episodes, talk about their experiences working on the show, and post the work they've done for it alongside episodes airing.

Thank you Rebecca Sugar, the Crewniverse, and the fans, for making this such a truly wonderful and unique experience. Thank you for reminding me that I am, and always will be, an artist, a cartoonist, and a fan. Thank you, my followers, for the overwhelmingly positive response to my artwork. I have had so much fun interacting and discussing the show with you all again over these past few months. Steven Universe and it’s fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and it will always be a classic that I will return to for comfort and inspiration for decades to come. I am sad that the cartoon renaissance is over, but so many doors have been opened thanks to this show. I am so, so excited to see what this show will inspire in the future, and I hope one day I get the opportunity to be a part of that. 

Goodbye Steven, thank you for everything. I wish you healing, and I wish Rebecca and the team a well-deserved rest. ♥️

-Cynthia D.

[ynscrazylife]

I saw your Darcy post, would I be able to make a request? Maybe while Darcy is watching the show, she spots someone that looks awfully familiar to her girlfriend (or gender neutral). And the rest is up to you 😊 please and thank you!

Thank you so much! This request really excites me.

This Just Got Personal

Summary: Darcy Lewis spots someone who looks shockingly like her girlfriend . . . How will this change her involvement in the case?

Darcy was enjoying her life. She had a stable job, got to sit in front of a television everyday, and was working on a case like a detective in a Nancy Drew book. The only setback was that she was dealing with a case that could and was getting dangerous very quickly and she was without her girlfriend, who had gone to visit her parents a couple weeks ago. Her parents house didn’t have WIFI, though, so that meant no communicating, and Darcy was counting down the days until her amazing girlfriend would return. 

She sat in front next to her coworker Jimmy, both of them in front of the television now. A new episode was coming on and Darcy had her pen and paper in her lap, humming the tune to the theme song. She sat back and just watched the show, keeping her eye out for anything strange that happened.

There wasn’t much so far. Pietro was causing some chaos, Wanda and Vision were arguing, and . . . oh! The three adults were now bringing the kids, Tommy and Billy, to the park. They hadn't seen the park before, and Darcy made note of it on her paper, looking for anyone that they haven’t ID’d. Beside her, Jimmy did the same. After a couple of moments, he spoke up.

“Oh, oh! Elizabeth Jennings, we haven’t ID’d her yet,” he said. 

Darcy sat up, having been zoning out, and nodded, looking at the television.

She did a double take.

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Darcy knew her girlfriend’s parents lived in New Jersey, but Westview? The color drained from her face and her bottom lip quivered, tears threatening to spill. She instantly remembered how Monica described her time in Westview . . . pain. She couldn't imagine what the love of her life was feeling now and going through. 

“Darcy?” Jimmy asked. 

Darcy jumped, coming out of her thoughts. She turned to see her friend giving her a concerned face, and she hurried to wipe her eyes. “I-I know who that is . . .” The brunette said, and at Jimmy’s encouraging nod, she sucked in a breath. “My girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Jimmy blinked, hesitating for a moment before writing the name down. “Did you, er, know she lived in Westview?” He asked comfortingly. 

Darcy shook her head, focussing back on the show. Y/N was energetically talking to Wanda and Vision about something and Pietro was flirting with her. Darcy forced herself to tear her eyes away. “N-no. She said she was visiting her parents for a couple weeks . . . She was supposed to be coming home soon . . . There’s no WIFI at her parents’ house . . . I knew they lived in New Jersey but . . .” she trailed off, the sentence too painful to finish. 

Jimmy seemed to get it and he nodded. “We’ll save them, Darcy,” he assured her.

Darcy whipped her head up, an intense gaze in her eyes that Jimmy had never seen before. “Will we? I’ve been thinking about it . . . we need to find a way to get them out of there but how? When Wanda wipes everyone’s memories each time they enter the Hex?” She reasoned. 

Jason sat back, thinking. “Wanda’s powers can be blocked, right? If we find a way to block her powers then . . . We might be able to go in there and keep her from wiping our memories,” he suggested.

Darcy thought for a moment. “Yeah . . . We can get them out.”

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

Two weeks later, they were sending the first SWORD agent in, suited up in clothing that would protect him from Wanda’s magic, and their goal was to get as many people out of Westview as possible. Everybody stood, holding their breath, watching the barrier ever since the SWORD agent disappeared inside. Comms were down, there was no way to communicate with the agent, only time would tell if their mission would be successful or not. 

It felt like hours that they were standing there, no one moving, no one making a sound, until someone finally emerged - Herb’s wife. She gasped, looking around at the crowd, and agents rushed forward to help her. Darcy forced herself to calm down and take a deep breath as gradually, person after person walked through the barrier. They seemed to be in pain and disoriented, confused, but alive and with all of their memories in tact. 

Darcy felt glued to her spot until the person her heart was longing for to emerge did. 

Y/N.

She looked around, taking in the world, and her eyes searched the crowd. Darcy could just tell that she was hurting, but it all went away when her eyes locked on her girlfriend. Hope sprang into Y/N’s eyes and Darcy, ignoring what Jimmy was saying and the people around them, ran forward to help her.

Darcy crashed into Y/N, wrapping her arms securely and protectively around the woman, and she almost pushed them both into Westview with her force. She just couldn’t contain her happiness that her Y/N was okay and safe.

“Darcy,” Y/N said, her voice cracked, and she buried her head in Darcy’s shoulder. “It hurt so bad.”

“I know, love, I know. I’m so sorry, darling, you’re safe now,” Darcy whispered back. 

She remembered that Y/N needed go get checked out by a doctor and after a couple moments, she reluctantly pulled away and gave her girlfriend a sad smile. Darcy wrapped her arm around Y/N’s waist, letting Y/N lean on her, and directed her back to the infirmary, intending to take care of her sweet Y/N.

[darling-cas]

Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes. 

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

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

The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one. 

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a  ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before. 

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed. 

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls. 

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.” 

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.” 

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away. 

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse. 

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness. 

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas. 

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke. 

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers.��

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words - 

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move. 

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?” 

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger. 

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening. 

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next. 

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-” 

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he? 

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs. 

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew. 

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?” 

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake. 

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.  

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon. 

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen. 

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town. 

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

[starculler]

Lead Me Down Another Road (preview)

Word Count: 2975

I fell into a minor rabbit hole and stand before you now with a scrap from the Crèchemaster Anakin AU I'm working on. The full fic is a few thousand words longer than this (and will go up on ao3 within the week), but this is technically the original bit I'd planned on writing (and is thus self-contained enough that I'm comfortable posting it alone here. As a treat). Hope y'all enjoy it and the glimpse of at least one of several Jedi OCs I've been having to come up with for this lol Note: I'm using crèche-minder in place of crèchemaster because it fits a little better with how I've set up the role in the au -- the particulars of which will be explored in the full fic.

Anakin stood from where he’d sat among the younglings in Targon Clan when he caught sight of his master standing just inside the room, all ten pairs of eyes straying from their painting to watch him stretch. He grimaced briefly at the splotches of bright paint he could already see on his tunic and pants, but made it a point to smile at a scowling nautolan making a grab at his ankle. He shuffled back, just out of reach, and had to dodge another two pairs of eager, sticky fingers with a put-upon sigh that failed to fully mask his amusement. It was the same song and dance every time he was sent to Knight D’nali for crèche-duty, and he’d long gotten wise to the initiates’ tricks.

What made today’s game of Catch-the-Padawan novel was Obi-Wan’s presence hovering at the edges of Anakin’s focus. His master hadn’t come to collect him like this since his first few weeks, confident that Anakin would neither get lost on his way to and from the crèche, nor try to dodge his punishment after that awful first and final attempt. He shuddered at the memory even as he leaped nimbly over a pair of near-humans who’d thought to tackle him from behind. He laughed when they turned, eyes wide and betrayed for a moment before trying for a frontal attack.

He dodged, weaving between ten tiny, determined younglings — baiting them with the promise of his capture before stepping just out of reach once more — until he hit something solid from behind. He blinked, stunned for a second and sure that he’d had enough space still to maneuver around, only to yelp when an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him off his feet with an ease that spoke of more than a little help from the Force.

“Master!” He groaned, his protest drowned out by mixed cheering and jeering from Targon Clan and their minder’s own loud laughter. Anakin shot Knight D’nali as much of a betrayed look as he could while caught, but the traitor only laughed harder. He huffed.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, grinning and smug and just as much of a traitor as the kiffar knight, “it seems I’ve won a prize to take back with me. A whole padawan all for myself.” A chorus of “No’s” and groaning followed the statement, and Anakin, face warmer than it had been a minute ago, suddenly found the floor much more interesting than a gaggle of disappointed initiates. Obi-Wan, still being a traitor, only laughed.

“Alright, alright. Settle down now,” Knight D’nali interrupted, wading into the chaos so she stood between them and the younglings. “Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker have other duties to attend to, and you little Jedi have a latemeal to prepare for.”

With only a mild amount of protest, the little ones acquiesced. In true, and still vaguely eerie to Anakin, Jedi fashion, they bowed in sync, calling out a discordant mix of goodbyes and thank yous. Anakin nodded in return, starting to wriggle in his master’s grip in a futile attempt to free himself. Obi-Wan held fast even after two of the younglings, a zabrak and the same nautolan who’d first tried to grab onto him, crept around Knight D’nali to hand him four sheets of flimsi splattered with a variety of bright, clashing paint.

He sighed, resigned to the embarrassment of being gifted their paintings under the too-amused gazes of both knights, and murmured a quiet “Thanks” that made the pair smile so wide he thought their faces might split. Their obvious happiness made something warm bubble up in his chest and his hand tingle where flimsi met skin. It was hardly the first time one of the younglings in any of the clans he frequented had given him something small like this to take back with him — he had a wall in his room dedicated to doodles and paintings and a corner set aside, free of his usual clutter, for knickknacks and crafts — but the shock and awe and tingling warmth it left in him never wore off.

Anakin’s gifts had never lied with children. His temper ran too hot and he never quite knew what to say to anyone his age, much less younger than him. It had, in fact, taken months of constant supervision, patience, and teaching from the crèche-minders who’d agreed to take on his crèche-duty punishments for him to build up any sort of rapport with the little ones under their care. It had been hard and frustrating, but ultimately rewarding, work even if it had been borne out of his master’s own frustrated desperation.

