#the feeling that comes through every time is that these are not people who give a shit about horror

[gguk-n]

if you still take requests would you like to write an oscar x reader where they got to know by a coincident and the reader knows absolutely nothing abt f1 and also not oscar so when he was like I drive for f1 she was like wtf should I do with that information??

She doesn’t like cars

{Reader’s POV}

I met Oscar at a grocery store after I had moved to Monaco. The company I worked at were establishing a new branch here and wanted me to help smooth out the process. Who was I to say no to an opportunity of a life time? But being away from friends and family got very difficult when you enjoy being around people.

I only got the weekend off; so I had to make the best of the situation. I was grabbing milk at the grocery store when another hand grabbed the same carton. I looked at the tall, handsome man next to me; “I grabbed that first” I said. “Sorry” he quietly apologised and moved on. We kept running into each other in different isles and the more I stared at him and his toned thighs I found myself drooling. Well, it’s not everyday an attractive man keeps running into you. So, I did what any rational single woman would do and asked him out. To my surprise, he said yes. I doubt myself too much sometimes, I had thought.

We started going out on dates and spending time together. He was rich and had a pretty decent apartment he owned, from what I gathered. He must make quite a decent amount or he comes from money since he’s constantly away on what I assume are business trips over the weekends every few weeks. Did I ask what he did? No. Did he ask what I did? Not particularly. But I did give him my business card.

We were cuddling on one of these days while Oscar was raking his fingers through my hair; “You always help me feel normal” he whispered. “You make me feel rich” I giggled. “What’s mine’s yours babe” he retorted. “Sure, darling” I muttered. “I’ll be gone over the weekend, again” he said stopping his hand movement. “Again? Don’t you think your boss hates you or something with how much they make you go on trips or maybe they love you” I voiced my concern. Oscar laughed a deep laugh which sent vibrations through my body. “Baby, I know this year’s schedule has been a little more hectic with more races” he lamented. “What races?” I asked. “Formula One races” he replied quizzically. “What’s that?” I asked narrowing my eyes. “You don’t know?” He questioned. “Don’t make me feel stupid for not knowing” I whined.

Oscar sighed before speaking, “so, what you’re saying is all this time you had no clue that I was a Formula One driver?” he asked. “Do you test cars or something. I thought they had dummies for that” I quizzed. Oscar was now sat up an amused expression on his face. “No baby, I drive for McLaren” he explained. “Good for you?” I said slowly, I didn’t want him to feel bad about his job or the fact that I knew nothing about it. But since when did they pay test drivers so much?

Oscar started laughing, “that’s it. Take the weekend off. We’re going to Singapore” he announced. “Not this suddenly” I said. “It’s next week. We’ll fly together. Can’t have my girlfriend not knowing what I do for work” he announced kissing my lips.

My interest was piqued so I ended up googling Formula One. My jaw was on the floor when I realised that Oscar was one of the twenty drivers; he was crème de la crème when it came to motor sport. We’d been dating for a while and I knew nothing about what he did, no wonder he owned a place in Monaco; I couldn’t help but laugh. But in my defence my country isn’t huge on motor sports, so I’m sure Oscar can forgive me.

“You didn’t tell me you won 2 races” I announced after finishing dinner that day. “Oh! Did you google me?” He asked. “Nope, I google formula one and you were on top of the list for the previous race. Then I googled you” I explained. Oscar nodded. I sat down on Oscar’s lap, facing him. “Can’t believe you make so much money and let me pay for our meals” I said shaking my head. “That was one time and you insisted” Oscar explained. “Still” I whined. “Can’t wait to watch you win, people say you are really good” I smirked. “Yeah” he said. “Cocky much.” I laughed. “Maybe you can show me how good you are, now” I winked. “I can show you how good I am in everything” he smirked. “I love you, race winner Oscar Piastri” I said kissing him. “Love the ring of it. Gonna have to win more now” he whispered. “Can’t wait to watch you” I mumbled pulling him in for another kiss

[justatypicalwizard]

Katsuki doesn't believe in love at first sight

Katsuki never believed in love at first sight. How could someone meet eyes and feel as if a thunder ruptured down from the skies and struck them? To love someone means to accept every part of them and to be able to incorporate them into your everyday life. It means building a brand new everyday with that person.

In order to do so you need to know a lot about them. Who they are, what are their plans for the future, what is their character and so on. Then you need to see if you are compatible in many spheres. You need to invite them to your friends group to see if it’ll hit off, you should try living together, they need to get to know your parents.

There are simply so many things to check off the list in order to be able to say you love someone. Otherwise it’s just empty words. I love you here and there. I love you for a week. I love you when you do as I please. Bullshit.

Mina constantly pestered Katsuki that his definition of love feels more like a chore or a job interview than like something a human would be able to accomplish. It wasn’t his fault he had some standards everyone else seemed to lack.

So even now Katsuki doesn’t like to admit that he fell in love at first sight, because it wasn’t the first time when he looked at you.

A quiet ping of his phone tore him out of his work. A new message from someone he didn’t recognise. Without much thought he opened the text.

[Hi, you may not know me but we go to the same lecture on Wednesday at 1 PM. I heard you have neat notes and wanted to ask if it wouldn’t be a problem if you send me today’s ones. I  got sick and couldn’t come and I wouldn’t want to fall behind with the material. Thanks!]

Geez, was there a longer way to type it? Couldn’t you just write: can you give me notes? On the other hand he always complained about people being douchebags.

Clicking onto your profile Katsuki saw a cheesy photo and a few posts from your daily life and vacations. Nothing much to be honest. Yet, he could vaguely remember your face around the people who entered the lecture hall. It won’t hurt to help.

[Sure]

[File attached]

Pushing his phone to the far end of his desk he went back to work. A few minutes later there was another quiet ding and this time Katsuki felt irritation bubbling inside him. It was you once again.

[Thank you so much!]

[I owe you]

[If you ever need anything feel free to write]

Whatever.

It only took a week for Katsuki to be indeed looking for help from someone. Once in a while, during his hero training, he was forced to pair up with someone in order to work on his rescue skills. Usually they’d use dummies but some fucktard in the course planning team decided that it would be most helpful if the students could train with a real human.

Normally Katsuki would ask Mina. He’d swallow his pride and force himself to listen to her babbling for two hours. Just to get it done. Unfortunately, Mina dumped him today, leaving only a [sorry, not feeling well, find someone else]. Damned flu season.

Who was he supposed to ask now, Denki?

As he scrolled down his chats, your profile pic flew by making Katsuki halt.

If you ever need anything feel free to write.

Screw it, you said it yourself, might as well find a person already and move on with his day. He typed a quick explanation and pushed the send button. The day was nearing the afternoon when you responded.

[Sure, if it’s two hours I can make it. Send me when and where I should be]

He shrugged and gave you the address for today's training.

In the early evening Katsuki found himself trotting towards his usual fighting ground absentmindedly. He was thinking about something related to work at Miruko’s when the idea flew out of his head. You were there, he could see you from afar, walking in circles in front of the main door.

Were you an idiot? It was the middle of winter and the early evening cold tore through layers of warm coats to sink into your bones. Why weren’t you entering the building to warm up a bit.

That’s why Katsuki is so stubborn about the whole love at first sight thing. It certainly wasn’t that exact moment when his heart skipped a beat because of you. You were shivering, hiding your chin and red tinted cheeks deeper into the collar of your winter coat. When you spotted him you reached out a gloved hand and waved.

“What the fuck are you doing outside, get in there or you’ll catch another cold.” He persisted, ushering you towards the entrance.

“Wow, good evening to you too.” You looked at him from under your woollen hat, surprised to get yelled at first thing you see him. Though, you did hear the upcoming pro-hero Dynamite, who went to the same lecture as you, was rather intense. “I don’t know, this place just looks fancy. Didn’t want to stand inside like a dumbass not knowing where to go.”

“So you stood outside like a dumbass not knowing where to go.”

“Exactly.”

He let you in and showed you around. After leaving your coat and getting a warm tea (his idea), you were ready to help with his training. The support students and university staff running around asked you to take off any unnecessary piece of clothing such as jewellery or sweaters that could get in the way. You gladly went through with their instructions.

You b-lined another student, a senior support course, who showed you the place where you’d be waiting to be rescued. The spacious arena was moulded into the shape of a city. Some buildings were fine, others rundown as if a villain attack rolled over them. There were paveways and roads, streetlamps and plastic trees. You even spotted a car, though it didn’t look like it could take off anytime soon. 

“It will look the same over and over. You sit or lie down in the place where I leave you and wait for your hero.” Your guide briefed the rules. “And every time pick out a different scenario and tie the band in the place that is put on it.” He handed you a dozen of ribbons with small notes attached to them. The first one you grabbed read: broken arm (tie around elbow).

“Sure.” You nodded your head and he left you on the second floor of a wannabe office building. There were a few chairs scattered around and a table that had a weird bite mark on it. You obediently wrapped the band around your arm and sat down on the floor, waiting.

You wondered how it’ll be, to get fake rescued. You were never in such a situation, always watching the villains from the comfort of your TV rather than first hand. What was Dynamite’s quirk? Suddenly you felt stupid for not knowing. On the other hand, you were never up to date with new heroes and all the popularity polls or colourful magazines. Guess you’d just have to wait and see.

Katsuki didn’t leave you for long. You were counting the pieces of shattered glass beneath your feet when a series of explosions passed beside the building. The small pieces you were meticulously adding shook and you let out a squeak when something heavy hit the wall behind you.

“Shut up, it's me.” Craning your neck, you saw Dynamite’s face, upside down, looking at you. He was halfway through the window. “What have you got?”

“God, you scared me.” You chuckled but quickly shut your mouth. The guide asked you to play the best victim you can. Victims shouldn’t laugh.

Dynamite hopped in front of you and crouched to read the note attached to your elbow. He mumbled something in the lines of fucking scenario and looked you straight in the eye.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.”

There wasn’t anything dramatic going on, it was even quiet outside save for a few shouts here and there. Yet, there was just something in a bulked man looking at you and promising you protection, one secured by his own arms. You felt like the guy from the firefighters video.

You couldn’t stop the giggle at the thought.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Dynamite spat.

“Nothing, nothing.” You shook your hands in front of your still laughing face. “Oh shit, this one’s supposed to be broken. Okay, just save me already.” You really fought with the snicker but the cheesiness and awkwardness of the whole situation had you in a chokehold.

“Whatever.” The hero sighed, visibly annoyed, and scooped you into his hands like a sack of potatoes. “I’ll need you to wrap your legs around me. Push the broken arm into my chest and use your healthy one to hold onto me.”

You did as instructed and glued yourself to him as tight as you could. He still held you with one of his arms and just when you started to wonder how the two of you would get down from the second floor he jumped out of the window.

A scream escaped your lips but it was muffled by a loud explosion.

For the next two hours you flew through the air in Dynamite’s hands over and over again. He held you in different ways, depending on your supposed injury, but every time you landed into the safe zone, you realised you were the first or nearly the first. That guy was quick like hell.

The last scenario rolled over and it was a panic attack. You were supposed to be physically fine but otherwise unresponsive and difficult to work with due to your shock. Dynamite tried to take extra steps to calm you down, speaking about how he’ll take you to safety and how it will all be over in a second. It looked like he was having a hard time.

“I need to touch you to take you somewhere safe.” He said, wrapping one of his hands around you.

When you were both at the safe zone, with cardboard paramedics to take care of you, Dynamite did something different. Instead of leaving you in the place where the group of injured would grow, he carried you straight to the ambulance.

“She has a panic attack.” He said to the empty fake vehicle and you just couldn’t take any more of it. You erupted in a fit of laughter. Your body shook in his hands and you gripped the X on his uniform to steady yourself. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You tried to explain but the laughter squeezed your throat. “I’m a shitty actor.”

“I see that.” Dynamite grumbled.

“Do you really need to talk to cardboard people and empty vehicles for two hours every week?” You asked, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“Is it really that fucking funny?”

“No, no! I get it.” You finally calmed down, letting go of the front of his costume. “It’s not that funny, maybe a bit but not that much. I think I’m just in a good mood.” You shrug your shoulders. “It was fun, flying with you, like a free rollercoaster ride.” You gave him a big, big smile. A big genuine smile. A big, genuine, lovely smile, with your eyes closed and teeth out and cheeks tinted pink.

People are stupid. That’s what Katsuki thinks. It’s not love at first sight. It’s love because of a single sight.

Even though Katsuki came to some fundamental conclusions in the topic of love he would get all defensive and intense when he was asked about how the two of you met. It would sound way better if he could say the two of you met, then started to talk more, then went on a date and agreed to meet each other and so on. He just felt so stupid, so awkward and silly when he had to admit that all it took for you was a single smile to make his heart skip a beat.

The worst part? It felt a little pathetic honestly, as if people never smiled at him, but truthly they didn’t, not like that. Not like you.

Katsuki still doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Yet, every other piece of his meticulously calculated equation of love was torn down and rewritten, all of which he gladly took.

[solxamber]

Kidnapped(?) - Malleus x reader

You were sick of the taxes imposed by the aristocrats in your already poverty stricken village. Your idea of a solution? Kidnap their young master , and make them reduce taxes as the ransom, of course. Only problem is that you went into the wrong manor and kidnapped the wrong young master.

crossposted from my ao3!

It’s far too late for a sane person to be awake, let alone breaking into an aristocratic manor, but here you are, perched atop a wrought iron fence. You inhale deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the wild thudding of your heart. Sure, you’ve trespassed on fancy estates before—who hasn’t?—but this time, you’re aiming high. Really high.

Tonight, you’re going to kidnap the young master.

It sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the village’s plight had pushed you this far. Unfair taxes, people going hungry, all thanks to the greed of the lord’s family holed up in their luxurious estate. Someone needed to stand up for the people. That someone just happened to be you.

You’d never kidnapped anyone before, but how hard could it be? Grab the rich guy, ask for a ransom—specifically, less ridiculous taxes—and stroll away like a hero. Easy.

The manor looms in front of you, all dark windows and dramatic architecture. It's almost too easy to slip past the guards. You start to wonder if they’re just really bad at their jobs or if this is some elaborate setup. Still, you can’t help but smirk. You’re so good at this, it’s almost criminal.

Well, it is criminal. But you know, details.

Inside, the place is eerily quiet. Every shadow seems to be watching you as you slink through the halls, making your way toward the young master’s room. You’ve heard the rumors—aloof, cold, basically allergic to feelings. Intimidating him into compliance? Piece of cake.

After a few minutes of creeping around like a ninja, you find a room with the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickers inside. Jackpot. You steady your breath, grip your very intimidating (okay, slightly makeshift) weapon, and push the door open.

Sitting at a desk, seemingly unfazed by your dramatic entrance, is the young master.

“Ah,” he says, turning slowly to look at you. There’s a glimmer of... curiosity? in his eyes. “A visitor. How... unexpected.”

You blink. This is not going to plan. Where’s the panic? The yelling for help? The appropriate reaction to being ambushed at night?

Determined to salvage the situation, you wave your weapon and try your best "intimidating kidnapper" voice. “You’re coming with me! I’m here to kidnap you, and if you want to see your precious manor again, you’ll lower the village taxes!”

There’s a beat of silence.

The young master raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidnapping me? How... amusing.”

Amusing? You falter. “This isn’t a joke,” you insist, shaking your weapon for emphasis. “I’m serious! Ransom, taxes, starving villagers—ringing any bells?”

Instead of, say, panicking or fleeing, the young master stands up from his chair, all calm and composed, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night activity. “Very well. I suppose I should humor you.”

You blink again, utterly at a loss. “Wait... you’re just agreeing to this?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, giving you a strange, intrigued look. “I’ve never been kidnapped before. It sounds rather... interesting.”

And just like that, he strolls toward the door as if this is his idea. You scramble to follow, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

As you lead him through the estate, you’re still grappling with the bizarre reality of the situation. Here you are, attempting to kidnap someone, and the guy is practically rolling out a red carpet for you.

“You know,” you mutter, glancing over at him, “most people don’t just let themselves be kidnapped. It’s not really how this works.”

He turns to you with a serene smile that’s entirely too pleasant for a hostage. “Why should I resist? You don’t seem the type to harm me.”

You narrow your eyes. Is he flirting? Intentionally or not, this guy’s nerve is off the charts.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

“I’m not giving my name to my hostage,” you snap back. This is Kidnapping 101.

“Ah, of course.” He nods, clearly amused. “Then I’ll introduce myself instead. I am Malleus Draconia.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. Malleus Draconia. THE Malleus Draconia. The name practically vibrates with power and danger, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a colossal mistake. You haven’t kidnapped the young master of the manor—you’ve kidnapped the prince of the fae.

“Oh no,” you mutter, horror creeping into your voice. “Oh no, oh no, this is bad. This is really bad.”

Malleus watches you with mild amusement, an eyebrow raised. “Why the sudden distress?”

You whirl on him. “You’re Malleus Draconia! I— I wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! This is a mistake—like, a huge mistake. I’ll just let you go and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

But instead of looking concerned, Malleus just smiles wider, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Let me go? But I’m having so much fun.”

You gape at him. “You... want to stay kidnapped?”

“Indeed.” He seems completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had such an engaging evening.”

Well. This is officially the weirdest night of your life.

The night only gets stranger when you run into his retainers.

“Young Master!” a voice bellows, and you look up to see a tall, green-haired fae charging toward you, fury in his eyes. “What is going on here?!”

Before you can even explain, Malleus casually steps in. “Ah, Sebek. Allow me to introduce my kidnapper.”

Sebek freezes mid-charge, eyes wide. “Y-Your... kidnapper?!”

Malleus nods with an unnervingly calm smile. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Sebek’s brain seems to short-circuit, and he storms off, shouting something about telling Lilia and Silver. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

Malleus, of course, chuckles softly beside you. “On the contrary. I think it’s rather amusing.”

Of course he does.

By the time Lilia and Silver arrive, you’ve already resigned yourself to your fate. At least they’ll make your execution quick, right?

But Lilia just grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Well, well. This is certainly the most interesting kidnapping I’ve seen in centuries.”

Silver, on the other hand, just raises a brow. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

Malleus smiles at you, as though being abducted by a random stranger is the highlight of his week. “Quite.”

You’re about to protest when Malleus turns to his retainers with a firm nod. “I’d like to speak to my kidnapper alone.”

Sebek looks like he’s going to explode, but Malleus’s sharp glance shuts him up. Lilia throws you a wink as they all leave, and just like that, you’re alone with the fae prince. Again.

Malleus steps closer, his calm mask slipping just a little. “You know, I’ve grown quite fond of this little adventure.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head, lips quirking into a smile. “I propose a deal. I’ll help your village with the taxes. In return, you’ll... continue kidnapping me.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait... you want me to keep kidnapping you?”

“Yes. It’s been rather fun.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “What do you say?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is the weirdest deal I’ve ever made.”

Malleus grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Wonderful. Now, shall we shake on it?”

And so, your bizarre, extremely non-traditional kidnapping arrangement begins.

Every few days, it’s the same: you sneak into his manor (more like casually walk in, since he always leaves the window open for you now), and the two of you embark on whatever adventure catches your whimsy. Sometimes it’s sneaking into human markets where Malleus marvels at the mundane—like street food or ridiculous trinkets. Other times, you explore abandoned castles with winding, forgotten hallways that echo with untold stories.

It’s almost normal now, the way he expects you to “abduct” him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle as you half-heartedly demand his presence for another outing. The most feared prince of the fae is now, apparently, your willing partner in crime.

The first time you take him to a local fair, though, you realize just how out of his element he truly is. Malleus spends a good twenty minutes, completely entranced, watching a cotton candy machine.

“Is it... magic?” he asks, his (very pretty) eyes locked onto the swirling pink clouds as the vendor twirls the sugary fluff onto a stick.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out far more amused than you intended. “Nope. Just sugar spun into fluff. You’ve really never seen this before?”

Malleus watches the process with a reverence usually reserved for ancient relics, finally accepting the cotton candy as if it’s some kind of delicate treasure. He takes a cautious bite, his expression lighting up like a child’s.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “It dissolves on the tongue.”

You bite back another laugh at the sight of this powerful fae prince, someone who commands fear from almost everyone around him, completely taken by spun sugar. “Glad you like it.”

After that, it’s a night of him eagerly trying every strange, sticky fair food he can find, utterly fascinated by things as simple as corn dogs and funnel cake. You can't decide if it’s endearing or a little embarrassing, but either way, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in a long time.

As the weeks pass, the more you look forward to your little "kidnapping" escapades, and that in itself is a whole other problem. Malleus’s wide-eyed curiosity about the human world is... strangely adorable, and while he’s still every bit the regal fae prince, there’s something endearing about the way he asks you questions about everyday things with such genuine interest. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, his quiet intelligence making for great conversation—when he’s not completely sidetracked by things like human street food.

The more time you spend with him, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth creeping up on you. You’re starting to fall for him. It’s ridiculous, and yet... here you are.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

“Human!” Sebek shouts dramatically one afternoon as you and Malleus return from yet another outing. “How dare you abduct the Young Master again!”

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this by now. “Sebek, I’ve told you before. He wants me to kidnap him.”

Sebek bristles, sputtering indignantly, his green hair practically standing on end. “Lies! The Young Master would never allow—”

“Sebek,” Malleus interrupts, his tone calm, but with that unmistakable edge that immediately silences his retainer. “I went willingly. Again.”

Sebek’s jaw drops, looking like someone just told him the sky isn’t blue. “But... Young Master...”

Malleus gives him a slow, deliberate look, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You should try it sometime. You may find it... enlightening. Although,” he turns to you, his voice soft but with an unmistakable possessiveness, “you’ll have to find another human. This one is already mine.”

Your breath hitches as Malleus’s words hang in the air, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Sebek, meanwhile, looks utterly scandalized, his eyes wide as saucers. Lilia, who has been watching the whole thing with far too much amusement, claps Sebek on the back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Lilia chuckles. “Let them have their fun.”

Sebek looks like he's about to explode, but instead storms off, muttering something about propriety, while Silver smirks quietly from the sidelines.

One night, after another "kidnapping," you find yourself sitting beside Malleus on a hill overlooking the village, the faint glow of the fair still visible in the distance. The stars hang bright overhead, and there’s a soft stillness between you as the cool air nips at your skin.

Malleus’s voice breaks the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You’ve given me more than I expected.”

You glance at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

He turns to you, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t seen before. “Companionship. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for it until... until you.”

Your heart does something funny at his words, the raw sincerity of them tugging at something deep inside you. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, your fingertips grazing his skin. The air between you seems to still.

“I’ve grown... quite fond of you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken. “Malleus, I—”

But before you can find the words, Malleus leans in, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the warmth of his hand gently cup your cheek. The world seems to fade away as you both hover there, caught between anticipation and something more.

