#i already feel self conscious about my entire existence.. stop making it worse

[bb-8]

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary:  You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

#tech x reader #tech x you #tbb x reader #tbb tech x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #the bad batch #tech fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch reader insert #bad batch reader insert #bad batch tech x reader #bad batch tech x you #tech smut #the bad batch smut #my writing #cody writes

[infernal-fire]

Love, At First Sight

Warnings: some extreme fluff, strong language/ swearing

Pairing(s): Ransom x you

Summary: Love, at first sight, doesn’t exist. And Ransom has never been proven otherwise.

Word Count: 1600

I was inspired to write this after reading “It Was Only A Kiss” by the Queen of fluff, smut, angst and everything in between: @navybrat817  :)

(This GIF does not belong to me)

Love at first sight. 

That is the most ridiculous thing Ransom had ever heard. And he has heard some bullshit. 

The only thing he could tell from looking at someone for the first time was whether they were of any use to him or not. So when Meg was rambling on about love, that too, at first sight, Ransom scoffed at the idea. He bit into his overpriced biscuit with a roll of his eyes, pausing the conversation that he was unwilling to entertain any longer. 

“You know what Ransom, I’m not surprised you’re dismissing the idea without even hearing it,” Meg challenged.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” he retorted, a bit amused by her slight outburst.

“If your parents bothered with you, maybe you would understand what it’s like to be loved by someone.”

Although he didn’t show it, it struck a chord in him. It wasn’t something he dared to complain about anymore, but there was a time he would have done anything for their affection. 

“Okay then, let’s hear this horseshit you’re spewing,” he replied, not breaking the façade of smugness.

“When you meet someone, your subconscious and unconscious mind pick up patterns in their behaviour, little mannerisms and anything it can get its hands on. Your conscious mind interprets that as vibes. So you get a bad vibe from someone, it’s ‘cause your mind recognizes it from somewhere else, someone you don’t like.” 

“And what does this have to do with love at first sight?” Ransom impatiently tapped his foot. 

“I have a theory that love, at first sight, is possible if you’re in tune with your intuition. You feel good vibes from someone, you ride with it. And there’s a possibility you’ll override the rational part of your brain that tells you that you can’t love someone right after meeting them,” she concluded. “But then again, this only works if you’re capable of loving someone. Otherwise, your brain has no one to reference,” she added. 

Ransom’s jaw clenched before he took in a breath.

“Like I said. Just a bunch of horseshit,” he said, getting up to leave. 

He called it horseshit but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It irked him that no matter how many girls he pulled, not one of them could make him feel the love had Meg described. He concluded that he was incapable of love because, of course,  that was the only plausible explanation.

It was a friend’s birthday. To say the least, he was not looking forward to it. He was in a rare mood to stay home and call it a night instead of getting his dick wet. Unfortunately, his presence was promised - he would rather not hear about this later so he did his future self a favour and got ready. 

His black pants were paired with a maroon sweater that cost a little less than his king-sized bed. A rose-gold watch adorned his wrist and he threw on his signature tan coloured coat. He didn’t want to go but he that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity to advertise his status. 

Walking into the party, he regretted his decision to come at all. The corners were brimming with drunk people, though it had been only 1 hour since the party started. Shrill and irritating voices rung through the air. As usual, girls of no substance clung to every word of the fabricated tales boys told. Despite this, the unsavoury circumstances invited him, called his name even. After all, this was the lifestyle he lived for. 

Taking in the scene before him, he strode down the room. His presence alone demanded respect and attention, both which he got a surplus of at these events.

His stride was abruptly halted when a figure crashed into him, spilling wine down his chest. Sure, it blended in with the sweater, but he was still pissed. Someone didn’t notice him, which caused them to bump into him and that rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Won’t you look where your going, for god fucking sake this is worth more than you,” he snapped at the unsuspecting girl. 

You had a mess of your own to take care of. Wine slipped down your dress, between your cleavage and onto your stomach. You were going to apologize but you heard his comment, paused your sentence to look up at him. 

Laughter echoed in the background and people called Ransom’s name but it was long forgotten when he saw you. 

Love, at first sight.

It didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore. 

The mere sight of you was a harsh contrast to the cruel world he has dealt with his entire life. It was like the universe wrapped and presented you as the embodiment of a second chance for his life. To think that love, at first sight, was ridiculous. 

Your beauty wasn’t something he understood. It wasn’t like the beauty he sought during the lonely hours of night, when he simply required a bedwarmer to ease the ache. It was memorable, almost like a blend of warm vibrancy; a feeling resembling that of the summer’s sun, kissed his skin ever so delicately. 

He thought he was dying for a second. His hands were tingly and would not ease up no matter how much he clenched and unclenched them. His heart dove straight to his stomach, refusing to come up for air as long as he continued to look at you.

You on the other hand, you were conflicted. You were going to give him a piece of your mind for talking to you like that but one look at him and you wanted to run away. It was too intense for you. 

His piercing stare mirrored the moon, melted and poured into the mould that he called eyes. His aura radiated coldness. Yet, you just knew that his hands would be as warm as a bonfire during a snowstorm. Being around him would be like the slight sting that you felt when winter’s breeze grazed your skin. That sting, no matter how painful, is rewarding when you consider his arms that would envelope you as a blanket. 

Momentarily looking into each others eyes, both of you knew. You just knew. You were both thinking the same thing. It felt like eons had passed since the wine spill but logically, you knew it had only been seconds.

“Don’t talk to me like that” you finally blurted. No matter how enamored you were with him, you needed to knock him down a few pegs. 

“I-I… I’m” 

“You’re?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he stuttered. He felt like he would never recover from this embarrassment. 

“I-uhm. It’s okay. I just…” you trailed off, realizing you weren’t even sure what to say. 

“Can we get out of here?” he piped up. 

It took you by surprise because you were thinking the same thing. You considered it too bold a thing to say but here he was. 

You held his wrist and led him out. As soon as you marched out the door, he pulled his arm up, and you assumed he was going to take it out of your grasp. He surprised you though, instead, holding your hand. 

The dress and the sweater became irrelevant; all either of you could focus on was the warm grip you both had on each other’s hands as you strolled through the overly extravagant neighbourhood. 

Part of your mind was screaming at yourself, as was his. He could kill you, you thought. Or do worse. And here you are, walking with a complete stranger through a neighbourhood you don’t even know.

“I thought you felt it too,” he confessed. “That’s why I... really, I don’t ever do this.” 

The old Ransom would have said ‘I know you felt it too.’ It hadn’t been ten minutes since you met him and you were already changing him. 

“I've never done this either. I mean frankly, you could be a murderer and here I am, holding you hand,” you joked. 

“I’m not a murderer,” he chuckled, “But I can’t help but feel a little weird about this.” You looked up at the moon-less night, convinced that it wasn’t a coincidence.

“I know… I-... I don’t even know your name,” you giggled and his heart fluttered around his chest. He couldn’t compare the feeling to butterflies - it was more like hummingbirds, refusing to settle.

“I felt something and it’s weird ‘cause I was so scared. I was scared and overwhelmed by this sort of dread. Dread that was like, what if you didn’t feel the same way?” you rambled, only slightly cautiously. You knew nothing of this man, and you were laying out how you felt in the open?

“My name is Ransom,” he stopped the stroll and faced you, picking up your other arm. 

“Y/N” you meekly responded, having difficulty meeting his eyes. You had never felt such a burn in your cheeks, yet right now, you felt like your face was on fire. 

“Hey, hey” he softly tilted you chin up. “Can we run with this? Whatever this is?” He would get on his knees and plead if he had to. Because you were right; he felt like he would die if you didn’t feel the same way. 

“Please. Let’s run with this. Whatever this is, let’s just run with it,” you agreed and nodded lightly, not breaking out of the stare.

“What is this?” he uttered under his breath and rested his forehead onto yours. 

You closed your eyes and breathed in the same air as him. His warmth and scent reminded you of sugar cookies and pine trees. 

He took in a breath and felt the aroma of vanilla and fresh roses evade his senses.

“I don’t know. But I like it,” you breathed. 

He cupped your face and pulled away to look at your face again. He planted a delicate but firm kiss to your forehead as you encased his waist with your arms, naturally gravitating towards him. He tenderly held your face as he pulled away. One look and you were a goner, but now, you’re utterly floored by the mere thought of him. 

Love, that too, at first sight.

Wasn’t horseshit after all.

Masterlist

Tag list: @partiesandblurrypolaroids​

Other: @mculibrary​​

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#ransom #ransom drysdale #knives out #ransom x you #ransom x reader #ransom x y/n #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #fluff #fic #fic rec

[iamanartichoke]

I am posting this mostly to get it off my chest, and I'll probably regret it, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I think the biggest problem I have with Fandom Wank(tm) in regards to positivity or negativity, is what bothers me has literally nothing to do with whether one's positivity/negativity will turn out to be right.

last night I followed a couple of posts and went down a rabbit hole of "series negativity" bashers' posts, bc apparently I hate myself and do not wish to be in a good mental space right now, and the common thread I noticed is that those who are overwhelmingly positive and take issue with criticism seem to be doing so bc they see their own versions of Loki being portrayed on-screen, either as how they've interpreted him as a character in generral or as how they've written him in fics. And not only are they fiercely protective of those versions but they also get validation from the confirmation that their Loki is The Right Loki(tm). Criticism takes the on-screen portrayal (and, subsequently, their own personal versions of The Right Loki(tm)) and says, uh, I can't actually see Loki doing this? I think this is ooc? I think Loki as portrayed here is not consistent with previous portrayals? -

- and suddenly you've got this rabid backlash on your hands where it becomes 'omg stop being toxic,' 'your headcanon is not canon' (look in the mirror), 'this is tom's loki so it's accurate,' 'i see no difference whatsoever in characterization y'all're just deluded and have invented a loki that never existed' (tf????), etc.

And I can't help but conclude that the backlash against criticism/negativity has nothing to do with the criticism itself; it's more to do with the undermining of someone else's validation in how they view this character.

This is purely speculation. There's some mental gymnastics here, admittedly. I could be way off base and I realize that I risk my post being shared and misconstrued and mocked by even posting it publicly. But the only reason I'm writing this - and thus getting it off my chest after my spiral down the rabbit hole - is bc from my point of view, I didn't feel like my experience in enjoying this tv show was being threatened until the discourse backlash over the negativity started spilling onto my dash. Not the negativity itself; the actual discourse. (And, look, there's a lot of negativity that's been posted that I don't agree with whatsoever, and there's other negativity that I may agree with but don't agree that it's an issue, or - my point is, this isn't bc I don't have conflict with the actual arguments themselves.)

Full disclosure: for the first three weeks, I was more positive than not regarding the show. (I think I still am.) I posted about what I liked but I also posted about what I felt was ooc and about the elements I liked less. A lot of my mutuals are not thrilled (to say the least) with the show, so there was already a ton of negativity on my dash and I personally went through a few minor meltdowns on whether or not I was on the right page with my enjoyment when so many others (whose opinions I trust and whose versions of Loki [that I've read] in fic ring true to me) were not sharing that enjoyment.

I did/have been talking it out with friends who feel similarly and I've more or less come to terms with being in the middle. And in the meantime, when I felt like the negativity was not something I wanted to be cognizant of, I skipped those posts entirely. Doing these things allowed me to come to terms with where I was standing regarding my overall feelings on the series, and overall enjoyment with my fandom experience.

And then, mostly after episode 3 (which seems to be the most divisive so far), discourse started popping up on my dash more and more. I'm defining discourse, in this context, as 'wank regarding whether or not Loki is actually ooc, wank over people who enjoy the show not wanting to see the negativity, wanky posts asking people who are critical to reserve judgement until the show has finished airing (but praise is fine)' -

- and suddenly, I feel much more self-conscious about posting my takes. Suddenly I feel much more anxiety about hitting the "post" button when said post is more critical than not. Suddenly I am worried about who, exactly and actually, is reading my posts? Who is going to decide to paraphrase my takes and include them in a 'guess what they're complaining about NOW' post? Who is going to decide to pass around a post I've made only to mock it, as has happened to some of my friends already?

Over the past three days, I have gotten 30+ new followers, and instead of feeling good about it - hey, some of these may be porn bots but still, people are interested in my blog?! - I feel just increasing anxiety about it bc, I mean, I don't know who anyone is or what they're here for.

I do not feel secure in the current fandom environment, is what I'm saying, and the reason I do not feel secure is not because of the negativity; it's because of the wank coming from the people who post about the negativity and mock the negativity and call other fans deluded stans who have a shitty grasp on characterization, story telling, and Loki in general. It's Ragnarok bullshit all over again, only worse.

And this circles me back to my original point, which is that the anxiety and the wank/discourse and whatever else really has nothing to do with the on-screen portrayal of Loki.

For me, personally? It took me awhile to realize it, admittedly, but I did realize that I do not care if what I perceive as ooc actually isn't. I do not care if the final product of Loki - once the entire series has aired - is a different Loki than what I've written and perceived as "my" Loki all this time. It's not going to make me feel like less of a fan or less valid; it's just going to make me feel like I have a perception of Loki that may differ in some ways with "canon Loki" but is still similar enough that I will continue to enjoy engaging with him and writing meta about him and writing fic about him and sharing those things with people who view Loki similarly. Likewise, I am not going to feel less valid as a writer and a critical thinker; it doesn't make me feel like I have anything to prove.

So if the root of the wank is coming down to the negativity making you feel less valid or less vindicated bc "your" Loki matches the show but is being called ooc by a lot of other fans, like, maybe take a step back and consider not taking it personally? Maybe really think about why the fact that negativity exists bothers you so much? Bc I mean, at the end of the day, it's not like Tom Hiddleston himself is going to descend from the clouds with a choir of angels singing and acknowledge any one of us as The One True Fan Who Has The Best Interpretation Ever of Loki. So what actual difference does it make if (we agree or disagree that) he's ooc or not?

Ultimately I'm just saying, there is definitely wank that is ruining the fandom atmosphere and the show in general, and it's not coming from those who are posting their negativity and criticism of the source material.

*Disclaimer that this is how I am perceiving and interpreting things today and possibly in general, but I'm not necessarily saying that my perception is factual to what is actually happening. I don't know what is happening. This is the guess that I've come up with in order to reconcile the fandom discomfort I feel, discomfort which is ruining the show for me, and where it's all coming from.

** Second disclaimer that I have unfollowed those who were participating in the wank, if I was following them in the first place, to the point that it made me uncomfortable, and obviously this post doesn't apply to everyone bc there is a certain amount of just being tired of it that I understand, so if we're mutuals, this doesn't apply to you regardless of where you stand on the wank.

*** Third disclaimer that said fandom environment is what makes me feel like I have to add disclaimers on every fucking thing I say, partly bc people read what they want to read and partly bc I have very debilitating anxiety regarding being misunderstood.

#fandom wank #i am going to regret posting this i already know it #but i'm posting it anyway not only to get it off my chest but #on the off chance someone else feels similarly and needs to see it #don't @ me #- or @ me if you really want to i suppose #loki tv series spoilers #kinda? #not really? #not sure how to tag this to avoid potential spoilers but #not tryna have this end up in any main tags either #which btw if you're gonna come at me don't come at me regarding negativity being posted in main tags and you wouldn't be commenting #on it if it wasn't there to begin with bc it doesn't negate that there's an issue at root here that is concerning but also #tumblr fucking sucks their tagging system sucks and their blocking system sucks so it's very likely that stuff that ends up #in the main tags got there accidentally or wasn't intended to be there so just use the nifty little scroll button #to scroll on by kthnx #well this post is an adventure isn't it #smh #tag rambles

[displacedentities]

Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings​ Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

#Coffee Shop Au #AHIT #A Hat In Time #doodledrawsthings #Snatcher #Hat Kid #Moonjumper #Clover #noticed a couple mistakes and it's too late to fix em wHOOPS #OH WELL

[hopelesshawks]

Love and Admiration Part 34- Vulnerable

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Note: there’s a written part after the third screenshot so careful not to accidentally skip past it if you click into the photos to read the texts

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

You wake up slowly to the sound of your phone pinging incessantly and it takes a moment to realize why there’s another warm body beneath you. As memories of the previous night trickle in so too does a combination of hopeful excitement and dread. Bakugo Katsuki loves you, of this you can now be sure. But the uncertainty lies in whether he can forgive you for breaking his heart. Sure, he’d seemed accepting the previous night but it’s one thing to accept late at night in the heat of the moment with your lips on his, and another entirely to accept it under the harsh light of day with a clearer head. You’re brought out of your thoughts when Bakugo’s arm around you tightens in a quick squeeze. “Stop overthinking idiot,” Katsuki grumbles, voice still rough with sleep. You shift slightly so you can look at him properly before replying “How do you know I’m overthinking?” “Can just tell. Relax,” he assures you. “Ok,” you sigh, releasing with it some of the tension from your body. You notice your phone is still pinging so you reach over and grab it off the nightstand. Bakugo scowls at it, taking it from your grip and flicking it on silent before tossing it back to the nightstand before you can even check the notifications. “Uhh is there a particular reason you won’t let me look at my phone?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just our dumbass friends. Ignore them for now,” he huffs before rolling you both over so you’re pinned beneath him and unable to reach for your phone again. “Katsuki you’re heavy,” you whine, feebly pushing at his shoulder until he shifts so his weight is better distributed on top of you. You expect him to fire some reply back and when he doesn’t you look down at where his head is now lying on your shoulder to find him staring up at you. “What?” you ask, suddenly self conscious as his gaze traces over your face. “I missed hearing you call me by my first name,” he admits quietly, your heart breaking at the words. “I’m so so-“ you start to say but Katsuki covers your mouth with his hand. “You said that already dumbass,” he tells you before getting out of the bed and pulling back on his shirt and boxers.