The arm around his waist squeezed briefly, and Anakin had to fight down yet another burning flush when he realized Obi-Wan had most likely noticed where his thoughts had wandered. He floundered for something to say or do, but settled for a heavy sigh that drew a brief chuckle from his master.

“I apologize again for stealing Anakin back so early, Knight D’nali,” Obi-Wan said and Anakin could picture the apologetic smile on his face as he spoke.

“No need,” said Knight D’nali, smiling just enough that the wrinkles in her eyes and the upward pull of her cheeks distorted the two, bright red tattoos — one line the width of her thumb and the other no more than half a centimeter — cutting vertically down from hairline to jaw over her right eye. “I may be getting older, but I remember well enough how busy a padawan’s life can be.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin groused and earned himself a huff from his master and a bark of laughter from Knight D’nali.

“That’s sweet of you padawan, but the gray in my hair tells another story. And not another word about it,” she said the second Anakin opened his mouth. “There’ll be no buttering up this old knight. I told you, if you’re back here in less than a week I will sit this clan down for a four-hour meditation at least. Force knows your master certainly won’t object.”

“Yes Knight D’nali,” he said in the dull tone every chastised padawan seemed to affect, much to Targon Clan’s delight if their stifled giggling was any indication. Knight D’nali simply nodded, satisfied. Obi-Wan, again, laughed.

“And on that note, we’ll be taking our leave now. Knight D’nali.” Obi-Wan bowed as well as he could with an armful of padawan still pinned against him. “Targon Clan.” He offered the still-giggling younglings a much shallower bow. “May the Force be with you,” he said, echoed only a moment after by Anakin, before turning on his heel and striding out into the hall.

Anakin wriggled again and said: “Master, you can put me down now.” Obi-Wan hummed but didn’t so much as slow down until Anakin huffed, rolled his eyes, and added an only somewhat petulant “Please.”

It took him a moment to find his balance when Obi-Wan suddenly let go, but soon enough he was keeping pace with his master, just shy of being at the knight’s side. They walked in silence, past the doors to other clans of exuberant younglings and down the almost confusing pattern of turns that made up the Temple’s Crèche. It was, he knew, meant to be confusing so that intruders would have a harder time reaching the Jedi’s most vulnerable members on the off chance they made it through the Temple, guards, and every Jedi in between. He also knew that Obi-Wan was purposefully leading him through the longest route rather than the faster shortcuts one of the other crèche-minders, a young pantoran knight he’d only met with a few times so far, had taught him.

They nodded at the pair of guards stationed at the Crèche’s primary entrance once they’d finally made it through, and again to any Jedi they passed along the main corridor. Anakin glanced curiously at his master when he led them not towards the dormitory or refectory, but instead toward the salles and meditation rooms. He pursed his lips, unsure if it was a good or bad sign.

The salles meant lightsaber practice — Anakin’s favorite — but he doubted they’d stop there. He had, after all, been in the crèche because he’d let his temper get the best of him again, and Obi-Wan had made a point of steering Anakin away from as many potentially aggressive outlets as he could until he was sure Anakin was cool-headed. That didn’t stop him, however, from reaching for the lightsaber on his belt, shiny and still new considering he’d only just built it less than half a year ago. The trip to Ilum had been terrifying and exciting in equal measure, just the two of them instead of waiting for the next crèche clan’s planned gathering. It still awed him sometimes, to brush the warm, steel cylinder and find it there or to sit and listen to his crystal’s song virtually anytime he wanted.

It was a scrap of undeniable proof that he was a Jedi. That, late-comer or not, he belonged here just as much as any other padawan or knight.

Obi-Wan slowed, looking back at Anakin with the kind of unbearably soft, caring smile that told him his master had probably felt where his thoughts had gone. He held an arm out and Anakin hesitated a moment at the familiar invitation, torn between embarrassed frustration and elation at being invited close in a fairly public space, before stepping up so he was beside rather than behind Obi-Wan. He stiffened when Obi-Wan put an arm around his shoulder, but relaxed before his master could even think about pulling away. Anakin pressed into his side, deciding that, right now, eleven-nearly-twelve wasn’t too old for the show of affection, and just about melted when Obi-Wan’s arm shifted to briefly squeeze his shoulder.

His vain hope for the salles was, of course, dashed as they walked passed to duck into one of the smaller, unoccupied meditation rooms. Despite not wanting to complain, Anakin couldn’t completely stifle a sigh as he took in the room: bland, small, and box-shaped, with a few colorful cushions laid out and more stacked against the walls with a few other types of seating for those who might need it. Obi-Wan flashed him a quick smile, squeezing his shoulder once more before letting go and settling on an older-looking, dark blue cushion. Anakin breathed in, held it for a count of four, and breathed out in an effort to brace himself for the ensuing lecture or meditation he was sure to suffer. He picked up a red cushion from the far wall, calling it to his hands with the Force, and sat himself down in front of his master, close enough that their knees almost touched. Then, he waited.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started after they’d sat in silence for a few tranquil-bordering-on-nerve-wracking minutes, their slow, even breathing the only sound in the room. Anakin met his master’s gaze, shifting slightly as a small kernel of icy unease sprang to life in the pit of his stomach. “You’re not in trouble, Padawan.” Obi-Wan smiled, still soft. Still caring. Anakin frowned.

“You don’t usually bring me here unless I am.”

“I suppose I do, don’t I?” He seemed to speak mostly to himself, brow furrowed and a wry twist to his lips, like he’d found something funny. Anakin cocked his head to one side, watching as Obi-Wan breathed deeply a few times like he was trying to center himself. Or, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, bracing himself. Anakin squirmed in place, hardly daring to breathe himself as the unease in his stomach grew a fraction larger. “I’ve been talking to a few of the crèche-minders you’ve been working with.” Anakin swallowed, thoughts flitting towards the many mistakes he’d made the last few months and especially at first. “They’ve given you rather glowing reviews if I do say so myself,” he said, a small but pleased curl in his lips. And Anakin—

Anakin blinked.

“Really?” he asked, and wished the question hadn’t come out quite so bewildered. His master grinned and Anakin swore there was pride gleaming somewhere in his eyes.

“Really. They’ve enjoyed having you there. Knight D’nali says you have an uncanny ability for distraction,” Obi-Wan teased. Anakin stuck his tongue out and earned himself a bark of laughter. “Master Benni,” he continued, sobering once more, “made an interesting suggestion when I spoke to him last week. I—” Obi-Wan stopped. Inhaled.

“Master?”

A fine tremor had started in Anakin’s hands at some point. Excitement at first, quickly drowned out by a fresh wave of nerves. He’d once thought, at first, that Tatooine would drown in rain the day Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t have a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. A nearly three-year partnership with the knight had broken the facade a bit by now, but the sight of Obi-Wan struggling to put his thoughts together unnerved Anakin even after his master smiled reassuringly, reaching forward to clasp one of Anakin’s hands between both of his.

“There are many paths to becoming a Jedi, as I’m sure you’ve learned by now. Guardians, Council members, diplomats, teachers … crèche-minders,” he said, emphasizing the last. Anakin’s breath caught, eyes wide as the implication sunk slowly in.

“Did— Did Master Benni,” Anakin started, strangled and halting. Obi-Wan nodded. “But—But I’m horrible with younglings! I’ve made so many mistakes. I—”

“You are learning, Anakin. No one expects you to be perfect at anything. Much less in dealing with younglings.” Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it. Floundered in his incomprehension until—

“Are you … Are you getting rid of me?” he asked, voice suddenly small and hurt. He turned his hand in Obi-Wan’s grip, wrapping his smaller fingers around his master’s wrist as if he would disappear from Anakin’s sight at any moment.

“No,” Obi-Wan said firmly, one of his thumbs stroking the back of Anakin’s hand. “You are my padawan, Anakin, and I will never abandon you.” Obi-Wan paused there, earnest and scorching in his focus until Anakin nodded, more numb than anything else at the moment. Satisfied, his master continued: “But I do think that this is a good opportunity for you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down to their hands and then back up, meeting Anakin’s once more, steady and confident and calm. “You’ve changed a little since you’ve been around the crèches. I can see a confidence in you that wasn’t there before, and better control. Not just with the Force, though I’ve no doubt entertaining younglings for hours has done wonders.” Anakin flushed, fuzzy warmth buzzing in his chest at the praise.

“You feel things — everything — so strongly, Anakin, and I fear I’ve not been able to help you much in that regard.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when Obi-Wan held a hand up for silence and settled for a quiet pout instead, much to his master’s amusement.

“I appreciate your faith in me,” he said with a nod, “and I do not doubt that you would learn a lot at my side alone. But I’m coming to realize where you might need more than I am able to give, not because I don’t want to. Force knows I’d do whatever I could to help you, Anakin, but there are simply things I won’t be able to understand. Haven’t been able to understand,” he added and Anakin frowned at the brief, bitter note he could pick out in his master’s tone. “Master Benni’s offer has as much to do with your potential as it does with your connection to both the initiates and their minders. I— We think it’s something you should consider, despite how it’s likely not the path you first envisioned for yourself.

“You will still be my padawan, always,” he said and squeezed Anakin’s hand to reinforce the sentiment, “but you would split your time between myself and a rotating number of the crèche’s minders under Master Benni’s supervision. You’ll be busy, and kept in the Temple more often than not even if I’m sent out on missions. It may cut into your classes or lightsaber training, in which case you’ll have to work harder to keep up, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that you could do it.”

Anakin nodded, mind whirling and thoughts spinning. There was more Obi-Wan wanted to say, he could tell, but Anakin was grateful for the lull granted to him to gather his thoughts.

“I—” Anakin swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly dry. He held his master’s wrist a fraction tighter. “Can I think about it?” He winced at how his voice cracked, but Obi-Wan only nodded, smile still firmly in place.

“Of course. You don’t have to decide on anything until you’re ready. Master Benni made it quite clear to me that the offer is open to you whenever you wish to take it, whether that time is now or after you’ve been knighted.”