“I do believe,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as his eyes darken with something you can’t quite name, “that I’m falling for you, my little kidnapper.”

Your heart stutters, and before you know it, you’re closing the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, everything else ceases to matter—no fair, no adventures, no strange arrangements. Just the two of you, finally giving in to the pull that’s been drawing you together for weeks.

When you pull back, breathless, Malleus smiles, and it’s the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Does this mean,” he says, his voice still low and teasing, “you’ll continue kidnapping me?”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in your chest. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Malleus grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “No, I suppose not.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my first time posting here so i have no idea what i'm doing and the formatting is probably off because i'm on mobile but i'll slowly figure it out.

[strawbewiemilk]

Ultimate Tips: How to Hide Your E-D Like a Pro and Keep Your Mindset Unbreakable

Alright, listen up. If you’re serious about getting sk!nny—like b0nes popping, b0dy shrinking, can’t even keep your clothes on sk!nny—you’ve got to master the art of hiding it. Because let’s face it, people will try to ruin your progress. They’ll nag you, shove f00d in your face, and act like they care about your “health.” The only thing you need to care about is staying in control. You want to be thin? Then you’ve got to play the game and outsmart every single one of them.

Here’s how to hide your E-D like a f*cking pro and keep your mindset stronger than steel when it comes to avoiding f00d. No excuses, no we@kness.

1. Be the Queen of Excuses: Lie Without Blinking

If you want to avoid e@ting, you better get good at making excuses, and f@st. Here are some easy ones you can cycle through, so no one gets suspicious:

“I already at3.” Say it with confidence, like you just stuffed your face. They won’t question it.

“I feel s!ck.” No one will force f00d on someone who's about to puke. Use this one wisely—especially during family d!nners or social events. Blame it on “st0mach issues.”

“I’m too busy.” Sk!p me@ls by pretending you have too much on your plate (just not f00d). Talk about your crazy schedule, school, work, whatever. People admire hustlers, not e@ters.

“I’ll e@t later.” This is the most basic but works. Keep promising to e@t later, and then just don’t.

2. The Distraction Method: Make It Look Like You’re E@ting

Sometimes you can’t avoid the situation—you’re stuck at a table, surrounded by f00d, and all eyes are on you. Don’t panic. Here’s how to fake your way through it:

Play with your food. Push it around, cut it up into tiny pieces, spread it across your plate. Make it look like you’re e@ting when you’re not.

Chew and spit. If you must put something in your mouth, chew it up and then discreetly spit it into a napkin or go to the bathroom and spit it out there.

Give it away. Offer b!tes to your friends or “accidentally” drop f00d off your plate. The less on your plate, the better. No one notices a slow e@ter when there’s less to e@t.

3. Stay Invisible: E@t Alone, Avoid Me@ls

Here’s the thing—you don’t want people watching you all the time, so learn to disappear during me@l times. E@t alone, say you’re grabbing f00d to-go, or mention you’re on some new d!et that requires you to e@t on your own schedule. If they don’t see you e@t, they can’t make you e@t.

4. Keep Your Mindset Strong: F00d is Your Enemy, Not Your Friend

The hardest part isn’t lying—it’s staying committed. The minute you let your guard down, someone will force-f33d you, and then all your progress is down the drain. Here’s how to keep your mindset strong and avoid f00d at all costs:

Visualize f@t every time you look at f00d. Picture it sticking to your b0dy. Feel it suffocating you. Disgust yourself. The more repulsed you are, the easier it’ll be to say no.

Remind yourself of your goals. Every time you’re tempted to e@t, think about your ultimate goal weight. Imagine what it’ll feel like when you’re finally sk!nny enough, l!ght enough, perfect enough. Is that burger worth it? Hell no.

Mantras are everything. Repeat phrases like “f00d is weakness” or “I don’t need f00d” over and over in your head. Make it your reality. When hunger pangs hit, embrace them. They’re a sign you’re doing it right.

5. Water and Coffee: Your Best Friends

There’s no room for we@kness in this game, and that means no giving in to hung3r. When you feel like you can’t handle it anymore, drown it out with water and coffee. No c@lories, but they fill you up enough to keep going. Plus, coffee is a natural appetite suppressant, and the caffeine will keep you energized. Chug water all day to stay “full” and pretend you’re e@ting.

6. F@st Like Your Life Depends on It (Because It Does)

Intermittent f@sting? Pfft, that’s for amateurs. You need to be f@sting for as long as you can. Try for 24, 48, 72 hours without a single c@lorie, and don’t stop until your st0mach feels like it’s eating itself. When you can f@st for days on end, you know you’re in control. F@sting proves you don’t need f00d, and every second without it means you’re getting closer to your goal.

7. Plan Your "Slips" (But Don’t Actually Slip)

If you absolutely have to e@t in front of people, make it strategic. Stick to low-c@lorie, high-volume foods that won’t screw up your day. A salad with nothing but lettuce and vinegar, some steamed veggies, or broth-based soup with zero substance. When they see you “e@ting,” they’ll back off. Meanwhile, you’re still st@rving and winning.

8. Reward Yourself (But Only When You’ve Earned It)

You don’t deserve f00d—you deserve progress. So when you hit a milestone—whether it’s a day of f@sting, another p0und lost, or avoiding a full me@l—reward yourself. But don’t make the mistake of thinking rewards are f00d. They’re not. They’re anything but f00d. New clothes for your shr!nking frame, a nice bath, a night out where you feel sm@ll and powerful.

9. Avoid "Help" at All Costs

People will try to stop you. They’ll act like they care about your health, but really, they’re just trying to control you. They don’t want you to be sk!nny, because they’re jealous. If anyone starts talking about how you “need help” or “should e@t more,” cut them off. Block them, avoid them, lie to them. You don’t need their pity, and you sure as hell don’t need their “help.”

10. Stay in Control, No Matter What

The only thing you can control is your b0dy. You can’t control the people around you, but you can control what you put in your mouth. You don’t need f00d. You need control. Every time you choose not to e@t, you’re winning. Every time you push through the hung3r, you’re stronger than the day before.

Final Thoughts

Being sk!nny is a choice. And with the right mindset, you can choose not to e@t. The world is full of distractions and people trying to hold you back, but you don’t have to let them. Stick to these tips, and no one will know. They’ll think you’re e@ting just like everyone else. Meanwhile, you’ll be getting sm@ller, stronger, and more powerful every day.

You got this. Stay focused, stay h-ungry (literally), and remember: f00d is the enemy, and hung3r is your power.

[darnell-la]

can i request older logan with reader who’s a crybaby… reader who cries over little things and older logan who can’t help but get hard and coddle her. wiping away tears during sex!!!

note: older Logan wouldn’t take y/n’s crying session seriously. Usually, they’d all be because of work, something he’s told her a thousand times he didn’t want her to do, so a part of him didn’t care. Instead, he loved how much she cried, taking advantage of it whenever he could.

———

“How was work today, Bub?” Logan asked, eyes glued to the newspaper he had picked up in front of the door earlier this morning. Y/n hadn’t said anything. She tried thinking of what exactly she should say, but he had spoken first.

“Bub? What up?” Logan asked, eyes looking over his reading glasses as she slipped off her shoes and hung her things up. “I-I — You know,” y/n said, but Logan in fact did not know.

“I know what?” He asked, setting his paper aside as he felt something wrong with her. “Work today — It was just exhausting,” she said as she went into the kitchen to grab a glass of any alcohol Logan bought for himself, and she drank occasionally.

“What happened?” Logan asked as she got up, listening closely to her story of the day. The more she talked, the more cracks he heard in her house.

“A-And the boss said maybe he’d fire me if I kept snapping back at the customers, but they always start it! Every day, it’s the same s-shit!”

“Baby, baby,” Logan said as he came up behind the young lady before she could pick up the glass she had just filled. “Don’t need you drinkin’ your problems away. It ain’t good for you,”

“I know, but — I just need something, Logan. This is so stressful,” she said as he turned her around to take a look at her face, and like he knew it, she was crying. Eyes glossy and puffy as always.

“Baby,” Logan tilted his head with a sigh, upset that she’s always stressed and taking in everything people say to her. He wished she could just move on with life, and stay happy with a big smile.

“Look at me, Bub,” Logan said as he lifted her head after she tried turning her head. “You need to relax — Stop letting these people get to your head,” Logan said as he wiped her tears.

“I know, but-“ y/n tried saying, but the man shushed her. “Don’t speak, Bub, just relax. And no drinking either,” Logan said as he moved the glass she filled to the side.

“You’re too pretty to be cryin’ all the time, baby,” Logan said as his faves nuzzled hers. “I-It’s just so much,” y/n cried as his hands rubbed her body, trying to calm her down a bit.

“I know, baby, and what did I tell you? Told you I’d take that easy lumberjack job, right? Get us double what an average human man could make workin’ for ‘em and put that money towards our cabin,” Logan reminded her.

“Baby, I don’t want you to work though,” y/n said as his hands tracked up her shirt. “And why can’t I? I’m the man, and you’re my pretty girl. I’m tired of being a housewife. That’s your job, or at least let me do it all. You can relax the rest of your pretty life,” Logan said in the crook of her neck.

“You’re gonna take my offer, bub. Ian askin,” Logan’s hand dug into her jeans to rub at her cunt until she squealed. “I-I don’t know,” she still cried, upset at herself for being this sensitive and also hit by the instant pleasure Logan was giving her.

“What did I say, baby? This ain’t askin,” Logan said before he ripped y/n’s jeans off of her. She gasped as he picked her up and placed her on the counter, spreading her legs as he pulled himself out of his jeans.

“You should be waitin’ at home for him to come back and give it up. Not the other way around, baby,”

Logan pushed into the weeping girl, making her hands fly up to grip shi shoulder. “Logan,” y/n sobbed, feeling his cock run through her walls in all of the right ways. He always made her forget why she cried in the first place.

“Ssh, baby — Just enjoy me. Cunts beggin’ for it,” Logan said as he cupped her face, wiping all of the tears that streamed down her face. “Mhm hmm,” he groaned as his free arm hooked under one of her legs to get a good new angle to pound her in.

“L-Lo,” y/n cried out, loving the way his body smacked against hers. “That’s it, baby — Let it all out,” Logan pulled her into his body, pounding so hard, that the countertop began shifting.

“Cry on my cock, baby — Look so good like this. So fuckin’ good,” Logan couldn’t lie as his eyes could barely stay open and tears still streamed from them. He was Jauch a crybaby, but his crybaby.

[bruhnze]

PLAYING FOR KEEPS

CHAPTER 1 – United in Manchester (Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze)

Summary: Ona Batlle has had a crush on Lucy Bronze for a little while now… how will it go when she joins Barça? A 10 chapter series.

Warnings: Slow burn, angst, fluff, smut. All the things, but I give this as a complete warning for the whole series. Not every chapter involves all the warnings :).

Wordcount: the series is around 50k words (10 chapters)

Note: no Spanish or Catalan is used for continuity purposes, probably most team dialogue you just have to imagine it being not in english xx.

Summer 2023

Ona closed her final suitcase, her last belongings packed away. Most of her things had already made the journey to her new apartment in Barcelona, leaving her with only a few essentials like a couple of shirts, a pair of jeans and her toothbrush.

Tomorrow marked the official farewell to Manchester United, a place that had been her home for the past few years. Although the team had already celebrated her departure with a party, this final day felt like the true goodbye. After tomorrow, she would close the chapter on her England adventure and return to her beloved Catalonia to begin a new journey with FC Barcelona. Joining Barça again was a dream come true, as she regarded it as the best football club in the world. Despite her excitement for the future, there was also a little sadness with leaving behind Manchester and all the memories she had made there. It made the farewell bittersweet, goodbyes were never easy.

As Ona gathered the last of her things for her hand luggage tomorrow, her gaze fell on her small, worn diary. This little book had been her loyal companion through the highs and lows of her Manchester adventure. Unlike her other personal items that been shipped off in boxes, this diary was something she couldn’t part with like that. It had been her friend during tough times and a place to celebrate her victories. Every page was filled with a piece of her journey, from the rivalries to the moments of joy she had shared with new people she had met.

Flipping through the final pages, Ona’s eyes lingered on the section at the back of the booklet she had dedicated to players she admired and when she’d played them. One of who was Lucy Bronze. She had always felt a special kind of feeling towards the defender, she was drawn to her. And with Lucy now becoming her teammate at Barça, Ona felt a surge of excitement at the thought of finally sharing the pitch with her idol on the same side.

This part of her diary held memories of their past encounters, it described Ona’s admiring for Lucy’s talent and her growing ambition to be just as great as her, or maybe even greater, although she didn’t know if that was possible.

19 January 2020 – WSL – Manchester City 3-0 Manchester United“This match was tough. I tried my best to contain, but Manchester City was relentless. I remember one moment vividly—Lucy managed to slip past us and set up a goal with such ease. It was a harsh lesson in what it means to be at the top. Even though it stung, I couldn’t help but admire her skill. I wish to be as good of a right back as her”

13 February 2021 – WSL – Manchester City 3-0 Manchester United ‘’We faced City again, and it felt like déjà vu. Lucy seemed to be everywhere at once, and despite our best efforts, we couldn’t turn the tide. Losing like this for the second time was hard, but it only strengthened my resolve.” 9 October 2021 – WSL – Manchester City 2-2 Manchester United“This game was a nail-biter. We managed to hold City to a draw. Lucy made a brilliant run just after half time, but we managed to recover in time. Walking off the pitch, I felt a mix of pride and respect. Lucy’s talent was undeniable, and this game was a reminder of just how high I had to reach. We shook hands and she said ‘good game’ to me.” 24 February 2022 – She Believes Cup – England 0-1 Spain “Beating England was a sweet victory, but Lucy’s presence on the pitch was undeniable. Her leadership pushed us to our limits, I noticed how she figured our play out, and directed her players, but luckily we were scored a goal. This game was a turning point for me, a chance to measure myself against the best and it was an important step for Spain.” 13 March 2022 – WSL – Manchester United 1-0 Manchester City“Finally, we got the win we’d been chasing with United. I intercepted a pass from Lucy, leading to the goal that secured our victory. It was a moment of personal victory, knowing that I had finally gotten the better of one of my greatest rivals. Although she as a player is still better then me, our team was better this time.” 20 July 2022 – UEFA Women’s Euro 2022 – England 2-1 Spain“We came close, but England clinched the win, it was a tough loss. Seeing Lucy lift the trophy was a powerful reminder of the heights I aspired to. It was a tough pill to swallow, but England’s success was a testament to the dedication and skill required to reach the top. I vow to come back stronger with Spain, I believe we will come back stronger.” 20 August 2023 – FIFA Women’s World Cup 2023 – Spain 1-0 England“Winning the World Cup was incredible, but I couldn’t help but feel for Lucy. Seeing her disappointment was a stark reminder of how fleeting triumphs can be and how hard it is to stay at the top. It also highlighted the thin line between success and heartbreak. It made me even more excited to join her at Barça and hopefully share many successes together. I walked after her to comfort her when I saw her tears, she walked away at first and I didn’t know if it was my place to consolidate her, but I felt the urge to do it and in the end I feel like she got cheered up a little. I can’t wait to spend more time together when we play for the same team. She said she was excited for me to join too. We even saw eachother inside again, in the tunnel, there we had another quick conversation, she was already analyzing the game in her head, she told me I had an amazing game. I thanked her and then we hugged. She thanked me for coming after her, and then she laughed and told me to go celebrate.”

As Ona closed the diary, she felt a profound sense of gratitude, each little reflection told a story of growth, rivalry and respect. She was filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation. She was about to join a team that included Lucy Bronze, a player she had always admired from afar. The prospect of working alongside her idol, and now also her teammate, was both thrilling and daunting. She couldn’t wait to maybe even become friends with the English defender.

Recently, during last winter, Ona had met Lucy Bronze off the field, at the wedding of their mutual friend Lucy Staniforth. It was a different experience entirely - Lucy turned out to be even kinder and more down-to-earth than Ona had imagined. Their day together was filled with laughter, personal anecdotes and even some dancing, breaking down the barriers of their on-pitch rivalry.

Despite the connection they shared that day, Ona had hesitated to reach out to Lucy afterward, doubting whether the English defender would welcome the contact. Stani had reassured her that Lucy would have appreciated it, but Ona’s lingering uncertainty had held her back.

She was just another stranger to Lucy right, they only knew eachother vaguely from being rivals, Lucy didn’t know, and didn’t need to know, how much Ona looked up to her. Especially with their coming colleagueship for the same team, it would be a little unprofessional, and not to speak of the fact it was embarrassing.

…

Ona took a deep breath and looked around her very-soon-to-be-former training ground, she allowed herself a moment to appreciate her journey. The rivalries here, the victories, the defeats - they had all shaped her, preparing her for this new step ahead. Finally she had build enough experience to play for Barça’s first team with a big contract this time.

The cool Manchester air was heavy with nostalgia as she walked towards the building one last time. The crisp morning light filtered through the clouds, casting a soft, almost melancholic glow over the pitch.

As Ona moved into the busy locker room, memories of her time here flooded back, each one a bittersweet reminder of her impending departure.

Preparing for her final practice session, Ona's mind drifted back to a series of encounters that had come to define her time in England. Her time in England had been transformative. She had arrived in Manchester with a mix of excitement and dread, eager to prove herself in a new league and a new country. The transition had been challenging—the climate, the culture, the language—all required adjustments. Yet, as the months rolled by, Ona had found herself adapting and thriving. Manchester, with its gray skies, had become a part of her journey in ways she hadn’t expected.

One of the best things about her time here had been the friendships she’d built. The locker room, once an intimidating place, had turned into a second home. As Ona walked by the familiar lockers, she felt a little tug in her chest, knowing she’d soon leave it behind.

Lucy Staniforth sauntered over with a smile, but a hint of sadness. "So, last practice, huh? You ready for it?"

Ona gave a small laugh, even though her throat tightened. "I think so? It’s weird, though. Feels like I just got here, and now it’s already over."

Lucy nodded, her arm slipping around Ona’s shoulder as they sat down together. "It’s going to be so strange without you. You’ve gotta keep in touch, yeah?"

"Of course," Ona said, smiling. "And you’re always welcome to visit, you know that."

Just then, Mary Earps wandered over, her face showing how much she’d miss her too. "Onita!!!" Mary said, with a raised voice, drawing attention from the whole team. "You better invite me to sunny Barcelona at least once."

Ona pulled Mary into a tight hug, laughing. "Ofcourse."

Although the team had already held a goodbye party last week, they gathered around Ona one by one again, each declaring how much they were going to miss the tiny Spaniard and asking to be invited to her house or a fc Barcelona match when to opportunity was there.

…

The next morning, the reality of her move finally hit, but instead of feeling nervous, Ona was filled with excitement. A new life in Barcelona was waiting!

The club had set up a beautiful, modern apartment for her close to the training facilities. Her family had already sent her photos of all her things neatly unpacked. Everything looked perfect, but with one thing still missing—herself, and ofcourse her little dog Coco.

Ona felt a twinge of sadness as she checked Coco in for the flight. She hated that he had to travel in the hold, away from her, but she knew the flight wasn’t too long and they would soon be walking the sunny streets of Barcelona together.

During the flight Ona gazed out the window. She watched the familiar English countryside fade away and not much longer then two hours, the vibrant colors of Spain came into view, the bright sun shining down on the city below. The lively atmosphere of Barcelona, so different from Manchester’s gray skies, felt like a warm welcome.

When she had landed and gathered all her belongings and Coco, Ona’s heart skipped a beat as she spotted her family waiting for her. Her brother was holding a colorful sign that read “Welcome home Ona!”, but it was her mother’s open arms that she rushed into first.

Hugging her mother tightly, Ona felt a wave of relief and happiness wash over her. She had missed this—missed the warmth and comfort of her mother’s embrace, the real feeling of being home. Her father and brother joined the hug, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

As they drove to her new apartment, Ona couldn’t help but smile as she looked out at the familiar sights of her beloved city. This was it, her dream was finally coming true. She had faced the challenges of living in England, grown as a player, and now she was back in Barcelona, ready to play football she had always dreamed of.

Surrounded by her family and with Coco by her side, Ona knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

…

After a drive which wasn’t supposed to take this long, but with all the traffic in the streets of Barcelona, it did, Ona and her parents finally arrived at her new apartment. Her brother had already said goodbye after their greeting in the airport.

The moment she stepped inside, she felt happy. Her belongings already unpacked, made the place feel like home. The afternoon was spent in the company of her parents, laughing together and talking about the exciting time laid ahead.

They had ordered some local food, paella ofcourse, to celebrate her return to Spain. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, they sat around the small kitchen table, enjoying their first meal in her new home.

Ona’s mother fussed over her, making sure everything was in its place, while her father admired the view from the balcony. Ona ensured them for the hundred time she would be okay and they could go.

Finally Ona’s parents began to gather their things, preparing to leave. Her mother, with a warm smile and a kiss on her forehead, reminded Ona that she was just a call away. After a few more hugs and goodbyes, they were gone and the apartment fell into a peaceful quiet.

Ona was exhausted, the day’s events catching up to her all at once. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep, but there was one last thing she had to do: taking Coco for a walk.

She grabbed his leash and headed outside. The night air was refreshing against her skin. The neighborhood was peaceful, with only the sound of distant traffic and an occasional passerby.

Suddenly, she heard someone call out, "Ona? Ona Batlle!?"

Assuming it was a fan, Ona turned around with a kind smile.

But her smile grew wider with surprise when she saw Lucy Bronze standing just a few steps away, a dog by her side.

"Ona! I didn’t expect to see you here," Lucy said, her face lighting up with recognition. "I mean, I knew we’d run into each other soon, but not like this."

"Lucy! What are you doing here?" Ona asked, still wrapping her head around the coincidence.

"I live here," Lucy replied with a playful chuckle, joking. "I play for Barça, remember?"

Ona laughed, the initial tension melting away. "ahh, ofcourse," she chuckled and pointed to the building she had just left. "wait, you mean in that building?"

"Yeah," Lucy confirmed with a warm smile, finally reaching her. "are we hugging?"

Ona smiled back ‘’ofcourse, we’re teammates now’’, nodding as she stepped into the embrace. "Nice to see you again" she said softly as they pulled back, "I wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face so soon."

"When did you get back here?" Lucy asked, knowing Ona had a history with Barcelona but also recalling their brief encounter in July, when Ona had come down to the club to officially sign her contract.

"Today, just a few hours ago. My parents picked me up from the airport and we had dinner together before they headed out, they just left actually."

"Oh, you must be exhausted," Lucy said, sympathy lacing her voice.

"Yeah, I’m sure I’ll crash as soon as I hit the bed, but Coco needed a walk first." Ona chuckled. The dog looking up as he heard his name.