You watch Bakugo curiously as he digs through your drawers in search of something. Once he finds it he tosses it to you on the bed. As you unfold it you realize it’s the Dynamight hoodie you’d bought alongside the Mercury one for Katsuki. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen,” is the closest you get to an explanation as Katsuki leaves the room. You pull the hoodie on then go to your drawers to find underwear and a pair of pajama shorts to throw on. By the time you meet Katsuki in the kitchen he’s pouring two cups of tea and setting them down at your kitchen island so you go to take a seat there and wait for him to come sit next to you. It’s quiet for a moment as you both try to think where to start. “Look I don’t need or want another fucking apology from you got it? I wasn’t entirely blameless or whatever so,” Bakugo starts stiffly. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell. Emotional conversations have never really been his thing, at least not without a heavy dose of violence to simultaneously use as an outlet. It’s just further proof of how important getting this right must be to him. “I just need to know why,” he finally admits although he’s staring resolutely into his mug of tea instead of looking you in the eye. You nod, gathering your thoughts for a moment so you can be sure to get this right. He deserves that much. You both do.

“I’ve had a crush on you since middle school.”

Bakugo’s head snaps to look at you in disbelief so quickly you’re genuinely shocked he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Eh!? Why??” he asks. “I don’t know! You always seemed so cool and you were so determined to get into UA and I am not going to rationalize middle school (y/n)’s feelings ok?? You were a fucking gremlin but you were a gremlin I happened to like a lot,” you huff, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Whatever brat, just finish your fucking explanation,” he scoffs but the tips of his ears and his cheeks have gone pink. “Yea well, you matured a lot in high school so the crush didn’t go away. If anything it got worse but you didn’t really know who I was so that was kinda it y’know? It just became this thing that sat in the back of my head that I ignored,” you explain. “What about that stupid extra you dated?” Bakugo asks, his grip around his mug tightening slightly. “I liked Shindo a lot. Even loved him for a bit but I don’t think he really made the crush go away, just made it ignorable y’know? My crush on you was still right there waiting after he and I broke up. At the party two weeks ago he even told me that the reason he cheated was because he was paranoid I’d leave him for you,” you admit. “That’s not a fucking excuse,” Katsuki practically growls. “I know.” “Good.”

You pause to take a sip from your tea as you continue sorting your thoughts. It’s embarrassing to admit how long you’ve been hung up on Bakugo, especially considering he had no idea who you were even if he loves you now. Even still, you resist that small, self-protective instinct that wants you to shy away. It’s what got you in this situation in the first place after all. You and Katsuki will only work if you can be vulnerable with each other. “But yea, anyway, uhm all that to say I’ve been kinda hung up on you for a really long time but it was always from a distance y’know? Until suddenly it wasn’t and we were hanging out and having sex and you made it very clear that you don’t date and I thought I was fine with that because whatever we were doing was already so much more than I ever thought I’d have with you, especially once I realized you didn’t remember me, but then Shindo kissed me,” you sigh. Katsuki tenses up beside you. “I remember. Thought you were gonna go crawling back to that idiot,” he growls. “I was,” you admit, and once again you worry Katsuki’s going to give himself whiplash with how quickly he turns his head to you. “What? After everything he did to you, why-“ “Relax ok? I couldn’t do it, even though at the time I kind of wanted to.” “Why couldn’t you?” “Because of you.”

The words hang heavy in the air as Bakugo’s eyes scan over your face searching for any indication that you’re lying or embellishing the truth. “Then why did you start avoiding me after that night?” he finally asks and you give a wry smile. “Because I’m an idiot? Kissing Shindo made me realize that the crush I’d been harboring for you for years had changed. It wasn’t just a stupid crush on the idea of you anymore, I was in love with you. I am in love with you. But I thought there was no way you’d ever want anything more than what we were doing and I couldn’t just be your fuckbuddy if I was in love with you, so I distanced myself to try and give myself time to get over you before we could continue our friendship,” you elaborate. “You should’ve just talked to me.” “I know.” “If you had I would’ve told you I’ve admired you since I first saw you fight as a pro a couple years ago,” Bakugo reveals and you can’t help but gape at him. “A couple years?” you ask incredulously. “Yea well, whatever don’t make a big deal out of it I just saw you on a bust or whatever and you fight really well so even if you weren’t the highest ranked or whatever I respected you. Then when I started seeing you around more this year I knew you’d end up top ten. Obviously,” he scoffs, his cheeks blushing an even brighter red at the admission. “I had no idea,” you say in wonder. “That’s obvious.” “Don’t ruin the moment.” “Whatever, can I finish what I was trying to fuckin say now?” “Ok, ok go for it.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out as he huffs. “Look I’m... I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since that first time in the alley, it just took you kissing that stupid, shitty extra for me to realize it. So if you’re done being a fucking idiot, I’d like it if you could be my girl,” he confesses and despite his gruff tone you can hear the hope and vulnerability in his voice. “I’d like that too,” you smile, voice soft and warm with affection. “Then c’mere,” Katsuki tells you before tugging you close to him until you’re sitting in his lap, legs straddling his waist. “I love you,” you tell him, voice filled with sincerity and joy at finally having him the way you’ve dreamed and fantasized about for years. “I love you too Princess,” he promises before pulling you into the sweetest kiss.

A/N: I wasn’t 100% sure where I wanted their talk to go I just knew that they needed to talk out exactly what happened instead of just confessing, sleeping with each other, and moving on but it felt only right they both should reveal just how long they’ve had their eyes on each other. Just a couple parts left guys ❤️

Taglist: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys @theycallme-becky @superhermit @black-rose-29 @disaster-rose @fandomsgotmefucked

#hopelessla #bakugo smau #bakugo x fem!reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki

[linkspooky]

You once mentioned that Dabi's symbol of rebirth is the Phoenix. Ever since I read that post of yours a long time ago, I haven't stopped thinking about it. The imagery hit me profoundly! Do you mind elaborating? Thanks!

Is Hawks more like Icarus or like a Phoenix? I'm not sure if it makes a difference or not...

It’s my theory the actual rebirth / phoenix imagery is associated with Dabi rather than Hawks. If only because death and rebirth symbolizes a change in a character. In Tarot the Major Arcana “13″ symbolizes Death as the idea of a great change being brought, and a symbolic death of the old previous life or old self, rather than just straightforward dying. 

This rebirth imagery is connected to Dabi rather than Hawks, because not only has Dabi already experienced a death and rebirth by fire - Toya burning to death, and ressurrecting from the ashes somehow as Dabi. His new name literally meaning “cremation” a death by fire. The way Dabi is written now is also meant to be a “change” from who Toya used to be, Toya was someone who at some point was eager to become a hero, Dabi is a villain dedicated to bringing his father down. All of these ideas of change are associated with Dabi, not Hawks. 

1. The Phoenix

Dabi has already committed a lot of symbolic steps that would make him a phoenix. As stated above, he already experienced a death and rebirth once, Todoroki Toya dying and coming back as Dabi. The first time we see him named in the manga, comes from his father staring at his funeral portrait wishing for him to come back. 

Hawks has wings, and Dabi does not. However, I would make the argument that Dabi is the phoenix because he’s the one whose entire character is written around change. Dabi has even done a few phoenix related things already. We’ve seen him fly. 

The phoenix is also a bird that famously burns itself. The fires it’s reborn out of are, flames of self immolation. Hawks quirk is vulnerable to fire yes, but using his quirk doesn’t actively harm him. Dabi is the one so committed to burning himself over and over again, and burning in his own flames, in the hope that he can make a positive change on society. 

Say whatever you want about Dabi (you won’t hurt his feelings, he doesn’t have any), but at least ideologically Dabi follows Stain’s ideals, he believes you have to commit a purge or in other words, burn the previous society so that a new society can be reborn from the ashes. This is also once again, phoenix imagery, rebirth from ashes. 

Dabi is a character written around the concept of change, and being a bringer of change. 

2. The Light

Okay, before I start let me say I believe both Hawks and Dabi have the potential to learn healthier behaviors and grow as people. Seeing Hawks deteriorate mentally, and fall back on worse and worse behaviors isn’t I want to happen, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s what is being shown in the writing. 

Hawks and Dabi both have the potential for great change, but we are shown Hawks being given the oppurtunity continually and not taking it. Dabi is set up for redemption, and Hawks is set up to take a fall. By redemption literally all I mean is that Dabi looks like he’s going to have a character arc where he improves in some way and unlearns his unhealthy, self-destructive behaviors. Hawks also has an oppurtunity to unlearn these behaviors, but he can’t really do it if he refuses to change himself or his beliefs in any way. 

Hawks moves towards the shadows, Dabi moves towards the light. The writing around Dabi also suggests several times that rather than putting down Dabi, there is going to be reintegration of both the Dabi and Touya personalities. 

If Dabi and Enji are truly foils, then if Enji is given the chance to learn to be both Endeavor the Hero, and also Enji Todorokit the father, then why wouldn’t the same chance be extended to Dabi? If the message of Enji’s arc is that you can at any point, turn around, and that the smallest things can chance people. If fire you thought once only existed to burn can be redefined in a much more healthier lens, then why would not that same idea be extended to his son? Enji even reflects on this, what about the future I cut short? 

The future he cut short, sounds like he’s referring to Toya. Natsuo also brings up Toya for the first time shortly before this reflection. Endeavor accepts the idea that like Natsuo said, Toya’s death was his fault. Enji expresses twice, first that he wanted Toya to return to the dinner table, and second that he never truly believed Toya was dead even after they discovered in jaw bone in the fire. 

Shoto’s words to his father as well, you can become a better person from here on out, even if you’re not forgiven from what you did in the past because small words, can change a person. 

The path forward is not destruction, but reintegration. In a jungian sense that means accepting both sides of yourself, both the conscious mind (the light) and the unconsious mind / repressed self (the shadow). In terms of character, it would be Enji being able to view himself both as Enji Todoroki the man who failed his family and Endeavor the hero. It would be Shoto being able to accept both his fire and ice sides. It would be Dabi being able to accept both Toya the hero-hopeful, and then Dabi the villain. You notice how all three of them are split down the middle in this way, all three of them experience a split self that they need to reintegrate. 

Self destruction doesn’t work. Enji tries to burn his past self when he kills the High End and what does everyone in his family say to him. None of us forgive you just because you beat up a hero on the television. You haven’t done anything yet to change yourself. 

Enji attempts to just kill the past and move forward and that doesn’t work for him, as Dabi himself says so, the past never dies. If Dabi insists that the past never dies, he has the same immortality as the phoenix. 

Hawks is someone when given the oppurunity to change his mind, just doesn’t do it. He has someone who sympathized with him and trusted him and offered him a path forward that he didn’t take. Let me put it simply. If Hawks is Twice. If Hawks wants to be like Twice. If Twice is Hawks path forward, and then Hawks kills twice what does that say? 

If Hawks kills the guy he wants to be like - if he sees himself in Twice then murders him then, what does that say about the way Hawks views himself? I’m not reacting to whether or not Hawks is a good or bad person, but the framing. Hawks is framed tragically, Twice even says this out loud, it’s sad, pitiable that Hawks can’t make friends or trust people. That he’s so committed to doing everything all alone. 

Destruction isn’t the path forward, but reintregration. If Shoto’s ultimate desire is to learn to love himself, and be at peace with himself, then why would he hunt down and kill the person he views as the same as himself?

“I was also burning”. I agree that Dabi does not have an arc. Rather, his arc hasn’t begun yet. That’s because we’ve only been introduced to Dabi as a character when the Touya reveal happened, before that he literally was just a mystery lingering in the background. 

However, the set-up with Dabi points to this arc of change and rebirth. All of the foreshadowing around Toya is “we want Toya to come home” and “Dabi reflects the part of myself I needed Midoriya to save me from”. Dabi and Hawks both have the potential to change, however, if you look at the framing Dabi is framed with the chance for redemption because the idea of change is written into the center of his character, whereas Hawks is someone who tragically stays the same. It’s been brought up several times, Hawks is the bird who stays in his change, who does the same things over and over. 

The bird stays in his cage because he can’t survive out of it. Dabi is the phoenix because he symbolizes both this change to society, a change in endeavor that has to take place in order for him to be there for his family, and a change in himself he needs to make in order to continue living. Hawks is icarus, because he’s set to take a fall. His inability to change in time, his desire to keep flying towards the same sun will only lead to his fall. 

#Anonymous #mha meta #hawks #takami keigo #dabi #touya todoroki #enji todoroki #shoto todoroki #shouto todoroki #todoroki family

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part 6

Moving right along...

Don't forget to read Place Your Bets and the first 5 part of Raise the Stakes, which you can find in the Master List.

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC x Jay White

Word count: 2,031

Content advisory: sexual references, cursing, giant dump trucks of angst and hurtfulness

There is nothing weird about this, you tell yourself. This is what adults do. They acknowledge their mistakes and achieve some kind of closure that leaves everyone a little sadder and wiser, but also peaceful.

“Yeah, idiot,” you murmur out loud, “that’s why you’re standing here scared shitless of a door.”

You have to knock. You have to do this. You’re so worked up you feel nauseous.

The last few days have been awful. You’d slunk around under a dark cloud of shame and guilt, which was only emphasized by the fact that Jay had been as cheery and relaxed as you’d ever seen him in his life. He was funny and attentive and you hadn’t been able to enjoy any of it because there wasn’t an atom in your body that felt like you deserved it.

Even worse, as you’ve been dragging yourself around work, you’ve been trying to get caught, wandering around where you’re going to run into David Finlay. It’s only half-conscious but you feel like if you could just get him to say something, scream at you, dump all the scorn and abuse you so richly deserve on your shoulders, it might actually make things better.

But as much as you’ve tried to worm your way into his path, Finlay hasn’t so much as glanced. It’s a conscious effort on his part. It has to be. But the only look he’s given is still that awful, gutting one you got when he’d reappeared in Japan and seen you on Jay’s lap,,,

Perhaps you wouldn’t be quite so shaken up if things hadn’t seemed a bit tense with Jay earlier. He’d headed out to go to dinner and clubs with some wealthy New Japan sponsors, something you knew usually meant hitting hostess clubs and all manner of other things. Yes, you were thrilled that it finally gave you the chance to force contact with David, but it also seemed creepily reminiscent of the way your life had been before Jay had suddenly decided to romance you.

You are not here because you’re insecure about Jay. You are here because if you don’t talk things out at least a little with David, it’s going to kill you. You’re grownups. You can have a serious, respectful conversation where you apologize for everything you’ve done wrong.

Finally, you grit your teeth and knock on the apartment door.

It swings open and there he is, a look of utter disbelief on his face for a second before he rolls his eyes.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He immediately walks away and back into his apartment but since he doesn’t slam the door in your face, you slip inside it and watch as he cleans up the remains of what appears to be a home cooked dinner. It smells nice.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” you offer meekly.

He doesn’t even bother to turn around. “What do you want?”

He couldn’t sound any less interested.

“I want… I owe you an apology. I mean, I wanted to say that I’m so sorry-“

“Good, ok, message delivered,” he snaps. “Trust you can show yourself out.”

“David, please, I just want to tell you how awful I feel. I never meant for things to get so screwed up and I know that it’s my fault. I’m just so sorry.”

He shifts to the sink and starts washing his hands, way too vigorously.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” You can see his shoulders shudder a little and it breaks your heart. All you want to do is hug him and tell him over and over that you feel horrible.

“Bye.” His voices rises enough that you can hear the anger in it.

There’s a wisp of hair that’s fallen over his face and you have to restrain yourself from walking over and brushing it out of the way.

“Can you just look at me, please?”

From what you can see of his face, he looks furious.

“I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to have to see you at work. I don’t want to smell your perfume. I don’t want to hear your self-important, grating little voice.”

He wipes his hands and throws the dish towel down with a vengeance before he finally turns and meets your eyes.

“And what I really don’t want is to have you here in my home, the place where I’m supposed to be able to relax and clear my head, putting on this little contrite performance so that you can feel better about yourself.”

“That’s not fair.”

He lets out a painful sort of laugh and stares at the floor. “You are unreal, lady. I mean the ego on you-“

“I wouldn’t be here if I… I know you hate me and I deserve that but I want you to understand…”

He brings his hand to his head, pinching his temples like he’s fighting a migraine.

“I know how this looks terrible but it’s like I got hit by an avalanche.”

“I wish you had.”

The line almost makes you laugh out loud because it’s like something you’d say in the same circumstances.

“He just showed up and started freaking out because he saw us together the day before and I should have just tried to stop things but it just all escalated and I’m not trying to say that this isn’t my fault because it is.”