Anakin blinked, balking at the magnitude of not only the offer, but the old Master’s apparent faith in him, even as the buzzing warmth from earlier threatened to consume him fully now. He felt a fresh flush rise on his cheeks and a sheen of stinging tears prick at his eyes, held back by sheer force of will because he refused to waste the water just yet. Slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan squeezed his hand before leaning forward, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Anakin’s outer tunic. When he pulled, Anakin went as easily as he used to into his mother’s arms, overwhelmingly grateful for the contact just then.

“I’ll think about it, Master,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s robes, his face pressed into his master’s chest. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan only hummed in response, tucking Anakin close and rubbing soothing circles into his back while Anakin clutched at him in return.

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp 2021 Day 1: First Kiss

These Grandmasters have ruined my life and I am SO GRATEFUL to the wonderful, brilliant minds at @subscorp-week for making this event!!!

I don’t really post my stuff on tumblr, ever, but I wanted to shamelessly pad the subscorp tag with new content lololol

If you want to read it on AO3, the link is here.

Fic under the cut!

The sudden weight against his upper arm and shoulder startled Kuai Liang and made his hand jerk, dangerously close to dropping the tablet he held.

He glanced sharply to his side and stilled, eyes wide, to see Hanzo slumped against him.

For a brief moment, he thought the worst—that Hanzo was injured somehow, or poisoned, no matter the fact that they had been sitting in companionable silence for the better part of two hours. But he noticed the deep, slow breaths that swelled Hanzo's chest, the smooth, calm set of his features at rest, and knew the truth was far less sinister:

Hanzo had fallen asleep against him.

The realization drew Kuai Liang up short, made deep affection and gratitude swell fit to burst in his chest before he mastered himself and pushed back the sudden, fierce tide of emotion.

Carefully, Kuai Liang set aside his device and reached over to pluck Hanzo's from his limp grasp in his lap to place it on the table before them. They had been going over reports from their clans, compiling the information so that they could compare it against those from General Blade, and they often met to do this; it was dull and mind-numbing at times, but easier to accomplish with company, they'd found, and they were both less likely to procrastinate the work if they did it together.

It wasn't uncommon that such tedious work would stretch into the long hours of the night, and this night was no exception. But this was the first time Hanzo had succumbed to his exhaustion.

And he'd done so in Kuai Liang's presence, no less. The swell of pride could not be wrangled, nor the way he relished this simple, profound display of unthinking trust. It spoke to a level of peace and contentment Kuai Liang had never thought to gain from him, a man who had once been his enemy, a man who had once wished him dead. The ink had dried on their treaty long ago, but it felt as if only now it had cemented.

Kuai Liang cherished every new facet of Hanzo he saw in the days since their alliance, and this proved to be no different. He'd seen Hanzo meditate many times, had even joined him, but he'd never seen him truly in repose.

He knew he should wake Hanzo, call their meeting to a close and encourage him home, but Kuai Liang never claimed not to be a selfish man. It was wrong, undoubtedly, to knowingly linger in a moment of Hanzo's vulnerability, but the warmth of his body pressed close, the soft brush of his hair against his shoulder—he was too compelling.

He had half-expected Hanzo to stir when he'd plucked the tablet from his grasp, but he truly seemed dead to the world. Kuai Liang, hesitant and curious, carefully brought up his arm, gently brushed a lock of hair from across Hanzo's face back over his shoulder where it had come loose from the bun—and still, Hanzo peacefully slumbered on, undisturbed.

A smile twitched on Kuai Liang's lips, a private one of unbearably plain affection. He would never be caught with such an expression, but here, alone in the small hours of the night, he allowed himself this moment.

Hanzo's hands, open and limp in his lap, were another temptation altogether—but he did not dare. He had been lucky, thus far, but he would not be foolhardy.

Only this, Kuai Liang told himself. Such a rare moment of reliance from the normally so disciplined Grandmaster—only extreme overwork and exhaustion had pushed Hanzo this far, and once he woke, Kuai Liang knew this incident would be the only one of its kind.

His heart ached in his chest, bruised and bittersweet, but Hanzo's friendship was something he would not give up for the world.

But the knowledge this moment may very well be the only one that he would ever experience Hanzo's closeness—outside of, perhaps, a spar—gave him courage. Enough that he pressed his lips—just the slightest bit of pressure—to the top of Hanzo's head; his first and last confession.

He regretted the motion the instant it was over. Immediately, he felt the change in the air, the sudden tension in Hanzo's body as he stiffened. It made Kuai Liang respond in kind, utterly still, face drained of blood.

For a moment, they both lingered in that horrible stillness, the silence screaming with panic and dread.

Then, very, very slowly, Hanzo raised his head from Kuai Liang's shoulder. His dark eyes were difficult to meet, but Kuai Liang would not balk, not even from this.

Aside from lifting his head, Hanzo did not move, did not burst into flame or send Kuai Liang crashing through the wall as he half-expected. Yet it was almost worse, somehow, the way he stirred, brows furrowed, expression dark and wary.

Slowly, voice still sleep-roughened, Hanzo spoke.

"...Did you just kiss me."

There was no question, only a flat, emotionless statement that filled Kuai Liang with dread and made him wish dearly for the blow he'd expected.

Mouth dry, already seeing their friendship dissolve before his eyes, Kuai Liang said, just as quietly, "Yes."

Hanzo's eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't expected the confirmation despite knowing the truth.

He blinked. He searched Kuai Liang's face, but if he was seeking doubt or teasing, or even a lie, Kuai Liang had nothing of the sort to show him, only brutal, unvarnished honesty.

Hanzo glanced away and Kuai Liang braced himself for anything—a gentle rejection, a reprimand. Perhaps only a burst of flame and scorch marks left behind in the spot Hanzo sat.

A quiet breath, and Hanzo met his eyes, the set of his features determined and impassioned.

"Do it again," he commanded.

Kuai Liang was like a mountain, so absolute was his stillness. It was his turn to search Hanzo's face for deception, but there was none to be found, only fire, only a dark smolder—familiar and foreign at once, a dare, a challenge, a promise.

Kuai Liang did not dare try Hanzo's patience with indecision. He forced himself from the tight draw of his body, reached out, fingertips whisper-soft against the short hairs of Hanzo's beard.

"Yes, Grandmaster," Kuai Liang murmured.

For all that he'd longed for a moment such as this, Kuai Liang was unwilling to rush, eager as he was. He pressed his forehead to Hanzo's, soaked in the brush of their noses, of Hanzo's warm breath on his lips, the exquisite expectation that hung in the air, that made his heart slam against his ribs and his hands tremble with the repressed urge to snatch Hanzo close and never let him go—before he came to his senses and realized what he had asked for in his surely sleep-addled state.

But the anticipation compromised years of disciplined training and impatience won out. Kuai Liang tilted his head, just slightly, and kissed Hanzo.

One touch, and Kuai Liang understood why the Lin Kuei had once forbidden attachment. The swell of desire, of aching, near-obsessive addiction, was swift and all-encompassing. Hanzo's lips were warm and dry, just as tentative as his own as they met and parted and met again. And when Hanzo's touch came, one strong fist grasping at the fabric across his chest, Kuai Liang could not stop the tide of fierce, craving want.

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath when Kuai Liang suddenly surged forward and pushed him back, but he did not resist being pressed to the floor. His arms wrapped around Kuai Liang's shoulders, helped erase even the illusion of distance as their chests met and they sank into one another. Their lips grew bolder, the kiss grew deeper, and it was as if the only air to be had was only what could be found in the other.

Kuai Liang could conceive of nothing more entrancing than the slight hitch of Hanzo's breath when their tongues touched, no sound more seductive than his quiet moans, coaxed out by Kuai Liang's own hands, by his own touch. Nothing had ever enthralled him like the sensation of Hanzo's body, strong and pliant and laid out, willingly, beneath his, nor the silky caress of Hanzo's long hair when he dragged his fingers through it.

Kuai Liang did not regret the reformation of his clan, but for the first time since he'd become Grandmaster, he reflected on the old ways with new understanding. Because this? This bottomless desire, that coaxed all reason from his mind and consumed him absolutely? It felt too good not to be forbidden.

At long last, the annoying, persistent need to breathe pulled their lips away, although they barely strayed more than a few inches as they panted.

Kuai Liang could not drag his eyes away from the rosy flush of Hanzo's skin, the soft flutter of his eyelashes when he opened them, so swept in their passion and only now brought back to reality.

They watched one another a moment, the only sounds to be heard their harsh breaths and the mad thunder of Kuai Liang's heart.

Then, slowly, Hanzo smiled. Pleasure warmed his face into an expression of quiet, almost shy happiness Kuai Liang had never seen before—a smile Kuai Liang had caused.

And when he pressed his lips to Hanzo's again, amidst his low chuckles of happiness, Kuai Liang was smiling, too.

[littleoddwriter]

Heavy Heart | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Another Vent Fic, sorry. This time with Arrowverse!Roman Sionis (Batwoman Season 2), though. The episodes still aren’t out here, but I think I’ve seen enough Clips to at least get his voice and feel right. Sorry if not (in case anyone even ends up reading this).

summary; You’re struggling with personal issues, regarding your interpersonal relationships. Roman unexpectedly shows up at your doorstep and you have a heart-to-heart.

notes; Male!Reader; Reader has Borderline Personality Disorder; Favourite Person (FP); Rejection; Abandonment Issues; Spiralling; Mild Dissociation; Self-Harm (Scratching and Cutting); Blood; Hurt/Comfort; Unexpected Visit; Love Confessions; Soft Kisses; Hugs; Little Dialogue.

It’s only been a couple of months, since you and Roman have started dating. Honestly, you’d never expected it to happen at all. You’ve been his assistant at Janus Cosmetics for over two years at that point, while you’ve been silently crushing on him the entire time. So to say that you were ecstatic about the fact that he liked you, too, would’ve been an understatement.

Naturally, as it always happened, Roman has become your new Favourite Person all too quickly and crushingly. Of course, at this point in your still blooming relationship you couldn’t care less, because you were happy, you were on top of the world when you only thought about him and the way he kissed you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

Still, in the back of your mind, this tiny voice kept reminding you that every time you’ve had an FP in your life, it didn’t end well; and it never lasted very long – a year tops, maybe. So, you were cautious, like you always were. You were hyper aware of everything you said and did around him; how often you texted him; how fast you responded to him; how many gifts you made for him and how much time passed in-between them. All so you wouldn’t fuck it up by being too much or too little. You were desperately trying to find this golden balance between it all.

