#it would be on red because he’d give the teacher shit for making children feel bad about themselves

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

The counterpart to Uncle Ben and Little Luke (Original Post, Chrono)

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

This got... very long and detailed and I’m going to have to clean it up and post to AO3. As in, this was supposed to be 2-3k and is literally ten times that long. It crossed 25k. And the initial section actually glosses over a bunch, actual fic-style writing starts at “That, of course, is when things get interesting.”

Warnings: discussion of various canon traumas (most relating to being child soldiers), general PTSD, several scenes featuring dissociation or panic attacks upon being triggered, and canon-typical violence.

Rated T, gen.

I still want there to be de-aging nonsense involved so Ahsoka is physically a late teenager despite having a solid two decades of field experience behind her (we’re pulling her from Malachor).

Leia, much like Luke, is now six. She just came from being a rebellion general. She is not happy about being a child. She was already short, this is just mean.  She’s a human espresso.

UNLIKE BEN, Ahsoka is not happy about this turn of events. Being seventeen-ish is not helpful in the outer rim. She’s a female togruta, young and healthy, and in the Outer Rim, caring for a small human child. Sure, she has her lightsabers and plenty of combat experience, and she can keep them safe, but she’s just one person, and a major target for those looking to make some quick cash. It doesn’t matter how good she is; she needs sleep at some point.

It makes my heart happy to treat Ahsoka and Rex as two halves of the same black ops specialist so you know what, he’s there too! He’s physically like... 10-12 in natborn, maybe. They’re not sure, because clones age weird. He’s moderately more useful than Leia (who is very competent but also physically six, and short for that age), but he’s still... very small.

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

Ahsoka has a harder time explaining WHY she has children with her, since she's barely more than a kid herself, and clearly unrelated by species. She sometimes just says “Oh, my adoptive brother’s kids” since it’s kind of the truth for Leia and she’s not touching the actual truth about Rex with a ten foot pole.

Ahsoka definitely knows about Leia being a Skywalker, or at least has suspicions that Bail never outright confirmed but was conspicuously quiet about. She does tell Leia about it, but it’s not like that means anything, right? Just, you know, your dad was my teacher! I don’t have to tell you he became Va--oh shit, you already knew that part. Well, fuck. What do you mean he had a son? OH SHIT, PADME HAD TWINS.

Alt take for explaining why she’s got kids: She’s my foundling, I know her name as my child (Leia shut up!!!)

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

That said, there is... significantly less gambling and significantly more theft to get to Coruscant.

As previously stated, Ahsoka is a black ops kinda gal, and more importantly, she looks like a fairly attractive young woman in the Outer Rim, with two children in good health. She’s a target, and also not the kind of person one generally gambles with. If she does gamble, people get upset when she doesn’t lose, in ways they don’t get upset about Ben doing the same, because she’s, again, a cute teenage girl. It’s exhausting.

As things go, she largely ends up stealing from people who deserve it and/or smuggling herself and her charges into someone else’s ship. They’re small, they can hide. Sometimes she can get them all passage by working as a mechanic, she’s good at that.

Once they’ve got a handle on when they are, they have to decide on Names. None of them have been born yet, so technically they could use their own names without anyone Knowing. Rex and Leia might not even be born, depending on how successful they are at, you know, stopping the war and everything. Ahsoka, though, she’s going be born in two years, and there’s no reason to prevent it, so... she doesn’t want to steal baby-her’s name. That would be mean.

Leia is already calling her “Auntie ‘Soka” when she can for reasons like “selling the bit” and “manipulating adults” and “making us both feel better after we had a mutual breakdown about Anakin being Vader.” Ergo, she decides that whatever new name she picks better include that in some way, and decides on “Sokari” because it sounds pretty.