He holds up his hand, frowning and obviously trying to work through what you’ve just said.

“He told you that he saw us together the day before?”

“Yes, and it was like he thought this was some huge betrayal-“

“When did all this escalation happen exactly?”

Your jaw drops as you realize that you’ve just made things much worse.

“I don’t know, I guess it happened pretty quickly.”

“Like what, the day after I left?”

You move your mouth but you can’t make words come out.

“Jesus Christ, it wasn’t even that long, was it? You were probably riding his dick before I was even on the goddamned plane.” He breaks down in a mirthless, disquieting laughter. “Here I’ve been thinking that he was working on you and just wore you down. Son of a bitch didn’t even have to do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, starting to choke up. “I’m just-“

“So very sorry, I got it. I am not hard of hearing. Might be a bit naive and terribly fucking stupid, but yeah, the hearing is just fine.”

You feel like you’re about to crumple, like even your skeleton is so revolted that it wants to get away from you.

David shakes his head and stares at you, clear-eyed. “You are just pathetic. You know he doesn’t love you. You know this ends with you crying yourself to sleep at night because he’s right back to being the same person he’s always been.”

You feel like you’re on fire. “Alright, you’re hurt and you want to hurt me. I get it. But you know what a lousy thing that is to say.”

“It’s good that you’re back with him. You deserve each other.”

You clench every muscle in your face, determined not to start crying until you’re out the door. You think about the way he looked at you when you had breakfast together and wish that you could go running back to that man.

“No, really. It’s good,” he continues. “Because at least if the two of you are together, the rest of us are safe.”

There’s a long, painful silence before he speaks again.

“Great talk. Thank you for coming here to make sure I know that there was not one ounce of sincerity in anything you said to me, that what happened with us was just your way of getting Jay all riled up and possessive.”

Now it’s you who can’t look him in the eye. You keep mumbling apologies like a mantra, hoping that somehow you can break through this thorny armour he’s donned. Very slowly, head bent in shame, you make your way towards him, unsure what you’re trying to accomplish.

With every step, you expect him to scream at you but when he doesn’t, you move just a little closer. This is it. You’ve lost your goddamn mind. Just once more, you want to experience that profound sense of safety and calm you’d gotten on the two occasions when you’d curled up in bed with him. It’s all destroyed now, of course. You destroyed it. But you keep approaching, your eyes riveted to that perfect space in his shoulder where your head fits so perfectly. You’re close enough that you can feel the radiant heat from his body, the wave of his breath in your hair.

Lightly but insistently, he puts his hands on your shoulders so that you know to stay where you are.

“If there is anything I can do to make this even a little bit better… I know I can’t fix it but if I thought we could at least be… human to each other. Anything at all, I’ll do it.”

“Ok,” he murmurs.

The pressure of his hands on your shoulders grows a little heavier and his lips drift down so that you feel his calm breath against your ear. Your entire body feels electric.

“Here it is,” he whispers. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back.”

You straighten up and fall back a step, hoping you haven’t heard him correctly.

He nods a little. “Now.”

*

You sit on the tiny square of iron and cement that passes for a balcony in your building, knees pulled up to your chest, slowly smoking your way through the “safety pack” of cigarettes you keep in the freezer. You haven’t smoked regularly since college but there are moments when your body just demands it to function.

It’s just as well that Jay’s out entertaining and being entertained because you can’t make yourself think about anything but David. The idea that someone is out there hating you that much is bad enough, but that it’s him, someone you like… someone you’ve always liked. Every time you think of the things he said, the knife twists in your gut a little harder. Some of it was too much, no matter how hurt he was, but very little of it was wrong.

Maybe if the two of you had met up in a place where Jay White didn’t exist to trigger all your insecurities.

The worst part is the sense that you’ve been permanently dismissed, that what happened tonight was the end. You know that you should respect his wishes but you’re already thinking of ways you could trap him and make him speak to you. And you’re very aware that the way you’re thinking is creepy.

It’s ridiculous. You’re getting lavished with attention by the man you’ve been hung up on for years. Maybe he even wants this to be a relationship. But at the moment you feel gutted because the man you dropped to get to where you are now has indicated he doesn’t want to speak. Theoretically, you’re in a great position but it feels like you have nothing.

You’d like to think that you’re just crazy and you just want to find something to be anxious about, or you have a self-destructive compulsion. But that feels like it would be letting yourself off easy, claiming that you couldn’t be any other way, even if you tried. Maybe you can’t be any different here in Japan, isolated and constantly in the presence of the guy who’s been holding your leash for six years. In another universe, where you’ve made different decisions and learned from your mistakes, maybe you would be the sort of girl who could meet someone like David Finlay and revel in the way you feel about him and the way he felt about you.

But your reality is that you are here. You are in this strange position with Jay. And David, who seemed to smitten with you just a few weeks ago, never wants to speak to you again. Nothing you can do to change that. Right?

#njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #david finlay fanfic #david finlay imagine #jay white fanfic #jay white imagine #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

[rhubarbbaby]

Strawberries and Art 5

Jihoon x Y/N

Genre: College AU, Fluff Word Count: 5k Summary: Like every passionate art student, you spent most of your time immersed in your drawings and paintings. The day you meet Jihoon, your everyday life suddenly gets a lot more exciting…

All chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Chapter 5

When Jihoon was younger he didn´t think teachers existed outside of school. It wasn´t a conscious thought, he just never took into consideration that teachers didn´t cease to exist whenever the bell rang. It had seemed as if his teachers simply started to be around whenever he entered a classroom. And as he sat there in his music class, having given up paying attention a while ago, he realized that he thought about you in the exact same way. You had so suddenly entered his life, he was having a hard time accepting that you actually were a real living human being.

Jihoon had never been much of a romantic. He had always thought of romance as a construct made up by the entertainment industry. He didn´t think badly of it, he just doubted that the kind of romance they portray in movies and books even existed. He didn´t long for it either. He had always been a realist. Love would come, or it wouldn´t. And suddenly there were you. You were just there, like you had just started existing. And he didn´t know if it was love. He didn´t even think about the word “love”. He hadn´t even wrapped his head around the fact that he maybe, only maybe might have a teeny tiny little crush on you. He just knew that he liked you. Really liked you. Talking to you was so easy and made him feel so light, in the most perfect way possible.

At lunch Jihoon sat with Hansol, who had grown a bit annoyed with him being zoned out. “Dude. What´s going on? I´m bored. Talk to me.” “I´m sorry.” Jihoon grumbled not even looking up from his plate to look at his friend. “Didn´t the date go well yesterday?” Only now Jihoon´s eyes met Hansol´s. “No. It went perfect.” “So?” “What so?” “Why aren´t you super happy?” Jihoon let out a small sigh. “I am. I´m just confused.” “What? How can you be confused about a perfect date?” “I´ve only known her for a few days and I think I already like her. It doesn´t make sense.” Hansol let out a hearty laugh. “Hey, it does make sense. It makes a lot of sense actually…you know when I met Jo I knew she would annoy the shit out of me. And holy shit she does, I swear if she talks one more time about that superhero guy with that metal arm…Beefy Barnett or whatever he´s called…I´ll have to kill her.” Anyone would´ve been able to read the loving smile that had formed on Hansol´s face, as much as he pretended to be annoyed by Jo he just couldn´t hide his fondness. “Anyways the point I was trying to make is that I knew she would be a pain in the ass but I also knew I liked her. I´m not saying it´s always like that or it has to be like that but I´m saying that yes it does make sense.” “Bucky Barnes.” Jihoon grinned. “What?” “That superhero guy. His name is Bucky Barnes.” “Oh my god. Not you too.”

It had been nice seeing Jihoon in the morning, even if it had only been for about 2.5 seconds. And even if you probably wouldn’t have liked to admit it, those 2.5 seconds were the only reason you had survived your morning classes. And that really says something because you even skipped art history which you admittedly did feel sort of bad about. The professor was always so disappointed seeing only so few students sitting in her class. That´s why you normally tried not to miss her classes but you just haven´t been able to get yourself to move out of bed this early today.  

You were on your way to the cafeteria when you realized it was Tuesday, which meant Jo didn´t have classes today. You groaned, knowing you would probably have to eat your lunch alone. You didn´t like eating alone in public. The exposedness of the situation, the feeling of being watched, yeah you could definitely pass on that one.

Jihoon´s eyes lit up when he saw you. You were standing next to the door that led to the cafeteria, the very same door he was about to walk through. As you looked down at your feet while letting some other students pass in front of him, he realized you hadn´t noticed him yet. “Hi.” He smiled. You looked up and for a tiny moment Jihoon thought he had seen your eyes sparkle when you recognized it was him. “Hi.” “You come here often?” Jihoon asked, his voice comically serious. “Oh my god,” you sighed. “That was really bad.” you weren´t able to hide the grin that had spread on your face.   “I´m sorry I´m sorry,” he held up his hands defensively, also smiling, “anyways…are you my homework?” “What?” the look of confusion on your face was priceless. “You definitely look like my homework…cause I´m not doing you when I should.” He winked. Your eyes widened at the realization of what he had just said - god you really were so innocent- and then you laughed. “That was even worse, Jihoon!” “You´re mean.” He pouted. “Also you don´t even need those bad pickup lines.” You giggled. “Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, a smug grin plastered on his face. “I don´t?” Immediately your mind wandered off to yesterday when he had buried his face in your pussy, giving you all those sickeningly sweet jolts of pleasure. “No. I don´t think you need those.” “And why is that, sweetie?” Your face had turned bright pink and you didn´t know what to answer. Why the fuck did he always have to tease you?? Your entire body had been filled with intrusive warmth and for a few seconds you were physically unable to say anything. You just felt so small under his gaze, his presence was overwhelming. “I mean…I already gave you a drawing of a hedgehog…that basically bonds us for life.” You stuttered. “Does it now?” Jihoon let out a hearty laugh “You really are so innocent aren´t you?” “I´m not innocent at all!” you tried to seem offended.   “You sure?” “Yes!” Raising his eyebrows again he responded: “Guess I´ll just have to find out huh?” When he saw you were getting flustered again he had mercy and changed the topic “No but seriously, thanks for the drawing. I know it’s simple but it‘s the most adorable thing. I love it.” “I‘m glad you like it.” You smiled softly. “Of course. Also you drawing that for me is one of the cutest things…”He didn‘t get to finish the sentence he had started because you had grabbed his jacket and had pulled him so that he was now standing in front of you, your back facing the wall. “Oh my god. I´m sorry but you have to hide me real quick.” Jihoon didn´t know what was going on but he could see the freaked out look on your face, so he leaned in closer as to shield you.  “I‘m so so sorry.” You let out a breathy giggle, still holding him by his jacket. “But behind you my art history professor just passed and I skipped her class today and I really didn´t want her to see me and I panicked and…” you let go of his jacket. “I´m sorry.”

Jihoon didn´t say anything for a moment, he was still processing what had just happened. But then a huge grin spread on his face. “You know, if you really wanted to be closer to me this bad you could´ve just asked.” “I swear it really was because of my professor.” You said trying to get yourself out of this awkward situation. Your heart was beating so so so fast. “So you don´t even wanna be close to me?” he asked and only now you realized how small the distance still was between your bodies. He was standing so close you could´ve counted all of his eyelashes. “I..that´s not what I meant.” You averted your gaze to the floor, not being able to keep looking into his eyes. “Look at me.” Surprised by his words you pulled up your view again. “You’re cute.“ Your cheeks flushed red and your mouth slightly agape you looked at him. He was smirking at you, knowing oh so well what effect he had on you. “And you’re mean.” You finally replied. He raised his eyebrows, grin still plastered on his face. “Mean? That’s not exactly what I would call a person who made me cum just yesterday.” “I…” Jihoon couldn’t help but laugh at your shocked face. “You sure you aren’t innocent, sweetie?” “I…” you buried your face in your hands “You really can’t stop teasing me, can you?” you finally muttered under your breath, voice way too quiet to sound confident. 

And then Jihoon took your face in his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek lightly. “Can you blame me? You really look so pretty when you blush.” He was smiling but his voice sounded so serious. “Haven’t we had this talk already?”, you giggled. “We most definitely have.” “Jihoon, you’re horrible.” “Y\N, you’re wonderful.” “You’re cheesy.” “You’re pretty.” “You need to stop.” You grinned. “And you need to accompany me to that party the music institute is having tomorrow.” “What’s in it for me?” You crossed your arms over your chest and acted as if you were actually thinking about saying no. “I’ll buy you a drink and you’ll get to spend some quality time with me, your local handsome music student who apparently is really good at eating pussy or so I’ve heard…” You slowly shook your head at his boldness, the smile never having left your face. “I’d absolutely love that.” You said. “I know.” He winked. “I’ll text you the details later. I’m already late to class.” “Oh my god, sorry I didn’t know you had class.” He smiled and then he leaned in and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. “Being late for class because of a pretty girl? Totally worth it.” He smiled. “See you tomorrow!”

You hadn‘t managed to fully comprehend that you would be going to a party with Jihoon the next day, not until you got home in the afternoon and sank down onto your sofa. A smile spread itself across your face when you thought of how he had sounded so genuinely hopeful that you would say yes. You were so incredibly attracted to him, in definitely more ways than one, you hadn‘t even thought of saying no. You would‘t call yourself especially insecure or self conscious but you couldn‘t deny having some trouble realizing that this unearthly being of a man was actually attracted to you. It didn‘t make sense, he was this beautiful, funny, (too) cocky, sexy person and you were normal. But he hadn‘t been sure. He had been hopeful. So there were only two options; either he was just as captivated by you as you were by him, or he just didn‘t have a clue of how attractive he actually was (very unlikely because: cockytm).

Jihoon: hI Jihoon: *ho Jihoon: shit! lol Jihoon: Good afternoon. Jihoon: I actually wanted to message you earlier but I only got around to it now. Sorry :( So about that party tomorrow… You: Hii. Very smooth start to a conversation I must say.

He must have seen that you had already messaged back because for a second the typing... on the top of your chat turned into online.

Jihoon: I tried 😫 You: I can see. Lol Jihoon: You‘re making fun of me :( You: Maybe. Jihoon: you‘re gonna regret that. Jihoon: :) Jihoon: so anyways…about that party tomorrow… Jihoon: I can come pick you up at 7 if that‘s ok for you? You: sounds good! You: Do I have to wear something fancy? What party is this?? Jihoon: No you don‘t have to. It‘s just some annual party the music majors organize every year in honor of some famous composer. Jihoon: Don‘t ask me who the composer is. I forgot. You:  omg 😂 Jihoon: 🙄 Jihoon: So 7 is good? You: Yup.

It took you a bit of courage to send the next message.

You: Can‘t wait to see you again Jihoon: Goes both ways sweetie ;)

And then you were clinging to your phone like it was some incredibly valuable treasure (or a certain other person). You really could not wait.

Jo: Y/N!?!!?!??!??!?? Jo: You‘re coming to the party tomorrow??? Jo: Hansol told me Jihoon is taking you 🌚 You: 😳 You: He told Hansol about it… You: omg You: but yes I‘m coming…I guess you‘ll be there too. Jo: YES BITCG Jo: and of course he told Hansol about it. He‘s in love with you 😌 You: JO Jo: How was your lunch date yesterday? You: … Jo: Oh no was it bad? You: NO omg it was great Jo: oh Jo: OH 🌚 You: stop sending that emoji 😭 You: but yeah uhm we kissed and Jo: AND You: and then he kinda maybe gave me head on my kitchen table. Jo: you’re kidding You: I swear! Jo: He’s in love with you!!!!!!!! Jo: Also was it good? You: sooo good You: stop saying that I don’t even know what I’m feeling myself :( Jo: You don’t have to know yet tho. Just enjoy it. Jo: And I can’t wait to see you two together tomorrow. I bet y’all are adorable You: omg pls don’t make it weird LOL Jo: Let me rephrase that Jo: I am very looking forward to creepily stare at the two of you from across the room 🌚 You: omg

The next day you handed in your portrait assignment. You had put it in a green folder with your name neatly written on top. You were really happy with your end product and you most definitely didn’t regret having chosen Jihoon as your model. As your professor took the folder out of your hand she smiled: “You know whenever I see that folder of yours I always know it’s gonna be something good.“ “I…thank you so much. That means a lot.“ You stammered. With a friendly nod she averted her attention back to another student. And it was so weird, so utterly confusing that the first thing you thought of on your way home was how you couldn‘t wait to tell Jihoon about your encounter. How you couldn‘t wait to tell him how happy that had made you.

After having spent most of your afternoon on school work, you had forced yourself to quickly decide on an outfit you wanted to wear for tonight. You hated the idea of spending so much time just thinking about your clothes. You had chosen a skirt and a top you really liked, nothing special but you felt comfortable in it. You looked pretty but not as if you had spent much thought on how to do that (which you considered a big accomplishment). It was a few minutes before seven when you heard your phone buzz.

Jihoon: Heyy I’m outside :) You: I’ll be down in a sec!