The last time you had a Favourite Person wasn’t too long ago, actually. They had still been it when Roman has asked you on your first date with him. But not even a week afterwards, they had suddenly stopped responding to your texts and ignored you. They had never tried to contact you again and you were far too afraid and anxious to do it on your own accord after too much time has passed already. After all, you had already convinced yourself that they had lost interest in you and hated your guts all of a sudden.

Of course, you had tried to forget about them, which was made a little easier by the fact that your entire focus was on one Roman Sionis. Still, it didn’t prevent you from thinking about this supposed friend at least once a day, if not more, and wondering where it had gone wrong and if the same would happen with Roman very soon. It was bound to happen after all, and since this particular friendship had ended so very suddenly after not even four months, you could only fear how long your relationship with Roman would last.

Every single day, you tried your damnedest not to ponder too much and let anxiety overtake your body. Instead, you attempted to just focus on Roman and how much you loved him, which was a whole lot and far too much, to the point where it caused your chest to hurt. Often times, you wondered if it would be acceptable of you to already say those three particular words to him, or if that would ruin everything. You were incredibly uncertain, and he never seemed as though he was going to say them any time soon. Either way, you forced yourself to be patient and not fuck everything up again.

The fact that Roman had asked you out, even though he very much knew about your BPD diagnosis had shocked you to your core, but it somewhat calmed you down to know that it wasn’t a secret between you two (you had even checked in with him if he really knew upon his question). Still, you often wondered if he was truly aware of how much baggage you had on your shoulders and just how exhausting it could be to be in a relationship with a person who had this particular disorder – not only for you, but for him as well.

As the months have stretched on with barely an incident between you two, you had allowed yourself to get a tiny bit more comfortable. Whether or not you should regret it was beyond you, when your best friends have suddenly ceased to respond to your texts and more and more people around you have seemed to ignore you. At first you’ve given it all some time and tried not to jump to conclusions, because you knew they were all busy with their own lives and weren’t always in the mood to talk or text – and you respected that, you knew exactly what that was like.

But as two days have turned into four and essentially a whole week, you couldn’t help yourself anymore.

Feelings of utter loneliness and rejection overcame you in waves. You’ve been short of crying every couple of minutes; your chest hurt so much; your skin felt so tight – you desperately wanted to claw it off.

Then, you started to isolate yourself more and more. At work, you acted mostly normal, just like always – putting on this mask of being fine and a good worker – when in reality, your entire world was falling apart piece by piece.

None of it went past Roman, of course, he was way too perceptive for that. But when he asked you what was wrong, you deflected the question and said that it wasn’t important, it would be okay in a few hours or days anyway.

That wasn’t the case, though.

It didn’t get better at all. The feelings just wouldn’t go away. Every time you looked at your phone and saw all the unanswered messages you’d sent out to people weeks and months ago made your heart heavy and your chest tighten painfully. The more time passed, the worse it got.

Eventually, you also just couldn’t help wondering about Roman and doubting his interest in you. Was he truly interested in you at all? Would he have enough of you soon? Would he drop you gently or harshly? Would you even still have a job when he did? Fuck, it certainly wasn’t the best idea to date your boss, was it?

As you sat at your desk at home, preparing Roman’s schedule for the next week, your phone suddenly pinged. Immediately you took it into your hands to see if it was Roman – he was the only one who you were talking to at all anymore, after all. But then you saw that it was your previous Favourite Person, the one right before Roman. They had reacted to something you had posted on social media. They had commented on it as though they hadn’t suddenly stopped talking to you months ago.

As soon as you saw it, your eyes burned with tears that suddenly pricked them, your heart clenched so painfully and your skin was crawling. You were hurt and confused. It was all too much.

Just half an hour before that you had exchanged a few texts with an acquaintance you had on social media, which was as unfulfilling as it always had been. They clearly didn’t care about you, since they would never once truly ask how you were feeling, but in fact only talked about themselves and their life’s struggles. You were nothing but a tool for them to vent their worries to without an ounce of care in what you had to say in the least. It was a role you’d been very much used to, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

So, naturally all of this was a lot for you to process – too much, really – and you felt so many negative emotions all at once. They were crushing you. You were in agony.

As the urge to hurt yourself to relieve the emotional pain and exchange it with a temporary physical one overcome you, you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and distract yourself first, before you did something you would later regret.

Unfortunately, it only lasted for a few minutes at a time, as the urge became bigger and your anguish stronger.

Only a few hours later, you decided to shower and as soon as you got dressed, you couldn’t even think twice before your fingernails met your neck’s skin and scratched it open. You stared at yourself in the mirror as your hands just kept on moving, all across your neck and collarbones, scratching away intensely until it was bright red, irritated and bleeding.

For a moment, you inspected the fresh wounds.

It still wasn’t enough.

You quickly disinfected the irritated, scratched-open areas and then proceeded to take out the small blade you kept in the drawer below your bathroom sink. Then, you pressed it against your inner forearm and drew a small, deep line with it, causing blood to well up instantly as sharp pain shot through you. You set the blade down and squeezed around your wound, forcing out more blood. You desperately needed to see it flow out of you.

A few seconds passed and you took the blade back into your hand and rested it a few inches below your fresh cut.

You hesitated.

Shaking your head, you put it back into the drawer and instead nursed your still bleeding wound.

After all, you’ve already done more than enough damage.

The loud and sudden ringing of your doorbell startled you and you quickly, but quietly, walked towards your apartment door to look through the peephole. Roman stood in front of your door.

Were you supposed to meet him and you forgot amidst all the pain you’ve been in?

Nervously, you opened the door and smiled at him. It hurt to smile. You could only guess how strained it must have looked, not to forget the angry red and mildly bleeding wounds on your neck that you had no way of hiding, then.

“Roman, wh- what are you doing here? Sorry, uh, come in first, maybe,” you stammered out your awkward greeting, stepping to the side to let Roman into your apartment, while your heart violently hammered against your rib cage.

“I’m sorry for suddenly coming by, but I’ve actually been in the area and thought I could pay you a little visit. I missed you,” he replied as he walked past you and hung his coat on the hook on the wall, “Besides, I tried to let you know by sending you a text, but I suppose you were busy showering by the looks of it.”

“Oh- yeah. Yes, sorry. It’s okay, though. I missed you, too. I’m glad to see you,” you responded softly, nervously looking around the room and avoiding his eyes.

Suddenly his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, your bodies flush against one another. His left arm travelled up and around when he cupped your cheek with his hand and gently stroked his thumb over it, before he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. You were entirely too overwhelmed and still a little beside yourself, but you reciprocated the chaste kiss automatically and put your arms around his shoulders.

When he broke the kiss, he looked you over. You could feel the shame crawling beneath your skin, making you feel far too hot.

“I didn’t catch you at a good time, did I?” he inquired quietly, grazing his fingers over the wounds on your neck so very lightly so as not to hurt you more.

Because of how tight your throat felt, you could only shake your head and avert your gaze.

Roman heaved a deep sigh and kissed your forehead softly, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmured against your brow, “May I ask what’s caused this?”

Hesitating, you opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, so short of crying again, as you thought about whether or not it would scare him off if you told him the truth. In the end, you nodded, though.

“Let’s sit down first, please. Can I get you something to drink?” you said brokenly, daring to look at him for a second.

“Water, please.”

Quickly, you walked into the kitchen and got Roman a glass of water, while he sat down on your couch in the living room. Your hand was shaking when you passed him the glass and he looked at you with such a soft expression that it took your breath away.

Why wasn’t he up and running already?

When you sat down next to him, he set the glass down on the table in front of you two and put his arm around you, once more pulling you close against him. Your sides pressed together and you allowed yourself to rest your head against his shoulder.

“You can tell me as much or as little as you want, okay, my sweet boy?” he told you softly and kissed your temple shortly.

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and exhaled a shuddery breath. Then, you started to tell him everything that’s been going on lately and how much it all hurt. Sometime into your explanation the tears that have burned your eyes started to flow and run down your reddened face, leaving painful streaks behind. All the while, Roman was quietly shushing you and rubbing your upper arm soothingly, and peppering gentle kisses on the top of your head.

When you were done talking, you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your entire body into Roman’s side in an attempt to both vanish and be close to him one last time, before he would leave you (at least that was what you’ve expected to happen anyway).

Instead, Roman wrapped his other arm around you as well and embraced you tightly, lovingly.

“I’m not going to leave you, baby. I’m not going anywhere. It angers me to know how much pain people have caused you in your life, especially as of late, but I won’t be one of them, alright?” he assured you and kissed your temple once more. “I love you, Y/N.”

Stopping to breathe altogether, you could barely believe what you’ve just heard.

Despite your disbelief, you choked out a quiet “I love you, too, Roman. So much”.

The issues that caused you so much pain in the first place may not have been solved with it, but you felt a little more secure in your relationship with Roman now, at least. That way, you could now quiet down these nagging thoughts in the back of your mind that kept telling you that he was going to drop you any second.

Sighing deeply, you relaxed a little and wrapped your arms around Roman’s middle as you pressed your face into his chest.

For the time being, you could pretend that everything was going to be alright.

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Six

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+, fluff, implied smut, angst, mentions of war, military technicalities

A/N: We are back to Captain Sy and Sgt Liv and they are adorable together. But! It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, right? A big thank you to @thelastsock​ for being the best beta ever!

<Chapter Five

Title: Captain Six

“We have support from the locals. Not all of them. But plenty.”

Sy nodded in understanding as Liv informed him about their recent advancements with the villagers. She was dressed in her fatigues, her hair neatly tied in a bun and standing with her hands behind her back. She stood confidently beside Sy’s Lieutenant, the soft city girl disappearing under the strong demeanor of a soldier.

“They want to stay hidden for the time being. But they trust us.” Pepps added, his gloved hands holding the straps of his vest.

“It won’t turn out like the teacher from last year?” Sy asked, glancing from Pepps to Olivia. He remembered the horrible incident where the one person who had decided to help them had been charred to death. He had reached the school to witness a wailing woman and spectators watching as the burnt corpse was being taken to shelter by his brother. The deceased’s wife was shouting curses at them which still to this day kept ringing in Sy’s ears.