Overall, they don’t... they don’t actually make it very far before there’s an Incident. Again, teenager with small children. They spend a lot of time hiding out in space ports looking for an opportunity.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil, and thinks ‘well, they’re more likely to help than some,’ because from what she’s heard, the Haat Mando’ade are Decent People Overall. Her view is a little biased, mostly on account of the sheer level of grudge she has against Kyr’tsad. It’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge, right? And Mandalorians like kids and Ahsoka hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! IT’S FINE.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, mostly quiet. Ahsoka’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed. Ahsoka just angles herself between Fett and Rex and hopes that he doesn’t see them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma, and doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Ahsoka later tells herself that he’s killed Jedi and that’s why he can sneak up on her, and that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones and new forms of anxiety that are markedly different from those she was dealing with a few weeks ago.

What Ahsoka wants to say is “that’s kind of a long story,” or “maybe he’s a cousin,” or “kriff off, I don’t know you,” or maybe even “he’s a clone.”

What Ahsoka actually does is burst into tears, which is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

But she is, sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms--oh Force he’s so small--around her, and both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

“So, I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Ahsoka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Ahsoka just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You--you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then... whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Ahsoka lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think it was normal either.”

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Ahsoka watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There’s a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re dumb. Ahsoka decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s visibly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on,” Fett says. “I’ll let you stay on my ship, there’s a spare bunk and you’re small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. “We can negotiate from there.”

Ahsoka takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we... share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Ahsoka says, and then just... hesitates. “Fett...”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and toneless. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Ahsoka says, feeling heavy and boneless. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Ahsoka lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Ahsoka says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m... I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

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

Fett watches her like she’s a predator, which has the benefit of being accurate and slightly flattering. She lets other two take care of most of talking, and then Fett tells her to sleep first, and talk in the morning.

“You’re dead on your feet, jetii,” he snorts. “And that crying jag didn’t do you any favors. Sleep.”

So she does, and Fett doesn’t even wake her. He just lets her sleep. He watches her in the way of a guard. She sees him when she gets up to use the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t even comment when she collapses right back into the mediocre cot she’s borrowed for the cycle.

Rex and Leia are safe, her hindbrain tells her, even in the depths of sleep. Her mind curls around theirs in the Force, and she trusts that they are here. They are not happy, but they are alive and unharmed, and that has to be enough.

When she stumbles her way to true wakefulness, groggy and loose-limbed, Fett greets her with caf.

“The kids wouldn’t let me near you,” he tells her.

“They’re good,” she says, cupping her hands around the mug. She feels wobbly, in every sense. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her connection to the Force. Nothing is on-kilter right now. “Did they tell you anything?”

“They waited for you,” he says. “But the little miss needed a nap of her own. They’re down in the other bunk.”

“I didn’t notice,” she admits. She should have. She’s Fulcrum. She’s a veteran of the Clone Wars. She’s... she’s supposed to be better than this.

“How long?” he asks, and then when she squints up at him, he clarifies. “How long did you fight?”

“My last fight--”

“No, whatever war you came out of,” he says. Her chest twists cold. “I don’t know if the Jedi sent you into it or if you waded in yourself once you left, but you move like a soldier.”

“I was,” she confirms. “But... but I don’t want to talk about the details. Not until the other two are here.”

He frowns at her. “Is there anything you can talk about?”

She shrugs and looks away, trying to take solace in the warmth of the caff she holds above the table, as if it can hide her, guard her, from the disgraced Mand’alor across the table.

“Jedi?”

“I’m not officially a Jedi,” she says, voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

“Then what do I call you?” he asks. “We’re not exactly close enough for names.”

“Torrent,” she says. “It’s not--I can’t claim my family name anymore. But I can claim Torrent, so I will. And if you want a title, I was a commander.”

“Bit young for that.”

“I got the rank when I was fourteen,” she says, and watches his face do something complicated and unpleasant. “Don’t. I know your own culture puts children on the field that young.”

“Not in command.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well... the soldiers were technically younger. Adults, but...”

Ahsoka can see the way he casts about to figure out what species grows at that rate. He guesses a few, and she shoots all of it down.

She won’t tell him. Not until Rex is awake.

This part of the story is his.

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

When Leia tries to sit alone, a foot away on the bench like a proper adult, Ahsoka refuses to let it happen. She pulls the younger girl to her side and quells protests with a glance. It’s a decent skill, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to work on her niece-in-spirit.