He was standing on the sidewalk and he looked so casual so at ease, as if picking you up was something he did everyday. And fuck he looked hot. When he saw you walk out the door a puppy like smile spread across his face that broke the illusion of casualness. You couldn‘t help but reciprocate his exciting grin. Without hesitation you fell into each others arms. “Hi.“ he murmured against your hair while holding you. “Hi.“ “You know I’m really happy to see you again.“ “Goes both ways.“ You grinned which made him snicker. You slightly pulled yourself out of his embrace, you didn‘t want to wait any longer. You had been waiting the entire day to tell him. “You know I handed in my portrait assignment today.“ “And?“ he looked so excited. His eyes had actually lit up. “She hasn’t graded it yet but she said that she’s always happy seeing my folder because apparently it’s always good and I still can’t believe she actually said that.“ And then he laughed and there was no other thing to do for you other than to blush. You just stared at him in disbelief because what the hell was so funny. “I…I just…sorry but like of course she said that.“ he was still laughing “Y/N, I really don’t know much about art but even I, a fool, can see that you’re so fucking talented.“ You smiled “You really are a fool, Jihoon.“ “I compliment you and that’s your comment? I can’t believe it.“ He dramatically put his hand over his chest. “I had literally no other choice.“ You giggled. “But thank you so much.“  

As you were walking he told you of his day and how he had been writing a lot of songs lately. You were a rather introverted person, talking to someone, even being around other people could be very exhausting for you. You liked being alone, not necessarily because there were no other people around but because you didn’t need to explain yourself. It wasn’t that you thought you were so different or oh so special but you just had always felt a certain disconnect between the thoughts and feelings you wanted to express and what actually ended up coming out of your mouth…which could be exhausting. But then there were people who seemingly were able to pick up what you were trying to convey. Not just the general message of your words but all those tiny little nuances that you had always been hiding unintentionally in your language. Jihoon seemed to be one of those people.  Your conversation was not just question-answer-and saying things that were supposed to be said. It felt like you were having a monologue together. Your thoughts somehow intertwined, flowed into each other at the exact right time in the exact right places and that was just so fucking cool.

“Hey would it be ok if I held your hand?“ You giggled and turned your head to look at him. “Jihoon, you don‘t even have to ask.“ He took your slightly smaller hand into his and immediately interlaced your fingers. “I just wanted to ask because people are gonna see and they‘ll probably assume we‘re a couple and I don‘t want that to make you uncomfortable.“ You gave his hand a tight squeeze and smiled. “It won‘t.“

Jihoon had told you that they had rented the small concert hall for the party. When you got closer to the music building there were already a lot of (presumingly) students around. The doors to the hall were open and a lot of people were hanging out on the lawn in front of it. You had to stop yourself from laughing out loud when you watched a boy, who definitely wasn‘t 18 yet, throw up into a bush. It was only half past 7. “Poor kid.“ Jihoon stated without being able to hide the amusement in his voice. “You ever threw up before 8?“ you snickered. Your question was meant to be rhetorical. “I would like to exercise my right to remain silent.“ “Oh. My. God. You actually did.“ to accentuate your reaction you stopped walking and put your hands over your face. Mostly because you had a hard time hiding your laugh. You were standing at the edge of the lawn, still at a safe distance from the other party guests. “I didn‘t say anything!“ “I‘m shocked.“ “I know it‘s hard to imagine but there used to be a time where I was so nervous about talking to girls that I had to drink a lot and I mean A LOT of alcohol before doing so.“ he stated, a grin plastered on his face. “Awww Jihoon was actually scared of talking to girls.“ He let out a low chuckle and then he grabbed your hips roughly and pulled you into him. “I‘m not scared of talking to you right now though, am I?“ And holy fuck if that didn‘t make you nervous nothing else would but for some inexplicable reason you still managed to stutter out a response. “Maybe you‘re just good at hiding it.“ He looked at you, amusement still written on his face and it was so hard not to look away because his stare was so intense so intimate, you didn‘t know what to do with yourself. “God, you‘re killing me.“ You just smiled, too much in trance to say anything. His eyes wandered down to your mouth and only now were you realizing how you had been subconsciously biting your bottom lip. And fuck you were already waiting for the kiss, you swore you could already feel his lips on yours but… it didn‘t happen. Instead he pulled away slightly, leaving his hands on your hips. “You know, maybe you‘re right.“ he said and for a moment he seemed so incredibly vulnerable. “Huh?“ “Maybe, you do make me really nervous too.“ And then there was nothing left to do. Everything had stopped moving and there was nothing left to do. Nothing, except that one thing. And you really had no other choice because there was nothing. Only him and you. And then you took his face into your hands and kissed him. He returned it immediately, it was a soft, loving kiss, maybe even a bit innocent. “I‘m glad I can make you feel that way too.“ You released yourself from his grip and took a few steps backwards away from him. “Come on, let‘s join the others.“

There are several ways and techniques on how to draw attention to yourself. The classiest way, which would also have the benefit of not disturbing other people, would probably be to simply just wave in the direction of the person you wanted to get attention from. Jo however was not a classy person. “Hey! Y/N!“ Jo was literally jumping up and down while waving her arms. Hansol, who stood next to her, started to laugh and shake his head in disbelief. But one had to hand it to her, her method worked. You had immediately spotted her through the crowd. Jihoon turned his head to look at you, his voice oozing with sarcasm “I’m not sure but I think your friend might be looking for you.“ “I think you might me right.“ you giggled.

“I‘m so happy you are here!“ Jo stated before hugging you and Jihoon. “I agree. This one‘s kinda hard to deal with alone.“ Hansol said, pointing to Jo. Jo let out an overdramatic sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. “You‘re the worst.“ “I know.“ Hansol had pulled her into him and had given her a kiss on the top of her head, she scrunched up her nose in fake protest which in return had made Jihoon and you laugh. “I swear I have no clue how you deal with her on a daily basis. She is such a goblin.“ you said after having watched the scenario. “Finally someone who understands me!“ Hansol raised his arm to give you a high five, which you gladly reciprocated. “I really need some alcohol after this betrayal..“ Jo announced with a grin on her face.

You had expected to see more dancing, more drinking and more people getting fucked up but right now you were looking at a room full of students who were seemingly just chilling. Most of the chairs had been pushed to the side and a lot of people simply just sat on the floor, chatting with each other. Some students were dancing while some were standing next to the bluetooth speaker. They were probably arguing over the choice of music.  The four of you were standing next to the bar which really wasn‘t a bar. To be precise the so called bar consisted of one folding table and a lot of bottles of alcohol that were stacked on the floor. Jihoon was standing next to you, your sides had been touching the entire time. It felt good to be close to him in such a casual way even though it did make you nervous. “That’s too much orange juice!“ Jihoon tried to keep Hansol from pouring more of the juice into his cup. “Dude it‘s gonna taste like shit.“ “It‘s literally just gonna taste like alcohol.“ “Yeah! Which tastes like shit!“ “Oh my god you have the taste buds of a baby.“ “Yeah he does.“ Jo chimed in which earned her an offended look from Hansol. “Ok but Hansol is kinda right. Like alcohol really tastes awful.“ you decided to defend Hansol. “You‘re cute.“ You hadn‘t even realized yet that Jihoon‘s compliment had been meant for you when Hansol started to protest. “So when Y/N says alcohol is disgusting it‘s cute but when I do it I have the taste buds of a baby??“ “Nah you both have the taste buds of a baby but Y/N is just cuter than you.“ Jihoon grinned and grabbed you side to pull you into him. You thought you were losing your mind. The concept of Jihoon complimenting you was already a hard enough concept to grasp but now he was doing it in front of your friends? You were sure he would be the death of you sooner or later. “I‘m outraged.“ Hansol let out a laugh. He looked like he couldn‘t believe Jihoon‘s boldness either. “Aww poor baby. You‘re cute too.“ Jo had pulled Hansol‘s face down to her height to give him a kiss on the nose. “Thank you.“ he pouted.

“Hey Jihoon! Hansol!“ “Hi! I didn‘t know you were coming too, Seokmin!“ Jo greeted the taller one of the two guys who had just approached you. You didn‘t know them but you were sure you had seen them somewhere on campus before. “Me neither to be honest. But Seungkwan right here didn‘t want to go alone.“ You looked at Seokmin. He was a tall guy who, for a second had seemed somewhat serious and intimidating, but when his entire face broke into a beaming smile that illusion was quickly eliminated. He had actually turned into an overgrown puppy. After everyone had greeted each other Seokmin introduced his friend: “Seungkwan, that‘s Jo and this is…I‘m sorry I think we haven‘t met before. You‘re not a music student right?“ he was looking at you now. “No I‘m an art student. I‘m Y/N.“ “Very nice to meet you.“ the guy who was apparently named Seungkwan chimed in. At a first glance Seungkwan had appeared to be very average looking, only now as you were actually looking at him were you realizing how pretty he actually was. He looked like an actual disney prince. “Seungkwan, how have you been? Haven‘t seen you in so long.“ Jihoon had turned his head to Seungkwan. “Yeah I’ve been real busy with school but besides that I’m doing pretty well.“ The two of them fell into a casual conversation about their school work and you thought Seungkwan was mentioning something about a new project but you couldn‘t be entirely sure because your thoughts had drifted off after about 10 seconds into the conversation, which was of course no one‘s but Jihoon‘s fault. His hand was still resting on your waist as if it were the easiest, most casual, thing to do. Bystanders probably didn‘t even notice but you clearly felt his hand rest on your hip a tad bit too firmly for it to be normal. You were so so so close to him.  Your shirt had risen up just a tiny bit so his fingers were resting on your bare skin. You were already so hyperaware of his touch on your body you really thought you were losing your mind when he started to rub small circles into your side. You wanted nothing more than to be closer to him but you were already so so close and you were in public and he was literally having a conversation with someone right in front of your eyes. “Are you down for it too, Y/N?“ Seungkwan had mentioned your name. Oh no. You had no clue what he was talking about. “I‘m sorry, what did you say?“ you tried to save yourself. “We were talking about playing Seokmin‘s drinking game…“ “Yeah of course she‘s down for it.We’ll just get something to drink and then we’ll join you.“ Jihoon interrupted him. “Awesome!“ Seungkwan didn’t seem to question your lack of response. As Seungkwan was walking off to join Seokmin, Hansol and Jo for the ominous game you were about to play, Jihoon pulled you to the side. “Was I that much of a distraction to you sweetie?“ he was actually smirking. “I…“ you didn’t know what to say because fuck yes he had been that much of a distraction but you couldn’t just admit that even if you were aware that he already knew. “I didn‘t even do much.“ You were nervous again. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your entire body felt so hot. “You‘re just mean.“ you pouted. He let out a hearty laugh at your childish answer. “And you‘re just so innocent.“ “I‘m not.“ “You keep saying that but I just don‘t believe you, sweetie.“ He still had his hand on your hip and it felt like your skin was actually burning under his touch. You really didn‘t think you were brave enough but for some unapparent reason you managed to get your next words out of your mouth. “How can I prove it to you?“ He was surprised by your question, he had raised his eyebrows but his smirk had vanished a tiny bit. “Hey are y’all coming?“ Hansol’s voice had made both of you jump slightly. Jihoon slackened his grip on your waist and took a step back to lessen the tension between you. “We‘re on our way!“

“What even are we playing?“ you asked Jihoon as you were walking over. “If you would’ve paid attention you would know.“ he winked at you. You just rolled your eyes which made him chuckle. “It’s just some weird drinking game Seungkwan wanted to try for the longest of time. Apparently it’s a bit like truth or dare.“ “Oh, that sounds like fun.“ “It does. Maybe it‘s a chance for you to prove that you‘re not that innocent?“

Hi! It´s me, Jo. I´d like to thank you for reading my stuff! I really hope you enjoyed it. If you have any feedback, comments, requests, questions please let me know! 

Also I’m very sorry it took me so much longer to upload a new chapter than I originally thought. University has been more stressful than I predicted :( Oh and if you’d like to be added to the tag list just let me know :)

Tag list: @3sriracha​ 

#Jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen ff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #jihoon fluff #woozi fluff #kpop fanfiction #kpop ff #rhubarbbabywrites

[stabbedinthenameofscience]

Tom Hiddleston's lanky nature, long legs, long fingers, are some of the physical features that have drawn me.

Some stories to bring about why:

A moment in time- Albion, MI, where I lived before here. I'm tutoring in a GED program. One of the other tutors notices my hands. I have long fingers. The joints are a little angular, thanks to the hypermobility and the arthritis that has already started to damage them (I am in my early 20s at this time). He tells me he's never seen hands like mine. Fingers like mine. Lanky. I've never thought of them as pretty, though at one time I considered they might be elegant. I could do pretty things with rings, especially in tiers, some floating above my second knuckles.

But this person...he tells me of this syndrome he's read about, how these hands are irregular, different, something that's a sign of a hidden something worse. Something I should (or shouldn't look up). And it did two things. 1) It sent me down a reading rabbit hole that scared me for a while, before I realized this was an unrealistic fear. 2) It made me incredibly self-conscious about my hands and planted that seed of self-doubt that I no longer saw them as something neutral, or simply hands, but something odd, awkward, abnormal. That lasted for years. I've gotten more neutral about them over the years, especially as I start wondering when their function is just going to impede the things I love to do, including writing. They aren't just hands. They are a part of me this degenerative disorder may some day claim and that scares the living fuck out of me. They are something I need to use as much as I can now, strengthen, and enjoy what they can do for me, what I can do with them, regardless of how they look. I can take pride in the strength of these hands (when I have it), with the fact they can type, on a good day, upwards of 70 words in a minute (often with surprising accuracy). I can take pride in their aptitude with tools, with the way my long fingers can reach things others can't, or I can steady them to the point where, when they don't shake, can paint a beautiful line, courtesy of my training in scene painting. They can make, and they can make beautiful things. I'm making my own wedding dress, which, while not traditional by any stretch, is something that is still a feat I can take incredible pride in.

These hands have held children, built a life, and repaired things I've been told were irreparable or only worth the rubbish bin.

And yet, thanks to one person's fascination with them so many years ago (going on twelve at this point), the damage was done and I still look at them in some moments of self-doubt and insecurity and think they're ugly, they're "old person hands" (I turn 37 this year and aging so early is another insecurity of mine), they're spider-like, they're too "thin" (in that my tendons and veins are clearly visible under the skin's surface on the back of my hands) and my knuckles are a little too imperfect, made all the more visible by how slender they are. And that they swell in the humidity, that the arthritis makes me unable to some days wear my engagement ring and the little copper key ring that both are dear to me...these things make me resent them at times. There's something "wrong" with them (which I know is utter bullshit- they're just hands, they are a part of my body, and they will serve me well until they won't).

I've also dealt with a life-long insecurity about my long legs. Dancer legs (14 years of ballet, many of tumbing, many of tap, and a few of jazz). Legs with strength and grace, but also lanky legs. I'm all leg. Legs that won't quit. Unwanted attention from a cluster of frat boys while I was walking in a short dress with my mother on the campus of Michigan State University and was still in high school. I stopped wearing shorts. I stopped wearing skirts above my knees. Because my knees are too angular (like the rest of me), knobby, and damaged thanks to scars from a surgery in the attempt to save the right one from the arthritis that started with it and has crept into other areas of my body. Again, attention in a moment I definitely didn't want it cracked and broke the self-esteem that has, for some reason, always been fragile. For years, I've been sensitive about my legs, initially because of the scars, small and faded as they are. But the trauma that one knee left me with, that my arthritis continually brings back, continually reminds me exists, gifted me with deep insecurities about my knees, compounded with the dipshit comments of adult men to a teenage child.

I've never seen these things as valuable. At their best, they are body-neutral. At their lowest, they are things that bring shame, doubt, embarrassment, unwanted attention and gaping.

And so, when I am a young adult a decade ago, just turning 27, pregnant with my first child, my body a mess from the pregnancy (from swelling, the awfulness of weight gain is to arthritic knees, the looseness of my hips that shift in ways I know aren't normal, the intense lower back pain, and the nausea that never abates), I see Thor. And there on screen is a young man only a few years older than myself with lanky legs and long, elegant fingers. In that moment, I'm drawn to how theses features don't put me off in the way they do in myself. I seem something of a commonality with this rising star in a movie that is essentially space Shakespeare that stars one of my favourite heavyweight actors (Sir Anthony Hopkins) and is directed by an artist I have admired for years at that point. The entire movie stands out to me and thrills me, calling to me as theatre on the silver screen, the Shakespearean and classical acting evident and threaded throughout the entire thing.

And it is beautiful to me.

And so is this man with features I'd rejected in myself, one a decade (my legs) and one only for a few years (my hands).

It probably seems odd that this moment was a branching point in the way I've handled these insecurities, but it was. I still won't wear skirts that show my legs. I still refuse to wear shorts. But these things also come from the habit of not shaving my legs, not generally because I resent they are long and lanky, just like the rest of me. Every movie I've seen with Tom Hiddleston when I feel myself smile at this lovely human (physically) who also has a public persona that is witty and soft-spoken, a nerd about theatre, who likes to explain acting process, who digs into literature with excitement...there's a moment of realization that I'm finding someone on my "tea list" (I'm mostly asexual- it's not a snog/shag list, it's a "take tea with and fall into the joy of conversation" list) that has a body with a few features like mine. And while I'm primarily smiling because seeing those performances brings me deep happiness, there's a corner of my mind that is reminded I am OK as I am, I need to just accept this is the body I have, and I can embrace it as what it is and let it do for me what I need it to, taking pride in the capabilities I have in these moments and reminding myself I am always running from time in a countdown before this auto-immune disorder steals these things from me.