“Not currently.” The confidence in Liv’s voice had faltered, her tone dropping an octave. She looked at Pepps nervously with pursed lips.

The Captain let out a sigh. He rubbed his beard and brought his arms up to cross them over his chest. Glancing at the soldiers standing in front of him, he leaned back on his chair. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Pepps picked up his gun from the chair and left the office, throwing a nod towards the Captain. Sy watched his Lieutenant walk out the door, leaving only him and Liv in the office. Away from prying eyes, Liv relaxed her shoulders and stood at ease. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she yawned while looking at Sy from the corner of her eyes.

An amused smile crept up on Sy’s bearded face. “Tired?”

Dragging another yawn out of her mouth, Liv smiled lazily at him. “I have been up since…I don’t know… Yesterday? Noon?”

“You had the night shift.” Sy remarked. He had noticed her posted at the barracks with Sloan as he was returning back to his room. She had been animatedly describing something to her comrade, laughing as Sloan had snorted in return.

“I could really take a nice massage.” She rubbed her neck while rolling her shoulders.

Sy smiled at his girl. He was absolutely enamored with the red-haired, gun wielding beauty. A week ago, he had finally kissed her tantalizing lips after agonizing over the thought for so long. He had felt his heart swell, hypothetical butterflies fluttering in his belly. She had tasted sweet; her soft supple lips had glided perfectly against his. The dipping sun had casted a soft glow on her face, making her hair shine like tendrils of lustrous copper.

“Come here.” He commanded with a flick of his hand. Liv raised an eyebrow at him with her hand resting on her neck. Sy tilted his head with a smile as he waited for Liv to move. With a moment of hesitation, she took slow steps towards him. In the week that had followed after their first kiss, they had stolen some more chaste kisses around the camp. Both of them, without voicing their choices, had resorted to keep their budding relationship on the down low. Even if two of their own Sergeants were parading around, openly declaring their love for each other, Sy and Liv could not risk that kind of behavior. They were leaders of their units after all. As much as Sy would love to kiss Liv out in the open, there was a decorum to maintain and Liv agreed.

“Close the door first.” Sy nearly chuckled as Liv’s eyes widened and she hurried towards the worn-out wooden door to his office. Swiftly shutting it close, Liv walked back to him. Sy glanced at her expectant eyes looking down at him. He spread his legs out on the chair and opened his arms, inviting her to sit on his lap.

Liv shook her head at him, rolling her eyes and gracing him with her beautiful smile before climbing on his lap. She straddled him, her hands circling his neck as Sy looked into her golden orbs. He placed a peck on her lips and brought his hands up behind her to work on her tensed shoulders. He pressed down gently on her aching muscles, which elicited a low moan from her. The mellifluous undertone of her voice stirred an arousal in his loins, her thighs rubbing against his crotch not making it any better.

“Now where would you get your massage back home?” He asked, distracting himself with releasing the taut muscles of their tension.

“There’s this place in Tribeca that I frequent when I am on leave.”

Sy felt Liv’s body ease against his as he kneaded his way through her back. He watched as she closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of relaxation. Her warm breath washed over his face as Liv let out appreciative mewls as he rubbed the aching spot behind her neck. She clutched his t-shirt tightly in her hands as he increased the pressure on the sore spot. Her hips jerked forward, rubbing against his groin making Sy take in a sharp breath.

“Easy there, little birdie.” Sy breathed out. He brought one hand on her cheek, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone and making her open her eyes to look at him. A glint of mischief danced in her whiskey-colored eyes matched by the quirk of her lips. She rocked her hips lightly against his whilst bringing her hand to caress the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

A shuddering breath escaped Sy’s lips as Liv’s crotch rubbed against his waking arousal. He brought both of his hands down to her hips, grabbing them tightly and stilling her from performing her ministrations on him. Her lips drew out in a pout, her bottom lip sticking out in disapproval.

Sy would have wanted nothing but to take her in his office. Fleeting thoughts about her sensuous, naked body sprawled beneath him had made him jerk off in the privacy of his room. Imaginations had run particularly wild when two nights ago, Sy had pulled Liv into the empty gym hall in the dead of the night. He had pushed her against the wall, his hands on either side of her head, capturing her in place. He was addicted to the feel of her hands on his chest, her lips on his and the breathy moans she elicited. Their chaste kisses had turned to a steamy make-out with tongue rolling against each other, hands grabbing at every inch of their bodies. He had kissed down her neck, pulling her shirt aside to run his warm tongue over her collarbone while Liv had palmed him over his shorts.

Sy knew they would have crossed the line if it wouldn’t have been for the night patrolling unit to come running down the stairs, just outside the gym.

“I think I should retire to my quarters.” Liv commented, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. “I need a long night’s sleep.” She muttered against his skin, yawning again.

Sy ran his hand soothingly over her back. He held her close to his body, listening to her breathing as she drifted in and out of sleep. He was aware she was overworked. Besides running their main objective of fetching the food truck, she had also immersed herself in the work of the Special Forces. Liv made sure to go out to the village and speak to the inhabitants with Sy’s men, trying to understand their problems and sympathizing with them. To add to her schedule, Sy and Liv woke up early most mornings to catch the sunrise whilst drinking tea. It was like a routine for them and Sy wasn’t complaining. Although everything was sunshine and roses for them at the moment, he also wanted her to open up to him.

Sy had spilled about his entire life in front of her. He did not want to keep secrets from her, and he wanted to know hers. His life was like an open book to her now but all he could do was read the title of hers. Liv was a closed off person, hiding behind snarky comebacks and friendly banter. Sy had tried asking about her life back home, but all he could gather was that she had a younger brother and her parents, all residing in New York.

He listened to her snore lightly as her arms fell down from around his neck. She felt feather light against his body, her lean thighs resting effortlessly over his thick ones. He couldn’t let her fall asleep on his lap for the night, but he decided to let her take a quick nap for a few minutes.

“You are so comfortable.” She mumbled after a few minutes. “Like a life-size teddy bear.”

Sy chuckled softly. Liv turned her face on his shoulder and started peppering kisses along Sy’s neck. He breathed in slowly, goosebumps rising on his arms. His shoulders were circled by Liv’s arms again, her hands resting lightly at the back of his neck. She left a wet trail of kisses from under his earlobe to the crook of his neck. Sy closed his eyes as desire stirred within him. He felt her breasts press against his chest as Liv arched her back while blowing her hot breath on his warm skin.

“Liv,” he drawled her name out. His hands rested on her waist pulling her closer to him.

Sy wanted to give his all to her. He wanted her to be his in ways more than one. But he knew so little about her. He wanted to connect to her, mind and body. Sy understood he was seen as someone who would sleep around, whoring his way around town. He was anything but.

“I don’t know anything about you.” He whispered out loud stilling Olivia in his arms.

She pushed herself away from him to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

Sy took a deep breath. He knew he would sound like an insistent, clingy boyfriend if he barraged her with questions about her life. Maybe it was too soon for them, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know her.

“I don’t know where you live and I’m not talking about the city.” He adds as her mouth opens to interject. “What about your family? Your friends? Your life outside the army?”

“Where is this coming from?” She tilted her head to the side and rested her hands on his chest.

“I told you about my first time in high school and so many embarrassing childhood memories. Things I haven’t told anyone before. Things people don’t expect me to remember.” He shook his head at himself, overwhelmed by his own vulnerability.

Olivia’s eyes softened as he blabbered about himself. She placed a hand on his cheek, gently rubbing his soft beard. “I feel honored to know such private details about your life. I’m not hiding anything.” He leaned against her hand, nodding in agreement. “Okay, so, I live in Brooklyn, not with my family. I have a whole of two friends outside the army and one distant cousin in Minneapolis. Schmidt is my best friend, as you must have noticed, and I didn’t go to college because I joined the army right after I graduated from high school.”

“You didn’t go to college?”

“Did you?” Her eyes widened at him.

Sy rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted in his seat. “I have a degree in political science.” He watched Liv’s mouth drop open and she blinked several times.

“Wow. You just got a whole lot sexier, Captain Syverson.” She leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips. “Lot more intelligent than silly me.”

Sy laughed at her silliness. He placed both of his hands on her cheeks and gazed at her, his eyes tracing every details of her face. His thumb grazed over her lips. He felt content with the new information about her life, but a particular question kept nagging him. “Were you with anyone before me?”

He watched as she shifted awkwardly on his lap. Her eyes dropped down to focus on his chest, her mouth pressing into a thin line. He looked at her with expectant eyes practically hearing the wheels turning in her mind.

“Everyone has a past.” She said, the mirth in her voice disappearing with her finger twisting in his t-shirt. “Let’s just say, for now, I shouldn’t have messed with someone’s feelings and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

Sy could see she was uncomfortable talking about it. She refused to look him in the eye while she spoke, fixating on tracing circles on his chest instead. He brought his finger under her chin to make her look up. Her eyes held veiled emotions, silently pleading him to not coax her into talking about it any further. He smiled at her softly, nudging her nose with his.

“Okay.” He whispered, pecking her lips reassuringly. “Now you should go to bed. Food truck retrieval tomorrow.”

Sy let Liv climb off his lap, an emptiness filling his being at the loss of warmth from her body. He raked his gaze over the curve of her body as she stretched her arms above her head.

“See you in the morning?” She asked, walking towards the door. Her hand rested on the latch, waiting for his answer.

Sy nodded at her, watching as she opened the door and walked out into the corridor. The bustling sounds of the camp greeted his ears, bringing him back to the present, away from the cocoon he had with Liv.

That was twenty hours ago. The scorching desert heat beat down on him as they hurriedly drove to Camp Warhorse. Sy ached for those hours now. He wanted nothing more than to share more about her life. Engulf himself in her presence again. Comms blaring, commands coming from every direction. The SOS message from Echo team assigned to the food truck still rang in his ears.

"Chopper hit. We're under attack."

Sy’s heart was beating in his chest, thumping against his ribcage. Their engines roared as he pressed down on the accelerator, blowing sand as his tires skidded along the dirt road.

Blood chilled in his veins when the second message came through, clear in the chaos.