“Your body needs the chemical release of skinship,” she says, and Leia glares at her. “I spent way too much time with the boys to not know about this. Deal.”

Rex sits close enough to knock their knees together under the table, and his warmth is the old comfort she needs.

“Do you want the story you’ll believe, or the truth?” Ahsoka asks.

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them involves something so impossible that even most Jedi wouldn’t believe it,” she tells him.

Fett folds his arms and leans forward to rest them on the table, challenging but oddly open. “Try me.”

“Time travel.”

He blinks, just once, fully controlled. “That’s a tough one.”

“There were only three Jedi left alive when I died,” she says. “Or... whatever it is that happened to me. I think I died. All I know is that one moment, I was thirty-two and dying, and the next, I was... seventeen again, and had these two with me. All of us younger than we were. None of us have even been born yet.”

She refuses to look him in the eye. “They both outlived me by... six years, maybe. Got caught up while traveling instead of dying. Leia was twenty-two. Rex was thirty-five. I’m not technically the oldest anymore. I mean, physically I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not exactly doing us any good, and--”

Rex bumps his shoulder to her arm. “I dunno, Commander. I’ve spent a long time looking older than I should. Nice to look younger for once.”

She shoots him a small, pained grin. “Could be worse, yeah.”

“Let’s say I believe you.”

Her attention snaps back to Fett, who’s looking damnably blank, and is showing even less in the Force.

He waits a second for her to relax back into her seat.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he repeats. “How’s ‘Rex’ connected to me? What’s so special about Leia there? And what war did you fight in that has you acting like a veteran?”

“Three years in the clone wars,” she whispers, glancing to Rex and forcing herself to not go for her sabers to defend against an attack that her paranoia says is coming and the Force says is not. “Then almost all the Jedi were wiped out at once, and I spent a year... drifting. Then black ops for the next fifteen.”

“Black ops,” he repeats, still damnably flat.

“There was a Sith Empire,” she says, and she can hear her own tone growing somehow emptier. “Glassing planets. Enslaving entire species. Committing genocides all over. Of course, there was a rebellion, and of course I joined it. I was one of the only people left with Jedi training. For all that I’d left the Order, I still had a duty to the universe.”

His eyes flit to Leia, who shrugs and tries to look prim. “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

“That why you’re special?”

Leia smiles, thin and patronizing. It doesn’t fit on her little face. “I’m special because my biological father was one of the most powerful Force users in history, and his Fall to the dark side and choice to become a Sith is why the Emperor’s rise was nearly uncontested. I do not like power, but it’s in my veins and I can’t change that. Force users are... a lucrative trade, and I’m still the size of a child, so I can’t fight back. I’ll be safer in the Jedi Temple, even if I don’t want to be a Jedi.”

Fett looks to Ahsoka, makes to ask a question, and then shakes his head. Not the time, maybe.

“So, that’s all... very complicated and I don’t know how much of it I believe, but it doesn’t explain...” he trails off, and sighs. “My kid, or whatever you are. I heard you mention clones.”

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

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

Ahsoka has no idea if Fett believes them. Either he thinks they’re telling the truth, or he thinks their delusional kids. Whatever the case, he offers to take them closer to the Core. Ahsoka quietly offers to take a look at his engine in return, and then pretends not to notice when Fett awkwardly drifts to and away from Rex.

“They put chips in our brains to make us kill the Jedi we respected, cared for, even loved. I tried to shoot ‘Soka, Fett. She was seventeen and risked her life to get that chip out of my head while I was trying to kill her. I have never hated myself more than when I woke up and realized what I’d almost done, and I was one of the few that were able to fight it. I heard the stories of dozens of brothers who woke with their chips having degraded and chose to eat their blaster rather than live with the guilt of the orders they’d followed without question because of a thrice-damned Sith slave chip in their head.”

“So no, I won’t call you father or acknowledge you as clan until you do something to prove you’re worth it, shared blood or not.”