"Am I keeping you? I can take another route?" Lucy offered.

"No, not at all," Ona shook her head, her smile widening. "I’m glad I ran into someone familiar before training next week. Even though I used to play for Barça and I know a few girls from nationals, it still feels like a new beginning, honestly I’m a bit nervous."

..

They chatted for a while, sharing stories about moving clubs, discussing their excitement for the season to start again and even the world cup made a brief appearance, but Lucy assured Ona that she didn’t hold a grudge about that, chuckling that England would beat them next time.

Both dogs seemed to get along well too, happily trotting beside each other as their owners talked. The conversation flowed easily, much like it had the last times they had met. It was comforting for Ona to find a familiar face in the new place, especially someone she admired so much and it helped a lot that Lucy was being so nice to her.

Ona couldn’t help the fact that she had considered that Lucy might not be warm towards her, given that they were both playing for the same position. Something which could come with a bit of rivalry within teams if players were both eager for a starting position. She didn’t get any of those vibes off of the English defender, but maybe that was yet to come, she hoped not.

As they said their goodbyes in the building’s lobby and headed back to their respective apartments, Ona couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. Not only was she living her dream, but she also had a friend and teammate just a few doors down, with who she had just exchanged phone numbers to carpool next week.

When Ona finally shut her apartment door, she still wore the smile on her face, she had had a good day. A perfect day.

She tucked Coco into his bed and as she crawled under her own blankets, she still couldn’t stop smiling. This new chapter in her life was already off to an incredible start.

…

The next week, on a bright august morning, Ona and Lucy set off together for the FC Barcelona training ground, the sun casting a golden glow over the city. During the drive they chatted and Ona tried to ease her worries about fitting in with both her new and the familiar teammates. Lucy, with her easygoing and kind nature, reassured Ona that it would be like coming home for her.

Upon arriving at the club, the day was a whirlwind of medical tests and introductions. Ona was welcomed back into the fold by familiar faces. She saw Aitana, her national camp roomie, as they were both having their bike test at the same time. She hugged her and Bonmatí said she was very excited to see Ona back and couldn’t wait to play with her again.

Alexia, Jana, Salma and also some players she didn’t yet know, like Keira, Caroline and Esmee, everyone was kind and even though the medical examinations were thorough and took up most of the morning, she had had a good time.

The few nerves that Ona had started the day with were long forgotten as her first day of work went by.

..

By the end of the day, Lucy and Ona drove back together, sharing their impressions of the day. Ona had barely seen her neighbor around at the club, but she hadn’t expected Lucy to stay around holding her hand either. And after all it hadn’t really been necessary , she knew most off the girls there maybe even better then Lucy so it would’ve been weird. But she did feel really comfy near Lucy and was definitely eager to become friends with her.

The long hours had been exhausting, but the mood in the car was great. They reflected on the promising start to the season, discussing training plans and their hopes for the future. The drive back was filled with laughter and mutual encouragement, reinforcing the feeling that this new chapter was going to be an exciting adventure. Already planning out all the trophies they would win, all of them ofcourse.

..

The week had gone better than Ona could’ve imagined. Joining a new team was always a mix of excitement and nerves, but Ona was settling in well. Her developing friendship with Lucy helped a big part in that. They quickly fell into a rhythm, driving together whenever their schedules matched up. It was comforting to have someone to talk to during the rides—Lucy’s calm and laid-back demeanor put Ona at ease. They even walked their dogs together, sometimes by chance when they bumped into each other outside, and other times when one of them texted to arrange it. Those small moments of connection gave a spark to Ona’s days.

The training sessions were intense, but Ona was also starting to find her place within the team. Over the course of the week, she had formed a tight-knit group with Salma, Vicky, Bruna, Jana, Patri, and Pina. It came naturally—they joked around, supported each other through drills and even helped each other out with little things like advice on new drills or finding the best spots for post-training snacks.

This Saturday morning’s session was typical pre-season work: sharp, focused and designed to get them all in peak condition. The mood was upbeat, everyone knowing they’d have the afternoon off once they were done. Lucy had texted Ona earlier, suggesting they grab lunch together after training and Ona had agreed, excited about spending more time with her new friend.

As they finished the session, the group drifted towards the locker room, still chatting animatedly. The conversation quickly turned to lunch plans, with Vicky and Salma leading the charge.

“There’s this rooftop restaurant in the city that has the best views,” Vicky said, her eyes lighting up. “You guys have to come. The food’s amazing.”

Salma nodded enthusiastically. “And the vibe is so chill. Especially on a day like this.”

Ona was about to say yes when she felt a gentle nudge at her side. She turned to see Lucy, who was freshly showered and ready to go. “Hey, chauffeur, ready to go?” Lucy asked with a teasing smile.

Ona smiled back, feeling a bit torn. “I’d love to go with you guys another time, but I’m carpooling with Lucy.”

Vicky wasn’t going to let her friend off the hook so easily. “Why don’t you join us after you drop Lucy off?” she suggested, not missing a beat.

Lucy, responded with a grin. “I was actually going to buy Ona lunch for driving me to training, but if you’d rather go with them, we can always reschedule.”

Vicky waved off the idea with a laugh. “Lucy, you can join too, you’re a cool old person.”

Salma chuckled, adding, “Yeah, sure Lucy can join.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “Old? I’m not old.” She huffed.

The whole group standing around bursted out in a chuckle.

Ona quickly jumped in, without having control she called out to defend the older player. “Lucy’s not old.”

With a smile, Lucy draped an arm around Ona’s shoulder. “See? I’m not old,” she said, pulling Ona a little closer. The gesture was casual, but it made Ona feel warm inside.

The rest of the group laughed, the teasing and banter making the decision easy. Vicky grinned. “Alright, so it’s settled. We’re all going.”

Lucy nodded, still smiling. “Sounds like a plan.”

As they all headed out of the locker room together walking to the parking lot. Ona turned to Lucy, ´´sure it´s allright?’’, ‘’I don’t want to bother you, we can go another time for lunch together?’’.

Lucy looked at Ona curiously, ‘’do you not want me there? It’s cool if you just want to with your friends, I just-‘’ she smiled awkwardly, ‘’thought it could be fun?’’.

Ona shook her head, ‘’no, no’’ she put her hand on Lucy’s lower arm, ‘’I would really like for you to come’’.

‘’Sure?’’ Lucy asked, ‘’you can just drop me off at home if-

‘’No’’ Ona shook her head, ‘’I just thought-‘’.

Salma and Vicky called out from Ona’s car ‘’Ey, can you open the car Ona?’’.

Ona looked up annoyed, ‘’why? what are you two doing?’’.

‘’Patri and Pina said we could drive with you’’ Vicky said proudly.

Ona internally groaned, she would’ve rather sat alone with Lucy, but she didn’t show her discontentment and just clicked open the car.

‘’I really like you joining the lunch’’ she quickly said to Lucy on more time before they made it to the car too.

…

The lunch was great, Ona couldn’t help but glance at Lucy every once in a while, especially when she laughed at one of her own jokes. She normally didn’t like people that did that, but with Lucy it was so cute, so innocent. She wanted to watch her laugh for hours.

Lucy had paid for the lunch of everyone, Ona hadn’t expected it, no one had. But she had been gone for a second and when they’d asked for the bill the waiter had told it had been paid. Then Lucy had confessed she’d already paid.

After dropping Salma off they were now at Vicky’s place. ‘’Thanks Ona, and thank you Lucy, you’re a G’’ Vicky said before closing the car door, ‘’see you next week’’.

‘’Bye Vicky’’, Lucy called out as Ona stayed silent.

She drove off again, now headed to their apartment block, about a twenty minute drive.

‘’You good?’’. Lucy said, turning the music down a little, ‘’you seem very far away in thoughts’’.

Ona blinked, ‘’uhm, oh, yeah, no’’.

Lucy chuckled, ‘’tired?’’.

‘’Yes,’’ Ona nodded, happy with the excuse easily offered to her, ‘’a bit tired’’.

‘’Ah, maybe a nap when you’re home then’’.

 ‘’Maybe, but I have to walk Coco first’’.

‘’Ah, Narla also has to go on a walk, maybe we can walk together?’’.

Ona smiled, but quickly put her face in neutral again, trying to stay casual. ‘’Mhm, okay.’’

‘’If you’re too tired it is fine too,’’ Lucy said, ‘’don’t feel pressured’’.

‘’No, no’’ Ona said, momentarily glancing over to face Lucy, ‘’I would like to walk together’’.

‘’Good, I like walking them together.’’

‘’Yeah me too, they seem to like eachother.’’ Ona said, a little blush creeping up her cheeks.

‘’Mhm.’’ Lucy chuckled, ‘’becoming besties like their moms’’.

...

Masterlist: Playing for keeps

[fandomxo00]

Ok but imagine:

You find X-24 and the children, bringing them to safety.

You had joined in on the mission later on, helping control x-24, you had been transferred after the incident with Laura. Who since your accident had been able to escape along with several other children. But tonight, you had done it, you had found the kids, stopped the Alkali minions. You didn't know much about X-24 when you were put on him, but you knew that he was completely brainwashed. You didn't have much time to get to know him, try to get to trust you. You knew that under Alkali's control that there was no way you could stop him. But if you could escape, ween him off of green serum that enhanced his abilities but made him easily manipulated. He trusted the people in the lab and with his inhibitions numbed. X-24 or you've deemed James didn't have control over himself, he had no confidence in making any decisions on his own. They whipped him into the perfect solider.

You started visited him when he was in his room, he was locked away when he wasn't on the serum. Usually verily locked down so no one but Dr. Rice and Pierce had access to him. You were well regarded here, from the beginning, you'd been going underground. All the side-tracks, all the little things that would go wrong were from you. It came from an overall plan to free the young mutant children and others who were controlled by Transigen. They would give him a simple command and he knew how to follow through. He had trigger words that while he was on the serum, had him easily bending to their will and become a killing machine.

It tore at you the way they treated him like a dog. James is severely abused and when you'd visit him. All you would do is offer him a Snickers bar and ask him if he wanted you to read. He always silently took the chocolate bar and whispered, "Yes". It was routine that you established with him. Then one day you slid a note in with the snickers bar, it was a simple joke. 'Why was the broom late for school? It over-swept.' You heard him huff out his nose, as you watched a small smile quirk as his mouth before falling. He could read. Then the next time you swept in a different one, "I'm working on getting you and others out of here." You heard a scoff before he crushed the paper in his hand before throwing it back through the bars.

"Don't care." His dark voice grumbled. You stared over at X-24, trying to fill in the gaps that they wouldn't tell you. You weren't exactly sure how he came to be but only he would know. But you were learning that he wasn't a robot or emotionless. He could react, feel and think for himself. The number of different medications and drugs they had him on numbed him to a point where he truly became brainwashed. Then you got in control of his medications, coming into his cell every morning. He noticed something changed, no one else could, it wasn't their business to know what he took. You knew that you'd gotten him on lower doses, planning to ween him off the substance. You knew the green serum would be nearly impossible to wean him off of while they still wanted to use him.

One day, he'd already been sat up in bed when you rolled around, a tired dazed look on his face as his eyes focused on you. You tried not to look into his eyes, they were very dark in nature but shown a mossy green. James' hand placed over wrist as you went to hand him his medication. His eyes gazed into yours as he dipped his chin in acknowledged, your smiled over at him before dropping the pills in his hand. Your other hand slipping a note into his hand resting as his side. He clasped his hand shoving the note into his pocket before swallowing back the pills as you moved to hand him the water.

He was very drugged up when Dr. Rice got ahold of him, pushing you to the side to take full control. Making him murder The Wolverine and though he was feral enough to kill all on his own accord, he wouldn't have done that. You watched as he hesitated, or slowly moved, he didn't want to do it. James had no autonomy over himself, and you planned on giving that back to him. So when he woke up in a farmhouse, with you trying to poke a needle into his arms, let's just say he was surprised. Throwing himself off the table and sweeping behind you, wrapping his arm around your neck. Your hand coming to his forearm, "James-it's me." You squeaked. "Please."

When he looked down at you, he instantly relaxed, "I'm sorry." He croaked, his hands coming to your shoulders as he groaned. Pain was written all over his face.

"You need to lay down, your coming off alot of drugs all at once."

"You saved me." James replied, as you stared over at him, heaving out a breath.

"That was the plan."

"But you got the kids out, I could've just died." You've never heard him speak this much, the rawness in his voice told you that he didn't talk much. Something you picked up from the beginning, you almost wondered if they controlled by a computer. But he some autonomy in his body and it had been easier because you started sooner. "You came back for me."

"You didn't deserve to be treated that way." You breathed, shrugging. Your hand coming to his shoulder to push him back on to the table. "They are getting a bed ready for you, but for now rest." James' hand came up to yours, holding on tightly as breathed heavily. There was a heavy weight in his hand settling on him as his temples began to pound.

"You're an angel." You blushed at his raw voice muttering the compliment, looking away feel slightly uncomfortable but he squeezed your hand before letting go. Your hand came to his chest, rubbing the firm muscle as his eyes fluttered shut. His eyes resting as his hand relaxed, you moved the blanket back over him, leaving him be for the time remaining.

tags: @ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

[devnmon]

to be loved is to be changed.

Summary: Cutting Daryl's hair and his uncertainty around the idea of a walled community that's survived thus far.

a/n: back to writing daryl like i never left! i wanted this to be mostly soft but i realized thats unrealistic for him during the first days in alexandria. twd rewatches really do it in for me huh. wrote this in two days cause it was an idea i really liked and wanted to put it out there. enjoy <3

no warnings except suggestive at the end! | wc: 2k

Daryl was not amused. By any of it.

Exhausted, covered in sweat, on edge, sure.

But amused? No. Far from it.

Absurd. That's what it was. To walk into metal walls of a community and trust it's exactly how it looks... that was the furthest thing from happening.

So when everyone else was taking advantage of the running water and toiletries, Daryl sat in protest. He would never fit in here, no matter how long they stayed. If this place lasted that long.

He sat in the filth and sweat and grease that coated his skin, sweat painted forehead and hair stuck to the back of his neck. Dark bangs covered his eyes, peeking through the hair as if it were to shield him from the darting eyes of people around him.

Though nothing would compare to how terribly out of place he felt. It took him a lot to feel included in Rick's group, to utter family in a world he thought he'd spend with his brother.

But now, they all were his family; Rick, Maggie, Glenn, you. Picking him back up by the knowledge that he can try to start over every single day.

He wouldn't-- no, couldn't conform to the pristine, blind-eyed disposition he saw in all the people living so wonderfully in this place.

Not being how he was out there didn't feel like him. Felt the farthest thing from it when he knew everyone else just felt grateful to not be out there. At least, almost all of them did.

Those people hadn't seen what you'd all seen. What you experienced, who you'd lost on the road. They didn't know.

Seeing you and Carol and the others refresh yourselves with soap and clean clothes that weren't stained by sweat or blood made him scoff.

How could you let down your guards so quickly? Give up the weapons you slept next to and gripped tightly to like they were merely objects and not a part of you.

His bow was like a second skin. What made you all indifferent?

You, once terrified of the outside, became a strengthened version of yourself. No longer shying away of everything that went bump in the night, too timid to move.

Then, you were safe inside yourself. Now, you were edged and cautious, backed by those you trusted.

To be invited back to a walled community with running water and actual houses? It sounded unreal.

But you were almost out there for too long.

Refreshing yourself from all that covered you on the outside only made you hopeful for what was to come. What could come. Optimism and hopefulness radiated from Deanna the minute you saw her face.

It was bizarre, seeing a bunch of people without the same hardened looks and dirtied clothes you all adorned. Strolling down the streets, going about their day like they were unaware of what the world was. Of what it had come to.

By the way they ogled as you passed by, dropping your weapons to be stored and trudging down the lane to be interviewed, they had not seen what you had.

They were the lucky ones. Lucky enough to hide behind steel walls and barbecues like the world hadn't stopped turning.

But you weren't as opposed to cleaning yourself up as much as Daryl was. A little nervous to be as vulnerable washing alone for the first time in months, but excited to see it all wash down the drain.

You knew Carol would be begging him soon enough. Not even a full day had passed and you had all jumped at the chance to have warm water rush over your skin. So your clothes wouldn't stick to your skin from the sweat and grime built up there.

If you could have stayed under the shower for the rest of your life without getting pruned fingers, you would have chose so in a heartbeat.

But spotting Daryl with the same dirt on his arms broke you a little. You knew how far he'd come since the quarry, how he was used to being on the outside.

You always knew he leaned into that part of him, the archer who never needed to rely on anyone for anything before. Watching him protect all of you though, that was the kicker.

"I'm gonna hose you down in your sleep." Said one Carol Peletier as she walked down the sidewalk, other members of your group further exploring as they'd been told to do so.

"You know she's serious about that hose." You began, walking out the front door to greet him.

Daryl scoffed and went back to playing with his bow.

"And I'd help her, if I didn't know how you are." You could see his blues peeking through the hair stuck to his forehead, almost poking into his eyes.

Standing next to him now, you reached out a hand to brush some of the hair out of his eyes, before cupping his cheek softly. He flinched at first, but welcomed your warm contact.

Daryl knew you cared for him, though being on the road had made him retreat inside himself again. Just before the prison fell, you saw that golden heart of his peek through his chest. But after Hershel, after Beth, he was overcome with a need to harden his exterior.

Any physical affection he was warming up to was all because of you, how your words disarmed him and tied a string around his lungs. Even if the road challenged him and your whole group, it was something familiar that you all knew like the back of your hand.

Walkers, people, the elements. The lot of you felt prepared to handle anything that was thrown at you.

But meeting Aaron, making it to his community and seeing how life could be from now on, instead of just making it-- that was something none of you had seen before.

"Could I be the one to convince you then?"

His eyes met yours, darting back and forth across your face and the background with uncertainty.

"Dunno." He shrugged, looking away off into the distance now.

"It's okay if it takes you a while, Dar. I know out there is where you feel the most you, but we don't have to just make it anymore. We can live. Feel some semblance of normalcy. But if it takes you longer than some of us, I get it."

"Y'think this is normal?"

"No... but we have to start somewhere. It started for me when I turned in my gun, precious as she is to me..." he glanced your way again, "And washing the outside off. Feeling how it was without all of that on my skin."

"Don't matter. Just gonna get dirty again."

You sighed, "Fine. If you won't take a shower, will you at least let me trim your bangs? They're covering your pretty eyes and you know how much I love to look at them."

One of the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, a semblance of a smile?

"Nothing crazy, Dixon, just a trim so they don't get in your way."

A gruff sound came from him before standing from the railing and letting his fingers brush against your shirt. He went to grab his bow before you reached for his wrist.

"You don't need it. We're just goin' inside, okay? We'll be more comfortable in there."

His stern look faltered, blinking a few times before nodding and leaving it to follow you inside, your hand in his.

Daryl spotted the comb and pair of scissors on the counter before he even got close to them, trusting you enough to go near his brown locks with something that sharp. He knew your steady hand was careful, having stitched multiple people up over the time you'd been with the group.

Clearing his throat as he sat, you picked up the scissors and comb and sat in front of him.

"Let me get all the knots out first, okay? Even though I'm just trimming your bangs, you deserve to be pampered a little. Are you okay with that?"

His eyes met the floor before looking to you, heart in your hands as you spoke. Silently he nodded, and you grinned before standing back up and moving behind him.

Your hands planted softly on his shoulders, feeling him fidget in his seat as you slowly rubbed his shoulders ever so slightly.

Fortunately for you, Daryl's hair was thinner and therefore less prone to knotting, but still had a few you took a minute to get through. The teeth of the comb scratched his scalp in such a way that was foreign to him, sending goosebumps down his spine.

The little sounds of content and enjoyment made you smile to know he was finding some comfort in what you were doing. It almost brought tears to your eyes at how much he trusted you.

Placing a kiss on the crown of his head, you walked back around to his front.

He grunted again, "Why'd ya stop?"

"I haven't even cut your bangs yet, Dar." You chuckled lightly, knowing a proper hair brushing would put him to sleep from how relaxing it was.

To be the only individual he'd ever let touch, let alone cut his hair, filled your chest with joy.

"Okay, now close your eyes and hold your head steady, here." Your soothing voice had him smitten, willing to be at your beck and call whenever you asked. This time was no different. He'd not known what he did to deserve you, much less anyone willing to get to know and trust him as he did you.

Two of your fingers lifted his chin and spotted those blues once again looking your way.

"You've got eyes like the ocean, Daryl. Wonder when I get to swim in them." He saw the stars in your eyes, something he hadn't seen since you all arrived at the prison.

Slowly you combed through the hair framing his face, separating it from the rest to begin trimming. His eyes fluttered shut as you lifted the scissors up.

The first snip was the most nerve wracking for him, hearing the scissors open and close. While a soft powdery aroma from the soap wafted from your skin, he realized that maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

He's not sure the last time he's had his hair cut, if ever. Daryl decided it wasn't worth it to remember the past, and to just live in the moment now with you.

"Thanks," he mumbled, clear enough for you to hear. Your movements slowed a bit as you realized this was a big moment for him. Even bigger than when you admitted your feelings to him.

There was something about how easy it was for Daryl to unfold around you, not completely, but a bit more every day he got through with you by his side.

Little hairs floated to the floor as you trimmed, shedding them like he did the makings of his former self. It was mandatory, or else he wouldn't be where he is today.

"Of course. You do so much for everyone else, I'm lucky I get to do this for you. I'm happy to do this for you." Your hand grasped his, interlocking your fingers.

"Means a lot t'me." Slowly he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it ever so lightly.

A whiff of that soap you smelled so nicely of made his head spin, realizing that if you smelled like it, he wanted to as well. There would be more dirt and sweat to come in the future, if this is where they were going to be from now on.

"Don't be getting all sappy on me now, D."

Scoffing, he replies, "Stop."

"Just let me know when you're ready to take that shower. Or I'll let Carol know she can hose you down instead..." You joke, standing up before combing his bangs through once more.

"Nah, I'll take the shower." Daryl shook out his hair from the left over snipped pieces of hair and stood up.

"Oh yeah?" You turned and crossed your arms at him with disbelief.

"On one condition."

"And what's that?"

"You come and join me."

You smiled, uncrossing your arms and holding out a hand to him.

"Deal."