So...strangely enough, Tom Hiddleston is attractive to me because his existence as he is reminds me that my physical being is alright.

There is a part of me that would really like him to know this. I don't know why. But I think it would be nice for him to know that his existence on this planet hasn't just made people happy because of his skills, but that it has reassured one person that their body can be fine, maybe even beautiful or elegant (in time), just because he is.

#tom hiddleston #self awareness #body neutrality #trauma #self consciousness #self image #body negativity #self acceptance #careless words from people who had no business saying them

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 1: restrained

i’m doing whumptober this year! slowly, but i’m going to try to do them all.

summary: dick wishes he were in an actual cage, or hanging from shackles in some dank basement. anything would be better than this.

warnings: some swearing, mentions of suicide. ostensibly set in comics-canon, but uh... set in a nebulous time-line that doesn’t really spoil anything other than the fact that damian is robin.

restrained

There are worse places to get stuck than the Wayne manor’s living room, Dick muses. At least he’s comfortable, people can come and visit him, and there’s limitless entertainment on the TV to distract him. He’s not in some dank basement hanging his entire weight from his arms, and he’s certainly not tied to a cold torture table or to a chair in the centre of a room that’s slowly flooding and he has to slips his knots before he drowns and is that a squid that’s trying to wrap itself around his face, what the fuck—

Okay, so Dick has had more than his share of weird and terrible experiences being tied up. Compared to them, this is a fucking holiday. 

“This is getting silly, Grayson,” Damian says, leaning against the entrance to the living room, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Has it only just, Dami,” Dick mutters. He’s lounging on the sofa, one arm over his eyes. He hasn’t moved from this position for at least a couple of hours. He isn’t sure if ‘moving’ is going to be on the agenda for the near future. He just can’t see the point. 

“Have you tried leaving again today? Maybe the—spell,” Dick imagines Damian’s mouth twisting, the tip of his nose pointing towards the ceiling, “has worn off by now.”

Dick grunts. The truth is, he hasn’t tried in a few days at least. The first few days he couldn’t stop throwing himself against the invisible barrier between this (goddamn fucking) living room and the rest of the world, even if it meant that each time it felt like he was being cut open and electrocuted. It was only a combination of Bruce and Jason bodily holding him back and his own body giving up on him, unable to process that much pain for that long, that made him stop. 

The family’s called in favours with Zatanna, Constantine, Doctor Fate, pretty much anyone who has even passing experience with magic and can figure out what’s going on and why it seemed like only Dick was trapped there. And until they can find a solution, Dick, well… 

I’ve had worse, he reminds himself again.

“That’s not an answer,” Damian says.

Dick bites back on an angry retort and turns so that he’s facing the backrest of the sofa. He means well, Dick thinks, but if he has to look at Damian’s half-concerned, half-contemptuous expression again he’s going to say something he will regret. Again. 

After a long moment, he hears Damian click his tongue against his teeth. “It’s a good thing you’re not in enemy territory, Grayson,” he says, before walking away, “where your utter lack of self-preservation might’ve ended up endangering someone else.”

And that’s the crux of the whole thing, isn’t it? If he’s in enemy hands he at least has a purpose, a readily identifiable objective, something to overcome. Here, he feels like a goldfish in a bowl, able to smell, hear and see freedom but never able to get there. Each little concession to his situation—from the portable toilet that Alfred’s dragged in there, to installing whatever gym equipment that can fit in the space, to the growing collection of books, blu-rays and multiple new streaming subscriptions—feels like a defeat to an invisible enemy he hasn’t even begun to fight.

(that he doesn’t know how to fight—)

He pulls his blanket over his shoulders, closes his eyes, and surprises himself by falling asleep almost immediately. 

-

Dick’s woken by the sound of alarms. He’s up on his feet and running towards the source of the sound before he can even put together a conscious thought; it sounds like somebody’s trying to gain unauthorised access into the Batcave, which can only mean--

He stops short when it feels like he’s run into a wall of electricity. His mind tips sideways, sparks filling his vision, nerves misfiring and his body convulsing in their wake. He falls to the floor, twitching, the impact digging bruises into his skin. He curls into a ball, his muscles taut and pulling impossibly tauter, drool seeping from a mouth that he can’t seem to close and screams locked inside a chest that he can’t seem to move.

The moment stretches for an eternity until it isn’t, and he heaves a shuddering breath. His vision clears enough to see Damian--in full Robin costume--crouched in front of him, pale and frowning. Jason’s standing behind him, shirtless and panting.

“Dick,” Damian says. His voice is small, and scared.

Dick should be trying to reassure him. He should be teasing him about using Dick instead of Grayson or Richard or any number of semi-fond insults. He should be trying to figure out which is way up, honestly, given the way the room is still spinning. Instead he says, “... the intruder?”

“My fault,” Jason says. “Tripped an alarm by mistake. But, Dick, you…”

Dick starts to push himself up on shaky arms. “I’m okay,” he says, even though his voice feels like it’s scraping through the gravel in his throat. “I must’ve gotten farther than I realised.”

Jason and Damian exchange looks.

“That’s the thing, Dick,” Jason says, after a long, silent moment. “You didn’t.”

That’s when Dick notices that he’s barely two feet away from the couch. 

“Oh,” he says.

-

Now that the circle’s started closing in around him, it doesn’t stop. Everyday, Dick discovers that the space that he can exist without pain that feels like his body is being flayed open with a machete is getting smaller and smaller. There’s a point where he can’t move from the couch, even to use the portable toilet--unless he wants to live inside it.

This is the point where he stops eating.

Family and friends come and go, reassuring, pleading, sometimes yelling at him to not give up. Dick wants to be grateful that he isn’t alone in this, but seeing the way they move in and out of the… cage that he’s in with no effort at all brings him to the verge of heart-pounding, dizzying panic. A large part of him is still unable to reconcile the wide open spaces he sees around him with his inability to… be in those spaces. An actual cage would probably be easier to deal with. 

(For a fraction of a moment, Dick considers asking Bruce to build him one. He can’t imagine that desire being treated as anything other than a joke, but he is well past the point of joking now.)

“We’re close to finding the solution,” Tim tells him fiercely. “I know it. That’s why the spell’s accelerating.”

Dick’s supposed to be the hopeful one, and yet it’s always Tim who’s reaching for even the slightest sliver of light and it’s always Dick who’s too afraid to believe him. The words I’ll die before that happens come unbidden to his mouth, but he doesn’t say them; for one, they would devastate Tim, who already looks a moment away from shattering, and two, would he really die? Or would he just be in this horrific pain for all of eternity? 

(would he be allowed to--)

Bruce spends an entire day sitting with him, talking about everything except Dick’s current predicament. He talks about old and new cases, about Damian’s newest addition to his bat-menagerie, about upgrading the Batmobile and the time Alfred tried to teach him to make Bechamel sauce and he ended up burning a perfectly good pan because for some reason when it came to cooking, he lost all sense of time and proportion. 

Dick appreciates the effort, and tries to participate, but at this point he thinks it would be a mercy to be left alone.

-

Dick can’t move. Even the slightest slump in his posture means his muscles seize up in agony, forcing him to find a position that hurts the least and… stay that way. He can’t speak. He can barely breathe.

Damian’s taken to cuddling next to him, bereft of his last shred of self-consciousness. He doesn’t look at Dick, but tucks his head under Dick’s chin, arms wrapped around his chest. The steady stream of visitors has trickled down to just his family, who move around him, silent, slow and haggard. They’re close to giving up, he realises. They’re so close to letting him--letting him--

No. Now that the moment’s here, Dick finds he’s not even remotely ready. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die!

He tries to speak, but the slightest movement of his jaw shoots white hot pain down his neck and spine, and all he can manage is a whimper.

Bruce crouches in front of him until his face is level with Dick’s. “It’s okay, Dick,” he says. “This will be over soon.”

Dick blinks, tears slipping down his face to soak into Damian’s hair.

#nightwing #dick grayson #my fic #whumptober2020 #damian wayne #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #no.1

[writefightandflightclub]

Rebelle of the ball

Poe x fem reader (mainly so the pun worked, sorry gender-neutral readers!)

Author’s note: this my very loose riff on a traditional princess story- particularly that “princess moment” when a guy sees his girl all dressed up walking down a staircase and falls hard / realises his existing feelings. Reader’s POV is that if Poe doesn’t fall for her tonight, in this dress, then it’s never going to happen, is it? This fic is written from Poe’s POV which was a different kinda challenge altogether. Also, I didn’t agonise over this one so sorry if it’s no good. Let me know how I did, k?

Summary: You and Poe have to go on an undercover mission to a diplomat’s ball at Canto Bight casino to gather intel for the Resistance. While you pose as an esteemed Princess, will Poe turn out to be your Prince Charming?

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, mild sex references. 

GIF by @vivienvalentino

Poe is nervous and pacing. He’s read and reread the briefing package sent to him by the ops team. He’s gotten dressed in his black and gold suit. He’s checked his slicked-back hair in the mirror more than he would usually care to. Now he’s waiting on you. And he’s not a particularly patient man.

He raps on the door to your adjoining suite one more time. “What now?!” you hiss through the door, and he sucks air through his teeth. He’s sure you sound even more angry than last time he checked-in with you.

“Are you sure you don’t want a hand, Princess?”

“Fuck off, Prince Charming.” you shout through the door. Charming, indeed.

You’ve been in there at least two hours, bedecking yourself in some form of complicated finery for the evening. A delegation of Resistance members had managed to do some stellar work off-planet, securing a sponsor for the mission. Which -essentially- meant that you had both been hooked up with outfits grotesque and gaudy enough to fit in at tonight’s delegate’s ball in Canto Bight; the casino and playground of the rich and powerful. Only the finest and most elaborate costuming would do to convince guests that you truly were an esteemed Princess of Pavia-9, as you claimed to be. And only then could you get the intel on arms drops you so badly needed to intercept the shipments and topple the Order’s plans.

A fresh wave of nausea hits Poe when he thinks about what you’re about to do. Sure, the pretentious assholes who frequented Canto Bight weren’t battle-hardened like you. But they were abundant enough in number, and had pleny of hired muscle around for things to go royally wrong if they caught on to the fact you were an imposter. No, Poe isn’t a patient man at all. He doesn’t like waiting on you because it allows him plenty of time to plan ahead; “planning ahead”, in his book, is also known as an extended opportunity to ruminate on all the ways things can go wrong. Characteristically, he’d much rather just get out there and wing it. To worry is to suffer twice, and all that.

When you eventually emerge from your suite your expressjon and your body language are impartial, neutral. But you twirl gently, and ask “well?”

Poe looks you up and down and back up again. A gold, elaborate sculpture of a crown adorns your head. Your hair is folded in intricate petals. Your face is caked in so much make-up you barely look like yourself. Your body is enrobed in an ostentatious jewel blue dress and cape, complete with flamboyant shoulder decorations and arm cuffs.

“You look...” he can see you holding your breath, awaiting his reaction, but this is all he has. “You look ridiculous.”

Despite your best attempt at bravado you are visibly upset. “I’m not supposed to look ridiculous, I’m supposed to look good.”

“No, you’re supposed to look rich, trust me, there’s a difference.”

Poe considers reminding you not to take it personally. That you are beautiful. But it’s not relevant for the mission and it’s probably not the kinda thought that -as your Commander- he should be entertaining anyway.

His eyes flick back over you again. “Can you run in those shoes?” he asks, genuinely concerned looking at the height of them.

“Poe. Do I look like a Princess?”

“Don’t go getting ideas below your station.” he smiles at you gently, trying to mask the nerves which prod insistently at his chest, not allowing him to forget the risks. You look like a Princess, for sure. He just thinks that Princess is a bit of a step down for you. Although he does know one Princess who turned out to be pretty badass, most he’d encountered were detached and self-absorbed, outsourcing the true cost of their lifestyle to those who stood to suffer most. 

“Poe!” you yell, scowling now. He concedes that you need some actual reassurance rather than his loose platitudes.

“They’ll buy it. 100%. I promise.” Then he adds, “Do you have your blaster? Communicator?” You nod and flash him your thigh, showing where it’s strapped. He tries not to visibly react to the flash of skin but there’s something he finds very hot about the holster tightened around your leg.

“Good. Now. How do I look?”. He straightens his tie and opens his palms to you, presenting himself.

You look him up and down. “You’re doing a great job of looking like a rich asshole.” He had to figure there’d be no way you’d compliment him after his own reation. But, he can tell by the flare of your nostrils -and the areas of him that your eyes travel to- that you like what you see. He prays you do a better job of hiding your emotions when you’re in front of the crowd.

On that note, he clasps your hands in his, conscious of his clammy grip, and looks deeply into your eyes.”Are you ready to do this?” He searches for any hesitation and finds only a determined resolve.

Poe offers his next words measuredly, carefully, recapping the plan.“You know the mark. Let him come to you. Find out what we need, find me, and we get out. Provided the bribes have worked, the real Princess will be delayed at the checkpoint for 35 minutes. That’s all we’ve got and then we need to move.”

“This’ll be fun.” You smile; a wild, improvident look in your eyes. Poe figures the adrenaline must be kicking-in and overriding some of your nerves and better judgement. Fine then, you’ll both just wing it.

He’s certainly done enough worrying about this. He sincerely hopes that will mean he has saved you the trouble of having to suffer.

***

These people, this place; it’s all grotesque. If this is luxury, Poe has already had an excess of the excess.

Everything is obsence. The thought of these people getting rich by dealing arms, wreaking havoc on innocent people - all to catwalk their garish outfits and passively agressively outbrag one-another at champagne mixers - makes his blood boil. But, he must refrain from blasting anyone just yet.

Poe is posing as a middling member of the Galactic Senate from a planet with plausible ties to the old imperials. Nothing risky enough that anyone should question him too insistently. So, he mingles amongst the throng of the crowd, rubbing shoulders with tasteless, vulgar individuals and trying to keep his fists and weapons to himself. Groups of men stop him, with faux interest, seemingly only to boast about pointless items within their possession as if they mattered, and then to dismissively describe arms deals which contributed to massacres as though the lives taken were of zero consequence. The only thing preventing Poe from blasting half of these assholes is the satisfying thought that you’re about to dupe them and they have no kriffing idea. It makes a delicious smile spread over his face, which these over-indulged narcissists mistake for tacit approval, of course.

Finally, the announcement sounds out informing the room that the arrival of the Princess of Pavia-9 is imminent. The guests, noticeably abuzz, seem intrigued to finally catch a glimpse of the famously beautiful, ruthless, and reculsive monarch-in-waiting. The throng move to congregate at the bottom of the central staircase, ready to watch you make your entrance. Poe joins the thick of the crowd, taking a position off to the side, flanked by obtrusive flower displays, imposing gilded statues, and gaudy champagne towers. The orchestral music is paused, and, as everyone awaits your appearance, you could hear a droid-bolt drop.

Poe’s heart is in his mouth, a slight taste of bile as he readies himself for your moment of truth. His legs are shaking a little with nerves now, a sheen of sweat developing on his brow. You really are surrounded by people who would not hesitate to kill you, or worse. Then, he sees you appear at the opening of the stairs, the jewel blue of your dress in stark contrast to the gold staircase.

Well, you’ve made it this far, at least. Hopefully you can pull-off being a Princess for half an hour more. Poe looks nervously around to see if the crowd are buying it. Well, he never should have doubted you.

The crowd is enraptured, looking at you in awe. There is an audible ripple of excitement and nervous energy which spreads across the room as they receive their first glimpse of you, and the ripple of bows which follow feels like more than a simple act of obeying custom; it feels like they are bowing because you inspire them to. Because your presence commands it. You move deliberately, confidently, gracefully down the staircase.

A woman to Poe’s side whispers to her companion “She’s breathtaking.” Poe’s face can’t help but spread into a grin. Not even because they’re buying-it (although that is an untold relief). Not even because of the compliment. More so, because everyone here in awe of you is missing the point entirely. Maybe they like that ridiculous outfit, the power and status you appear to convey, your body in that form-fitting dress -which, ok, now that’s he’s looking he admits you carry off well. But no, Poe looks at you and he knows the secret. He knows you’re majestic because of the way you just bravely, cooly, commandingly walked into a room full of your enemies and still owned it, not giving off a hint of nerves. He knows you’re majestic because you were prepared to risk yourself not for your own gain or status; you did so for the good of the Resistance. For all that, you are more beautiful than any self-regarding poser in this room. You’re fucking baller.

You make it down the staircase without a stumble and the orchestra start-up again. Poe sees you begin to track through the crowd, people simutaneoulsy flocking to be close to you and shrinking back from your steely and arresting presence. He knows your mark will soon beeline for you. The transaction is well-rehearsed and Poe is confident in what you can do. All being well, you will rendezvous with him in the hallway by the service exit in 15 minutes.

Itching to whisk you out of there, perhaps overly keen not to lose sight of you in the crowd, Poe lingers a little too long in just the wrong spot. Edging close enough to the periphery of the party to arouse suspicion.