"Repeat, under attack. 3 wounded. 1 KIA."

Chapter Seven>

🌟 Series Masterlist 🌟

[smarchit]

Look Around, Look around pt 2

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse

Notes: I’m so happy you all enjoyed this so far! I still have a taglist for this, please let me know if you want added!

It had been three and a half weeks since the Mandalorian dropped you off on the little planet called Sorgan.

You had been immediately taken into the fold by the villagers and by the children that ran and played through the ankle deep waters of the farms.

Omera, a friend of both Cara and the Mandalorian, took you into her home. She had provided some old dresses that she wore when she was pregnant with her daughter, Winta.

"They're a bit too big on you now," she said almost apologetically, "Give it time. You'll be safe here."

On the twenty-third day in the village, you woke with the sun and with the squawking of birds in the surrounding trees. The air was humid already and a light mist hung low on the ground in your small room.

You scrubbed yourself clean in the small basin and inspected yourself in the grimy mirror. In the past few weeks, you had gained enough weight that now you could tell you were carrying a child. Your stomach had grown with life, and while you hated the way your skin stretched, Omera was there to offer kind words of encouragement.

Right where you should be for this time, Omera had said with a fond smile a few nights ago as she watched you help with dinner. You're even getting a glow. I bet you're having a girl.

You ran a gentle hand over your rounded belly and smiled a bit in spite of the slight tingle of fear that ran in currents under your skin. It had been a challenge, getting yourself comfortable enough to let these kind people into your heart. They had opened theirs to you with no second thoughts and you often teared up at their simple gestures of kindness.

You pulled the simple shift dress over your head and tied the rope belt so it rested above the soft curve of your belly. Your morning sickness had subsided quite a bit as well, something that Omera took great pride in, as she had made you drink a simple grass tea that she said helped her.

There was a gentle knock at your bedroom door and it opened a bit to allow large brown eyes to peak through the crack.

Winta smiled at you when you greeted her and nudged the door open with her shoulder. She carried a small woven reed tray, laden with soup, bread, and a small cup of tea.

"Mommy made breakfast before she went out," she said softly.

"Thank you," you said softly, putting a hand on the top of her head. 

The child beamed up at you and then bounded off to play. You heard the front door shut gently as she started her day.

Once you finished your breakfast, you swept your room and tidied the dishes in the basin. You didn't mind helping Omera, though she always insisted you didn't have to. It kept you occupied.

After you finished your self-imposed chores, you tied your hair back in a simple braid and took a large brown basket in one hand and a shearing knife in the other. You headed out to the flat marsh farm and sat down at one closest to Omera's house.

You spotted Cara and waved as you set up your small work area. She stood against a fence post, legs crossed over one another, her blaster held loosely in her arms. She nodded in your direction and gave a gentle wave.

Omera was currently knee-deep in murky water, her skirt tied off around her thighs as she tended to the krill.

You liked it here. The warm weather agreed with you. It reminded you of the planet you grew up on. 

The children were working alongside their parents, or working as well as children could anyways. They took turns flinging mud and rocks at one another between their parents' scoldings.

You smiled and rubbed a hand across your belly. "How 'bout it, little one?" you asked, turning your head down to talk to your growing stomach, "Think we could live here?"

A few hours passed like this, the humidity finally dying off mid morning. A gentle breeze now lifted the short hairs that framed your face and cooled the sweat under your arms as you worked the reeds in your lap into mats and the humble beginnings of baskets. 

It hadn't taken you long to learn how to weave, a few days of practice and you were getting there. The older ladies in the village were grateful for the help and you enjoyed the busy work. It blistered your fingers though. They would crack and bleed at night and often keep you up until early morning. But you never felt so rested.

Shortly after the noon break, a glint above the trees on the horizon caught everyone's attention. Excited chatter soon displaced the otherwise relatively quiet workday as the vessel grew nearer.

Your heart pounded in your throat as the ship came into view. The Mandalorian had returned, and with it, so did your anxiety. Did he come to finally take you back home? Give you a few days of freedom and then take it away from you? You didn't think that Mandalorians were so cruel as to string their victims along and torture them like this.

Your stomach did flip flops as you shakily got to your feet. Resigning yourself to what was yet to come, you cleaned your hands off on your dress and stood with your head down and hands clasped, as if ashamed.

"Come on!" Winta called to you, a huge grin spread across her face, lit up with joy and wide enough to expose missing baby teeth. "He's here! Mando's back!"

Everyone seemed so excited, so why were you filled with dread? 

Your thoughts turned to the way he shifted when you told him that you were pregnant. How his shoulders squared and his back stiffened. Were his people that disgusted by the mere act of childbearing? Was it vulgar to them? He wasn't disgusted by the thought of children, you figured, as he seemed to care for his own adopted little one. But then what caused him to bring you here?

"Hey," Cara murmured, startling you from your thoughts. "Everything alright in there?" 

You nodded and smiled, clearing away the last of your obtrusive thoughts. If these people trusted him, could he be that bad? You trusted the farmers, so you supposed by association, you trusted him, however hesitantly.

"I can't read you," she said with a small laugh, "You're harder to read than he is even with the bucket on his head."

You gave a mirthless laugh and shook your head as you drew your arms around yourself. A soft breeze drifted through the clearing and you shivered in spite of yourself.

"You don't have to worry about him," she continued, adjusting her weight to the other foot. "He's not going to take you back. Not now, not when you have that little one. That's not who he is."

You looked up at her, teary eyed. After all this time, could it really be so simple as getting the right bounty hunter on your trail? One full of sympathy and compassion for children? 

"I mean it. He may seem like he's uncaring, but he's a softy under that armor," Cara soothed. "Trust me. I've seen him shed tears over that kid of his."

"I never cried," came a familiar voice from behind you. 

Cara turned and laughed as he walked over to us. "You're late."

"By a week. I got held up," he said softly. He then turned his attention to you. You couldn't see, but you knew he was giving you a once over, assessing how you looked. It made you feel small and vulnerable, but there was no negativity attached to it like there had been when your husband used to do it when he scrutinized your appearance.

"You look good," he said softly, patting your arm slightly. He hesitated for a moment and then let his arm drop to his hip. "Sorgan looks good on you."

You smiled a bit and cast your eyes down to the ground. You picked at a blister on your thumb and watched a drop of blood well up to the surface. You squeezed it, letting the dull ache distract you from the anxiety clawing away at your insides. Your stomach lurched as he reached out to touch you again and you took a step back instinctively.

He slowed his movement and instead of going for your face like you assumed he was going to, he placed a heavy, solid hand on your shoulder.

"You look healthier too," he said quietly. He kept his hand there until you shifted uncomfortably.

"Is that what he wanted?" you asked, unable to stop yourself from asking what you so desperately wanted to know. "To have me healthy for his child?"

"He doesn't know where you are," the Mandalorian said firmly. "Okay? So stop that right now. No idea."

You swallowed thickly and crossed an arm over your belly in a small act of protection.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, "Alone?" The Mandalorian glanced at Cara who took a few steps back in compliance, but kept a steady eye on you both. She didn't seem alert or on edge. She almost seemed relaxed. Her hip was cocked to one side and she lazily watched the birds fly overhead.

"I have something for you," he said quietly. He slowly reached into his bag with one hand, keeping the other where you could see it.

When he took his hand from the bag, there was a scroll tied with a purple ribbon in his fist.

You felt like throwing up. Bile rose in your throat and you took a step back from him both out of fear of what he had done and at the fear of throwing up on him.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, his voice low and even as he held up a hand, "It's okay. I want you to read it."

Hesitantly, you reached out your hand as he presented the scroll to you. With your fingers shaking so badly you could barely undo the wax seal on the scroll, you watched him warily for any sign of movement. He was watching you.

Finally, you managed to get the ribbon untied and the wax popped off in your hand. You unfurled it and skimmed the letter quickly - and then went back and read it a second, a third time.

"I... What?" you whispered, nervously looking up at him. "What is this? Is this for real?"

"It is," he said quietly. "Didn't take much for him to sign them either." He shook his head at the thought.

You read the letter again quickly to make sure it was real. Divorce papers. Signed by your now ex-husband. Maker, what did the Mandalorian do?

"Do you trust me now?" he asked, his voice a little softer.

You nodded slowly and took a step towards him. He looked a little startled if his body language was anything to go off of when you wrapped your arms around his torso.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "Thank you so much."

He sighed softly, the sound crackling through the monitor, but he put a gentle hand on your back. 

"Uh, you're welcome," he stammered. He put his hands on your shoulders and separated you before he walked away to where the others were watching from afar. 

Cara shook her head. "Told you. Softie."

You smiled and watched him as he was greeted by the villagers. His armor glinted in the midday sun and to them, he must seem like a hero. You knew that to be true though. 

***

That night as the bonfire ran hot through the village, you sat on an old piece of machinery, warming your toes in the low light. The Mandalorian's child, the foundling, as he had called it, rested comfortably in your lap. He seemed to like to cuddle up to your belly, as his three little fingers were bunched in the fabric of your dress over your stomach. He cooed and babbled up at you and you talked back to him as if he could understand you.

The Mandalorian eventually found his way over to where you sat, and he sat down on the ground at your feet. He leaned back against the machinery and folded his hands in his lap.

"Kid likes you," he said, angling his helmet up so he could talk to you. "I mean, he likes everyone, sometimes a little too much, but he really seems to like you."

You smiled and looked down at the now sleeping infant. You could almost picture holding your own baby like this in a few months.

"Babies are easy to care for. Love them and they love you right back," you said, stroking his ear, "No questions asked. You don't have to be perfect at it."

"You're going to make a great mother," he said softly. "I mean -- If you're... You know, planning on keeping it."

You looked down at the Mandalorian, slightly surprised. "I am going to keep it."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you."

You bit your lip and then gently lowered yourself to the ground beside him, being careful not to jostle the sleeping baby or your own stomach around too much. 

He looked a little surprised as you got comfortable. He watched your bare toes dig into the grass and watched the way your hands smoothed down the baby's swaddle. 

"I know," you said after a minute. 

"Kids need a someone to love them," he said so softly you wondered if you had even heard him. "They depend on the people who love them."

You didn't reply to that. You didnt even know how. The silence hung heavy around you.