[embersofnovember]

WATERCOLOUR EYES

modern!bookshop!au

summary : you work at a bookstore. anakin doesn't actually read.

warnings : idiots in love, tooth rotting fluff, probably grammar mistakes, (mentioned) padme amidala, cheesy romantic stuff

the first time anakin sees you, you’re stocking up books in the educational studies section. 

   it’s been a relatively slow day. not many people enter this bookshop anyway, but when they do, the day seems to go just that bit faster, which is why when anakin sees you for the second time ever, you’re mindlessly flicking through a book in the window of the shop behind the counter, and that is when anakin knows. 

   but when you see— notice anakin for the first time, you see an older man with him. stubble, grey hair at his temples and a tired expression on his face. anakin’s leaning against a bookcase that coincidentally faces your direction as the other man peers at all of the books in the historical section, fingers tracing over the spines delicately, and every time you do what’s a weak attempt at stealing a small glance at the boy, you catches him looking back at you. every time. 

   the first time you ever spoke to each other was on a rainy wednesday. the sun peering through the window offered nothing but fogging condensation instead of the sun that baked your skin almost every day. the hours were long, but you got to read, and if you could do that, you were fine.

   the door swings open, gold letters glistening in the warm light of the lamp posts outside as the sky begins to grow darker. 

   you look up, exchange a smile with the same man from before, who you learnt last week that his name’s obi-wan. the boy trails in behind him and you almost freeze. 

   almost.

   his hair is damp due to the misty rain outside, his hands coming up to adjust his brown coat slightly with slight annoyance. you’ve seen him countless times, but the funny feeling in your chest never eased, and you still didn’t even know his name. 

   the two of them are in the bookshop for around fifteen minutes before obi-wan is at the counter with two books held in his hand: the conspiracies of geonosis and the swamps of dagobah. you put down her own copy of a random fiction book she found on the weekend and scans the two of them, trying her best to ignore the realisation dawning in your brain that the boy isn’t with him when he was mere minutes ago. you two exchange a quiet, light conversation. it’s easy. For obi-wan, at least. it seems so easy for obi-wan to talk and you envy it. his voice was clear and british, almost bostonian. by the end of his well-spoken voice, you’d almost forgotten about the boy and you’ve gone back to a book of your own after obi-wan’s left. 

   truth is, anakin’s been hiding in the thriller section trying to build up the guts to go and talk to you for ten, long and agonising minutes. maybe that’s why he didn’t leave with obi-wan. 

   without thinking, he grabs a book from a bookcase, not caring to glance at the title as he works up enough courage to finally talk to you, and he accidentally slams the book onto the counter. 

   a muscle in your arm twitches. you look up, as if you were a deer caught in headlights. his eyes are spilling like watercolours. 

   and anakin’s heart almost gives out. 

   he didn’t know what it was about you. just how you always seem so entranced in a book when you pick it up and flip the pages, or the way your hair sometimes glistens a sandy colour in the sun. 

   “sorry,” he murmurs, flashing her what he hopes to look like a polite smile. 

   “it’s okay,” you mutter back, and you smile. dimples. 

   anakin doesn’t know how much longer he can stay composed without looking like an idiot. 

   “did you find everything alright, sir?” you ask quietly, taking the book from anakin’s slightly shaking hands. anakin doesn’t know what he’ll reply with, so he takes the safe way out and nods instead. you scan the book, turn it around to read the title with a face twisted in interest.

   “tales of the force and where to find them?” you raise an eyebrow. not of confusion, but anakin thinks so, and he feels the blood rush to the skin of his face and he wishes he didn’t wake up this morning. he nods again with a smidge more confidence than before, tilting his head and acting like he didn’t just learn the title of the book with you.

   “i’m anakin,” he says, but it’s awkward and thrown off balance, as if he was thrown out of a rhythm. ultimately, you recognise that feeling, so you don’t comment on it and your small smile only thickens. you probably wouldn’t have said anything anyway. 

   you shrug, trying not to glance at his eyes as you tell him your name. the rain outside grows heavier, bouncing off the pavements. obi-wan’s stood under a canopy with his hood over his head to shield himself, eyes darting around. 

   “that’ll be twenty dollars. cash or card?” you ask, handing the book back to him. your eyes meet again and anakin looks down at the carpet floor that strangely reminds him of his grandmother’s house, rummaging through the pocket in his jacket. he pulls out a crumpled twenty on the counter and nods, avoiding eye contact, too. part of him, a very large part of him, just wants to crawl into the floor and never return. he decides that he will never walk in this place ever again, and he clutches the book between his bicep and his chest, turning around and stalking out, and tripping over his own feet just before he gets to the door. 

   “have a good day.” you blurt out to him. 

   “you too!” anakin says back, a little delayed, humiliation burning his skin as he keeps his eyes trained on the space in front of him. He’s thinking of nothing but how relieved he is to get out as soon as possible. the door opens and closes with the ding of the bell at the top. you grin as you watch obi-Wan outside when anakin walks up to him, pestering him as they both turn around and walk side by side down the pavement, until she can see neither of them. 

   you can’t stop thinking about him until you fall asleep later that night, later than you normally do, and neither of you knew it, but anakin couldn’t stop thinking about you either. 

___

the bell rings at the top of the bookshop. a shrill, honeyed sound in your ears. you find yourself glancing up with cartoonish eyes in hopes of seeing anakin again, heart stopping for a split second before you calm down again.

   it’s a monday. a warm one, but you feel strangely serene. it’s been five days on the dot since you’ve seen both anakin and obi-wan, and they somehow only seem to be the only customers that treat you like an actual person. intimidation, filthy looks, lack of respect. yeah, it was the bare minimum, but it made you happy, and you didn’t care. 

   It’s tuesday when anakin comes in with obi-wan. in the morning as you drove to work, they announced on the radio that there would be a heatwave (much to your annoyance). working at a bookshop with little to no air conditioning was a nightmare, so there you were, sitting in a tank top with a thin flannel and shorts.  

   obi-wan walks in with a slightly irritated anakin behind him, who is wearing a white vest and cargo trousers, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat that makes his skin glow. obi-wan seems unfazed by this weather. anakin learnt that he’s pretty much immune to the heat ever since they went on holiday to a place where the temperature was triple what it is here. 

   you immediately lose her composure, but you manage to recover quick enough for either of them to notice you sitting behind the counter, and when anakin does notice you, it seems that he relaxes. his gaze softens and he suddenly doesn’t look so tense. obi-wan almost seems perplexed with how suddenly his demeanour changes, but he quickly turns around and waves to you, which you return with a small smile.

   it happens again: obi-wan buys a book, obi-wan leaves, and anakin doesn’t, but this time, when he goes up to the counter with yet another random book (that he made sure to check before grabbing it), he has more confidence than before. 

   as you take the book from his hand, your fingers brush up against each other. you fight the urge to draw your hand back, and anakin almost loses his confidence then, but he remains physically tranquil, but on the inside, he’s rethinking his every move. 

   “so,” anakin starts, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cargo trousers, “you work at a bookstore. you like reading?” 

   you glance up at him, brown hair glistening gold in the sun as you scan the book. you look back down at the book again, reading the title. a galactic empire of descending madness. that sounds more interesting than the one he had last week, at least. 

   “yeah, i guess,” you reply, even if a simple ‘yes’ was a severe understatement. every night, you went home and always had stacks of books still waiting to be read. “why do you ask?” 

   he throws down another crumpled up twenty on the counter again. this time, you give him change. 

   “well–” he pulls one arm over his chest, his other arm hooking over it as he stretches. you did your best not to gaze at his muscles, or his vest hiking up slightly and revealing the smallest slither of skin at his hip, but it’s hard—especially when he looks so attractive. “–i have a project to work on. for my University. need some help with it, ‘n’… i was just wondering if you'd help?”

   you stare at him in surprise. eyebrows raised, and gnawing the inside of your cheek until you taste metal, you ask, “what’s it about?”

   that’s the part of the plan he’s missing. before, he couldn’t figure it out, and now he does, and it’s right in front of him. he wets his bottom lip and grabs the book and the change. the pennies clink in his pocket and he feels like a nervous wreck all over again.

   why is he so nervous?

   “can i get back to you on that?” he asks, his voice still somehow smooth and even. 

   you breathe a small chuckle, “sure.”

   and he leaves again. 

___

this time, when anakin appears, it’s on a sunny friday, still amidst a heatwave, and obi-wan isn’t with him. you want to frown, but for some reason, you can’t. 

   it’s no different than the last time he was here, yet it feels so new. you smooth out the tank top your wearing nervously as he walks– rushes through the door.

   he walks forward, taking a small condescending look at the display of books, picking up the first book he sees and walking over to the counter.

   he isn’t pretending to buy something this time. 

   the loud thud echoes in your ears as he slams the book down on the counter. padmé, who’s stacking up books in the romantic-comedies section, jumps, stealing a startled look at the pair of you before turning back around. 

   “let me take you to dinner,” he blurts out. his voice sounds confident, but he’s albeit shaking with nerves and shuffling in one spot. 

   i’m a mess, he thinks to himself for a brief second.

   in the miniscule silence that follows, you want to let the silence go a little longer just to fuck with him, but you're too eager, he’s too nervous, and the sun is watching with curiosity. 

   “sure,” you mumble, grabbing the notebook and a pen under the counter. you flick it open and scribble down your address and your number in writing that’s almost too hard to read as you have never been too patient when it comes to writing, but as you rip the page off and hand it to him, he smiles faintly at it. an achievement. your hands brush against each other again, but neither of you acknowledge it again. just like last time.

   “pick you up at six,” he says, turns around, and he’s walking out the door before you can say anything else. 

___

anakin ends up picking you up at six o’clock on the dot. not a minute late and not a minute early. however, he is sitting there for a minute or two, observing your house from the driver window. 

   the grass outside grows at all lengths with small weeds peeking from a few of the wooden fences dotted around, which has probably been hacked away since not much of the wood remains anymore. the plant pots hold large ferns, and the trees behind the house are large oaks, thick branches branching out and leaving half of the house in a shadow. it’s small, but it looks like a home. anakin’s about to smile, but then he sees you rush out in a haste, hair glowing in the setting sun, and he freezes in his seat. all of the thoughts in his head have buried themselves, and it’s just him and his thumping heart.

   “sorry i’m late,” you mumble to him as you open the door and get in. the first thing you notice is the bruise on his cheek and his smile, which seems like the brightest in the world, but you don’t bother to comment on it and just smile back at him. “i was caught up in an assignment, lost track of time.”

   anakin breathes a chuckle, and he nods, turning on the engine with the twist of his key in the ignition. he’s surprised you haven’t noticed his hands trembling yet. “don’t worry about it.”

   you can’t help but smile again. the sun’s in his eyes and they flash a mix of blue and green. his hair is golden, and for a brief minute, you wonder what it’d be like to tangle your fingers in it. you have to force herself to look away and out the window. 

   you don’t go that far away from the city. off to the coast where there’s a van that sells drinks. it’s only around a twenty minute drive and you were both humming to the rock songs on the radio and talking about your week. the awkward atmosphere dissipates as the evening passes. anakin could listen to you talk for hours. 

   you both settled for a can of coke. of course, anakin was adamant in not letting you pay. with a firm shake of his head, he gave the man in the van a crumpled up five, and only laughed at your protests. after you finally gave in, and tried to hide your smile, you went off, walking aimlessly down a path in search of somewhere to sit.

   the sun cast a glowing effect on the beach they sat in front of. the tide was out, and you listened to the leaves in the trees crinkle above. 

   you didn’t feel so nervous anymore.

   you learn a lot about each other in the ten minutes they sit on the bench. you learn a lot of things. obi-wan’s anakin’s step-brother (who’s also a lot older than him), and he tutors at the university he goes to (which he takes the train for every other morning because it’s forty minutes away), and not only that, but he has a major in engineering. anakin learns that you're studying film in a university a couple blocks away and you have a ginger cat called oscar. he reads comics and you play piano and you develop nicknames for each other and you end up walking on the beach together not long after, the sea loud and erratic. anakin never liked the feeling of sand between his toes, but he doesn’t mind if he gets to be in the presence of you for a little longer. 

   it’s like you’ve known each other for years. 

   “you know,” you start, taking a sip of anakin’s half-empty coke can. you finished yours a while ago, but anakin insisted you had some of his if you really wanted. it ’s like exchanging a secret and a kiss all at the same time . “i knew from the second you walked in the bookstore, you weren’t actually a reader.” 

   anakin almost winces at the memory, but a boyish grin appears on his face. “was it that obvious?” 

   you nod, grinning. you were always good at reading people anyway, but after you got a job at the bookstore, you somehow became even better at it. most people were dragged into the bookstore by their eager friends, bored expressions plastered on their faces, yet coincidentally, when anakin and obi-wan first walked in, neither of them seemed like that. 

   observant in the worst ways possible. 

   “i only went because obi-wan dragged me in there all the time,” he replies, trying to seem unfazed by the sudden redness to the tip of his ears.

   and you both chuckle, but anakin knew that deep down, it was really anakin dragging obi-wan there instead, and you maybe knew it too. 

   “i could get used to this,” anakin murmurs. neither of you notice how close you are until suddenly, your hands brush up against each other. 

your hands always seem to be cold, anakin thinks, but your fingers interlace and the words die on his tongue. you—not confident enough to say anything without your voice shaking–don’t respond, and you instead squeeze his hand lightly instead, resisting the urge to ghost your fingers over the bruise on his cheek. 

   and Anakin knows. you both know. anakin might as well write it in the sand, but further away from the shore so that it doesn’t wash away. 

___

when anakin comes back just after the sky has gone dark after dropping you off, he walks into the kitchen to see obi-wan leaning against the counter with a mug of hot tea in his hand and a smirk on his face. 

   “so?” he says expectantly. anakin stops in the doorway, trying to ignore how tense his shoulders have become. crimson stains his face and he keeps his gaze trained on the floor. 

   “so what?”

   obi-wan looks at him with knowing eyes, “how was it?” 

   anakin only shrugs him off, attempting (and failing miserably) to conceal his genuine grin. “shut up.”

   obi-wan only chuckles, walking past him and ruffling his hair, to which anakin sends him a glare, but obi-wan remains unfazed as he walks out the kitchen. 

   “you’ve fallen!” obi-wan yells as he walks through the hallway. anakin instantly grows flustered and rolls his eyes. 

   “have not!”

   but obi-wan is many things, and a liar is not one of them.

[jetii]

Few Fates Worse Than Death

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 13,780

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, platonic Rex x Reader, kissing, found family stuff so that makes it better right?

Summary: You refused to believe that Wrecker would ever hurt you, but on Bracca, his nightmare finally comes true.

A/N: I've written angst to some degree for every member of the squad except for Wrecker, so I decided to change that. This is the first and probably only time I pull quotes/scenes directly from the show for a one-shot.

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The moment Rex told you about the inhibitor chips, everything fell into place. A cold, icy dread filled you, even as the others insisted that the chips held no power over them. Everything that had happened since Kaller, since Crosshair and Master Billaba's men tried to kill you... you saw it all through a new lens, and the galaxy spun dizzyingly before you.

Like the others, you’d barely paid attention to Omega’s explanation of the chip. The idea that the Kaminoans put some sort of mind-altering device inside every clone was beyond the pale, so absurd that, even if it was true, you never thought to give it much attention. And Tech was so confident that his own research proved the chips had no such abilities. It was easier to trust Tech, who had always been honest and open with you, than to question your own instincts.

But Rex was different.

The others protested, but Rex had seen something, experienced it himself, and he wasn't willing to risk any of his brothers falling prey to it again. You can hear his fear in his voice, feel it radiating from him. His insistence that the chips be removed, one way or another, was unshakeable.

Rex looks over at you, as if expecting you to back him, but you can only look away.

You feel like you can't breathe, can't think. You take a step back and settle down on one of the barstools, your hand gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your stomach churns with dread. What do you do? What can you do?

You’d felt it, the moment Jedi across the galaxy were cut down, like a thousand tiny shards of glass stabbing into your mind. The pain had been nearly blinding, and it had taken every bit of concentration you had to keep from screaming. But you hadn’t seen the images. Hadn’t witnessed the slaughter. That had been a mercy. You hadn't been there, hadn't seen them fall, but you still feel the echoes of their deaths in the Force, a dull, aching pain that never goes away.

The thought of what Rex had seen, what the other clones had experienced, sickens you. Being forced to witness the death of someone you care about is awful enough, but to see your own hand, your own blaster, murder the very people you are sworn to protect? You shudder, the horror of it too overwhelming to contemplate.

The others are talking now, and the argument is escalating. You watch them in a daze, barely able to focus. Your thoughts are running away with you, and you have to fight back against the urge to panic.

The clones were made to be obedient, but not this obedient. There was no way the Kaminoans, or the Jedi, or anyone would have created them with the ability to commit mass genocide at the push of a button. It couldn’t be real. It couldn't.

Could it?

"The chips make you a threat to everyone around you," Rex says, and it's like being doused in cold water. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.

Rex's jaw tightens. "You're all ticking time bombs." 

And you realize then that he's right. Even if the inhibitor chips really do hold no influence over the clones, you can't ignore the potential threat they pose. Not after what happened on Kaller, the horror of it still fresh in your mind. You hadn’t been there after, but you’d heard what happened. If Crosshair had really wanted to kill those refugees, if his chip had made him turn on his brothers... how could the others be so sure their own wouldn’t do the same?

They're all still arguing with Rex, telling him he's wrong, but they don't understand. None of them understand.

Rex turns to you, and when he sees your face, he falters. He knows. He has to know what's running through your head, because he takes a step forward, and you hold up your hand.

"Don't—"

"She's not safe with you," Rex says, gesturing to you. His face is stony, his expression hard. "Any of you. How can you protect her from yourselves?"

Wrecker's eyes dart between you and Rex, and when his gaze settles on you, his brows knit together in a worried frown. He looks distraught, and you wish there was something you could say, something you could do to ease his fears, but you can't get your tongue to work. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "We'd never hurt her."

"No, you don't understand. It's not—" Rex pauses, and his expression goes from pained to resigned. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his shoulders drooping. "What's in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I've seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don't want to bury any more of our brothers."

Rex meets each of the Batch's gazes in turn, then his eyes settle on you, and you know that you won't like whatever he has to say next.

"You can't keep her. She's not safe with any of you," he says quietly.

He's not saying anything you haven't thought before, but the way he phrases it sends a sharp stab of hurt through you, and the ache is only exacerbated when he continues.

"I can protect her."

"We can protect her!" Wrecker snaps, taking a step toward Rex. He glares down at the captain, looming over him, and for a moment, you're reminded of just how much larger Wrecker is than him. But Rex doesn't back down, doesn't flinch. Wrecker glances back toward you and Tech, a desperate look in his eye, and his voice goes soft. "Right?"

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Tech doesn't speak either. He just stares at Rex, a deep furrow in his brow.

"She'll be safer with us," Hunter argues. His voice is firm, but you can tell from the way he avoids meeting Rex's gaze that he's not nearly as certain as he seems.

"It's not the same," Rex says, and he's clearly struggling to hold onto his patience. "Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn't. It's a risk you do not want to take."

You've heard enough. Your throat is tight and your stomach is roiling, but you can't let them continue like this. You swallow back the bile and rise unsteadily to your feet.

"Enough," you say, your voice thin.

The others turn to you, and when Wrecker looks down at you, his expression is heartbreaking. You take a deep, steadying breath, then glance up at him.

"It's okay," you whisper, and force a small, reassuring smile. "Everything will be okay."

Your words don't have the desired effect. Wrecker's brow furrows and he takes a half-step toward you, reaching out his hand. He hesitates, and you close the distance between you, reaching up to take his hand in yours. His hand engulfs yours, and his fingers close around your hand gently, like he's afraid he might hurt you. His grip is warm and reassuring, and for a moment, everything is okay.

But it doesn't last.

“General, please." Rex's voice is soft, imploring, and when you meet his gaze, there's a pleading look in his eyes. "You know I'm right.”

“I’m not a general anymore, Rex," you say, shaking your head. "And I’m not a Jedi."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

"You can't ask this of me," you say, and a shiver runs through you. You wrap your free arm around yourself, wishing desperately for the security and comfort of the cloak you left behind. "Please. Don't."

Rex closes his eyes, and for a moment, the two of you are silent.

"Alright."

The others look relieved. Wrecker's face scrunches up and you think he's going to cry, but he's also smiling, and he wraps his arms around you and picks you up off the floor. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing as tightly as you can.

"We'll figure this out," you say, and pray the others don't notice the way your voice wavers. "It'll be okay."

Wrecker nods, but his voice is thick when he replies. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise. "I'm not leaving."

But Rex's words are stuck in your head, echoing relentlessly. It's a risk you do not want to take.

Wrecker sets you down, and when he steps back, there's a wet sheen in his eyes. He rubs at his face and laughs nervously. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it lightly, and offer him a smile. It feels forced and unnatural, and Wrecker must notice, because his expression falls, and he looks almost guilty. He drops his gaze and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

You look past him to the others. Tech is standing by the door, his arms folded tightly across his chest. You can see his hands are clenched, the muscles in his arms tense. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and when he senses your attention, he lifts his gaze and meets your eyes. His brow is furrowed, and you know he wants to say something. You can see the words forming in his mind, but whatever he's thinking, he keeps it to himself. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then looks away.

Hunter and Echo are standing together, watching you. When you meet Hunter's eye, he gives you a curt nod.

"It'll be alright," he says, and his tone is oddly final. He turns back to Rex. "How do you suggest we get them out?"

"Good question," Rex replies, and his gaze falls on you again. He frowns and tilts his head. "You're sure you don't want to leave?"

"Yes," you reply, but your voice sounds thin, even to you. You clear your throat and repeat the word more firmly, and the others all look at you. "Yes. I'm sure."

Rex hesitates. For a long moment, he just looks at you, as if searching for some sign that you've changed your mind. Then he sighs and nods, his expression grim.

"Alright. I'll be in touch."

He leaves without another word. The moment he disappears up the stairwell, Wrecker tugs you against him, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you against his chest. You squeeze him back, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his chest. Your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your temples, and your head is throbbing.

"It'll be okay," you repeat, trying to sound reassuring, but there's an uncertainty in your heart that you can't ignore. You're not sure who you're trying to convince, yourself or Wrecker, but you both need to hear the words.

You're not sure what comes next. You've only just got back to the Batch, and now this...

It feels like you're standing on a precipice.

You're not sure which way the wind will blow.

Wrecker's headaches are getting worse, and they come more frequently.

He can barely sleep, and his temper is short. More than once, he's lashed out at the others, and you can tell that it's eating him up inside. He's ashamed and frustrated, and all the more upset because there's nothing he can do. When he does manage to rest, it's fitful. You're not sure how long it's been since he slept properly, and it worries you.

Your own rest is fitful as well.

Ever since Rex's revelation, there's been a tension between you all that was never there before. It's like you're all just waiting for something bad to happen, and every day that passes is just more time spent in anticipation of a nightmare you can't stop.

It's hard to shake, and sometimes, it's all you can do not to cry. You miss the Jedi, the people you thought of as family, and the knowledge that the clones were responsible for their deaths is like a knife through your heart. It was easier when you didn't know the truth, when the deaths felt more distant. Now, every time you think about the Jedi, you can't help wondering how they felt in those final moments. If they knew.