What Ahsoka does get out of the arrangement, for all that Fett’s route mostly takes them on a meandering path that isn’t faster than their previous system, is sleep. She gets to rest. She gets to trust that Fett won’t kill Rex, out of guilt for something he hasn’t done, that he won’t kill Leia out of a worry that she’s just a delusional child, a real child, that he won’t kill ‘Sokari’ because it would ruin any chance of gaining Rex’s favor, ever.

She’s not safe, won’t believe she can be until she’s in the Temple and Sidious is dead dead dead, but she’s safer than she’s been in a long time.

Every night, Ahsoka wakes up and stumbles to the little galley, deaths and torture sparkling behind her eyes with the energy of a thousand lost Jedi, ten thousand mourned brothers and sisters.

She is not the only one of their little group to be a survivor of a near-total genocide, but Rex could not feel his brothers die in the Force, even if his nightmares featured what they heard of suicide missions by the emperor’s favored shock troopers, and Leia had... Alderaan had more off-world survivors than there had been Jedi at all.

It’s not worth comparing their pain. It’s stupid to even think it. Part of her can’t help but do it anyway.

“Caf?”

She feels a lek twitch in response to the voice of the only other person on board who can reach the top shelf. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

She doesn’t lift her head from her arms until the mug clicks down in front of her, ceramic on plastisteel.

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain to non-sensitives.”

“Try me anyway.”

Ahsoka twists the Hoth chocolate in her hands, takes a sip as she thinks. “The Force isn’t just one thing. It’s... energy and philosophy and spirit, a sense of being that ties the entire universe together. Sentient and inanimate and living and dead, empty space and lush forests and stifled cities. For those of us who are sensitive to it, it’s possible to feel the life of everyone around you, theoretically possible to feel entire systems. If you have a Force bond, like a master and padawan, that can stretch across planets, even systems if one or both are particularly powerful.

“So just... just imagine, for a moment, what it’s like to feel the screaming of all those Jedi in the Force as their trusted men shot them down.

“Some of them were close enough that I could feel them die,” she manages. “I... it’s horrible. It’s horrific. It’s not something I can ever forget, and I want to. I want to forget what that moment was like. Not that it happened, but...”

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

“Don’t we all?” she asks, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Leia lost her entire planet, billions of people, and she was forced to watch. Rex... Force, I can barely imagine, and I was there for most of it.”

Fett watches her, measuring. “From what he said, they were as much your brothers as his, by the end.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “They could have been, maybe, but the ones I was closest to died earlier, and then I left, and by the time the Empire rose, all but a handful were... no. Rex, I will claim as a brother in all the ways that matter, but I don’t get to do that with the rest. I don’t have the right.”

“You’re hard on yourself.”

“Fate of the galaxy, my good bitch. Guess who’s got it on her shoulders.”

He snorts at her, and nods at the mug. “Drink your Hoth chocolate. We’re landing in eight hours, and you’ve got kids to look out for.”

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

There’s a twitch in the Force when they land, something pulling at her in a way she barely feels. She’s had her shields up so fully for so long that it’s natural to hide away what she is to the point where she can hardly tell what anyone else is, either. It takes more than a moment to remember how to let herself spread out across the world.

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

She doesn’t have an answer to Leia’s prodding question. “I don’t know.”

It’s almost familiar. Old and half-forgotten, not the same as what she remembers, but--

“This way,” she says, and wanders off into the crowd. Leia and Rex follow without question. Fett curses and rushes through the rest of his transaction with the docking attendant. The sound of him jogging after them is almost funny, with the armor, but she can’t focus on that.

Ahsoka slips between people with the ease of a career built on such a habit, children trailing like ducklings. She knows this feeling, she knows this person, what is she missi--

“Oh,” she breathes, going stock still. She knows that face. She knows those braids. She even knows the presence.

Younger than Ahsoka had ever seen her, but unmistakably Master Billaba.

“Torrent, what the hell?” Fett demands, finally catching up. “You can’t just run off like that!”

“It’s Depa,” she says, eyes still fixed on the woman parsing through a datapad with an irritated vendor. She has a padawan braid. It doesn’t feel like Master Windu is on-planet, so this might be a solo mission, a... oh. Senior Padawan, Knight Elect. This is the kind of mission taken to test if she’s ready to be promoted.