“Excuse me. Can I assist you?” It’s one of the security officers the casino has assigned to protect the Princess, now that’s you. He sidles over, chest puffed out, towering over Poe.

“No, thank you.”

“Can I see your credentials?” 

Poe flashes his best, affronted-rich-person face, but subterfuge really isn’t his strongpoint. He’s just the getaway pilot. “How dare you...” he begins.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you notice him and the brewing confrontation. He sees you subtly -via a thread of greetings and kisses to your hand- trying to weave through the crowd and reduce the distance between you both, in case of the need for a quick exit. He throws you a somehwat helpless, sidelong glance.

And then, it gets worse. Poe guesses that the real Princess’ ship has made its way through the checkpoint early, as the guard’s communicator crackles to life, a panicked voice raising a very valid concern about how the Princess could possibly already be there. That will, emphatically, be your cue to leave then.

“Oh, shit.”

Poe whistles loudly, his pinkies in his mouth, and yells indiscrimately into the crowd. “Let’s roll, Princess!”

You are close enough that he hears you exclaim, “oh fuck”, before push-kicking another guard right into the orchestra, and he hears them landing in a dischord of groans and reverberating strings. He sees a flash of jewel blue as hands grab at your robe, which you abandon, throwing it over the head of one of your pursuers. This buys you an extra split second to slip away as you elbow your way through the crowd of -thankfully- sufficiently confused delegates. The crowd are startled enough that the path of the other guards remains blocked, a few beelining and jostling through towards you from all corners of the room, sending people and drinks and champagne towers toppling.

Poe uses the distraction to land a respectable hook to the chin of the security officer who had decided to accost him and you skid to a halt in front of him, in time to follow his hook up with a solid elbow to the guard’s face.

And then, to him; “We royally fucked up, what can I say?”

He makes a mental note to tell you how fucking badass you are, but that can wait.

“It’s just a slight hiccup, Princess. You ready to run?”

You lift the hem of your dress to reveal your old, worn flight boots in place of the heels you’d donned earlier.

Poe beams in delight “You changed your shoes,”

You grin back “I changed my shoes.”

Poe guides you urgently out of the service exit with a hand on your back and you head out first. You both know where you’re running, having scoped out the speeders earlier in the evening. You can’t let the security forces get there before you. You both leg it, running and half-sliding down the steep hilside until your lungs burn and your legs shake, your blasters now drawn. You haven’t made it far enough by the time blaster shots begin to lick at your heels.Thankfully the ground has begun to flatten out a little or with their higher vantage point -and your disadvantage point- you’d be done for.

Thinking quickly, Poe crouches and takes a position behind a crumbling bit of wall. He needs you away from their line of fire, now. “Get to the speeders, I’ll stay here and pick a few off.” You don’t even hesitate to leave him there to be all heroic, which he chooses to believe is a sign you trust his judgement. Trusting you also, to come back for him, Poe focusses at the task at hand, dropping a few of the security team as they make their way down the hill. He notes with vexation that crafts have taken to the skies already, searchlights combing through the long grasses.

Distracted by the whirr of one such craft as it comes unnervingly close overhead, he doesn’t spot one of the pursuers until they have already cleared the brow of the nearest hill, looking equally shocked to find Poe crouched behind the makeshift cover as they plant their feet and recover from their jump.

The split seond needed before recognition hits is the only reason Poe hasn’t been blasted yet. It’s also the reason neither of them see or hear you approach on the looted speeder, given the additional cover of the noisy craft overhead. At least, Poe’s adversary doesn’t notice you until it’s far too late. You steer the landbike towards him, your golden headdress now being yielded in one fist, like a goddess riding into battle, as you straddle the vehicle. You sock the guard in the back of the head with your crown, the momentum of your strike knocking him out cold. You toss the now useless adornment to the floor and it rolls down to land at Poe’s feet. The guard too wavers and then drops to his knees in what feels like slow motion, rolling down the hill limply.

“That’s it. Bow down to your Princess, you fucker.”

See. Fucking baller.

Poe is almost inspired to fall to his knees too.

He looks up at you from the lower ground. You have a split in your dress up to your thigh, leaving your oh so practical flight boots and blaster holster on show. Your hair is a mess and a cut seethes on your lip. This is it. This is the moment the force of his feelings for you hits him. It’s like a sucker punch. He relates a little too heavily to the guard you’ve just KO’d.

“Can you stop gawping and get the fuck on, Poe!”

Your command rips him back to reality and he clambers over to the speeder, throwing his leg over and shuffling close to you, hands circling around your waist.

Now it’s just a small matter of making it down to the secluded cove where the ship is hidden and he can finally make himself a bit more useful.

“Don’t let go!” you shout above the throttle of the engine as the vehicle accelerates with a jolt.

No, he certainly doesn’t plan on it.

***

You make it back to the ship, tumbling through the doors with a flood of relieved laughter.

“See, I told you that would be fun,” you grin deliciously.

Poe vaults into the pilot’s seat and fiddles with various nozzles, levers, and dials, flying manually until he’s sure it’s safe enough to jump into hyperdrive. He ditches the Cantonican ships with ease - he’s one helluva piot after all- and you settle into the chair next to him to jump straight on comms.

“General. One slight hiccup, but we did it. Listen, the shipment is on Malomir, they have an outpost there amongst some old salt mines. It’s the centre for their whole distribution and it’s weak at the top peak where the two ridges meet- that’s where there was a cave in of the main shaft a couple of decade ago. I’m patching coordinates through now, but hit it hard and fast, there’s no way that they can move anything much out of there before we can strike. We light it up that whole thing is going to blow. Let’s take them down!”

“Copy that, Major, Commander. We’ll move now. Well done.” Poe can hear the smile in Leia’s voice through the comms, can hear celebration in the background of the briefing rom.

“Thank you, General, copy that.”

After that, Poe breathes out a big sigh of relief, of elation. This victory could save a lot of lives and really slow the Order as well as a lot of warmongers down. Pleasingly, it would also hit them where they understood too- their wallets. But, there’s also another layer of joy mixed in. You are safe. A significant victory.

Poe jumps the ship into hyperdrive which allows you to sit back for a moment. You handled it, this mission, but it can’t have been a breeze. You’re good at hiding the truth (and extracting it too)- it’s part of your skillset, but Poe knows you well enough to see through your cool exterior, or at least he likes to think so. You are quiet as you take a moment to look out at the blue and white light slipping by, letting your muscles untense. He let’s you have it, uninterrupted. Poe regards you ardently, the light casting an ethereal glow over your features, and over the contours of your body. In that jewel blue gown, it’s almost as if you are made of starlight. He smiles softly to himself as he realises how disappointed that crowd back at Canto Bight are gonna be when they get their “real” Princess. Surely nothing could compare to you.

When you turn back, you see that Poe has spun around in his chair, legs spread and hands clasped behind his head.

He’s still looking at you. Still gawping, he realises, but he suddenly doesn’t care if you know it.

“What?” you ask bashfully, recognising the blatant admiration on his face.

“Now you look good.” 

“I do? Not ridiculous?”

He smiles. He’s going to be paying for that comment for a long time, isn’t he? “Yeah, like you usually do. Badass, gorgeous, fucking majestic.” His voice is soft, genuine. He scopes your reaction to the compliment, but you don’t seem to bristle. That’s good, because he has a lot more where that came from.

“Well,” you venture, “if I’m being honest you look pretty good in that suit.”

“I know, I saw you looking.” There’s a beat. “I’d look better out of it.”

“I’ll bet, you goof.”

Again, he’s pleased to see that you don’t seem entirely averse to the suggestion. In fact, you come to sit on the arm of his chair, that gorgeous split extending up your thigh again.

“Seriously though, I didn’t mean to offend you earlier. Those people in there, they’re ugly. No matter how they dress it up. But you, you’re ...” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and with you so close he can barely get his words out anymore. Maybe he’s a little distracted.

“Uh-huh. I get it, Poe.” Your lips quirk up at the corners. “But are you also liking this dress a little more now?” You might have noticed the way his eyes are sweeping approvingly over your body, his words becoming less and less coherent.

“Oh yeah, it’s working for me a lot more out of context.”

“Good to know, Prince Charming.” you say with a gratified smile as you straddle him on the chair, thighs spread, lips hovering close to him. “Now how about we make-out and then go blow some stuff up on Malomir?”

“Anything you say, Princess. I’ve seen what happens to your disloyal subjects and I don’t want to suffer the same fate.”

Poe might be about to have his best day ever, he thinks.

You pulled off being a Princess for the night, but you are most definitely his Queen- he hopes, for a long time.

#lazy exposition #poe dameron #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe x you #poe x y/n #swcreators #sw #sw writing #sw fic #fem reader #reader insert #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #poe fic #poe dameron fic #princess #princess story #tlj #fan fic writing #fanfiction

[bubblyani]

Better

(Adam Sackler x Reader)

An Adam Sackler One Shot

Genre: Fluff

Request: Been trying really hard to come up with something. So its not that great of a request. How about Adam Sackler x Reader. You wrote a jealous Adam. How would Adam react if his girlfriend was jealous? If you are inclined to make it super fluffy at the end. I wouldn’t be mad at ya. Please please please? 💖💖 @danceyreagan​

Author’s Note: Writing for Adam Sackler is fun cause I could dive into the style of dialogue they have in GIRLS. Hope y’all enjoy!

The way his large, generous hand enveloped yours, it was clear that even the harshest of winds would not be able to blow you away from Adam Sackler’s grasp. Yes, as dramatic as it sounded, you felt that secure.

Warmth, it exuded through his hand, powerful enough to bring you only comfort and nothing else. It was cooling yet warm at the same time. Perfect for the summer. Your mind, it was at peace with him. Even when he took you on a stroll on the streets of Brooklyn on a lazy afternoon.

“I don't get  it…” Adam began, in a matter-of-fact tone, “…why are people so weirded out by hand holding in public?”


“Uh…” Suddenly thrown off by the question, you formed a response, “I guess some people are not as open to PDA…Adam, are you okay?” You inquired, fascinated by his enthusiastic behavior. “Me? I’m great…” He said nonchalantly. Looking at you, he smiled, “You know what?…fuck those people! Hand holding rules…I get to hold on to my girl all the time” he said proudly, raising the held hands together as if he won a trophy.

“Ooooh!” You giggled, thoroughly amused. 


“And I get to do stuff like this…WHOOOO!”

Squealing, you felt like a paper blown in the wind, when Adam started to run, pulling you with him. To the average passerby, the two of you may have looked like lunatics. But running together hand-in hand, you felt like a child. Although you were sure you weren’t so active back then as you were just this moment.

Catching one’s breath after running for a while, Adam released your hand, walking ahead while rambling of the most random topics he could come up with. Listening to him was never a burden for you. You always did so with a smile on your face. For you were genuinely inclined to. It was Adam. His silliness , his wackiness was nothing compared to the love and joy you felt being with him. And you were finally happy to share the silliness with someone who equally did not care of the social norms that had no impact. You both existed in this life, to share the embarrassment together. And you did not mind.

With your eyes solely focused on him alone, you suddenly found yourself bumping into someone, who just emerged from the retail shop nearby.

“Oh! Sorry-” You said involuntarily. Judging by the soft locks of hair that brushed against your face, you guessed it was a woman. And looking up, you were right. “It’s okay…” The woman answered. Overhearing, Adam quickly turned. He could not help but freeze in his tracks. “Mel?” He said, looking at the woman. With widened eyes, the woman opened her mouth with surprise. 


“Adam…Hey!” She cried out, but with an unexpected surprise of a tone. It sounded shy. “Hey…” Adam replied, in an equal manner.

Awkward silence emerged for a few seconds as you could not figure out what was going on. The woman finally came to her senses when she realized you had accompanied him.

“I’m sorry…” she said to you, “I’m Melanie…Mel” she added extending her hand out to you. “And this is Y/N…” Adam replied, putting his arm around your shoulder, “ …my girlfriend”

Mel looked more surprised than before. At this point you have already realized they knew each other. “Oh wow…” she began, taking the time to process the information as you shook hands with her, “…nice to meet you” she said slowly.

“You too” you said, in a confident yet curtly manner. The moment Mel let go of your hand, it seemed like you had suddenly disappeared from her eyesight, for it was only on Adam.

“You look…good…” she said to him, nodding. Surprisingly silent and obedient, Adam nodded back. “So do you…” he said softly, while they both acknowledged one another.

Feeling like the 3rd wheel in this situation, you were deeply inclined to stealthily move yourself. And you did, a few feet away. But at the same time, you stood close enough to asses the entire situation, for you were no fool.

Mel, she was beautiful. If her beauty was to be described in one word, it would be as breathtaking. With your hands folded, you watched them with the same intensity as watching a complicated sports game. Your eyes were busy analyzing their every move. Their manner of talking was soft, which clearly did not fit the description of long time friends. Their choice of words were careful.  And from the angle you stood, you could clearly see how her eyes dilated by the sight of him every second.

For a second, you wished you knew Adam’s reaction too.

This sort of behavior, you’d certainly be a fool to not know what they were.

A minute or two later, Mel made her exit. But not before nodding at you. Nodding back with a constrained smile, your arms remained folded as Adam walked  over to you.

“So…” He began awkwardly, “…uh…that was-” “Your ex?” You asked, wearing the same tense smile. Adam nodded quickly. “Yep…”

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

(An hour later)

“Hey…Hope you’re not feeling sick or anything. Just so you know, if you need me to come over…all you gotta do is ask…okaaay. Anyways, I’ll talk to you later, Bye!”

As soon as Adam’s voice message ended, you tossed the phone away, as you tossed to the other side on your bed. Truthfully, you wished you were sick. Rather be sick than have this feeling, you thought.

The stroll, it continued after Mel left. You remember how your eyes lingered on Adam  while he continued with his ramble. Except your conscious was nowhere near there. Suddenly you could not smile the way you used to. You felt unhappiness, poking you in the heart with a reminder. At first you did not know why. But with each step you took, you came to the realization.

Sure, we all had past relationships. So did you, so did Adam. It was a given. In fact, when you first met him, you were well aware of the fact he was getting over his previous relationship, which had ended horribly. But never did you expect to meet the woman behind it all. You did not think it was someone who was as perfect as Melanie.

The more you were aware of her existence, the more sour you felt. Jealousy, it was knowingly swallowing you whole to the point you could not pretend anymore. It was tiring to feign enthusiasm. And since Adam did not dare to expand on the topic even after the encounter, you felt pressure in holding it all in.

So much so you excused yourself to go back to your apartment, alone.

Jealousy, it turned you into someone different entirely. Sighing deeply, you closed your eyes as you drifted off to sleep.

If your normal self was Dr.Jekyl, the Jealous you was definitely your Mr.Hyde.

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

(The next morning)

“…and boom! I got this sweet ride for half the cost. Isn’t that awesome?” Adam’s voice woke you from your thoughts. “Hmm….” With arms folded, you remained unmoved as you stared ahead sitting on the passenger seat of the car. It was Adam’s niece’s birthday, and his sister had decided to hold it at a place outside the city. Though you were far from willing to step out of the apartment with Mr.Hyde inside, you still joined your boyfriend when he rented a car to go there.

Surprised by your silence, Adam kept driving. Though it was obvious he was deciding to move over to another topic. “So…uh…you wanna listen to something?” He inquired, reaching out to the radio. No answer. It was as if he was the only occupant in the car. 
“Okay…still silence it is then…” He muttered awkwardly. The outskirts of the city welcomed the both of you when Adam decided to speak once again.

“You know…” he began, “I’m not the one to usually bring up stuff like this but…” he continued, “Did you bring any makeup with you?”

Turning your head to him with annoyance, you shot him a look. “Why? Am I not pretty enough?” You snapped. 


“NO no no…Jesus!” He replied quickly. Sighing, he added “It’s just that…this is kinda of a formal thing, and I really don’t want you to regret not putting anything on…cause you usually do”

You looked at your reflection on your phone. Mr.Hyde seemed to have convinced you to care lesson yourself you even forgot to put on makeup before the trip. Adam was right. But somehow you just felt worse.

“Well…”you began sternly, “if that’s the case then …why don’t you ask MEL to accompany you, huh?” To your horror, you almost felt yourself bark by the end of the sentence. But at that moment you really did not care.

Exhaling deeply, Adam quickly pulled the car over, bringing it to a steady halt. “Why are we stopping? You asked angrily. “Cause we need to talk…outside” Adam said, surprisingly very calm. Unable to smile, your face was stuck in a resting bitch-face mode as he gestured you to get out of the car.

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

The outskirts of New York deserved more of the attention. But today was not the day. Amidst the trees and bushes by the road, Adam watched you. With his hands is his jacket pockets, he watched you pace from side to side.

“Y/N…” Adam began calmly, “You okay?” “Uh huh….” Nonchalantly you answered, trying your hardest to avoid the question.