The pain in the Force is still there, but it's different. A constant ache, a reminder of all the lives lost. Sometimes, it's too much, and the grief overwhelms you.

The worst part is knowing that the others are keeping their distance.

It's subtle. Just little things, but you can tell.

You and Omega are still spending most of your downtime together, but when you go to spend time with the others, it doesn't last as long. You've barely seen Echo and Tech, and Hunter is avoiding you like the plague.

And Wrecker.

Wrecker is pulling away, and he's doing it so slowly that you didn't notice at first. At least, not until you woke up one morning to find the bed empty. He hasn't slept beside you since that night with Rex, and he's not spending much time with you outside of missions. And the longer this goes on, the harder it is to break the ice.

When you do manage to talk to him, you try to offer support. You want to reassure him, to comfort him, but the pain in his head makes him recalcitrant. It's like he doesn't want you to know the truth of what's bothering him, and the more you press, the more agitated he gets.

One night, you try to help him with his headache. He's sitting on his bunk, leaning over and clutching his head, and you can't stand by and watch him suffer any longer.

You sit beside him and rest a hand on his back. His skin is slick with sweat, and his muscles are tense, his entire body shaking with pain.

"Can I help?" you ask, keeping your voice soft. "Will it help if I massage your temples?"

Wrecker's answer is a muffled groan, and it's impossible to tell whether it's a yes or a no, so you tentatively begin to rub your fingers in slow circles. You start at his temples and work outward, hoping that some of the tension will release.

You keep rubbing for a while, and it seems to help, a little. When his head finally slumps forward, you pause.

"How's that?" you ask softly.

"S'good," Wrecker grumbles, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's anything but pleased. "Thanks."

He doesn't move, doesn't relax. You're not sure what else to do, but you don't want to leave him like this. It feels wrong.

"Is there anything else I can do?" you ask, and you try to keep your voice gentle.

Wrecker shakes his head. "I'm fine."

“You’re not.” Your words are quiet, but they feel like a shout. Wrecker freezes, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. You sigh and move so that you're kneeling in front of him, and you place your hands on his knees. "Please, talk to me."

He doesn't answer. He doesn't move, his head bowed.

"Why are you shutting me out?" you whisper.

"I'm not," Wrecker mumbles. His hands come up to cover his head, and you have the feeling that the action has less to do with his headache and more to do with his reluctance to meet your gaze. "I'm just..."

His words trail off, and a tense silence falls between you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, and now your voice is wavering. The tears you've been fighting for days are threatening to spill over, but you hold them back. You take a deep, shuddering breath and lean in closer. "Wrecker. Please."

"It's nothing," Wrecker mutters, and his shoulders hunch. He doesn't look at you, and his hands clench into fists.

"It's not nothing."

You hesitate, then gently rest your hand on his cheek. He flinches, and for a moment, your stomach tightens with fear. But then his eyes flick up to yours, and when he sees your face, a pained look crosses his features. His eyes soften, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"You're not sleeping. I can tell."

"Neither are you," he grunts, and he tries to pull away.

"I'm worried about you," you whisper. You reach out and touch his hand. "Talk to me."

Wrecker looks away. He wipes the tear from his cheek and clears his throat. "Don't be."

"I can't help it." You reach out and touch his hand, and when he flinches, it's like being stabbed through the heart. You draw back and look away. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you."

"I know."

"Just... if you need anything. I'm here."

"I know," he whispers. He looks down at his hands, and the tears are back. He wipes them away, but not before they start rolling down his cheeks. He shakes his head. "I'm a fuckin' mess."

"It's okay."

“It’s not okay,” he snaps. He glares up at you, his brow furrowing, and the pain in his expression is so raw that it takes your breath away. His voice is thick with tears. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," you insist, but your stomach twists and knots at his words. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Wrecker—"

"What if Rex was right?" Wrecker asks, and his words cut straight through your heart. "What if he's right? What if—what if something happens, and I..."

His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, his eyes are wet. He blinks and swallows, and when he continues, his voice is strained.

"What if the chip took control, and I hurt you? Or Omega? I couldn't..." He chokes and shakes his head, looking away. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Nothing is going to happen," you insist, and when Wrecker doesn't answer, your heart sinks. You climb up onto the bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. He rests his forehead against yours, and the tears are streaming freely down his cheeks. You kiss his cheek and reach up to brush away the tears, but there are too many. You wipe away a few, but the others just keep coming, and Wrecker lets out a soft, miserable noise. "Oh, Wrecker."

He doesn't answer. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and buries his face against you.

"I can't lose you," he whispers, his voice thick. "Not again."

"You won't," you murmur. "I promise. You won't lose me."

You can't be sure that's true, but you don't know what else to say. Wrecker holds you tightly, and you wrap your arms around him and kiss the side of his neck, and then his cheek, his shoulder, his chest, his lips. You want him to know how much you care, how much you need him. How much you love him.

"I'm not going anywhere," you say as your own tears spill over. You squeeze him tight and bury your face against his neck. "You won't lose me."

"If anything happened to you..." Wrecker shudders, and his grip on you tightens. "I couldn't handle it. If something happened, I couldn't—"

He stops and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He presses his face into your hair and squeezes you tightly. His voice is small, almost lost in the darkness.

"I love you."

You freeze. For a moment, your heart stutters, and you feel like your lungs have stopped working. He's never said it before. Not in words, anyway. You’ve known it for a long time, but to hear him say it, even in a moment like this, is something else entirely. It makes you ache.

"I love you," Wrecker repeats, and then his face scrunches up and his words spill out in a rush. "I've loved you for so long. I love everything about you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and the thought of hurting you, or losing you, is too much. I can't. I won't."

"Wrecker." You pull back and take his face in your hands. "Look at me."

"I should have told you earlier," Wrecker mumbles. His words are so slurred together that they're almost unintelligible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your eyes are filled with tears, and it's hard to see, but you know you need to get close to him, to offer him the same reassurance he's given you countless times. So you slide onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him, and rest your forehead against his.

"I'm not. There was never a good time, not really. But now, right now, I'm glad I heard it." You cup his cheek and brush the tears away. "And I'm glad I can tell you now. Because I love you too. So much. And I need you to know that. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You press your lips to his, and he responds instantly, returning the kiss with a hunger that catches you off guard. It's intense and overwhelming, and he pulls you tighter against him, like he's trying to merge the two of you together. His hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers splayed across your lower back, and he groans into the kiss. It's the most intense and passionate kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you gasping for breath.

"I love you," you repeat, and when he looks at you, his eyes are bright. He leans in and kisses your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers. "No matter what. I promise."

"I know." You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then rest your head on his shoulder. "And I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together. I'm here, no matter what."

Wrecker doesn't reply. He just nods and wraps his arms around you, leaning back until the two of you are lying down. He pulls you on top of him, and when you shift, the movement is enough to send a shiver through him.

He presses his face into your hair and holds you close, and for a long time, the two of you stay like that, holding each other. It's a little awkward, with your legs tangled together and the bunk too small for the two of you, but it feels right. It feels good. Safe.

 "I love you,” you whisper again, and Wrecker's arms tighten around you. He kisses the side of your neck, and his breath tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. You snuggle deeper into his embrace and close your eyes.

"Love you," Wrecker mumbles. 

The way he says it is so soft, so full of adoration, that your heart breaks a little. You love him. You love him so much. You never thought you'd get to say the words, never thought it would be possible, but now that it's out there, the words come so easily, like they've always been waiting to come out. And the relief of hearing him say them back is almost dizzying.

You stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, and you listen to the sound of Wrecker's breathing. He falls asleep eventually, and his grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. When you're sure he's sleeping, you shift, resting your head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you feel safe.

For the first time in a while, sleep comes easily.

As soon as you arrived on Bracca, things took a turn for the worse. You'd all managed to dodge the Scrapper's Guild, but traversing the wreckage of the fallen Venator was a trial in and of itself. There was debris everywhere, and you could hardly breathe in the thick, oppressive air. Every step felt like it could be your last, and you and Hunter couldn't stop sensing something in the murky water below. Something lurking, waiting. And when Wrecker fell in...

He'd nearly drowned. He'd nearly been devoured by that dianoga. You'd thought you'd lost him.

You can't think about it.

He's safe now, and that's all that matters. He's safe, and you can finally breathe again. But the tension is still there, coiled tight in your stomach, and it's not just because of Wrecker. There's something else, something more. 

It's been there since Kaller, a feeling that something terrible is looming. You've felt it before, and it's never been wrong. The Force is trying to warn you, but the warnings are growing more frequent, more intense. Something big is coming, and there's no telling when it will happen, but you're sure it's not good.

You're standing in the back of the medbay, trying to keep out of the way as Tech works on Wrecker. He's running scans and taking readings, and the whole time, he's muttering under his breath. You cast a glance at Rex, who's standing next to you, but his attention is focused on the scene in front of him, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

"You've been quiet," he murmurs, his gaze shifting towards you.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You hesitate. There's no point in keeping it to yourself, and maybe it'll help to get it off your chest.

"The Force is warning me," you say quietly, and Rex nods. "I don't know what it is, but... I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming."

Rex frowns. "Do the others know?"

You nod, and he turns his gaze back toward the medbay. "Have they said anything?"

"Hunter knows," you say, and the words catch in your throat. "But... he's been keeping his distance."

Rex glances at you. His expression is unreadable.

"They all are," you whisper, and the admission is almost painful. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and you have to fight the urge to cry. "I don't know what to do."

"You're worried," Rex says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," you reply, and a chill runs through you. You wrap your arms around yourself, hugging tightly, and take a shaky breath. “But it’s not just that. The Force is warning me. They... they could be in danger. All of them."

You swallow, and when you speak again, your voice is quiet.

"All of us."

He studies you for a moment, then looks back at Tech. He's still working, but now he's talking, and whatever he's saying is enough to pull a groan out of Wrecker. Rex watches them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, then looks back at you. His expression is grim.

 "How bad is it?"

You don't answer at first. The truth is, you're not sure. But Rex waits patiently, his gaze never leaving your face. Finally, you take a deep breath and force the words out.

"Bad," you say at last. You can't hide the fear in your voice. "Whatever it is, I think it's really bad."

Rex doesn't reply, but you can see the worry on his face. He knows what you're capable of, and he's seen firsthand the things you can do when the Force moves through you. If you're afraid, he's got every reason to be scared, too.

The two of you are silent, and when you can't bear it any longer, you break the silence.

"Do you believe in fate?" you ask.

Rex raises an eyebrow, surprised. He looks back at Tech, then shakes his head.

"Not really. I mean, maybe. Sometimes," he admits, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "But I try not to think about it too much."

You nod. "I can't help it."

"Why's that?"

"Because... sometimes, I think it's meant to be. Like, everything that happens is part of some bigger plan, and I can't change it,” you mutter. Your eyes drop to the floor. "All is as the Force wills it, and all that. But I don't know. It's... scary. It makes me feel helpless."

Rex doesn't reply at first. His brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems troubled. He looks over at the others, then back at you, and his expression softens.

"I know what you mean," he says, his voice is gentle. "But whatever it is, we'll handle it."

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and you look at him. His face is serious, and the look in his eyes is reassuring. But he can't give you the answers you want, and the feeling of uncertainty lingers. You turn, pulling away from him, and your gaze falls on the others.

"Yeah," you say, but the word comes out sounding weak. Your eyes meet Wrecker's, and the concern in his expression is enough to make your heart clench. You don't want to worry him. You can't. Not after everything he's been through. You force a smile and say the words you don’t mean, knowing he can hear you. "We'll be fine."

It sounds hollow even to your own ears, but Wrecker relaxes, and the look of worry fades from his eyes. You look away, unable to bear the guilt gnawing at your stomach, and the smile fades from your face.

You know that if something happens, if something goes wrong, he'll blame himself. You don't want that. You don't want him to feel guilty, but the truth is, you're scared. For the first time, you're genuinely terrified. And not just for the Batch.

You're terrified for yourself. For the first time, you have something to lose. Your life, your happiness. You've never had that before.

And you don't want to lose it.

But the truth is, there's nothing you can do. You have to face the future, whatever it may bring, and pray that things turn out okay.

Rex's gaze flicks between you and Wrecker. He can see the concern in Wrecker's face, the worry in yours. His eyes are filled with sadness. Regret.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About before. I didn't..."

His voice trails off, and his brow furrows.

"I should have been more tactful," he says finally, and the corners of his mouth twitch up. He looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "It's not an easy thing to talk about."

"No," you agree. "It's not."

He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You both know there's nothing to say. There's no point in arguing or talking about what might happen. No point in making promises or predictions. There's only the present, the future unknown. So instead, Rex just squeezes your shoulder once more before letting his hand fall away. 

He moves to stand near Hunter, and the two of them start talking quietly. You watch them for a moment, but they're too far away for you to hear, so you turn your attention back to Wrecker and Tech.

Wrecker is groaning and wincing, his face contorted with pain as he hunches over. He looks miserable, and you want to comfort him, but Tech is moving him from one piece of equipment to another, and there's no room for you. 

Omega is hovering nearby, a look of concern on her face. She's wringing her hands, and her gaze darts between the two of you. She wants to help, and she's doing her best, but there's only so much any of you can do. You walk over to place your hand on her shoulder and try to give her a reassuring smile, but it feels forced.

You hate seeing him like this. You hate feeling helpless.

"Relax," Tech says as he prepares the surgical laser. "This won't hurt a bit."

Wrecker glares at him, and the look on his face would be amusing if not for the circumstances. Tech gives him an apologetic smile, then looks back at you.

"Could I trouble you to assist?"

"Of course," you say, and step closer.

"Hold his shoulders, please."

You do as he asks, moving to stand behind the bed, and hold Wrecker's shoulders firmly. He looks up at you, and the misery on his face is clear. It's hard to see him like this, but he needs you. So you do your best. You smile down at him, and when he smiles back, the tightness in your chest loosens, and the fear recedes, a little. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

"It'll be alright," you whisper. "You're going to be okay."

Wrecker takes a shuddering breath and nods, and you feel his body tense as Tech steps closer. You let out a slow, steady breath, and close your eyes, trying to impart as much calm through the Force as possible. Wrecker's shoulders relax, and his breathing slows.

Tech is talking again, and the sound of the laser whines, then there's a flash of light. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the air around you fills with static.

"You're in direct violation of Order 66," Wrecker growls, and your eyes snap open.

He lurches forward, his face contorting, and the force of him breaking from your hold sends you stumbling backwards. Wrecker grabs Tech by the throat, the laser slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. Tech tries to grab Wrecker's hand, but Wrecker is stronger, and he shoves him backwards, slamming him into the wall hard enough that it dents.

He's staring at his brother with cold, empty eyes, and you're frozen, unable to move or speak. There's no sign of the man you love, no trace of the gentle, caring, passionate man who's loved and cherished you since the moment you met. His face is devoid of emotion, his eyes blank and dead. There's no recognition, no hint of compassion or mercy. 

Nothing but a cold, empty void.

Your blood runs cold, and your stomach lurches. This isn't him. This can't be him.

"No! Stop!" you shout. Your voice cracks, and when Wrecker's gaze snaps towards you, a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. His eyes are dark, and there's something else in his expression. Something that scares the hell out of you.

Wrecker's lips curl into a snarl, and the anger is so fierce and sudden that it catches you off guard. You take a step forward, but Rex catches your arm, stopping you. You don't look at him. You can't look away from Wrecker, from his eyes. 

His grip on Tech's throat tightens. Tech's hands scrabble at his hand, and his feet kick uselessly against the wall.

"Please! Wrecker, stop! You're killing him!"

For a moment, you think you've gotten through to him. For a moment, you see something in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a spark of life. But it's gone as soon as it appears, and he throws Tech across the room with a snarl. 

You jerk your arm free from Rex's grip and rush forward, but Echo catches you around the waist and pulls you back behind cover. You struggle against him, desperate to help, but he's too strong.

"Wrecker!" Hunter cries. "Stop! Fight it!"

Wrecker is beyond hearing. He grabs his blaster and fires wildly, narrowly missing Rex as he dives behind the crates next to you, Hunter and Omega close behind. Your heart is pounding, and you're shaking so hard your teeth are chattering. Omega is trembling too, and she's staring blankly ahead with wide, frightened eyes. She looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"He'll destroy the equipment if we don't get him out of here," Echo says, his voice strained.

"You're all traitors!" Wrecker bellows.

He keeps firing, and it's a miracle no one's been hit yet. Rex pops his head up, ducking back down just in time to avoid being shot.

"You need to run," he says to you. "He's not going to stop until he kills you, and I don't think any of us are going to survive if that happens."

You shake your head. "I can't leave him."

"There's no other way. We'll distract him, but you need to go. Now!"

"No!" You shove Echo away and lunge towards Wrecker. Hunter is in front of you in an instant, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back.

"Stop," he says. "Listen to Rex. Please. He'll kill you. Do you understand? You have to go."

"He needs me." You can feel the tears coming, and when Hunter sees them, his face softens.

"He does," he agrees. "But right now, he's a danger to you. He's a danger to everyone. You have to go. I'll keep him safe. I promise. But right now, he's going to kill you."

He holds your gaze, and the pain in his eyes is so raw and intense that you feel like your heart is breaking.

"What if you can't stop him?" you demand, your voice cracking. "What if you die? I can't let him do this."

Hunter doesn't answer. He's not even looking at you anymore. His attention is focused on his rampaging brother, and he's getting ready to strike. You can see it in his body language, the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

"Omega, stay with Tech," he says, ignoring you. "Make sure he's alright. We'll handle Wrecker."

Omega nods, and the two of you exchange a long, sorrowful look.

"It'll be okay," she whispers. "He'll be okay."

"I... I hope so."

You're not sure how much of that you believe.

"Go," Hunter urges. "We'll find you. I promise."

"Hunter—"

"Go."

You swallow hard and nod, and then you're running, narrowly dodging the blaster bolts thudding into the doorframe as you dash out the doors. You hear Wrecker's howl of rage, and then the sound of blaster fire as the others charge him, and the sound makes you sob.

"No," you whisper, and then you're running.

You're not sure where to go, and the ship is a blur around you as you dart down the halls, tears streaming down your cheeks. You run until you can't run anymore, and then you stumble, your chest heaving and your lungs burning. Your legs are weak, and the muscles in your thighs are aching, but you push on, determined not to give up. 

You have to get away. You have to stay alive. If you're alive, you can help him.

But the further you get from Wrecker, the more you feel like your heart is being ripped out. You want to be with him, to save him, but Hunter was right. You have no chance of defeating him without killing him, and the thought of you dying, of leaving him alone, terrifies you.

So you run.

You don't stop until the sound of his blaster fire has faded, and even then, you don't dare stop moving. You're sobbing uncontrollably now, and it's hard to see. Your vision is blurred, and the tears are pouring down your cheeks. You have no idea where you are, and every corridor and door looks the same. It's impossible to tell which way leads out, or even if there is an exit. All you know is that you're lost, and for the first time in a long time, you’re alone.

You finally come to a stop and lean against the wall, gasping for breath. You feel sick, and the walls are spinning. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the wall, willing the world to stop.

But it doesn't. And it's not just the room that's spinning. It's everything. Your whole world is spinning out of control, and you’re helpless to stop it. You've lost everything. You've lost your home, your friends, and now you've lost the man you love. He's been taken from you, and there's nothing you can do.

You're powerless.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest is tight, and it feels like your heart is shattering. You can't breathe. You can't think. You just stand there, crying and shaking and feeling completely, utterly useless.

After what feels like hours, the tears begin to slow. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and the knot in your stomach loosens, just a little.

There's still a chance, you tell yourself. They'll stop him. They'll get him out of there. Wrecker will be okay. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

And then you sense him.

Wrecker's warm presence in the Force is gone, replaced by something cold and empty. He’s always felt warm, bright and strong, but now there's nothing there. Nothing but a cold, hollow void. A darkness so intense that it makes your skin crawl.

Your head snaps up, and you can feel him, a shadow looming in the corridor behind you. His presence is like a black hole, sucking the life and warmth out of the room, and you can't move. You can't breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but you can't. You won't.

You don't know if it's stupid or brave, but you turn to face him.

You move slowly, terrified of what you'll see, and when your eyes meet his, a shiver runs down your spine.

He's standing there, his breathing labored and his body tensed, and he's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. In the dim light of the wrecked ship, his face is barely visible, but his eyes are shining with a cold, cruel light. There's no recognition in them, no hint of the man you love, and for a moment, you can't believe what you're seeing.

But the hatred radiating off him is real, a tangible thing, and it's enough to make you sick. It's worse than any injury or torture. Worse than anything you've ever experienced. It's a raw, visceral hatred, and it's directed right at you.

You stand your ground, your hands shaking, and you clench them into fists.

"Wrecker," you say, and the words sound small and weak. "I'm sorry."

His brow furrows, and his jaw tenses.

"I should have done more," you continue, and the words catch in your throat. You're choking on the lump that's formed there, and you swallow, fighting back the urge to sob. "I should have protected you."

Wrecker doesn't answer. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in your tear-stained cheeks and the fear in your eyes. You can feel his hatred, the cold rage coiled tight in his muscles. He's barely holding himself back, and the tension in his body is palpable.

"Please," you whisper. "You have to fight this. This isn't you."

He doesn't reply. He takes a step towards you, and you tense, ready to defend yourself. You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to hurt him. You can't.

"Wrecker, please. Don't do this." Your voice cracks, and when he doesn't react, the tears start flowing again. "I love you. I need you. Please, don't do this."

Wrecker pauses, and his eyes widen. The hatred in his eyes wavers, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that you've reached him. But then his lip curls, and the hatred comes surging back. It's stronger this time, fueled by a rage so intense that it takes your breath away.

"Traitor," he growls, and then he lunges at you.

He moves so fast that you barely have time to react. You dodge out of the way, barely avoiding his grasp, and his hand closes around empty air. He snarls and whirls, his eyes burning with hatred. You take a step back, and the tears are streaming down your face.

"Stop this!" you cry. "Wrecker, please! I don't want to hurt you!"

He doesn't listen. He moves with a speed and grace that belies his size, and he's on you in an instant. You manage to avoid him again, but only just. He slams into the wall next to you, and the impact makes the metal buckle. The sound is deafening, and it sends a shockwave through the room. The walls creak and groan, and dust and debris rain down from the ceiling.

Wrecker's head snaps towards you, his eyes burning with a cold, cruel fire, and your stomach lurches. His lips curl into a snarl, and then he's coming for you again. 

You turn and run, darting down the corridor, and he's right behind you. You can hear the pounding of his boots on the floor, and the sound of his ragged breathing. He's gaining on you, and you don't know if you can keep ahead of him without hurting him. 