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

Fett waits for her to elaborate, but she can’t. This was Kanan’s master. This was a member of the High Council. This was a woman who died and--

“You need to sit down,” Fett says, not a touch gruff. He puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her off the main walkway. “I’m... going to talk to the woman in the Jedi robes. You three just stay there and don’t get kidnapped.”

Ahsoka nods, feeling like she’s not quite inhabiting her own body.

It’s Depa.

Her eyes track Fett without conscious control, and her montrals pick up the sound.

Depa looks up when the armor comes close enough, free hand tensed in a way that says she’s preventing herself from reaching for a saber in reaction to the heavily-armored individual standing several feet away.

“Mando,” the woman says. “May I help you?”

“Are you Depa?”

Depa doesn’t do anything so dramatic as gape or step back, but she does blink rapidly for a moment. She then folds her hands down in front of her, drawing her spine up ramrod straight. “I am Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, yes. May I ask why it is that you need to know?”

Ahsoka imagines Fett grimacing, or rolling his eyes, or maybe dithering. She can’t tell from this angle, and he has a helmet on besides. It turns his awkward silences into judgmental ones.

“I’ve had some Jedi kids on my ship, hitching a ride,” he says at length. “One of them recognized you and then just... froze.”

“You have our younglings in your care,” Depa says, carefully not accusatory, but close enough to be a warning.

“Not quite,” he says. “The one that actually came from the temple is seventeen. One of ‘em isn’t Force Sensitive, and the last one is but hasn’t been to Coruscant before. They’re trying to get the little one to the Temple for her own safety.”

Depa considers that, and then passes the datapad to the vendor. “Lead on.”

It’s surprisingly simple, really. Fett did all the talking.

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

“Like I said,” Fett sighs. “She froze up.”

“Hello,” Depa says, hands laced together inside her sleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I know of you. I’ve seen you spar. You’ve never spoken to me.”

All true. A little misleading, but it’s fine, it’s all fine.

Depa waits a moment, and then says, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sokari T-Torrent,” she manages. The words feel clunky in her mouth, the sound abrasive for all that it’s just her own voice, no different from usual. A little shaky, maybe. She can feel a cool breeze on her upper arms. Shouldn’t she have armor? She should have armor. “It... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen another Jedi. I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.”

“I see,” Depa says. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? You seem a little unsteady.”

Ahsoka lets herself be led back to the ship, in the company of Mand’alor Jango Fett, Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, Princess-General Leia Organa, and good old Captain Rex.

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

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

Fett and Depa talk where she can hear, but they rarely address her directly. Both seem to realize that she’s not particularly useful right now. Leia and Rex are pressing up against her at the little table in the galley, and Ahsoka lets them.

This is real. She can feel Depa in the Force, recognizes her energy even if it’s not quite what it will-was-could-have-been. This is happening.

It’s a textbook Traumatic Stress Response case, one of them says.

Fett has his helmet off. Ahsoka’s sure that’s wrong for some reason. She thinks he might already be on wanted lists. Should she worry about Depa trying to arrest him?

Depa asks about Rex at one point. Fett tells her that someone cloned him without his knowing, but the kid is more comfortable with Ahsoka so they’re still working on what that means for him.

It’s more or less true. Rex squeezes her hand the one time someone suggests separating them. She’s not letting that happen unless Rex wants to leave for whatever reason. They’ve worked apart before. They can do it again.

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

Leia cuddles in closer, and Ahsoka runs a hand over her hair. It’s an absentminded motion, and for all that she knows Leia’s hair is fine as silk, it feels like plastic in the moment.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Ahsoka announces. The words hang in the air like lead balloons, and she can feel Depa staring at her. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Fett says. “Do you need to lay down, Torrent?”

Does she?

“No,” she says. “I... I don’t know what I need.”

“The spicy drink,” Rex tells them. “It’s grounding.”

Right. That.

Fett goes to grab it, and Depa continues to watch.