“See? I can tell that you’re definitely not okay” Adam finally spoke up in a tone that made you pause. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he took a step towards you. “You’re upset about something. And… you know what? no matter how long you’re gonna stand here sulking….I don’t give a shit” he said, with a serious tone, “You’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on with you. Cause I’ve never seen this side to you, Y/N. And its making me worried-”

“OKAY!….” you cried out. His incessant ramble finally broke you down. But what really broke you was his concern in particular. It made the insensitive side of yours break it’s walls, to see how patient he was with your stubborn behavior, ever since yesterday. And how patient he was now.

“Okay…I’ll talk. I’m gonna talk.” You said with a sigh.


“Great” “But I’m gonna talk a lot.” “Well…good. Cause that’s what I want” Your heart melted upon hearing those words. “Really?” You asked. “Yeah!” He answered without hesitation. Taking a deep breath, you looked right into his eyes. 
“Okay…Look! You’re a hottie… and-” “What? THAT’S IT?” He asked confusingly, making you burst out laughing to his surprise. “Stop! I’m trying to be serious” “Yeah… well, that was a good start” He replied with sarcasm, making you chuckle harder. “Sackler come on!” You said, playfully smacking him on his chest, “ I mean it. You’re this …hella attractive guy, and I knew going out with you, I have to put up with the women throwing themselves at you. Being an actor and all. And I didn’t mind. I didn’t care. I really didn’t give a fuck” “You didn’t ?” “I didn’t ” you repeated, “But…When I saw your ex…she…I mean, Mel is gorgeous. Like mad gorgeous” “No she isn’t” Shocked by his quick response, your jaw dropped. “You gotta be blind if you really mean that” you said, appalled. Adam raised both his hands. “Is this… some kind of self validation on appearances or something?” He asked. “NO No…I normally don’t care but…” you said, frustrated, “…seeing her, and seeing the two of you together talking…I just felt so horrible. Like a legit stomach pain. Not because I’m worried of how she looks better than me…It’s just that..with you guys having such a long history, I wondered, are you guys suddenly gonna have hope for each other again?” You said, as you let your thoughts take you, “Maybe you’ll start…thinking about her again and…One afternoon you guys would probably wanna meet up for coffee, but will it end with just coffee? NO! It won’t” Engaged in your green thoughts, you did not even notice your voice breaking with emotion, “And the next thing you know, you’ll tell me you don’t love me anymore and… leave me and-”

“Hey hey hey! Shhhh!” Adam cut you off gently, pulling you into an embrace,  “Where the hell did you just go?” He asked. As vulnerable as you were, you welcomed this warmth gladly. “I’m sorry…” you sniffed, “When I get jealous I get…super paranoid. And it just goes down the spiral…it’s crazy. It’s bad I know. I’m sorry-” “Shh…” he repeated, “It’s okay…” patting your back gently. With eyes closed, you remained in the warmth of his embrace for a few minutes. Both of you dwelled in comfortable silence while the birds chirped and the soft wind caressed your bodies.

“Do you know why me and Mel broke up?” He asked, making you pull away all the sudden. “No…” wiping your nose, you answered, “… cause I didn’t want to pry into the your romantic past. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable…” Adam chuckled, upon hearing your response, “You know, this was one of the reasons I liked you so much” he said, stroking your head lovingly, “You’re so cool. Like… in the best way” “Shhh stop!” You smiled shyly, hugging him again. “So… why did you guys break up?” You asked him. Adam’s chest rose as he took a deep breath. “She cheated on me…” he said, “When I confronted her about it, all she could say was…she wanted someone better” With widened eyes, you tried your best to process the news. Adam chuckled. “Imagine how that made me feel?”  He asked. “Yeah, that must have sucked…” you said, voice muffled against his jacket, “…I mean..how can she say that? About you especially?” “Yeah?” He asked, pulling away to look at you. “Yeah…that’s just crazy talk” “You know what else is crazy talk?” He said softly,  “You…thinking I might leave you”

Embarrassment swallowed you whole completely, you had nowhere else to look but down. How could you act this way to a man like him?

“Hey!…” Adam began, “…C’mere” taking your chin by the hand so that you eyes met. “Mel may have thought I wasn’t better…” he said, “… but she’ll never be better than you-” “Adam, I don’t care if I’m better…It’s not a competition” Your voice got emotional again, “I just want you to love me as much as I love you”

Those words, they sealed the deal when Adam swooped in, kissing you passionately on the lips. You felt the closet to being saved when those lips fed you the sweet nectar of the love you indulged from him all this time. Melting in his arms in completion, you held onto him with your dear life as he lifted you up, taking you on a spin before he put you down again. Your heart, it felt light, it felt refreshed.

“Y/N…” Adam began,  “Being with you, I spent possibly the happiest days of my life. Do I need to say more?”

Your lips quivered with emotion as you cupped his face.

“No need” you said, as your fingers traced over his goatee, “… that was more than enough”

And in a flash, his generous hand enveloped yours, providing you with the security and warmth you longed for. But more importantly, providing you with the absolute certainty of the real love you both shared for one another.

Check my MASTERLIST for More:)

#adam driver #adam sackler #girls hbo #hbo girls #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler one shot #adam sackler imagines #adam sackler x woc reader #request #adam driver x reader #adam driver fanfiction #kylo ren #star wars #tros #reylo #Flip Zimmerman #blackkklansman #logan lucky #this is where i leave you

[recurring-polynya]

I know I missed Renji's birthday but if you ever have time, I would absolutely love to see anything about Renji and Orihime's friendship. I always headcanon him as her no.1 weird bakery experiment supporter, but really anything would be great! They just seem like they would be each other's go-to supports and I would love to see your take on them!

Anon, I have no excuse for why this took so long! RenHime BroTP is one of my very favorite things, but I managed to draw a huge blank on this and then I went through two concepts that didn’t work before I managed to hit on one that did. (Also, I did write two other Renji & Orihime stories in the Time of Many Drabbles, one where they make a cake and one where they act out Orihime’s fanfic)

Anyway, I love the Advance Team Arc, please enjoy this Advance Team Arc story about Renji and Orihime trying to cheer Rukia up by going thrifting, ft. the all-time greatest Renji clothing item.

👖   🧥   💀

Orihime was headed outside for lunch, thinking longingly about her curry tuna fish sandwich, when a low, gravelly voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oi, Inoue. You gotta moment?”

Abarai was leaning up against the wall of the school, his eyes scanning the school yard like he was waiting for a brawl to break out. Abarai reminded Orihime a lot of a guy in a prison movie. Not the guy that masterminded the prison break, but the guy who had the whole prison figured out and knew how to get illicit goods and would help the main guy escape even though they were sort of frenemies. Orihime found him a little bit scary, but in a cool way. They probably didn’t have motorcycles in Soul Society, but if they did, Orihime would bet money that Abarai would ride one.

“Sure!” she announced eagerly, and followed in his shadow as he silently rounded the corner of the building. He moved very quietly for such a big person, unlike Ichigo and Chad, who crashed and thumped wherever they went, especially when they went somewhere together.

“I gotta problem and I’m hopin’ you’ll be able to help me out a little.” Abarai shifted his shoulders a little, obviously uncomfortable in his school uniform.

Orihime knew all about the stresses of the undercover lifestyle. Clearly, he needed someone for an inside job, someone who knew all the subtleties of living a normal human existence. Fortunately for him, Orihime had been a normal human almost her entire life. “How can I be of assistance, Lieutenant Abarai?” she barked.

Abarai blinked at her. “Er. It’s not really mission-related. I need, um, some advice, I guess.”

Orihime set her jaw and tightened her fists. “I am short on life experience, but I have read many magazines. Ask me anything.”

Abarai waved his hands. “No! No! Look, you’re friends with Rukia, right?”

“Yes!” Orihime agreed. That was an easy one.

Abarai nodded quickly, happy to have found some firm footing at last. “The thing is, she’s been taking Ichigo’s vanishing act kinda hard.”

Orihime gave a tiny nod, her fingernails digging into her palms. The truth was, there was a dull, Ichigo-sized ache in her own heart, as well. She couldn’t stop wondering where he was and what he was up to and if he was getting good hearty lunches. She imagined it must be a thousand times worse for Rukia who had come all the way from Soul Society to just to see him.

“She gets real crabby when she’s worried,” Abarai continued on, continuing to scan the grounds, presumably for lurking Rukias. “She’s been getting on me for not having enough spare clothes for my gigai. I wouldn’t usually let her boss me around like this, but I thought it would make her feel better so I told her we could go, ah, shopping.”

“Oh, that’s so nice!” cried Orihime.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a prince. But here’s the thing: Even though Captain Hitsugaya outranks me, I am technically the mission manager, which means I’m in charge of the budget, and I’d really, really like to come out in the black. Matsumoto already conned me out of a significant portion of the petty cash. I don’t think Rukia has a real good handle on human money and I sure as hell don’t. I told Rukia that we should ask one of her friends to come along and she said she’d ask you, and I just was hoping you could help me keep things, y’know, frugal, without making a big deal about it.”

Abarai looked a little sheepish even asking. Orihime remembered the size of Rukia’s house back in Soul Society, the beautiful kimono she had worn once she was no longer a criminal. Orihime knew all about having friends who had more money than you. Her resolve hardened and slammed her fist into her open palm. “A strict budget is no reason not to look your best!” she announced. “You have come to the right person, Lieutenant Abarai! I, Inoue Orihime, Thrifting Champion of Karakura, will help you out!”

Abarai’s face washed over with relief, followed very quickly by confusion. “The what champion?” he echoed.

👖   🧥   💀

“You are a saint, Orihime!” Rukia declared as they marched down the street, arm in arm, Renji trailing grumpily a few paces behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “A gem! I offered to borrow something from Ichigo’s father for him, but this ingrate was having none of it.”

There was some low-pitched muttering from behind them.

Orihime was trying to picture Renji in the pink, ruffled tuxedo shirt Dr. Kurosaki had worn under his lab coat the last time he set Tatsuki’s sprained ankle. “I don’t think Dr. Kurosaki’s style would be quite right for him,” she suggested diplomatically. “I… guess… he’s supposed to be a teenager?”

Rukia heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re correct, as usual.” She craned her head back over her shoulder for a moment. “You owe Orihime an ice cream for this, Lieutenant Hopeless!” She swung her head forward again with a huff. Renji shot Orihime a wink.

Orihime couldn’t quite figure out Rukia and Renji’s exact relationship. Rukia has described Renji as “her friend.” On one hand, she hadn’t said about the shinigami from Ten or Eleven. On the other, she called Renji a lot of rude names and harangued him a lot. Renji had seemed pretty concerned about Rukia when he had pulled Orihime aside that afternoon, but now he was all slouches and scrunchy eyebrows. He reminded Orihime of Ichigo.

Oh! Maybe there was something to that! Maybe Renji was being a grouch on purpose so that Rukia could yell at him and feel like she was yelling at Ichigo. Wow! That was some master-level friendship. Orihime wondered if she should be taking notes.

“Ah, here we are!” she exclaimed, pointing at a little, tucked away shop front.

“What sort of shop is this?” Rukia frowned, examining the cluttered store window.

“It’s a thrift store,” Orihime explained. “People sell old, but well-made clothes to the shop, and they resell them for much cheaper than new clothes. Sometimes you can find really neat vintage, designer things that a rich person only wore a few times and decided they didn’t want. Uryuu likes to look for really ugly things made from nice fabrics and then re-tailor them. I have to modify a lot of my clothes, too, because of-- well, you know.” She gestured vaguely at her chest.

“What a brilliant idea!” Rukia proclaimed. “That’s so practical! Renji, isn’t Orihime a genius?”

“I didn’t come up with the idea,” Orihime mumbled self-consciously.

“Maybe you should open a shop to sell off your brother’s spare kimono,” Renji suggested airily. He was definitely baiting Rukia now, Orihime could see it when she watched for it.

“I should!” Rukia declared, closing her eyes haughtily. “People would probably pay twice just because he wore them!”

Renji just snorted.

👖   🧥   💀

“How about these?” Rukia asked, holding up a pair of jeans. “They look like the kind Ichigo wears.”

Orihime pulled her head out of the rack of pants she was sorting through, and Renji’s head popped up from the next aisle. “Hmm,” she said, tapping her finger on her lips. She knew what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to make Renji feel self-conscious by talking about his body and also, she didn’t want to make it obvious how much time she’d spent looking at Kurosaki’s butt. “Those are skinny jeans. Abarai is a lot, um, more muscular? than Kurosaki-kun? He would do better with a straight leg cut, I think.” She wished Uryuu were here. She didn’t know that much about men’s clothes, but she had heard him say that once while lamenting Chad’s tragic commitment to bootleg cuts.

Apparently, Rukia had no such qualms about Renji’s positive body image. “Hear that, Thunder Thighs? This is where all those squats get you.”

If this bothered Renji, he didn’t let it show. “My thighs are majestic, Rukia. Some people enjoy a guy with a little meat on his bones, for your information.”

Rukia laughed then, a sharp, amused guffaw, almost a cackle. Orihime looked up suddenly. She was sure she’d heard Rukia laugh before, but it had been a high-pitched giggle, a girlish titter. There was a gleam in the shorter woman’s eyes, and at first, Orihime thought she was being mean to Abarai, but when she glanced at him, his eyes were twinkling and he had a slight smile on his face.

Orihime got the sudden sense that she was interrupting something, although she wasn’t sure how you could interrupt someone making fun of someone else. She ducked her head and focused on rifling through the rack of pants in front of her. “How about these?” she asked, holding up a likely candidate.

“Those look pretty worn out,” Renji frowned.

“They’re distressed, Renji,” Rukia explained pompously. “It’s human fashion. They come that way. It presents the illusion of leading a rough and tough, adventurous lifestyle, even for fancy boys like you.”

“Rukia,” Renji scolded her. “Members of the Sixth Company do not walk around with their knees on display, for anyone to see.”

Rukia snorted, and Orihime suspected they were making yet another inside joke. “How’s he gonna find out? And if he does, you can just tell him you fell down the stairs, he would definitely believe that.”

“Er, here’s another pair without any holes,” Orihime offered. “They’re black.” Uryuu also had a lot of opinions on black jeans, but she was pretty sure Renji could pull them off.

“Thank you, Inoue,” Renji said, extra-graciously, reaching over the rack to accept them.

“You better try them both on!” Rukia yelled in her bossy voice. “I demand to see the forbidden knees!”

“Whatever, you’ve seen ‘em, before,” Renji muttered, but he was still smiling.

👖   🧥   💀

“Hey, Inoue!”

Orihime ducked past a rack of sweatervests, to where Renji was contemplating a leather jacket.

“Do humans still wear stuff like this? I know they were pretty popular a few decades ago.”

“Oh, yes,” Orihime agreed. “It’s a timeless look.”

Renji looked mildly shocked, but happy.

“That’s a really nice one,” Orihime added. “You should try it on.”

Renji didn’t seem like he needed a lot of encouragement to slip it over his shoulders. “I had a roommate who had one of these,” he admitted. “They look pretty dumb over a shihakushou, but Iba has never once let looking like a moron slow him down.” He grinned. “I was jealous as hell of it.”

Orihime clapped her hands. “Oh, Abarai, it looks so good on you!” It wasn’t even an exaggeration. It was black, a classic motorcycle cut, and it fit him perfectly. Orihime amended her mental movie casting of Renji: in a jacket like that, he could definitely be the protagonist of an American motorcycle movie, flicking cigarettes into the gutter and leaving a broken-hearted girl pining after him after he got run out of town for Raising Too Much Hell.

“Is it expensive?” Renji asked, holding out the sleeve with the price tag. “I don’t know what a jacket is supposed to cost.”

“It’s a very practical wardrobe staple,” Orihime advised. “Especially this time of year. It’s just starting to be jacket weather, and this will carry you through until winter, unless we have an especially cold one.” She checked the tag. “Leather jackets aren’t cheap, but this is a very good value. If you can afford it, I think it’s worth it.”

“I think I can make it work,” Renji murmured, obviously doing a bit of mental math.

“Hey, Abarai,” Orihime said, leaning forward, and keeping her voice low.

“Eh?”

“Is it going the way you planned? Do you think we’re cheering Rukia up?”

Renji opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I think we at least took her mind off him for a bit. What do you think?”

Orihime contemplated. “She seems like she’s having a good time. I think she liked looking at your butt when you were trying on pants.” Renji raised a skeptical eyebrow. To be fair, Abarai had a very nice butt. Orihime was pretty sure she still preferred Kurosaki’s butt, but it hadn’t exactly been a trial. “On the other hand, she does yell at you a lot,” Orihime said quickly. “She’s very difficult to read.”

“Yeah, I know. It takes some practice,” Renji replied. “And she hasn’t been yelling at me. You haven’t begun to see Rukia yelling at me.” He rubbed his chin. “I think we’re doing a good job. Thanks, Inoue! I couldn’t have pulled this off on my own.”

Orihime blushed. “Oh, I haven’t really done anything!”

“I think you und--”

Orihime never found out what Renji was going to say, because Rukia came skidding into the coat aisle. She was wearing a denim vest, a feather boa, and a cowboy hat, and clutching something in her hands. “Hey! Hey, Renji! Renji, I just fou...nd…” She trailed off as her eyes scanned Abarai up and down, lingering on the leather jacket. Her mouth dropped open a little.