"Are you going to stay here?" he asked after a minute, looking back at the fire. 

You shrugged. "It's nice here. But I've always wanted to go exploring. See the galaxy. Besides," you said, making a small face. "I worry I'm going to wake up one day and this kid decides that we're going to have a severe aversion to the smell of krill and mud. And then were will I be?"

The Mandalorian laughed softly and shook his head. The sound made your heart swell.

"Could always come with me," he offered, raising his one shoulder in a half shrug. "Find you a nice place to live. Set you up in a house."

"What would I do for money?" you hummed.

The Mandalorian went quiet. He reached beside him and picked up a little circle mat you had been working on. 

"Heard you aren't bad at weaving," he teased, shaking the mat in your direction.

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

"Inara thinks my rows are uneven," you said. "I couldn't sell them for anything according to her."

The Mandalorian huffed. "Then you come with me anyway. Maybe we find you a master mat weaver or something."

You both laughed, though there was a part of you that wondered if he meant it. Could he really be offering to take you on a tour of the galaxy? A short tour, anyway. What star systems could you see in the short period of time before you had your own little moon revolving around you?

"Well let's go find me a master weaver," you said.

"It'll be dangerous," he said. "Do you even know how to hold a blaster?"

"By holding it, you mean to ask if I know not to look into the business end? Yes, Omera and Cara have been teaching me in the evenings."

"Any good?" he asked, leaning towards you.

"Not bad," you hummed with a noncommittal shrug. "Slightly better than my weaving."

"Then we can leave in the morning. Should get some sleep."

You nodded and handed him the baby as you struggled to get to your feet.

"You too," you said quietly as you made your way to Omera's hut. Your heart was racing as you got ready for bed. That night, you slept better than you had in months.

TAGLIST - ask to be tagged!: @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 

[expectingtofly]

dean/cas fic

~2k

also posted on ao3

How to Say I Love You with Socks

Another movie night in the Dean-Cave. Dean and Castiel took up their usual spaces on the couch, Dean on one end, Castiel on the other. Close, but not close enough. Dean didn’t know how to change that. He was just happy they were together and alive. Their lives had been chaos lately—rushing from hunt to hunt, Castiel running low on grace. This night was their first chance in weeks to take a breath.

Halfway through The Untouchables, though, Dean realized Castiel didn't look quite so relaxed. He had pulled his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs.

“You alright, Cas?” he asked.

Frowning, Castiel pulled his eyes from the TV. “It seems that since my grace is diminished, I can’t regulate my body temperature as well.” A shiver hitched his shoulders.

“You’re cold,” Dean realized. Grabbing a blanket, he slid closer to drape it over Castiel’s shoulders. “Here.”

Contentment spread across Castiel’s face as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled at Dean. “Thank you.”

Dean realized his hand was still resting on Castiel’s back and he pulled it away. “Of course.” Tearing his eyes away from the sight Castiel made, cozy and warm, he retreated back to his side of the couch.

When the movie ended, Dean let the credits play, not wanting to hasten the inevitable moment when they both got up and went to their separate rooms. In the black screen he could see their reflections, two shapes on either side of the couch, wide distance between them. There was always so much space between them, but he was too hesitant to close it, afraid he'd cross a line, ruin a friendship, a happy night.

Sighing, he turned off the TV and the room went silent. They headed back to the hallway where the doors to their bedrooms stood.

“Goodnight,” Castiel said when they reached Dean’s door. He started to walk away, still holding the blanket around himself, and Dean realized Castiel's feet were bare.

“Wait a moment,” he said. Going into his room, he rummaged through his dresser. “Take these,” he said, returning to where Castiel stood in the doorway and handing him a pair of his warmest socks, thick wool. “Put them on.”

Dutifully, Castiel did so. “They're very warm," he said with a happy sigh, looking down at his socked feet.

“Keep them,” Dean said. They stood there for a moment longer in the doorway, until Dean stepped back. "Well, goodnight," he said, wishing he knew how to put into words what he really wanted to say.

“Goodnight.”

Maybe it was Castiel's content sigh that Dean was thinking of when he was running errands the next day. Maybe he was thinking of the words he hadn't been able to say last night or any night. Maybe that’s why when he saw a pair of fuzzy socks, he decided to buy them.  

He felt sheepish putting the socks on the cashier conveyor belt. “They’re for my niece,” he lied when the cashier picked them up to scan them, feeling like he, a grown man, should have an appropriate excuse for buying yellow socks covered in tiny bees. The cashier only gave him a glance, seemingly not interested in the slightest.

He felt even more embarrassed when he found Castiel in the map room back at the bunker and gave him the socks. But Castiel's reaction was worth it.

“I love them,” Castiel breathed, taking them from Dean. Quickly, he pulled off Dean’s wool socks and pulled on the new ones. Dean had to smile at the way he wiggled his toes in the yellow socks and smiled up at him.

An urge filled him to bend down and press a kiss to Castiel’s lips, but instead he contented himself with patting Castiel on the shoulder. "You're welcome."

There had always been something unspoken between him and Castiel. Something unbreakable tying them together over the years as they grew closer and grew apart, fought and found their way back to each other. Castiel had once called it their “profound bond," but Dean didn't know what that meant in practical terms. He had tried calling Castiel a friend, had tried calling him a brother. Neither of those words seemed enough.

The next time Dean saw a pair of fuzzy socks, he bought them… and the time after that, and the time after that, and so on. He created a whole family of aunts and nieces and a mother and cousins with which to explain his purchases to cashiers. Castiel soon had a whole drawer designated for socks. Striped socks, polka dotted socks, fluffy socks, fuzzy socks, red socks, blue socks.

Buying them for Castiel seemed such a small gesture, but they always made Castiel smile. Maybe it wasn’t so small after all.

And maybe Castiel understood what Dean meant when he gave him a new pair of socks. Because one night when their movie ended and they made their way back to their rooms, Castiel paused in the hallway. “Can I… Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Dean forgot how to speak for a moment, nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course,” he managed.

They didn’t speak as they lay down and pulled up the covers. His heart pounding, Dean turned off the lamp on his nightstand and settled down. He could feel Castiel's arm against his, felt Castiel shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“A little,” Castiel admitted and shifted, his socked foot brushing Dean’s foot, soft cotton.

After a moment’s hesitation, Dean wrapped his arm around him. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said, sliding closer to Dean. “Much better.”

They began sleeping next to each other every night, moving closer and closer until they lay in each other’s arms. After years of yearning looks, they had progressed to something more tangible, though Dean didn’t know what to call this new development. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to voice it, tried to give it a name. Castiel still shivered when he walked through the bunker. Dean bought him more socks.

Socks made of wool and cotton, socks that shed, socks that soon became threadbare around the heel, socks stained with blood after hunts.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said after one such hunt where they discovered a vampire nest. He dropped his hand from where he’d held it over Dean’s arm. The gash from Dean’s elbow to wrist had stitched itself together slowly, the angry, red scar fading somewhat, though it still stung fiercely. “I wish I could do more.”

“You did more than enough,” Dean said, taking his hand as Castiel pulled him to his feet. His chest still felt tight, his hands shaky from the close call. Castiel had used his depleting grace to take down two vampires going after Sam, and Dean saw the exhaustion in his eyes, thought they must mirror his own.

Sam walked through the barn, counting how many vampires they had killed. “You guys good?” he called. When Dean nodded, he stepped outside the barn, out of view. Dean realized he was still holding Castiel's hand, slick with blood.

“Are you sure you're alright?” he asked, looking back at Castiel. Castiel nodded and a smudge of blood on his chin drew Dean’s eyes. Hesitantly, Dean wiped at it with his thumb. Then he let his hand stay there, cupping Castiel’s face, his eyes trailing over the soft lines of Castiel’s mouth.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, and Dean realized he was holding his breath. Before he could lose his courage, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Castiel's, a feather-light touch. The tightness in his chest unfurled when Castiel lifted a hand to his face and pressed their mouths closer together, soft but insistent.

“We should’ve done that years ago," Castiel whispered when slowly they broke apart and met each other's eyes.

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Yes, we should've."

Sam called for them to hurry up and, still breathless, Dean let go of Castiel's hand. Castiel looked down at his clothes, trench coat dirty and bloody. “These were new,” he complained, pulling up his pant leg to gesture to his socks—light blue dotted with stitched white clouds, now stained dark red.

Dean laughed, his head light. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

Socks Castiel wore on movie nights, socks Castiel tried to get Dean to wear, socks Castiel picked out, pointing to different ones in the store and Dean placing them in the cart. Holiday themed socks, movie themed socks, socks with tiny animals, socks with garish, gaudy colors that Dean pretended to hate. Castiel didn't shiver anymore. Dean kept buying him socks.

“How much of our budget is going towards socks?” Sam asked them when they returned from the grocery store with yet another pair. (Had Dean realized before now that grocery stores sold socks? No, but it seemed he was now a magnet for them.)

“Credit card fraud, Sam,” Dean said, restocking the fridge. “It’s other people’s money.”

“And these are special,” Castiel said, sitting down at the kitchen table to pull them on. “They’re ‘spa socks infused with lotion.’”

“Spa socks?” Sam asked, looking at Dean, not bothering to hide the smile on his face.

“Shut up,” Dean said. He was pretty sure Sam knew about him and Castiel—there was a particular look in his eyes when they came into the kitchen together in the mornings, when they left for long rides in Baby. He didn't mind that Sam knew, but he didn’t want to speak of it yet; this blossoming offshoot of the bond between him and Castiel still felt so new, so light. He was almost afraid it would collapse like a pyramid of cards if he spoke too loudly, tried to define it. He told himself he was just happy it existed.

Mismatched socks, blue and green stripes on Castiel’s left foot and corgis on his right, as he and Dean walked through a Walmart. Castiel refused to throw out any socks, even when he lost one to the dryer, or wherever socks disappeared to—hence the mismatched pairs. Or maybe he mismatched them on purpose; maybe he hadn’t figured out adult humans always match their socks. Either way, Dean never mentioned it because it was, he had to admit, a pretty adorable habit.

He was looking down the store aisles, trying to figure out where the toilet paper was, when Castiel said, “Wait, look!” and veered off to the left.