“How long ago did you leave your master?” Depa asks. “Or... did he die?”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can feel the shivers now, tremors in her biceps and a shudder she can’t control in the height of her ribcage. Her teeth grind together, jaw like stone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Depa assures her. “I’m... going to recommend you see a mind healer on Coruscant.”

That was a forgone conclusion.

A cup clinks onto the table. Fett’s back. “Drink.”

She does.

Depa and Fett continue discussing it as “the adults” at the table. She’s older than both of them. Rex is older than all of them. Ahsoka follows about half of what they say. She agrees with most of it. Rex bullies his way into speaking when she doesn’t, without her even asking, because he knows her mind as well as she does. Fett rolls with it. Depa lets him.

She’s going to reach out to the Temple and see about getting them a ride back to Imperial Center Coruscant.

Fett makes Soka go to bed, taking Leia with her.

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

She feels more like a person come morning.

Depa’s sitting at the table, datapad in her hands and caff on the table in front of her.

“Good morning,” Ahsoka says, rough and croaking, and Depa’s eyes flick up to meet hers. She nods a shallow hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” Ahsoka says, and goes about gathering a breakfast. There’s definitely some dried meat in here. She can get something fresh when they stop by the market later.

“I was hoping to speak with you about your options,” Depa tells her, once she’s sat at the table. “Fett and your friend Rex took care of most of the negotiation, and I feel like I have an idea of what would work best for you.”

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

“There is a Master-Padawan pair a few planets away,” Depa says. “The Council informed me when I spoke with them about you and your wards. They’d be headed back to the Temple in a few days anyway, and the Council has agreed to extend an offer to Fett to handle the transportation. The presence of a Jedi Master on board will allow for him to get in and out of the Core unmolested, and we’d like for you and yours to have a Jedi escort, given what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

“I understand,” she says instead. “I suppose Fett agreed because he’s still trying to get Rex to like him?”

Depa shrugs. “That part isn’t my business.”

Of course it isn’t.

“Rex can stay with me for a while, right?” Ahsoka finally asks. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but I’m...”

“In need of a support system until you’ve seen a mind healer, and against all odds, the child is part of it,” Depa summarizes. “Yes, I recognized as much. I think the Council will be able to allow some leeway there. I don’t know if he’ll enjoy it, given that all the others his age are Initiates, but we can adjust as necessary. On that note... Do you know Leia’s midichlorian count?”

“No,” Ahsoka says, and hesitantly adds, “But her biological father was my Jedi Master, and I’m told his count broke records even as a child. Given what Leia’s shown so far... it’s why I’ve been in a hurry to get her to the Temple.”

Depa frowns at her, clearly working through the implications of a Jedi having a daughter and still teaching... and then visibly dismisses the situation, eyes closing to breathe in the steam of her caff.

Biological father certainly implies a child that was raised by her mother or adopted out so the Jedi father could remain in their chosen career without a conflict of interest or duty.

She’ll tell the council the truth, or... at least Master Koon. Master Kenobi is still a padawan, but she can tell Master Koon.

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

Her head snaps up. She hasn’t been a padawan in over fifteen years. It’s weird to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted some time to think it over before I presented the offer to Fett,” Depa says.

Ahsoka gets the distinct feeling that Depa is planning a report to the Council that has ‘needs a mind healer’ underlined at least three times.

“No, I’m--I’m fine. That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll speak with him, then. Would you like to come with?”

"No, thank you.”

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

Fett agrees. Ahsoka’s pretty sure it’s all to do with Rex and maybe Leia. It’s probably nothing to do with ‘Sokari.’ She’s a Jedi, an adult in mind and in body, or at least close enough to count. She’s a damn sight more ‘enemy’ to Fett than the other two are. Not as much as Depa, maybe, but Fett’s been playing nice with her for Leia’s sake.

He plays nice with Ahsoka for Rex’s. That’s all.

They’re only a few planets over from the meeting point, and they have a few days to hang around before the escort meets them. Depa hadn’t given them a name--apparently it could have compromised the opsec for the Jedi team--but Ahsoka’s pretty sure she’ll be able to identify almost anyone. She gets the feeling that the Force is going to send her a familiar face, just as it did Master Padawan Billaba.