Your eyes are wide and desperate, and your heart is racing. You're terrified, but you force yourself to push that fear aside, to try and remember your training. You can't let it control you. You can't let it consume you. 

If you do, you'll never save him. You'll never get him back. You have to stay focused. You have to stay calm.

But it's so hard.

Wrecker roars, and you feel the air rush past you as he grabs at your arm. You jerk free, and his fingers close around empty air. You twist and slam your shoulder into his side, and he stumbles, hissing with rage. You reach out with the Force and shove him back, giving yourself just enough room to move, and then you're running again.

"Please," you sob. "Please, stop."

He doesn't.

You dodge around a corner, and the floor suddenly disappears beneath your feet. Your eyes go wide, and you cry out as the world drops out from under you. You tumble down the sudden drop, landing hard on your shoulder, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. You gasp, pain lancing through your shoulder, and for a moment, you're too stunned to move.

The sound of boots pounding on the floor above snaps you out of your daze, and you roll onto your back, pushing yourself to your feet. Your head whips around, taking in your surroundings, and it only takes you a moment to realize where you are. You're in the cargo bay, and the doors leading out to the planet are mere meters away.

Your heart leaps. You can get out. You can get help.

But you hesitate, and the feeling of his presence in the Force is enough to make your blood run cold. You dart behind a stack of crates just as Wrecker lands on the floor in front of you. He hits the ground hard, and the impact is enough to make the floor underneath you shake.

Your hand clasps over your mouth to hide your surprised gasp. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is racing. The tears are still falling, and you're trembling so hard that your knees are shaking.

The sudden silence is almost deafening, and the only sound is the distant hum of the ship's engines. You don't dare to breathe. You can't make a sound.

"I know you're here," Wrecker says. His voice is low and menacing. "You can't hide forever."

He steps forward, his boots crunching on broken glass. His footsteps are slow, methodical, like he's stalking his prey. He's close. So close. Too close.

"Come out, traitor," he snarls.

You shrink back against the crates. Your heart is pounding so hard that you're sure he can hear it. Your palms are sweating, and the crate next to you is slick with condensation. You have nowhere to go, and no way out. If you try to run, he'll catch you. And if you try to fight, you'll have to kill him.

"I'll find you," Wrecker growls. His voice is low and menacing, and it sends a chill down your spine. "You can't hide from me."

He moves closer, and the sound of his footsteps seems to grow louder with each passing second. You hold your breath, and your hand drifts toward your lightsaber on your hip on instinct before you clench your fist and drop your arm. You can't. You can't use it. You won't.

You won't hurt him.

You'll die first.

Wrecker moves around the crates, and his shadow falls across the wall. You can see his outline, and the hatred emanating off him is like a physical thing. It's palpable, suffocating, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You hear a thud, and a crate falls to the floor with a loud crash. You flinch, and your hand goes to your lightsaber again, but you stop yourself. You can't use it. You can't. Not against him. Not like this.

Another crate topples. And another. And another. Wrecker's getting closer. You can hear him breathing, and your heart is pounding so hard that your head is spinning. You can't see him, but you know he's there, lurking just out of sight.

He's so close.

So close.

He stops, and the room is deathly silent. You can't hear his breathing, and he's motionless, as if he's waiting for you to make a sound. The seconds tick by, and the tension in the air is so thick that it's almost impossible to breathe.

You can't take it.

"Please," you whimper, and the word comes out as a sob.

He freezes, and for a moment, everything is still.

And then the air shifts. You sense a sudden movement, and a fraction of a second later, the crate above you explodes. You yelp and dive to the side, rolling out of the way, and the crate is reduced to splinters.

 Your scramble to your feet, your back slamming against the wall, and you look up. Wrecker is standing over you, and his eyes are cold, dark pools. His hulking form trembles with rage, and he rushes towards you, his hand curled into a fist. You duck under the blow, and your hand flashes out, connecting with his chin. He stumbles, but he doesn't stop. 

He lunges at you, and you dodge, his hand catching your tunic and ripping the fabric. The sound of it tearing is deafening, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he growls.

"Stop!" you plead.

He doesn't.

"Traitor," he hisses. He's on you again, and this time, you can't avoid him. 

Wrecker hits you in the stomach, and the breath leaves your lungs in a rush. Pain blooms through your torso, and your knees buckle. He swings again, and you throw up your arms, blocking the blow. The force of it knocks you to the ground, and your head smacks against the hard floor.

His fingers wrap around your throat, and he lifts you off the ground with one hand. Wrecker pulls you up close to his face, and the look in his eyes is terrifying. It's pure, unbridled hatred, and it's directed at you.

"Wrecker," you manage to croak. Your eyes search his desperate to find any sign of the man you love, and he growls, his grip tightening.

"Wrecker, please." Tears stream down your face, and you claw at his hands, struggling to breathe. Your lungs are burning, and the pain in your head is almost unbearable. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

You know that your next breath will be your last, and you feel a strange sense of peace wash over you. There are worse fates than dying by his hands. Worse things than losing your life. You're not afraid. You're not angry. All you feel is sorrow, and a deep, aching love for the man in front of you. The man who's been your whole world, your heart, and the only home you've ever known.

If this is how it ends, so be it. At least you got to know him.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice barely audible. "I... I love..."

His fingers tighten, and everything goes black.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world swims back into focus. There's a dull ache in your skull, and the air feels strangely thin. Your chest is heaving, and it takes you a moment to realize that you're not breathing.

No, you're hyperventilating.

Wrecker.

His name is on your lips, and you gasp before a terrible, aching pain lances through your skull. You try to move, but your body is heavy.

You're lying on your side. The ground beneath you is hard, and the air is thick and heavy. There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and your throat is burning. You try to take a deep breath, but it's like someone's squeezing the life out of you.

"Hey. Easy."

The voice is familiar. Soothing. But it doesn't register.

Someone rolls you onto your back, and the movement sends a jolt of pain through your body. You gasp, and the air burns. You can't see anything, but you feel something cool and wet being pressed against your face. It hurts, and you try to pull away, but a gentle hand holds you still.

"Shhh. Relax."

The voice is familiar, but your mind is too fuzzy to place it. Your head is throbbing, and your throat feels like it's on fire. You can't focus. You can't think. All you can do is lay there and try to breathe.

"Stay still. I'm trying to clean you up."

You try to open your eyes, but everything is blurry. A pair of dark brown eyes stares down at you, but it's not the mismatched ones you're looking for.

Rex.

He's holding something cold and wet against your face, and the sensation is painful, but soothing. You take a few shallow breaths, the air finally starting to reach your lungs. You cough, and it's like sandpaper being scraped against the back of your throat.

"Don't try to talk," Rex says. "You need rest."

Rest. The word echoes through your head. Your thoughts are jumbled, and you can't seem to focus.

"What... What happened?" you manage to croak. Your voice is hoarse, and your words come out sounding more like a growl than anything else.

"I think it's better if I don't tell you," Rex says. He's frowning, and the look on his face makes your heart clench. "Just focus on breathing."

You take another breath, and this one is a little easier. The pressure in your head is fading, and your vision is starting to clear.

"Wrecker," you rasp. "Is he...?"

"Yeah," Rex says softly. "He's... He's okay."

"Where is he?"

"We got his chip out, and the others," Rex tells you. "Tech is treating his injuries now."

There's a catch in his voice, and you can tell that something is wrong. Something terrible. You feel a sharp stab of panic, and you try to sit up, but the room spins. Rex grabs your shoulders and eases you back down.

"Just stay still," he says. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," you argue, but your voice is weak, and the effort of talking makes your head spin. Rex shakes his head.

"No, you're not." Rex sighs and presses a damp cloth to your forehead. It's cool and soothing, and the pain begins to ease a little. "Just give it a minute."

"Rex..."

"He's okay. I promise." He smiles at you, but it’s forced, and there's a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart twist. "But he's not doing well. We're all gonna need some time."

Your heart sinks. You know what that means. Rex is telling you that Wrecker needs space. That he's not himself. That he's ashamed and guilty and doesn't want to face you. It hurts. More than the physical pain, more than the headache, the exhaustion, and the fear, it's a deeper, sharper kind of pain. The kind that cuts to the bone, and you can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

"I understand," you say, and you hate the way your voice cracks.

Rex's smile falters, and the sadness in his eyes intensifies.

"Hey, now," he murmurs. "It'll be okay."

"No. It won't." Your voice is thick, and the tears are flowing freely now. You can't stop them. You don't even try. Rex pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"He tried to kill me," you choke out. "He... He was going to..."

Rex holds you, and he doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The pain is written all over his face, and he knows exactly what you're going through. He was there. He watched Wrecker lose control, and he had to watch him almost kill the woman he loves. He had to watch him almost kill his friend.

"I'm so sorry," Rex whispers. He holds you close, and his hand moves gently up and down your back, soothing you. "I'm so sorry."

You cry until your throat is raw and your lungs are burning, and when the tears finally stop, you're exhausted. Your body is limp, and your head is pounding. You lean against Rex, and his arms tighten around you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you up."

He helps you to your feet, and you wince. Every muscle in your body is aching, your throat is sore, and the wound on the back of your head is throbbing. You feel weak, and the ground seems to sway under your feet. Rex holds you steady while the feeling slowly fades.

"I've got you," he says. Then, slowly, he leads you towards the medbay. You lean against him, and with each step, you can feel the guilt and shame and anger radiating off him in waves. It's overwhelming, and it makes your heart ache.

"Rex," you murmur. "Are you alright?"

"No," he admits. "But I will be."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper.

"It's not your fault," he says, but you can hear the bitterness in his voice, and the resentment. He blames himself for what happened. He's taking the weight of the entire situation on his shoulders.

You want to tell him that it's not his fault, either, but you're too tired. So you lean against him, and let him guide you to the medbay.

The door is open, and Tech is inside, tending to a  cut on Hunter’s face. Echo is helping, and Omega is sitting in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks exhausted, tears staining her cheeks, but her face brightens when she sees you. 

She scrambles to her feet and rushes towards you, throwing her arms around your waist. The impact sends a shock of pain through your ribs, but you bite your lip and hide your wince. She's clinging to you like a lifeline, and you can feel the tremor in her body as she tries not to cry. You hold her close, stroking her hair, and the ache in your heart deepens.

"Hey," you murmur. "You alright?"

Omega nods against you, her fingers digging into the back of your tunic.

"Are you?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you lie. "I'm okay."

"You're not," she says, and the hurt in her voice is enough to make your throat tighten. "But it's okay. We're here."

She hugs you tighter, and you lean into the embrace, your heart aching. You wish it was as simple as that, but nothing is. Nothing will be. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. You hold her close, closing your eyes, and her presence in the Force is warm and bright, just like always. 

You let yourself get lost in it, and the pain begins to ebb, if only a little, before you open your eyes again.

"Where's Wrecker?" you ask. Your voice is soft, but everyone in the room hears it and the tension is palpable. They exchange glances, their expressions grim.

"He's resting," Tech says carefully. "His injuries are relatively minor, and the surgery was successful, but his mental state is... concerning."

You swallow hard. You knew it was bad, but hearing Tech say it out loud is different. It makes it real, and the weight of that reality is suffocating. You take a shaky breath and nod, but the tears are threatening again, and your voice is unsteady.

"Can I see him?"

"He doesn't want to see anyone," Echo says. His voice is low, his words measured. He's... He's not himself. Not yet."

"I know." Your voice cracks. "I just... I want him to know that I'm here. That I care. That I..."

"Give him time," Hunter murmurs, his expression pained. "He's not in a good place."

"But I—"

"No." Rex's tone is gentle, but firm. "It's not a good idea. Trust me. He needs space. He needs to figure out how to live with what he did."

"It wasn't him," you protest, but even as you say it, you know that it's not entirely true. It was him. Just not the him you know.

"I know," he says. "But it was his hands that almost killed you. And that's hard to come to terms with."

You swallow hard and nod. You know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't ease the pain in your chest or the ache in your head. You want to see him, to talk to him, but you know it's not what he needs. It's not what you need.

You let out a shuddering breath, your shoulders sagging. You're exhausted, and the world is spinning, and all you want to do is collapse into a ball and cry.

Tech approaches, and he hesitates for a moment before his hand settles gently on your shoulder. His eyes are sympathetic, but the frown on his face is deep, his expression troubled.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"I'm okay," you answer. The lie comes easily, almost automatically. It's a reflex. One that has been well-honed over the years, but one that's not very convincing. Not anymore.

He nods and studies you for a moment. Then, he glances at Rex.

"Help her onto the cot," he says. "I'll do a quick examination and treat her injuries."

"No," you protest. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"You're not fine," Rex counters. He's not unkind, but his tone leaves no room for argument. "You were attacked, and you have a head injury. We need to make sure that you're okay."

"I am. Really."

"We need to make sure," Tech insists.

"I'm not—"

"You're getting checked out," Rex says firmly. "And that's final."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. You know he's right. Your entire body aches, and every breath is painful. You're not fine. You know it. But the idea of hearing it from someone else is too much. It's too real.

Rex gently guides you towards the cot, his arm around your waist, and you let him. There's no point in fighting, not when the others are worried about you. So you let him help you onto the bed, and Omega sits next to you, her small hand finding yours.

Tech begins his examination, and Rex hovers nearby, watching closely. You feel small and fragile and weak, and it's a strange feeling. You're used to being strong, to fighting your own battles. But now, you can barely stand on your own. It's a reminder of how fragile you really are, and it makes your chest tighten. No matter how good of a Jedi you can claim to be, it's impossible to ignore that the only reason you're alive is because Rex stepped in and saved your life.

"You have a mild concussion," Tech reports, and his words pull you out of your thoughts. "Several bruised ribs, and multiple contusions." He pauses, and his gaze shifts to your throat. "And those bruises will need time to heal."

Your hand reaches up, and you touch the spot where Wrecker had been holding you. The skin is tender, and the contact makes you wince.

"Yeah," Rex says, anger clear in his voice. "That's going to be a tough one to cover up."

You look away.

"It could have been worse," Tech points out.

"It was bad enough,” he snaps. When you flinch, Rex's eyes widen, regret flickering across his features. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It’s okay." Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You swallow, but the lump in your throat remains. "I know."

Tech moves to examine the bruise on your stomach, his touch gentle.

"We can apply bacta to the worst of the bruises," Tech offers. "That will help with the healing process."

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You close your eyes and try not to think about it. About the way Wrecker had been staring at you. The coldness in his eyes. The rage. The hatred. The way his hands had tightened around your throat. The way he had been intent on killing you.

"Can I help you?"

Tech's voice is soft, and he sounds unsure of himself. It's such a stark contrast to his usual confidence, and it makes your chest tighten. This is hard for him, too. Hard for all of them.

"I'm okay," you murmur. "Really."

"You don’t have to be," Tech says. His tone is gentle, but there's an edge to it. “We understand, and we'll do our best to make sure that you're taken care of."

You open your eyes and look at him, and the sympathy in his gaze makes you want to cry. You don't want to be the one everyone's worrying about. You don't want to be the helpless victim, the one who needs to be coddled and comforted. You're a Jedi. You're supposed to be the one taking care of others, not the other way around.

But there's nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. So you nod, letting the tears spill down your cheeks, and Tech places a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out sounding more like a sob.

"Of course," Tech replies, and there's an unfamiliar warmth in his voice. "You're one of us, and we take care of our own."

He turns back to his instruments, and you lay down, resting your head on the pillow. The medbay is quiet, save for the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines, and the familiar sounds are oddly comforting. Tech continues to examine and treat you, his movements careful and precise. He works silently, and the others are gathered nearby, their attention focused on you. It's strange, but it feels nice, being the center of their concern. It makes you feel safe, and it eases some of the pain and fear and uncertainty.

You're surrounded by your family. By the people who love you and care about you. And as the exhaustion overwhelms you, and the pain fades into a dull ache, you realize that's all that really matters. You may not be fine, but you're alive, and you have people that care about you. And that's more than some can say.

It's been three days since the chip incident, and things are... strained. You've barely seen Wrecker, and when you have, he hasn't said a word. He won't look at you. He won't even be in the same room as you. It hurts, but you're trying to be patient. Trying to give him the space he needs. But it's hard, and every day, the ache in your chest grows a little bit stronger.

You'd hesitated to say goodbye to Rex, and he'd again offered to take you with him. To keep you safe, to give you a place to heal. And again, you'd refused, promising him that things would be okay. And they would. You're certain. They had to be. 

But the entire time you'd spoken to him in hushed whispers, you could feel Wrecker's eyes on you. When you'd finally pulled away from Rex to board the Marauder, Wrecker had turned on his heel, disappearing into the ship without a word. He hadn't so much as glanced at you, let alone said anything.

The pain of that had cut deeper than the bruises on your throat, but you'd hidden it, plastering a smile on your face for the others, even though they all knew better.

The daring escape you'd made from Bracca had only served to complicate matters, and the entire team was on edge after encountering Crosshair again. The tension in the air is thick, and it seems like everyone is walking on eggshells, afraid of setting someone off. 

It's a far cry from the usual banter, teasing, and camaraderie that's typical aboard the ship, and the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional beep from the instrument panel.

No one has spoken in hours, and the silence is oppressive. You haven't left your bunk since that morning, the high vantage point allowing you to see everything without having to interact with anyone.

It's lonely, but it's also safe.

No one bothers you, and you're free to let your mind wander. You watch the others, and the sight of them fills you with a strange mixture of emotions. You're proud of them, and the love you feel for them is almost overwhelming. But there's also a sense of loss.

What happened was a reminder that everything could change in an instant, and you're not ready for that. You're not ready to lose any of them. Not when they're the only family you have left.

You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and let the feeling wash over you. It's a bittersweet sort of sorrow, and it makes your heart ache. You know that they're not going anywhere, that the five of them are a force to be reckoned with, but you can't help the anxiety that lingers, the fear that something might go wrong. You've already lost so much. You can't lose them, too.

The sound of footsteps approaching the bunk pulls you from your thoughts, and you open your eyes, expecting to see Echo. But the figure in the doorway isn't him.

"I'm sorry."

Wrecker's voice is barely a whisper, but it's loud enough to startle you, and you sit up, wincing as your ribs protest. He’s standing below, looking up at you with his mismatched eyes. His eyes are wide and pleading, and he's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You can tell he's nervous, but there's a hint of something else, too. Sadness. Guilt. Shame.

"It's okay," you say automatically, but the words feel hollow.

"No. It's not." His voice is low, and there's an edge of desperation to it, and his hands squeeze into fists. You can feel the anger radiating off him, and it makes your blood run cold. He looks like he wants to punch a hole in the wall, and you have no doubt that he could if he wanted to. He could tear the whole ship apart. He could tear you apart.

You swallow, but your throat is dry, and the fear is starting to build.

"I could have killed you," Wrecker continues, his voice shaking. “I... I wanted to kill you. I was gonna..."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and his shoulders slump. The anger fades, and the shame is so intense that you feel it like a physical blow. Wrecker closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling.

"I tried to kill my own brothers," he says, and his voice cracks. "And I... I almost..."

He takes a shaky breath, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he shakes his head. You're at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch him struggle with the weight of his emotions. You want to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but you can't. You're just as broken as he is.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Wrecker..."

He looks up at you, and the raw anguish in his eyes makes your heart twist.

"Wrecker, please, it's okay. I know it wasn't—"

"No. It's not." He shakes his head, his expression pained. "It wasn't me. But it was."

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, cutting you off.

"I remember everything. I remember wanting to hurt you. I remember how good it felt. How right." His eyes darken, his lips curling into a snarl. "I'm a monster."

"No, Wrecker," you insist. "No. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not," you repeat, more firmly this time. You haven’t used the Force in days, but it flows through you now, warm and reassuring, and you can feel the conviction in your own words. "You're a good man. You're not a monster. I saw you try to fight it. I saw the struggle. I know what's in your heart. And it's not evil."

"I should have fought harder." His fists clench, and he hangs his head. "I'm supposed to protect you, but I... I'm the one who tried to..."

"Wrecker."

Your voice is sharp, but he doesn't respond. He's lost in his own guilt, his own self-loathing, and the weight of it is crushing him.

"Please, Wrecker, stop." You slide off the bunk, landing lightly on your feet, and you approach him, reaching for his hands. He pulls away, and it feels like a knife in your heart. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not mad at you. I'm worried about you."

"You should be." His voice is flat, his words coming out in a growl. "I tried to kill you."

"But you didn't."

"I would have." He turns away from you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tense. "If Rex hadn't stepped in, I would have."

You reach out, laying a hand on his arm, but he flinches, jerking away from your touch. It's a rejection, plain and simple, but it's not unexpected. He's pulling away, both physically and emotionally, and it's tearing you apart.

"Don't," he says. "Just don't."

"Please," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "Please, talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" He sounds bitter, defeated, but he doesn't pull away this time. "I'm a monster."

"No, you're not," you insist. "You're my hero."

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"It's true. You are.” He starts to speak again, but you’re faster, and your words cut him off. "You saved my life. Over and over again. You've never given up on me, even when the odds were stacked against us. You've always been there for me, no matter what."

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell that your words are affecting him. His shoulders are hunched, his body tense, but there's a tremor in his muscles, a slight shudder. You step closer, pressing yourself against his back, and you wrap your arms around his waist. You hold him tight, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and you rest your forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I trust you, Wrecker. I know you'd never hurt me willingly. And the truth is, I could've fought back. I could've stopped you. But I didn't. Because I trust you. I trust you with my life. And I always will."

He stiffens, his breath hitching.

"You're not a monster," you continue. "You're not a liability. You're my boyfriend, and you're my best friend. And I'm not afraid of you."

You press a kiss between his shoulder blades, lingering there for a moment. Your throat is tight, your heart racing, and you're filled with an overwhelming sense of affection and devotion. The feelings are strong, almost overwhelming, and you don't try to push them down. You don't try to hide them. You just let them flow through you, let them fill the space between the two of you. 

You've held them back for so long, afraid to show your feelings, afraid to let yourself be vulnerable, but now, the dam has broken, and you're drowning in the intensity of your emotions. There's a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of peace that you've never felt before, and it's almost euphoric. It's like the first breath after surfacing from a deep dive, and the air is sweet, filling your lungs.

"I love you, Wrecker," you murmur.

"Don't," he growls, but the tension is gone from his body, his muscles relaxing under your touch. He leans back against you, his head dropping forward, his eyes closed.

"I do," you say softly. "I love you. And I'm not afraid."

You hold him, the two of you locked together, neither of you willing to move, afraid that the moment will end. He's trembling, his breathing shallow, his fingers curling around your arms, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't reject you.

"I trust you," you whisper. "I love you. And nothing will ever change that."

There's a long, heavy silence, and then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you, too."