Orihime’s eyes darted to Renji, who looked paralyzed by this development. His hand went to his hair self-consciously, his fingers getting caught in his bandana awkwardly.

If Orihime had felt like a third wheel up until this point, she realized that sometimes bicycles can be very hard to ride if you aren’t used to them, and third wheels are helpful when you’re in danger of tipping over and crashing. “Rukia, look at the jacket Renji found! He’s being waffley! Help me convince him to get it!”

Rukia came back to herself suddenly. “It fits you perfectly, you fool! Listen to Orihime.”

“I dunno,” Renji drawled, having pulled his act together as well. “It’s kinda expensive.” He started to grab another coat off the rack. It was tweed and had elbow patches. “Might keep looking for a bit.”

“No!” Rukia commanded, and Renji’s hand reflexively dropped the hanger like he’d just touched something hot. Rukia cleared her throat self-consciously. “Speaking of things that are non-negotiable, look what I found for you!!” With a flourish, she unfurled the bundle in her hands, which happened to be a t-shirt.

At first, Orihime had no idea what she was looking at. Obviously, it was a t-shirt. If she had to guess, it had been printed by a garage band full of teens that played a lot of covers and had to bum rides to their gigs. There was a drippy looking skull and some words in English. It was objectively terrible. But in a charming way.

“I love it!” Renji shouted, with far too much enthusiasm. “I don’t read English very well, though, what does it say?”

“I don’t either,” Rukia admitted. “I think this says ‘red’, though.”

“It says ‘red pineapple,’” Orihime supplied. They had just finished the unit on fruits and vegetables in English class. She had gotten a 100 on the test.

Renji and Rukia both burst into gales of laughter.

“How much is it?” Renji wheezed. “I’ll pay a million kan for it.”

“They use yen here, you buffoon,” Rukia gasped. “It’s got an orange sticker, what does that mean?”

“That means it’s on special clearance,” Orihime explained, scanning the chart hung on the wall. “100 yen.”

“Ha, ha, that’s cheap! It’s mine!”

“You were skeptical,” Rukia lectured, wagging a finger, “But I told you, didn’t I, Renji? Orihime knows what she’s doing.”

Renji wiped a tear away from his eye. “Double ice cream for Orihime,” he agreed. “What would we do without her?”

Orihime’s face felt very hot. She waved her hands frantically. “Really, I didn’t--!”

“Also, remind me what ice cream is again.”

“You dummy!”

Orihime stopped protesting. Anyone who didn’t know what ice cream was definitely needed her help.

#my writing #renhime brotp #a little renruki too #for a treat #i may have gotten carried away with the inoue pov #i just love her so so much #bless her heart for putting up with these dipshits #i probably should have edited this an extra time #but i didn't #i am tired

[ajokeformur-ray]

Can I just be whelmed? // J x Rosie x Pat // personalised comfort.

But I’d just like comfort from J and Pat bc of this week. From my manager doing what he did, to another coworker potentially having Covid, to my sleep deprivation, lack of appetite, my period is starting, ugh the list goes on😂 I just really would like something sweet with both of them bc all of this is just...too much and it’s slowly taking away my ability to want to keep going. @loveletterstoledger​

A/N: I hope that you enjoy this, my love!!!💗 You’re so strong and so brave and I’m so, so proud of you. I’m so sorry for everything that you’re going through and I truly hope that things improve for you soon, angel. Sending you hugs!🥰💗

Word count: 1, 726.

Bianca Stratford had once asked you that, if you could be respectively over or underwhelmed, could you ever just be whelmed? You hadn’t known at the time, though you had suspected not, being a bit more advanced in linguistics than she was, but right now did simply being whelmed sound really good to you, for everything was just... too much. There was so much that was going on, there was so much that was happening to you or to those around you, that it was dizzying to even try to list out everything which was occurring all at the same time. 

You didn’t even want to think about what had happened with your manager most recently. That had really unsettled you. You kept your relationship with Patrick and J as private as you could, out of respect for the first man and to protect the chaotic clown whom you called your home, and you knew that you were only interested in the two of them. There could never be anyone else for you. Hell, you didn’t want for there to be anyone else. You had everything you had ever wanted or needed in your two men, and that was that. There was also health risks at your workplace which were scary and terrifying in the worst of ways, your sleep schedule had been knocked way off kilter, as had your appetite... no doubt as a result of the daily stressors which relentlessly plagued you each day. And, to top it all off...

... Your period was going to start soon.

To put it simply, you were tired and you just didn’t want to even exist for a time. You wanted to just put on some Taylor Swift, or maybe some Queen, close your eyes and... go to sleep. You were done and you had had enough. Hour by hour, day by day, was your resolve to keep going, to keep working, chipped away by your harsh reality. It was relentless and it seemed like it would never end. That was all you wanted; reprieve. A break from your life. You just wanted everything to stop for just five minutes so that you could stop and breathe and re-centre.

Pat and J were both observant men. They saw much and spoke little, unless they were tearing someone to shreds with their silver tongues which could cut like the blades J favoured. As such, they had been watching your slow decline into an almost inability to function. You felt like a shell of the woman you knew yourself to be; a beautiful and strong woman who knew what and who she wanted. You felt like you were slowly crumbling, like water which eroded at the slowly receding surface of a cliff...

Pat and J both disagreed with you, but equally so were they both worried about you and your mental state. They intervened only when you skipped the second meal of the day. You were eating so little and the less you ate, the worse you physically and mentally felt. Additionally, your sleeping was being affected and the more physically tired you were, the faster your mental state declined, and on did the vicious cycle continue. You couldn’t break yourself out of it, so far gone down the road were you, so it was up to your koala and your clown to light your way back to who you still were, even now, when it seemed like the whole world was against you.

Finally on this night did you come home from work. You were on edge, so scared were you about contracting the virus which was globally making the rounds and ravaging the population in the worst way, and desperate for a shower. You headed there straight away, dumping your bag and outer layers down by the doorstep for disinfection, which you would do later on. For right now, you wanted to be clean so that you could encase yourself in charcoal grey and in royal purple respectively. You were in your house but you weren’t home until such a thing occurred, and you rushed through your shower, thoughts of going home making you want to cry with soul deep yearning which would only be alleviated by the very thoughts which kept you company coming into your cruel and callous, positively frightening reality.

When you came out of the shower, finally clean, though by no means safe from the physical risks which you had no choice but to surround yourself with, J had disinfected everything and all you had to do was to relax. You needed the money which you earned almost every day, even though J had said on multiple occasions that he could and would provide for you if only you asked him to. It was something you would never ask of him, though. You prided yourself on making an honest living, and besides... you were an independent woman who was wise and mature in her decision making and you were the type of person to make back up plans even before you needed them. You couldn’t ever ask for anyone to provide for you when, even with such risks involved, you could provide for yourself. You worried constantly that either of your men would leave you one day, or maybe even both of them would get sick of you... so you would need money saved up for another place if that happened... when that happened, whispered your mind, though you shushed that voice up quickly whenever it surfaced. You didn’t want to know, you always told yourself. You just didn’t.

“Are you okay, strawberry?” Pat walked into the living room, where you were stood with a glazed look over your beautiful eyes, holding a bowl of tomato soup which was precariously balanced on a plate which contained a grilled cheese. It was your go-to comfort meal, the same with Pat, and you felt yourself smile. You really smiled, though your gut churned with the lack of appetite; you felt sick because you were so hungry and that only made you want to not eat... so then you grew hungrier, you felt weaker and sicker... and on did the cycle go. It was just one more thing which Pat and J would help you to break out of. The cheese was safe for you to eat, and there was no dairy in the soup, either. You wouldn’t be made to be sick from this meal, so well did your men take care of you.

You sighed. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

J grunted quietly from his position on the sofa, his pinstriped clad legs stretched out and rossed at the ankles; his feet up on the coffee table. The clown quite clearly disagreed with you, but he didn’t push you.

Neither did Pat, who merely frowned and approached you easily. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and handed you the plate in the same movement so that you were entirely surrounded by Pat’s warmth and by the heat of the soup and the quickly cooling grilled cheese. “You’re not fine,” Pat sighed in sympathy, and his fingers flexed upon the slope of your shoulders. “Come on, come sit with me and grumpy over there,” he flashed J a teasing smile, “we can eat together.”

You sighed and your stomach churned once more. You hoped you weren’t getting sick. It did sound good, though, and as always would you did you follow Pat over to the plush sofa. Your blanket, the one which you shared with Pat, was slung carelessly over the back, and you took your place in between Pat and J. You were sat so close together that your shoulders were pressed against each of theirs. You were truly surrounded by love in this moment, and it was everything you hadn’t known you needed until the precise moment that you did.

“Ya’ know...” J waited until you took a very small bite of your grilled cheese to speak. By his thinking, if your mouth was full, you couldn’t - wouldn’t - interrupt him. “y’re really strong, sweets. Braver than ya’ know.” He felt your eyes on him even as you chewed thoughtfully so he elaborated his point to save you from having to ask him. “You said no to your man-ag-er... you go to work even with the risks to ya’ health, to us, doll... even now, feelin’ sick and still eatin’, hm? Y’re more than ya’ know. Proud o’ya, little one.”

Tears stung at your eyes and they fell without your conscious decision to allow them to do so. Pat cooed from beside you and the calloused, blackened pads of his thumbs, for he had been working in the garage this day and car grease so stained skin no matter how hard one tried, wiped away the tears which fell. “You couldn’t ever disappoint me, marshmallow. Or our soldier. We love you.” Tender kisses were pressed to the side of your cheeks, to your temple, to your neck... as your throat convulsed with each unsure swallow, your gut and stomach churning alike but you knew, somewhere in the back of your head, that nothing was going to happen to you, Pat rewarded you with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm, just like him, and J, unsatisfied with how he wasn’t doing anything, pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head.

“What the kid said.” J nodded to himself, as if he had just realised something, and then he said, “We got’cha, my thorn. I’m a man of my word.”

It was a reminder. A promise. 

A vow.

“Thank you for loving me.” Your quiet whisper, your tears which fell like rain, your pounding heart. The feeling of Pat’s lips upon your skin, the ghostly imprint of J’s against the crown of your head. The warmth of their bodies pressed up against yours. The satisfying weight of food in your stomach. The promise of love which had always been and would always be yours... you weren’t okay and you likely wouldn’t be for quite some time, but you had all of these things and more. You had yourself, too, and on the days like today when you quite lost track of your own self, Pat and J were there with already outstretched hands, understanding and with love... always, always...

Love.

#heath ledger #ledger joker #patrick verona

[i-stan-nct-and-satan]

Your Painted Features Remain

Requested

Yandere Ten X reader

Not smut

Trigger warning: It’s yandere, so it’s gonna be abusive.

“God, why are you such a fucking idiot!?” Ten hissed at you.  

It had been a really hard week for Ten and you had noticed. You didn’t really understand what was going on because Ten was never the type to open up to you about anything. All you knew was that Ten was more on edge and angrier nowadays.  It seemed like even the tiniest of your mistakes set him off. You couldn’t help but wonder, is this it? Is Ten finally realizing how worthless and incapable you are? Was he going to break up with you soon? Did he not love you anymore or had he just been putting up with you this whole time out of love? Either way, you felt like such a burden.  

Ten was a renowned artist, whose artwork had been displayed at some of the world’s most famous art galleries. You two had actually met at one of his art exhibits. Your friends had invited you, and even though you knew almost nothing about art, you couldn’t help but admire the pure talent each artist possessed. You were even more excited when the artist of your favorite piece came to talk with you. Your friend was catching up with a few of her old artist friends, so you were left alone to wonder the rooms of the exhibition, when you stumbled across a painting of a girl. You couldn’t help but notice that you shared similar features with the girl. You thought it was strange that anyone would ever want to paint features such as yours, but you had to admit that the painting was beautiful. When Ten first saw you, he had to do a double take. He had painted the girl from one of his dreams and now here she was, standing in front of his painting. He did not hesitate to approach you and after that, you became his muse, his lover, his one and only.  

When you had first started dating, you two were madly in love. He would spend hours painting your likeness, and then spend hours more just touching it. His compliments rained down on you, and you were happy, but there was still a part of you that felt like you didn’t deserve someone as amazing and talented as Ten. What you didn’t know, was that Ten, also felt the same way about you.  

There was a month period, where Ten couldn’t create art anymore. He had lost his inspiration. He had drawn you in every position imaginable, and now he had no other ideas. Nothing gave him the same spark that painting you gave him, but he knew he had to change his style. He started to feel washed up and self-conscious about himself. Who was he if not an artist?  

He became more manic each day he failed to come up with a new idea, and he started to take it out on you. He was so afraid of losing you, of you realizing his worthlessness and leaving him, so he started pushing his own insecurities onto you. Ever since then, even after he was able to start creating art again, he continued to push you down, in a desperate attempt to keep you.  

The real reason why Ten had been so irritable lately, was because it was happening again. Ten had to create an entire new set of paintings by the end of the month for his new exhibit, but he hadn’t been able to paint a single stroke in the last week. Ten knew he was being harsh on you and that he shouldn’t take his anger from work off on you, but he just couldn’t stand it. He felt as though his problems at work were a reflection of his abilities as a whole, and seeing you just reminded him how you were deserving of such a better guy than him, someone who didn’t have to put you down and could make you feel like the goddess he saw you as.

You had woken up early that morning so that you could try to ease some of the burden you were on Ten by making him breakfast, but when he came into the kitchen, you were caught off guard and accidentally dropped your preparations causing the plate to break and all of the food ruminants to splatter across the kitchen floor causing a mess.  

“God, why are you such a fucking idiot!?”  

Tears started to swell in your eyes. You only wanted to do something special for your love, but instead you caused yourself to become a bigger headache to him than you already were.  

“You can’t do anything right can you?” Ten continued lecturing as he started picking up the pieces of shattered ceramic up off the floor. You quickly kneeled down to help him.

“Ten, honey, I can do it,” you quickly said as you tried to grab the shard out of his hand.  

“Fuck!” Ten cursed as he withdrew his hand. Blood started to drip from where you had accidentally cut him.  

You panicked and tried to grab his hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding.  

“Get the fuck away from me!” Ten yelled.

“Can’t you see that you’re only making it worse? Can’t you see that you always make everything worse? None of this would have happened if I had just walked past you that day. My life would be so much easier without you.”  

You sat there, stunned by his words. You were used to Ten berating you, but he had never expressed any wish for you to go away. His outbursts normally focused on how he was the only one who could ever love someone as idiotic and worthless as you. He would spend hours telling you that you could never leave because no one would ever put up with your existence like he could. But now, here he was, telling you about how much easier life would be without you.  

You couldn’t burden him anymore.  

While washing and bandaging his wound, Ten realized that he went too far this time. He loved you, and the cut wasn’t even that deep. Besides, you were only trying to lighten up his mood by making him breakfast.  

He sighed and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror after placing the first aid kit back in the cabinet.  

“I’m the real worthless one,” he sighed.

He started walking down the stairs, calling out your name, but you didn’t respond.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed. I...”  

Ten noticed that the mess had been cleaned up, but what caught his attention was a note labeled “Ten” resting on the kitchen counter.  

He didn’t know what to think of the note at first. You didn’t normally leave him apologies in the form of notes, you normally begged him to forgive you in person, demeaning yourself in the process.  

He didn’t even rush to pick the note up, opting to open a bottle of wine and pour himself a glass before sitting down to read it.  

When he did though, he was in shock.  

Ten,

I’m so sorry for everything, my love.

I have been nothing but a burden to you this entire time.

I hope you can forgive me for all the hardships I’ve caused you.  

Thank you for loving me when no one else could.  

I won’t make things harder for you anymore.  

Goodbye.

“She’s leaving me?” Ten half whimpered half growled.  

The anger and betrayal fully present in his voice.  

“She can’t leave me! She needs me! You’re nothing without me Y/N!”

Ten knocked over his chair as he ran to the door. He opened it and ran outside, desperately trying to find you, but it was too late, you were gone.  

When he realized this, he returned inside, slamming the door so hard, it almost broke its hinges.  

The anger boiled up inside of him and all he could see was red. His sadness was present, but in that moment, it was too overpowered by his rage to even be noticed.  

He stomped up the stairs, his hands balled into tight fists. He didn’t know what to do, he was in shock, and he had to take it out, but he didn’t know how. That was, until he saw you, or at least the painted version of you.  

Despite what he told you, he had refused to sell a single one of his paintings of you, instead opting to hang them on the walls of his studio. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of someone besides him being able to you at you whenever they wanted. You knew never to enter his studio, which is why you were unaware of the painting’s presence in your shared home.  

When he saw your painted features, he couldn’t help himself. He grabbed the framed painting off of the wall and slammed it to the ground, broken glass now decorating the messy floor. That wasn’t enough though. Painting after painting, all of the came crashing down. Some he slammed against the walls, others he merely threw, but after mere minutes, the walls were empty of you, just like him. You were gone and he couldn’t stand it.  

He fell to his knees, not caring about the glass shards that tore at his pants and skin.  

“I’m broken without her,” was all he could say before the anger dissipated and the growing sadness took over.  

#Yandere nct #nct yandere #nct smut #nct au #NCT #wayv #ten #wayv ten #yandere #kpop yandere #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv yandere