“What?—oh.” Dean caught sight of the rack of socks Castiel was headed towards. “Cas, you have an obsession.”

“That is completely your fault.” Castiel stopped in front of the rack and scanned the footwear.

Dean was about to point out a pair— actually, Cas might already own those, he thought—when Castiel inhaled sharply. “Look at these.”

Dean turned to see what he was pointing at. Slippers. Large, plushy, yellow and black striped slippers with eyes and antennas to show that they were bees. Bee slippers.

They were atrocious.

Castiel reached out and squeezed one of the slippers in his hands. “There’s two pairs, we can match.”

The smile he turned on Dean was teasing, to show he wasn’t expecting Dean to say yes. Which was smart, because Dean was not going to say yes.

But then Castiel added, “That is something couples do, isn’t it? Match with each other?” and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

Castiel had called them a couple. Had spoken of them, together. Dean hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to hear them, their relationship, acknowledged. And suddenly, when spoken aloud, this blossoming thing, this growing relationship between them, didn't seem so tenuous, in danger of collapse. It felt weightier, like it was built to last.

Castiel dropped his hand from the slippers, and Dean knew a few years ago he would’ve told Castiel that only nauseatingly cute, annoying couples wore matching slippers. Now he knew what he really wanted to say, knew exactly what to call the bond between them.

He pulled the slippers off the rack. “Yes, they do,” he said. “When they’re in love and want everyone to know it.”

"In love," Castiel repeated, blue eyes searching Dean's.

Dean smiled. "Yes."

A tiny part of him wanted to curl up in embarrassment when they brought the slippers to check out, but a greater part of him prompted him, instead, to lace his fingers with Castiel’s and kiss him on the forehead. Castiel smiled up at him. The bee slippers eyed him from the plastic shopping bag. The cashier said, “That’ll be $21.39.”

And when Dean and Castiel padded into the kitchen the next morning in their matching, beady-eyed, lopsided antenna slippers, Dean didn’t even mind the stifled laughter they were met with from Sam.

“You’re just jealous,” Dean said, threading his arm around Castiel’s waist and pulling him close. “They’re very comfortable.”

“And very warm,” Castiel added. He tapped his slippered foot against Dean’s, like the bees were kissing, and Sam pretended to gag. Smiling, Dean tapped Castiel's slipper back, then kissed him for real.

Tag List: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @xojo @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @marvelnaturalock @letsjustdieeveryone

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future destiel fics :)

[fandom-imagines]

Everlasting

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Pairing: Levi Ackerman X Reader

Warnings: Modern!AU (not a warning but yeah), attempted sexual assault. 

Summary: You’ve just broken up with — you swear — your last boyfriend and kicked him out of your home. Now, you’ve decided to redecorate the place — making it just the way you want it. The guy at the paint counter doesn’t seem like your type, but there’s something about him.

~

It had been around two weeks since I had broken up with James.

He was rude, arrogant and overall just plain rude. Nobody had a clue how we had lasted this long, especially my family considering they knew me better than anyone. Now don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t usually like that towards me because he knew I wouldn’t stand for it, but he’d be like it to anyone else and I mean anyone. Sure, he was slightly controlling, telling me what colour to paint our home, and things like that, but he wasn’t outright abusive.

However, since we had broken up, I decided to redecorate the place. Just a small bit. Okay that’s a lie, I was going to redo the entire house. You know how you see people cut or dye their hair after a breakup, yeah, no that isn’t me. I’m more like ‘oh I’ll just redecorate my entire house and spend lots of money’.

Anyway, that leads me to where I am right now, standing in front of a counter, staring at the raven-haired man in front of me. It was pretty obvious that he was attractive, you could tell by the amount of girls – and some boys- swooning over him from behind me. Even I, someone who had just broken up with her boyfriend of four years, found him attractive. However, the way his lips were pulled into a slight frown, no hint of emotion on his face as he scanned my items was a turn-off.

No more rude people for me thanks.

But I couldn’t lie, something about him drew me in and I ended up going back the following day for more paint.

“Are you out of paint already?” His voice was flat, monotone, but there was a tiny hint of amusement in it, probably knowing what I was doing back here.

“Maybe, are you that obsessed with me already that you remembered me?” I joked with a slightly flirtatious grin at which he simply scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

The rest of our interaction was spent in silence, him giving me one final nod as I turned to leave, already planning my next encounter with him inside my head which was buzzing with ideas.

~

I decided to wait for a week before heading back. By this time I had actually ran out of paint and desperately needed more.

“You again?” I heard his voice before I even saw him.

His eyebrows were raised as I pulled my extremely short skirt down.

In my defence, it was the only thing I could find that I didn’t mind being covered in paint and I didn’t exactly think that it would be that short. However, he paid no attention to it.

“Yup, need more paint.” I smiled before heading off to the paint aisle.

After grabbing what I needed, I headed towards him again.

“It’s getting late you know.” He noted which made me realise the time.

Okay maybe it was night time, but I knew he’d be on shift today.

“What do you need so much paint for anyway?” He rolled his eyes as I brushed my hair from my face, presumably thinking that I was flirting; which I wasn’t this time;

“Post breakup redecorating.” I laughed, feeling slight happiness as I saw his lips pull up into a small smirk.

“Oh? Was he a murderer or something?”

This was the most I had actually spoken to him.

“Nah, just controlling and rude.”

“Sounds like me, except the controlling.” He scoffed.

Was that a flirtation? I can’t tell.

“You can’t be that rude.” I laughed again, glancing behind me to see that there were no other customers.

Victory.

“I can.” His words were blunt. “Anyway, do you need anything else? I need to lock up in a few minutes.”

“Nah, I’m good-“

“Levi.”

“Huh?” I was visibly confused, watching him roll his eyes.

“My name is Levi.”

“Oh, my name is Y/N.”

He simply nodded, handing me my paint before grabbing a key and following me out, making sure to lock the door as we left.

“Which way are you heading?” I asked politely, looking at him with a soft smile.

“That way,” he pointed towards my apartment. “you?”

“The same.”

“Guess I’m stuck with you then.” He sighed.

“C’mon, I’m not that bad.” I laughed for the third time that night.

I had never laughed that much with James.

“Debatable.”

~

Once we reached outside the door to my apartment, Levi gave a confused look.

“You live here?” He asked, leaving me confused also.

“Yeah…?”

“Me too.”

I chuckled, silently grateful that he lived here.

We walked me to my apartment in a comfortable silence, giving me one final nod before turning to leave to, what I assume is, his floor.

It’s safe to say I fell asleep with a smile on my face that night.

~

As the days progressed, me and Levi actually spoke a lot more.

But, I was nearly done with my apartment, something that made me sad as I knew that I wouldn’t see Levi for much longer.

A sigh left my lips as I looked around.

The walls were painted Y/F/C, a colour I enjoy a lot. Everything matched and was aesthetically pleasing. I flopped down onto the new couch, running a hand through my hair.

A knock sounded from my door, confusion gracing my features at who it could be.

I cautiously walked towards the door, slightly afraid at who could possibly be behind it. However, a smile climbed onto my lips as I saw a familiar raven-haired man, running his hand through his hair as I had done so mere moments ago.

“Levi?” A giddy smile was on my lips as I opened the door, “What’re you doing here?  Not that I’m not glad to see you, but still. This is the first time you’ve seen me outside of work.”

Levi shook his head in annoyance at my happiness, “Don’t get too excited. Your neighbour asked me to bring you these.” He said, shoving a single rose in my hand before stalking off.

My neighbour?

But I don’t have a neighbour…?

Suddenly it clicked.

“Hey, Levi.” I called, making him stop in his tracks. “Thanks.” I watched his eyes widen in realisation before I was shutting the door on the man.

~

I didn’t see Levi for around a week.

I did go to his work a few times, but he wasn’t there.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.

I really was.

Maybe he was sick? Maybe he was kidnapped? Or died?

Okay, Y/N, stop being dramatic. He’ll be fine.

I felt a sudden jolt of excitement as there was a knock on my door. Running towards it, I forgot to check who it was before I was swinging the door wide open.

“Y/N,” I was roughly pushed to the side by a man smelling of alcohol.

“James?” My eyes widened, realising that he was extremely drunk and I knew that he was even worse whilst drunk. “What’re you doing here?”

“I need you.”

His words were blunt before he stalked towards me, gripping my hair tightly as he attempted to pull me into a kiss.

“Get off me! We broke up, remember?” My words were rushed and full of panic as he desperately tried to kiss me.

“You still love me, I know it.” A snarl left his lips, his hands roughly grabbing my hair to yank it backwards so he had full access to my neck.

“No I don’t! Let go of me.” I screamed, doing my best to push him away but to no avail.

Tears began to pour from my eyes, flowing down my cheeks as I realised that I couldn’t get him to let go. My breathing increased and I could feel each part of his hand around my neck and in my hair. I could feel his hand tighten around my neck, the stench of alcohol hitting me full force which made me feel nauseous. This feeling faded quite quickly as I felt James grip loosen, before he was shoved to the ground.

“Levi?” I panted, finally being able to catch my breath.

Levi spared a single glance at me, quickly darting towards James after he did so.

Levi’s hand gripped James hair tighter than he had done to mine, lifting his face up along with his own foot, smashing James’ face against his foot.

I watched in horror as Levi continued his assault on James until he was barely conscious.

“I think pain is the best discipline.” His words were sharp and filled with venom. “Don’t touch her again.” He gave one final kick, finally knocking James out.

I continued to watch Levi in silence as he dragged James out, chucking him down the stairs to make it seem like a drunk accident.

“Are you okay?” His voice was quiet, almost as if he were embarrassed to ask.

“Yeah, thank you Levi.” I gave him a small, forced smile. “I don’t know what would have happened if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s no problem. Anything for you.” He gave me a small smile also, making my cheeks light up both at his smile and his words.

“Anything for me? I thought I was annoying.” I joked, finally feeling slightly relaxed at the fact that James was now at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

“You are, but you’re my annoyance.” He rolled his eyes, seeming as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A deeper blush covered my cheeks.

“Do you… want a drink?” My words were hesitant, observing the mans face for any signs of regret at his words.

“Yeah.” He kicked the door shut behind him.

And that was the start of our everlasting love.