It's barely a whisper, but the words are clear, and the weight of them makes your heart soar. You tighten your arms around his waist, burying your face in his back, and you feel the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You’re so happy that it almost hurts, the emotions swelling in your chest, making it difficult to breathe. It feels like you're floating, the weight of everything finally lifted.

“I love you so much,” he mutters. “More than anything. But you should be with someone else. Someone safer. Someone who won't..."

"Wrecker, stop." Your voice is firm, and you squeeze him, making him gasp. "I don't want anyone else. I want you."

He takes a shaky breath, his hands moving down your arms until his fingers are laced with yours. He squeezes, his grip gentle, and you squeeze back.

"I don't deserve you," he says.

"Yes, you do."

Wrecker lets go of your hands, turning to face you, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are wet, tears streaking his cheeks, but there's a softness in his expression that you haven't seen in a while. He reaches out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you chide gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I told you, it's okay."

"But—"

You shake your head, placing a finger over his lips.

"Enough." Your voice is soft, but stern. "No more talking."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features. Then, he gets it, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nods, leaning down, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is soft, almost tentative, but there's an underlying hunger, a need that makes your skin tingle. You press closer, your arms winding around his neck, the kiss deepening, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip.

He tastes like salt, the tears still drying on his cheeks, and the familiarity is comforting, soothing the ache in your heart. He's home. He's safe. And he loves you. Nothing else matters.

The kiss ends, the two of you gasping for breath, but you don't pull away. You stay close, your foreheads touching, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I missed you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." You nuzzle his nose, your hands stroking his cheeks. "So much."

"M’sorry."

"I know.” You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, your fingers caressing the back of his neck. "But you're not responsible for this. None of us are. The only person to blame is the one who put the chips in your heads. You can't be held responsible for what they did."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing," you say, your tone firm. "You're a victim, Wrecker. Just like the rest of us."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping, the tension draining from his body. He's still upset, the guilt is still there, but you can feel it ebbing, the darkness fading.

"I don't blame you. None of us do,” you continue. "We're all just happy that we have you back. We're a family. We take care of each other."

Wrecker gives a small nod, the sadness in his eyes fading a little, replaced by something else. Something warmer, more hopeful.

"You're my family," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "My brothers. Omega. And you."

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "And I will never stop taking care of you. No matter what."

You bury your face in his shoulder, squeezing him tight. You can feel the tears building again, but they're different this time. They're not a product of pain or loss or fear. They're tears of happiness, of relief, of love. You close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, letting yourself get lost in it. You've come so far, endured so much, but here, in his arms, you're finally home.

Wrecker's fingers curl into the back of your shirt, his breathing shallow, his face buried in your hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

You pull away, looking up at him, a smile on your lips.

"Never."

He smiles back, the expression brightening his entire face. You can't remember the last time you've seen him look this happy, and the sight fills you with a warm glow. This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. With him. With your family.

You kiss him, long and slow and tender, and when the kiss breaks, the two of you are both gasping for breath, the flush high on your cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice rough.

"I love you, too." You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, your eyes meeting his.

"More than anything," he continues. "And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you. Never again."

His voice is thick with emotion, and there's a fierceness in his gaze, a protectiveness that makes your heart skip a beat. He means it. He'll keep you safe, no matter the cost. And knowing that, believing that, fills you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. It eases the pain, the fear, the anxiety, and for the first time in weeks, you feel... whole.

You're safe. You're loved. You're home. And no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, that will never change.

"I know." You lean up, brushing your lips against his, and his arms tighten around you. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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@silly-starfish @floofyroro

[hiraethwa]

to be loved is to be known

one; you are not meant for me // but the heart wants what it wants

<the collection — to be loved is to be known>

pairing. kageyama x reader

cw. angst, timeskip, setter!reader, one-sided pining, blasphemy, currently married!reader, fluff if you squint (no adultery)

wc.4.2k

featured track. the 6th summer by PLAVE

my heart knew it was you from the moment we met. but you were never mine to begin with.

kageyama tobio is a logical person. his teammates would describe him as a mechanically precise monster who can effectively deconstruct opponent plays and use his insights to counter strategize their own attacks. a highly rationale driven individual, known to be impassive off court. 

in his high school years, he has watched his senpais yearn after their manager, even hinata, falling for a classmate in their third year, the relationship ending in tears when they broke it off because hinata was leaving to brazil. he has seen love take precedent and how it always seem to break the hearts of those involved. 

but he never understood why someone would put so much of themselves on line to love someone who could choose to walk away at any point in time. 

unlike most people’s beliefs, kageyama isn’t heartless, or emotionless, or indifferent to love. after all, he loves volleyball just fine. it’s just—he figures, why love someone, when they always leave you behind, whether voluntarily or otherwise?—why love someone, when he can choose to devote himself to volleyball which will never abandon him?

and then you came into the picture, wholly unaccounted for. a fellow setter, a true rival, and he found himself wanting to fly with you. someone who understands his pivotal role in his team’s offense, the control tower, as he had once said to hinata. someone who obsesses over every little detail as he does.

at first, he had attributed the feeling of recognition to meeting a true rival in you as a fellow setter. that feeling that he had yearned for as a middle schooler watching the senpai he looked up to, oikawa-san, serve and set like a god. the connection he missed due to rivalry, and the connections he severed unknowingly to be the team that stays on the court the longest. 

it couldn’t have been love, because if it was, then he would also be in love with hinata like everyone keeps saying. besides, why would he fall for someone who is in a relationship?

it would be immoral to fall for you, he reasons, you are dating kuroo-san.

he quickly learns that despite the warm demeanor you have when it comes to volleyball, you keep everyone at an arm’s length outside of it. he notices the line you draw between your professional career and your personal life, and he is careful to stay on the right side. 

he allows you to set the boundaries that you are comfortable with, keeping to the practice meets that became a monthly routine where you exchange your latest updates on your plays and offer pointers on improving, dissecting each other’s games that quickly spilled over into its own afternoon meetups over coffee. 

slowly but surely, it turns from a fan and her idolized player into two equals analyzing and plotting improvements for their next game strategies. 

of course, kageyama shares the admiration that comes from picking your brain on his weekly calls with hinata. 

“i don’t know how i didn’t think of that before oumae-san suggested it—” he stops himself as he catches hinata giving him a look of sympathy, snapping at the older boy, “what?”

“kageyama, do you know how many times i have heard you talk about oumae-san in the past months?”

“huh? why would i be keeping count?” he frowns at him through the screen.

hinata nods in pity, “exactly. i don’t know either because you are constantly saying oumae-san this, oumae-san that.”

kageyama averts his eyes from his friend, feeling the tips of his ears warming under his inspection. “i don’t talk about her that much.” it comes out in an unconvincing mumble.

“you know i would support you no matter what you do, but oumae-san is getting married to kuroo-san soon. i don’t think it’s good for you to keep pining after a soon-to-be married woman.”

he wishes he could snipe the orange haired boy through the screen, only because he is right. he drags a hand over his face in frustration. damn him, he knows that he is falling for you, but he is utterly helpless in stopping himself. 

you’re a dreamy sunny day that he wishes to bask in forever. too bad kageyama is the snow storm that sweeps through winter. 

kageyama tobio well knows that he is truly hopeless from the moment he realized that he fell for you, the mind behind the name. 

he is in love with the way your mind works to find counters against your opponent’s defense and open up a path for your team’s attacks. the way you find just the perfect moment to do a setter dump, catching the other team unaware. the way you dissect and analyze plays calmly during timeouts. the way you listen intently to him when he speaks.

the worst part is that you are not even trying to make him fall for you. you are just being your perfectly normal self, keeping all your interactions at a respectful and professional level—probably more professional than respectful at this point, since you would give him shit for his unforced errors. (actually, he also likes that you keep him accountable, unlike most people who would brush them off as mistakes that happen sometimes.)

that gods-forsaken line between your professional and personal lives now more solid than before as a married woman. 

and yet, he had fallen for you without even trying. 

he had tried to follow hinata’s advice to move on from you, to quote him directly—“stop putting her on a pedestal. she’s only human, she is bound to have something that irks you.”

he tried, really, to find your faults in your interactions. the tiny crease between your eyebrows as you think hard about the game you are exchanging analysis on, the small pout on your lips as you work through possible counterattacks. your dry reply when he says something dumb, or the excitement in your eyes when recounting a strategy (that you both came up with together) that worked. 

it’s not working. in fact, it’s achieving quite the opposite of moving on from you.

he curses hinata shoyo for his shit advice as he watches your practice match against france from the vip section in the stands. something feels off, he thinks, finding that you are not landing evenly on both feet when you set to your spikers. 

he realizes a moment too late that you are heavily favoring your left foot over the other just as you land awkwardly on your ankle—your shrill yelp sounding from the court. 

kageyama jumps to his feet worriedly, hands gripping the back of the seat in front of him as he peers over to you. he reminds himself that he is just another professional acquaintance of yours, forcing himself to take a seat as your coach and teammates rush over to you. 

you don’t play for the rest of the game. 

later that night, upon finding no news from any media outlets about the severity of your injury after scouring the internet, he starts typing out a message to you—how are you doing?

no, that won’t do, he shakes his head, deleting the small letters on his phone before typing out another message—is your ankle alright?

he pauses for a few moments, wondering if he would be crossing a boundary to inquire about your wellbeing. i probably shouldn’t, he decides against it for the better, choosing to believe (or hope) that no news is good news. 

he erases the message to your number, letting the device fall next to him as he puts his arm over his forehead. fuck, what am i doing? 

you have a loving husband to go home to, who will take good care of you. there’s no place for someone as removed as him to be worrying after you.

after all, gods are meant to be worshiped from a distance, and you would fit right in next to the ones who torment him so. 

to his dismay, his delusions of relief only lasted a few days. 

kageyama tobio knows something is wrong the moment he finds the court empty on the third friday of the month. the court that you live and breathe on. the court that he always finds you practicing your serves while waiting for him. 

his heart catches in his throat as he rings your number, holding his breath as he desperately hopes that you are okay. 

you pick up on the seventh ring. “kageyama-san? ah, sorry. i forgot to tell you that i won’t be able to make it to practice today.”

“it’s fine, kuroo-san. i was at your match on sunday. are you doing alright?” you both stubbornly stick to using formalities when addressing each other—kuroo-san to remind himself that you are so far beyond his reach that he can just forget about it. (he doesn’t.)

“oh, that? i’m fine,” kageyama breathes out a sigh of relief from hearing your words. relief that comes too soon, as it is quickly followed by your strangled yelp coming from the other end.

“that didn’t sound like you are fine.” he realizes you must be saying that just to keep him from worrying, any rational thought flying out of his mind. 

he had seen kuroo-san, your husband in passing at work just this morning, but if you’re injured, and still stubbornly moving around, or worse, even keeping it from your own husband—“send me your address, i’ll be over soon.”

kageyama ends up having to call in the team physician to look at your horribly swollen ankle, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep himself in line. the tips of his fingers twitch every so often when you wince at her touch as she inspects your ankle. 

he tells himself that you are so, so strictly off limits. 

though, he makes the mistake of asking about kuroo-san, your husband. he wishes that the words never left his lips as his eyes catch the microexpression that betrays your emotions. you quickly brushes off his question with a joke, as if you have had plenty of practice.

he barely keeps that haze of anger in check as he calls your husband after excusing himself for the night and wishing you a speedy recovery, not allowing himself to ponder on the ‘what could have been’s—of how he would never put work above you, especially if you’re hurt.

he politely explains your situation to your husband, and yet kuroo has the audacity to sound offended at his request to spend more time taking care of you in your condition as an outsider.

“she’s my wife, i know how to take care of her.”

then act like it. kageyama bites back the retort, knowing that it wouldn’t help matters—that it might actually add to your burden instead of easing it. 

he bristles when kuroo tells him that he has to go finish up some work before he could leave, mystified as to why kuroo would ever put work above you. 

kageyama pockets his phone and lets his arm hang lax by his side, shaking his head at himself. it’s not his place to worry over you, much less tell kuroo how to be a husband. 

the gods have judged him, and deemed him unworthy of you. 

kageyama tobio knows your serve routine by heart. a tuck of your hair over your left ear, then your right, followed by a swish of your ponytail to confirm that it is holding securely. fingers smoothing over the hem of your jersey. your left hand outstretched with the ball in front of you, you would lick over your top lip, teeth catching your bottom lip before you launch the ball upwards and forwards, body coiling into a spring that shoots the ball out across the net.

he knows the extra time you take to warm up your right wrist due to a prior injury. the overly bubbly personality that you hide behind when you are upset or disappointed. the modest smile that is dazzling (he swears that you really do sparkle when you smile like that), not because you’re pulling your charm out, but because you are not. 

your unpretentious smile that comes from the heart still guts him each time becoming less common, to his disappointment. and gods, does he try to coax that smile from you when he sees you, would give you the entire universe with all the planets and stars in it if he could, just to see the unfiltered crooked smile from you. the one you claim to hate because it reveals the singular dimple on your cheek. 

he also knows that you love flowers, deduced from the bouquet of peonies on your lockscreen and the different floral arrangements that you post to your social media each week. and your order at the coffee shop that you get without fail—latte with lavender and honey instead of simple syrup.

he knows all the details he picked up from his observations in the time he has known you, details that he absolutely adore, while being hyper cognizant of the line drawn between you. 

he knows, lives at the edge of that boundary drawn by you, enforced by him. his iron grip on his own actions to hold the line, keeping his desires as they are—a daydream of a world where the gods favored him. 

kageyama knows this all too well. 

and because of that, he knows something is not right when your contact lights up his phone screen with an incoming call on a friday night. 

your number is saved under kuroo y/n, a reminder of where he stands in your life. he addresses you as kuroo-san, another constant reminder to stand firm on his side of the line. 

he hesitates, but his index finger swipes across the screen, accepting your call before his logical side could stop it.

your voice crackles across the line before he could get a word in. “you finally picked up!” 

he could just picture the pout on your face (that also appears during practices when you mess up), but it was the childish whimsy that accompanies your slurred words that dusts his cheeks in pink—the intimacy in your tone that he suspects is not meant for his ears.

“i miss you,” you admit softly, sadly, in a tone that makes his heart clench in pain. as much as he would like to give you comfort, anything you ask him for, really, he knows he’s not the one you’re really looking for. 

“yuki, give that back!” you complain, sounding further away from your phone. another female voice comes into the call, “no, is that kuroo tetsuro? that asshole!” 

kageyama thinks he should say something to clear up the situation, but the words die in his throat—what could he say, really?

“wait, what? kageyama?” the other female mumbles to herself, and kageyama assumes that whoever that yuki is returns the phone to you as your sweet voice calls out to him again. 

“are you done with work yet? you’ve been so busy again lately…” you trail off, “do you think we will go see the cherry blossoms outside of tokyo next year? you promised we would this year, but something came up with your work.”

he really doesn’t want to jump to conclusions about your marriage, but he would be lying if your words don’t make him upset on your behalf. it makes his blood boil to even think about his senpai prioritizing work over his wife. from what he witnessed when you were injured, and now this—you begging for his time, it is exceeding hard to believe otherwise. 

why would he choose work over you? he tries not to read too much into the situation, but—if that asshole is really making you live on scraps of his love, why are you still with him? 

oh right, because you love kuroo tetsuro. 

if kageyama was in his shoes, he would never make you ask him for his time. in fact, he would make sure you feel like the most loved person in the entire world. what do you even see in him— 

he shakes himself out of his intrusive thoughts, wondering instead if he made the right decision to give kuroo a push back then; if he just contributed to dragging out your situation rather than helping. he reminds himself that you had looked happier in the following weeks, until now.

he opens his mouth to say something, but your friend beats him to it. “say, you should come pick y/n up! it’s pretty late and she’s so plastered.”

finally, he stumbles to his words. “kuroo-san, i don’t think—”

he isn’t sure if you hear him over the loud music in the background and your friend’s insistence for him to come pick you up. “i’ll send the address to you, please come get her before she drinks herself to death.” 

he wonders if she knows. 

it isn’t long before he pulls up at the address you sent him, parking at a street lot that opened up as he drove by, lucky him. kageyama feels out of place among the partygoers in the club, dressed in sweats and an oversized hoodie over his plain t-shirt. 

he wonders if you would be disappointed to see him instead of your husband. your good for nothing husband who is apparently still at work on a friday night.

kageyama tells himself he shouldn’t feel as crestfallen as he does at that thought. just as he shouldn’t feel the skip in his heartbeat when his eyes land on you, or the urge to pull you into his arms and kiss the top of your head. 

or the protective instinct that kicks in as he gets closer, sensing the exhaustion in your demeanor, wishing to shield you against everything that the world throws at you. 

he really, really shouldn’t feel the relief that floods his veins at the gratitude in your eyes—not disappointment, he notes—and the gentle smile that graces your lips at his approach. that smile that he loves so much, knocking the breath out of him, reflecting on his own features that are normally set in a disinterested scowl. 

gods, is there anything he wouldn’t do to keep that smile on your face?

“tobio, you came.” his name leaving your lips for the first time, as you fling yourself into his arms with such familiarity that he has never seen from you. it takes every inch of his willpower to not crumble to the floor before you, beg you to let him love and worship you for the goddess you are. 

it takes every shred of his resolve to keep the words from overflowing past that cursed line. to keep his features neutral, intercept the storm ripping through his winter from touching your pleasant spring. 

so he holds on to you awkwardly, savoring the rare moment of affection, mumbling into your hair, “you called.”

“mmm, we’re celebrating my birthday! do you want a drink?” he releases you first, letting his arms fall to his sides. you tug him towards the bar before another woman stops you, disapproval set in the lines of her face.

“i let you out of my sight to go to the bathroom for a few minutes, and you’re already making a beeline to the bar.” this must be the yuki on the phone then. her eyes flicker behind you to kageyama. “this is kageyama?” 

“kageyama tobio, nice to meet you.” he manages a stiff nod.

“tsuda yuki. thanks for coming on a short notice, i appreciate it. she really doesn’t want to leave, and kuroo isn’t picking up.” yuki keeps a firm grip on you, tugging you in the opposite direction—to the exit, narrowing her eyes when you pout at her. 

you seem to have mellowed out since kageyama arrived, the sadness behind your eyes just a tad lighter if the strobing lights weren’t playing tricks on her. oh, whatever works, works. it’s almost two in the morning, and she thanks the gods that you are finally willing to go. 

yuki exchanges a few words with kageyama before they come to a mutual decision to have him drop you home since he has a car and she has to call a cab in the opposite direction of where you live. 

“be good for kageyama, please?” she basically begs you to be on your best behavior as her cab shows up. you’re clinging onto her like your life depends on it.

“we’ll be fine, tsuda-san.” kageyama tries to assure her, but she shoots him a look of disbelief. 

“you don’t know her like i do. she is… really out of hand when she has alcohol in her system. the last time she was this drunk, she tried to—” the cab honks at her to hurry up. “are you sure you got this?”

“yeah, i’ll have her call you when i drop her off.”

tsuda-san is right. kageyama comes to that conclusion after spending 15 minutes trying to get you into the passenger seat and checking that you put your seatbelt on.

he breathes a sigh of relief, focusing on the road ahead as you finally settle down, preoccupied with the buildings and bright lights that pass by in a blur. strangely enough he finds that he didn’t mind it one bit, having his hands full with taking care of a drunk you. he actually found this wild, unchecked side of you endearing.

he gently shakes you awake once he parks the car. it seems like most of the alcoholic effects have worn off during the drive as you lean onto him for support in the elevator, yawning and rubbing your tired eyes. 

your apartment is dark, devoid of life as you enter, kicking your shoes off in the entryway, mumbling a tadaima, mostly to yourself. kageyama would have missed it if he was not following closely behind you, making sure you don’t trip and fall over. 

his heart aches at the thought of you coming home to an empty apartment, your tadaima announcing that you’re home unmet with its other okaeri half from your husband to welcome you back. 

“make yourself at home, tobio,” you curl up on the couch, putting on a travel vlog on the tv on a low volume before dialing yuki’s number, letting her know you’re home safely. 

“hey, why don’t you change into more comfortable clothes? let me get you some painkillers. where is the medicine cabinet?” he nudges your shoulder. you lean back against the headrest, pouting at him again. if only you knew the effect you have on him.

“i’m lazyyy.” 

kageyama attempts to reason with you. “c’mon, you can go to bed right after too.”

“too tired to move.” you cross your arms at him. 

“kuroo-san…” he sighs. 

“why do you always call me that? my name is y/n, you know.”

“y/n, would you please change into pajamas?”

“nope.”

“what can i do to change your mind?”

your grin splits your face from ear to ear. “you could carry me to the room.”

“what—” he rubs the spot between his eyebrows. “okay, fine.”

kageyama scoops you into his arms effortlessly, and can't help but notice how the shape of you fits perfectly against him. your eyelashes flutter close as you rest your head against his shoulder, inhaling deeply and exhaling the spooled stiffness in your frame. 

the fullness in his heart lasts less than a minute. he catches himself staring at you when you meet his gaze, fingers smoothing against his brow as your feet touch the floor. “you’re going to get wrinkles before your time, tobio.”

he scurries back to the living room, leaving it at that. his cheeks are colored again, his back against the shut door of your bedroom, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. 

“stop it.” he mutters, more so at himself than anything, looking through the cabinets in the kitchen for some painkillers, and filling two tall glasses of water for you. he knocks on your door after a few minutes, easing the door open carefully when you tell him he’s clear to enter. 

he hands you the pills in one hand, water glass in the other. “drink up.” 

kageyama notices the melancholy in your eyes resurfacing as you lean back against your pillow on your side, hand outstretched towards the empty half of the queen-sized bed, but he wisely chooses to leave it be. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, turning on your side away from him. “good night, tobio. thanks for coming.”

“of course.” anything for you. kageyama tucks you under the blanket, fingers smoothing over the duvet, itching to run them through your hair. he curls his hand into a fist and shoves it in his pocket before his body betrays him. 

“happy belated birthday, kuroo-san.” he whispers into the darkness, leaving the full glass of water by your bed, and quietly closes the door behind him. he turns off all the lights in your apartment and washes up the other glass, fighting the strong urge to check on you when he hears a muffled whimper coming from your bedroom. 

you probably don’t want him to see you like that. 

he forces his feet out the front door. and a smile onto his face the next day when he sees you with puffy eyes and no memories of the night before. 

he really, really wishes he met you first. 

kageyama tobio curses the gods that put him on this trajectory. 

taglist. @hatsukeii @daisy-room @soulfullystarry @kitsune-kita @bakery-anon @hiraethwrote @thechaosoflonging @bakingcuriosity (open! askbox for taglist)

a/n. the pining, the heartache, the devotion; kageyama you will be loved </3 y'all i love him so MUCH i actually don't have the words to describe it... tobio brainrot all day every day <33 please expect slow updates!

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

[annoyinglandmagazine]

You know that whole scene with Klaus reuniting with Punch and Judy/ Adam and Lilith? That already gives me so many emotions but I ended up accidentally making it worse with headcanons about their previous relationship that I hope at some point will make it into a fic:

Bill and Barry never really grasped the way constructs were treated outside of Mechanicsburg. They don’t really get the concept that something like that could matter so much to people, that they would actively view people as less than human for a few stitches or an extra limb. That the insanity of Mechanicsburg could actually be an improvement on the rest of the world that supposedly cared about morals in this one thing that they’d never even questioned before.

They try, they really do, they get righteously furious about it every other week, but they never really get it. They’re more confused than anything when Klaus and Judy tell them they should be the ones to ask for boarding while travelling anonymously because they’re less likely to be turned away.

They don’t notice that Punch and Judy take certain adventures more personally than the rest of them do, the way they went all still when hearing a monologue about constructs taken as ‘spare parts’ by Sparks that insist it doesn’t count because they’re not people anyway. Even worse the supposed ‘heroes’ they work with to take down rogue Sparks and then turn around and insist that the job isn’t finished until they purge the area of the Spark’s creations as well.

They’re complaining about their professors and Klaus explains why he dislikes one of them by casually bringing up that he had a pet theory of a ‘sliding scale of humanity’ and he once derailed a lecture by trying to place Klaus on it. They are horrified and murderous and Klaus becomes the first person to marvel at how sheltered someone was growing up in Mechanicsburg.

So there is always a certain connection between Punch, Judy and Klaus over this in particular because they know that Bill and Barry can’t possibly understand. Not like they do. And it’s important, to Punch and Judy entering an outside world for the first time and having it reject them even as it grows used to and even welcomes the Heterodynes but not them, never fully. Heterodynes can redeem themselves with enough determination but how can you redeem yourself when your only crime to begin with was existing?

It’s important to Klaus who knew relatives and friends who looked like they had to force themselves to say his name without flinching because they didn’t really believe it was him they were talking to. University was a fresh start but it took years for him to break the nervous habit of adjusting his cuffs and collar to cover his skin because it was just exhausting to watch the way people changed once they noticed.

Sometimes they talked about it but most of the time they’re just there for each other and that’s enough. Also they’re all way more willing to get into a fight on someone else’s behalf than their own so it gives them a nice opening to beat the shit out of bigots.

On an unrelated and slightly less angsty note I also think that Punch and Judy were sort of the mom friends of the Heterodyne adventures. They got into the habit of spending a considerable amount of their lives trying to make these insane twenty somethings get some rest every now again and the rest of it complaining (Punch naturally had a sign language that the Boys may have invented specifically for him but communicated perfectly adequately through Looks as well) the constant, stupid risks they took to their own lives.

When it became clear that they couldn’t have children Bill and Barry couldn’t feel more terrible about it, they spent ages trying to come up with a solution but couldn’t imagine one where there was an ironclad guarantee of no amnesia. Klaus suggested adoption since they were so good with the orphans they came across but, though it wasn’t ruled out, Judy half jokingly made comments about how she was busy enough with ‘her boys’ anyway so she didn’t need children for now.

Klaus finds it easiest to talk to Punch sometimes because he really listens and waits until he’s finished speaking to offer input when it’s wanted (it usually isn’t). He’s also exceptionally good at reading non verbal cues which is helpful because Klaus always had some kind of allergy to talking about anything personal.

Judy knows about Lucrezia and Klaus. She’s fairly certain Bill is the only one of them who doesn’t. She personally thinks both of them would be a lot better off with someone else, anyone else really. She distrusts something in Lucrezia’s eyes when she’s around them, calculating and almost predatory, but then both of them had unusual ideas of what constituted romance. She doesn’t like it but she doesn’t say anything. Years later she’ll wish she had.

When Punch and Judy hear that Klaus is back from the dead and annihilating all the warring nobility’s armies that cross his path they think ‘Well something else is clearly going on there but that does sound a little like what Klaus would do if he went off the deep end to be perfectly honest.’

They find out he’s conquering an empire and that sounds a lot less like Klaus. Then Barry returns in a complete panic, holding his niece like a lifeline and talking about how Klaus is working for the Other.

It’s a struggle to even contemplate it, the same Other that killed Bill’s infant son and most likely Bill as well, the Other that destroyed the Wulfenbach barony and massacred its people, including Klaus’ own parents, the Other that ravaged Europa sending it into a state of utter chaos. They know Klaus. They’ve known him since he was reckless eighteen year old who just wanted to make the world a better place. They know him.

But…… A few months ago they would have said the thought of subjugating the continent would never cross Klaus’ mind, that he’d never do something like that. He wasn’t that kind of Spark. On their bad days the boys used to talk about what would happen if either of them ever crossed ‘the line’ and though they’d all reassured them that they never would Klaus had promised in complete sincerity that he wouldn’t let them.

No one had ever thought that Klaus might need to have a line. He never even properly lost control of a fugue, he didn’t forget morals in the heat of the moment, every decision he made he’d stand by years later as the right one. He took things further than the boys sometimes but that was because he’d concluded it was for the best and he didn’t need a strict code the way they, still wrestling and redirecting those Heterodyne urges inside them, did.

They also knew Barry and he wouldn’t ever be able to believe something like that if there’d been any other explanation. Barry had known Klaus too.

Basically I’m never going to get over the tragedy that is this group of people because they were friends! They were probably the first real friends any of them had had! They were so young and optimistic and they decided they were going to start fixing things because no one else would. They thought the world could get better and people deserved second chances and for a while it actually worked and it meant something and then it blew up in their faces.

Everything falls apart worse than it was when they started, they lose everyone close to them and they wonder if the world was ever really going to change at all. When the era of the Heterodyne Boys comes to an end they don’t face it together the way they always thought they would if they failed. It ends with all of them are separated and so disillusioned that they’ll believe that even their closest friends would betray them and humanity in the worst way possible.

[fizzyginfizz]

What was your childhood headcanon for a hp character that changed as you grew older?

The break-up in HBP after Dumbledore’s funeral.  I used to be so frustrated with Ginny, thinking there’s no way she would tolerate this poor excuse for a break-up, the overprotective nonsense, her sidelining.

However, these were thoughts that were born from a time in my life when I was learning how to advocate for myself. I was learning to use my voice, learning to be me - and I felt every argument or conflict that I gave ground on was a sublimation of this sense of self I was still in a process of discovering. So that’s the lens I saw this conversation through.

Now, I see that whole interaction not as a girl learning to claim her own power, but as a woman who has learned a lot about functional long-term relationships – and I find this “break-up” a gorgeous example of relationship goals. Both parties explain their feelings, explain where they are coming from, they aren’t downplaying their emotions and even disagreeing, they listen to the other.

But sometimes there’s a bigger picture and sometimes one person in the relationship has a higher emotional stake in the outcome, and that’s what is happening here. In this case Ginny sacrifices what she wants in order to give Harry what he needs. Because the stakes are so danged high. He needs to believe she’s safe, that he’s keeping her safe. Even if it’s not entirely true, he needs it and it’s not a permanent relationship dynamic or pattern for one person to understand in that moment, in that situation, in that scenario, the other person’s needs may come first.

And Harry’s “he knew that at that moment they understood each other perfectly, and that when he told her what he was going to do now, she would not say, ‘Be careful,’ or ‘Don’t do it,’ but accept his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him” is one of the most romantic, most beautiful statements of seeing and being seen in these books. That line is the reason why I roll my eyes whenever people say, “Harry just has a thing for Quidditch players” or “Ginny is a fangirl.”  No, they understand the deepest core of each other. This conversation no longer frustrates me - it’s what convinces me they’re going to be alright in the end.

[belovedivies]

Hello love , how are you? I dont know if you take request but listen....OBSESSED STALKER ALIPEDE? Like he enters her room in the middle of night just to listen to her breathing or her heartbeats (and they know each other)

anything about this blind tsundere albino PLEEEAAASEEE I LOVE THIS MAN

a/n: literally him. anyway, i’m doing good, anon!! i might start taking req from now since im 90% done with all the ideas i wanna squeeze out first. here’s some good ol’ stalker!alipede hcs for ya <3 cw: stalking, yandere content, emotional manipulation, trespassing, spoiler for johan’s past.

m.list

stalker!alipede who memorized all of your routines and habits by heart, months before you two even talked. he couldn’t help but indulged; you were too kind! slipped in extra bread when you thought he was distracted, chastised his bullies, cleaned the dirt on his desk. his perfect guardian angel.

stalker!alipede who didn’t mind letting you play with his dear rabbit. you fed it well and cared for the creature when the albino wasn’t there. he lurked around and observed, but you eventually caught him! blushing and furiously apologizing for daring to touch his pet. you didn’t just make a friend then, you fueled his undying obsession.

stalker!alipede who murdered his tormentors with bare hands on that stormy night, blood all over his body and a sadistic smile on his pretty face. yet the second you barged in with a teacher, he was on his knees weeping; clinging to your shirt. you wouldn’t call your precious johan a monster, would you? they wronged him first, he was only trying to defend himself! even hours later underneath layers of blanket with a fresh set of clothes, alipede’s body was freezing. he clung to you and gripped too tightly, pressing your limbs together until there was nothing in between. he counted each and every of your breath and heartbeat. he desperately needed to become one with you.

stalker!alipede who, years later, was over the moon when he managed to track you down in korea. it was his turn to give. you ran a small coffee shop at the end of the street that was doing well. alipede camped in attic above, making space between the dusty equipments and sun damage posters. you were down there just a floor away, standing behind the counter and greeting your customers with a big smile. he kept tabs on people coming in too. the girl who fussed for her order. the little brat who kept hitting on you. the office loser who begged for a pastry sample, trying to grab the chance to leer down at your shirt. he wanted all of them dead.

stalker!alipede who followed you home after dawn after you finished up for the day, your hands trembling as the feeling of being watched resurfaced. poor girl, no one knew why the security cameras in your apartment complex had been malfunctioning for weeks. he was just looking out for you, nothing creepy about that! it didn’t even take more than five seconds for him to figure out the passcode, entering your cozy home through the front door. you’re already out like a log anyways.

stalker!alipede who caressed your hair, ghosting his fingers over your face once he was inside your bedroom, lying on the mattress next to you. why must you torture yourself so? you could be his wife by now! it was only ever you and no one else. he pulled you in again like those good ol’ times. and the albino was right; you were still the same girl whom he fell in love with. with your breath and heartbeat against his ears, sleep claimed him. by daylight, he would whip you away.

[lottiesgrl]

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲, 𝗻𝗮𝘁, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝘂𝗻𝗮, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲!

cw: n/a

𝗟𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗘

*̥˚✧ anthropology major with a minor in media studies (kinda self-indulgent because of the pictures of courtney with her camera...)

*̥˚✧ criminally rich, offers to pay for literally anything you need. textbooks? don't even worry about it. supplies? she's already bought them.

*̥˚✧ also brought her car to campus and has no shame in driving you anywhere and everywhere

*̥˚✧ takes you to the fanciest places around campus, often with little warning. you'll wake up to a message from her offering to take you to a five-star steakhouse that night and you're like ???

*̥˚✧ for all her grand gestures of love, she enjoys more subtler displays of affection, like giving you flowers she finds on walks or writing you love letters

*̥˚✧ looves to study with you - you two have a favorite study spot on campus that's just secluded enough for you two to steal occasional kisses

*̥˚✧ comes to frat parties with you to make sure you're drinking safely (and to occasionally drag your wasted ass back to your dorm)

𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗘

*̥˚✧ undecided but taking courses for like 4 different majors

*̥˚✧ always knows where the best parties on campus and keeps an eye on you the whole time to make sure no assholes are hitting on you

*̥˚✧ bikes everywhere so when she takes you out the two of you have to walk everywhere... that is until she invests in a two-seater so she can ride you to classes and dates

*̥˚✧ you never see her studying but somehow her grades are perfectly fine?? meanwhile you're out here studying 3 hours a day and still can't manage an a in biochem...

*̥˚✧ stealing all her clothes because you like them better than your own. she sees you across campus wearing her leather jacket and texts you to ask how you're enjoying being a thief. she always pretends like she cares but they look better on you anyways

*̥˚✧ you two end up in the same classes and every time you look back at her, she's looking at you

*̥˚✧ asking to come over to "study" but you and her both know it'll end in you making out on her twin xl bed

𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗨𝗡𝗔

*̥˚✧ english literature major with a minor in woman gender and sexuality studies

*̥˚✧ lives in a single after her plans with jackie fell through and you cannot be more grateful. the one time you made out in your own room, your roommate came in and kicked her out. both of you have since learned your lesson.

*̥˚✧ always in the library; if you need her, chances are she'll be there, face buried into a book

*̥˚✧ loves to walk you to classes, even if it means being late to her own class. those who say chivalry is dead clearly haven't met shauna shipman

*̥˚✧ kevin car-nold did make it to college, but he's a little worse for wear. driving in shauna's car feels like a near death experience every time

*̥˚✧ quality time is incredibly important to shauna. her schedule is often so busy that she cherishes any time the two of you get together

*̥˚✧ wakes up FREAKISHLY early, and you have no idea how she does it. when you wake up at 7 am for class, she's already wide awake, laptop in her lap, working on coursework

𝗝𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗘

*̥˚✧ business major

*̥˚✧ plans her classes so she can spend the most time with you. you're free from one to three? funny, her next class doesn't start until three too! (she planned it that way)

*̥˚✧ takes you out on a million picnic dates. sitting on the quad on her cutesy picnic blanket feeding each other strawberries and she doesn't care who sees

*̥˚✧ if she finds a bug in her dorm, she'll call you over to take it outside, even if you live all the way across campus. and you do it every time

*̥˚✧ survives on sweet treats. she'll pout at you for ten minutes straight if you don't go with her to get a treat after class

*̥˚✧ INCREDIBLY jealous when other people get too close at parties. it's ten times worse when she's wasted. someone could ask you where the bathroom is and she'll be stink eyeing them until you two leave

*̥˚✧ is insistent on living with you off campus later on and has an organized pinterest board for every part of your future space together

[ikilledyvette]

(Part II of my seriously condensed 9-1-1 fic is here! Hope people enjoy, even though it's all a bit rushed!)

Part I

Sunday afternoon, Father’s Day. It’s always a hard day for Bobby, but usually, working helps him get through it. Today has been ... worse, and not just for him. Bobby finds Eddie on the couch, staring blankly into nothing. Bobby sits down beside him, a silent invitation to talk. Eddie doesn’t always take him up on it.

Today, Eddie says, “He hasn’t called,” and Bobby reminds him the day isn’t over yet. Eddie asks, “What if he doesn’t call?” and Bobby reminds him about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. 

“Every day you’re both alive is another chance to make things right,” Bobby says. “Don’t give up on tomorrow just yet, Eddie.”

Buck comes by then, and Eddie takes off to give the two some space. Buck says, “So, I had dinner with my parents the other night.” Bobby asks how it went, and Buck says, “Yeah, not great. They had, uh. A lot to say about me, you know. Going through a gay phase, or something. Wanting attention. Getting too old for, I don’t know. Making stuff up, I guess.”

Bobby nods. Cautiously, he says, “Sounds to me like they still don’t know you very well.”

Buck huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Thing is, everything they said ... it’s all stuff I’ve thought too, you know? Like, I’ve always done stupid things to get people’s attention. Their attention, Tommy’s. Yours. And if ... if what I’m feeling, who I am, is ... is real ... how could I have not known before, right? And I, I do know how I feel about Tommy—I like him so much, Bobby, you don’t even know—”

Bobby knows. Everyone knows. Buck’s joy is not subtle; it shines through him, a thing to behold.

“—but sometimes I still—” Buck breaks off and sighs. “Well, maybe that’s why I reacted so badly last night. Cause sometimes, I worry they’re right.”

“They’re not,” Bobby says immediately.

“How do you know that?”

And Bobby hesitates, not sure Buck is going to want to hear this right now. But still, he says, “Because I know you, kid.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, smiling a little. “You do. Bobby, I’m. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do. Cause that night we talked about Tommy? You didn’t ask me to, to explain myself, or suggest maybe I wasn’t thinking things through. You didn’t need me to prove anything. You just accepted it, Tommy and me. You accepted me.” Buck shakes his head. “I told this to Maddie once, but sometimes it’s easier to lash out at the person you know is always going to forgive you. My parents, that’s not them, never will be. But you, uh. You’re safe.”

Bobby swallows a little at that. He wants to be that person for Buck—but Bobby know he isn’t, can’t be. He’s the reason his family is dead; he’s the reason so many people are dead. 

“I know I hurt you,” Bobby says. “If I hadn’t left the way I did, Gerrard would never have been captain, and—”

“You think this is about Gerrard? Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.” But Buck’s voice is teasing, lessening the sting. “Yeah, I mean, working under Gerrard was ... rough, for a lot reasons. But that’s not ... Hen was the one mad at you for that.”

Bobby is aware. Hen had forgiven him pretty quickly, but her attitude towards Bobby on his first day back had been ... cool, to say the least. Bobby understands why, had prepared himself for Hen’s anger, potentially Chimney’s, too. They both went through a lot, working under Gerrard the first time around. Bobby had expected them to be upset.

He’s not sure why he hadn’t expected Buck to be.

“I’m not mad about Gerrard,” Buck tells him. “I’m mad that you lied. You—you were saying goodbye all day, only we didn’t know, I didn’t know. And you just—you were just going to leave?”

“I didn’t want—”

“You didn’t want us to change your mind,” Buck says, now visibly upset. “You—you said goodbye, Bobby. I didn’t realize it then, what you were doing, but—if you were gone, if you left, and I could have done something to stop it, stop you from, from—"

And Bobby realizes suddenly that Buck isn’t just talking about Bobby quitting.

“Hey,” Bobby says. “Listen. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“For how long?” Buck asks, and it’s not mockery this time. It’s pleading. Anxious. Young. For as much Buck has been through, for as much progress he’s made over the last seven years, Bobby is struck every now and then by how young Buck still is.

“That’s not up to me,” Bobby says and points up, skyward, at the man upstairs. “And listen, Buck, I won’t deny I was ... I was in a pretty dark place a couple of months ago. I should’ve been more honest about that. But I’m here, and I mean to stay here as long as I can. Okay? I’m not going anywhere without a fight, I promise.”

Buck inhales, a deep, shuddery breath, and Bobby hugs him, and Buck hugs Bobby back. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck says again. “I think, maybe. I think I’ve just been really scared.”

Bobby hugs him a little tighter and says, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, kid.”

Footsteps on the stairs interrupt them a few minutes later. “Not to break up this long overdue moment,” Chimney says, “but Buck, you’ve got another visitor.”

Buck turns with a little dread, expecting his parents and not sure he’s ready to face them just yet—but it’s Maddie. This time, it’s Bobby and Chimney who disappear downstairs to give the Buckley siblings some space.

Maddie tells Buck that their parents are flying home. “I told them to go,” she says. “And not to come back.”

“Chimney told you,” Buck realizes, resigned and more than a little annoyed.

“Of course, he did,” Maddie says. She’s slightly exasperated but mostly worried. “Why didn’t you?” 

She thinks he’ll say something about not wanting to ruin Maddie’s relationship with their parents or Jee Yun’s relationships with her grandparents, and Buck does lead with that. But mostly, Buck’s ashamed of how he petty it was, bringing up Daniel. “I didn’t want you to think that I, I resented him,” he says. “I really don’t, Maddie. He was just a kid, and he never got the chance to grow up and, and I wish I could’ve given him that chance. I wish I could’ve met the person he would’ve become.”

“I know,” Maddie tells him, and reminds him that it’s not his fault; it was never his responsibility to save Daniel. Buck says he doesn’t blame their mom for slapping him after what he said, and Maddie, steely, says, “Well, I do. For that, and also for how they talked to you—no, it’s not okay. What if Jee grows up and realizes she likes both boys and girls someday? I don't want Mom talking to her like that. Do you?"

Buck recoils a little, and Maddie nods. “Would you be okay if Mom ever hit Jee Yun?” she asks. “Even if she said something terrible? Even if she deserved it?”

“She could never deserve it,” Buck says, knowing what Maddie’s doing but unable to keep quiet, not when his sister looks so upset, not with the ghost of Doug so heavy in the air. He hates to think of how many times Doug must have told Maddie that she was to blame for everything he did to her. “But Maddie, I don’t think Mom or Dad would ever—”

“Maybe not,” Maddie says, “but that doesn’t make them safe. They screw up, and they always feel bad about it, but they never really apologize. They never put in the work. They just ... make excuses and expect that we’ll forgive them, but I think I’m done with that now. I’m done with relationships where it’s only my responsibility to try harder, to smooth things over, to say the right thing, to always forgive. Maybe someday, if Mom and Dad actually work on themselves, but for right now ..." Maddie shakes her head. "Enough is enough.”

Buck gets that, he does. But he admits he isn’t sure he’s ready to cut off his parents yet, isn’t sure he wants too. He still wants to keep trying, and Maddie says that’s okay. What matters is, they still have each other. And she won’t try to change his mind if he doesn’t try to change hers.

Buck offers her a pinky swear. Maddie smiles and hooks her finger around his.

*

Meanwhile, downstairs, a phone rings.

“Christopher?” Eddie says, and takes a few steps, turning away from everyone. 

It is Christopher. He calls to wish his dad a happy Father’s Day, but also to say he loves him, and while he’s not quite ready to come home yet, he still wants to come home, and maybe soon.

“I miss you,” Christopher tells him. “I don’t want to miss you anymore. But you have to stop lying to me.”

“I can do that,” Eddie promises.

“And go back to therapy.”

Eddie laughs. “Already on top of that one, bud. Maybe ... we could go together, sometime, when you come home?”

“Yeah,” Christopher says. “I’d like that. I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Chris,” Eddie says. He hangs up, takes a breath before turning around, and announces, “Christopher called!" as if everyone—including Maddie and Buck, leaning over the balcony—weren’t badly pretending not to eavesdrop.

Everyone cheers and rushes Eddie. 

“What did I tell you?” Bobby asks him. “What did I tell you?” Hen asks, too, and Eddie says, “Yeah, yeah,” to both of them, with wet eyes and a shaky, hopeful smile.

“This calls for champagne!” Chimney announces. “But since we’re all on duty ... cheap coffee and leftover Ding Dong, Gerrard is Gone cake it is!”

—All in all, it’s the best Father’s Day the 118 has had in a long, long time. 

(And that's it! Apologies, fellow Tommy fans, that he didn’t make it into Part 2—but you know. If Tommy’s at the fire house, who’s flying the plane? Actually, Tommy’s too busy babysitting Jee Yun, and—to both Buck and Chimney’s horror—introducing her to all the worst Star Wars movies. She loves them.)

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