Ahsoka lets herself feel the world around her. It’s dark and dreary, in the sense that the beaten-down port is full of petty crimes and less petty horrors, but it’s still lighter than most of the Empire had been. She sneaks away from the ship at night, ignoring Fett at her back, and performs a bit of vigilante justice while she can. She’ll be banned from doing so as soon as she’s reinstated as a Jedi, probably, but for now... for now, she can look at the drug cartels and ‘they’re not slaves, really’ workers and do something to help.

She doesn’t use her sabers. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since she has, for small fry like these.

“What are you doing?” Fett asks her, landing heavily behind her back.

“Chip removal,” she says, hand pressed to the slave’s leg. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear him shifting. “Let me concentrate, I don’t have a meddroid for this.”

He’s silent until she finishes, and waits until the people she’s helped are on their way to the planet’s freedom routes. He doesn’t ask what she did with the owners.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

He doesn’t answer that, just ambles over to the the chains and stares down at them.

“Fett?”

“You go through this like it’s as easy as breathing,” he says. “It’s... impressive.”

“I guess?” she hesitates to continue. “I’m... I don’t think of it that way. This is the easy stuff. A time-waster that helps people. If I wanted to help for real, I’d been going after Jabba or Sidious or--”

“How old were you?” he asks, turning on his heel to face her dead-on. The vocoder of his helmet pulls the emotion from his voice. “When did this... these missions, the slavery battles, when did that start for you?”

“Fourteen,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, really, what counted as a mission for ending slavery and what counted as just a part of war, but she can round down. “Maybe fifteen. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“And you just kept doing it.”

“Of course,” she says. “If I have the time and the energy, if I need to do something and there’s nothing official on my hands, why not?”

He doesn’t answer her.

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

Rex greets them before she does.

Ahsoka, in her defense, is asleep at the time. It’s a restless sleep, but it’s enough that she doesn’t sense the nearing Force signatures until they’re almost at the ship.

She recognizes one of them.

“Auntie ‘Soka?” Leia questions, when she lurches to her feet and starts pulling on her boots with all the energy of a zombie. “Where are you going?”

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

Leia dresses to follow her, in a little coat that’ll withstand the chill of the outside air, and Ahsoka makes it to the cargo hold just in time to hear Rex saying, “I’m not shaking your hand until you put your gloves on, Vos.”

She laughs to herself, breathless with the knowledge of what she’s about to find. She jumps the railing of the upper walkway, drops down just in front of the Master-Padawan team, and keeps her back to Fett and Rex. “Hello, there.”

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

“Would you be Sokari Torrent?” the Master asks.

“I am,” she says, with a slight bow. She can tell there’s a bit of judgement for how she’s dressed, but they’re covering it well. A Shadow and his trainee know the value of armor better than most Jedi bother with. “I’m afraid Padawan Billaba didn’t inform me of your names before we met.”

“And yet your friend knew my padawan,” the Master says.

“By reputation,” she says, as smoothly as she can. “I’ve encountered Quinlan Vos before, though I doubt he remembers--”

“I’d remember someone like you,” Quinlan interrupts, with a grin she’s sure is meant to be charming and rogueish.

He’s... very young for her, and not her type. Mostly, she wants to pat him on the head, but that probably wouldn’t go over very well. She still looks like she’s younger than him.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the master, “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, Master.”

“I am Tholme,” he says, with the bow that a Master gives a Padawan. She feels a little slighted, but it’s fine. She looks the right age, it’s fine.

It’s not like they know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Tholme,” she says. “My charges are Rex Torrent, the young man behind me, and currently coming down the ladder is Leia Antilles. I’m sure you’re aware of Jango Fett.”

“The Mand’alor,” Quinlan volunteers, and Ahsoka can almost hear Fett’s teeth grinding.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. She’s sure he’s got a hand drifting for his blaster.

“There isn’t a whole lot of room on the ship,” she says before the men can get into whatever weird contest she’s sure someone might start. Her bet’s on Fett. “But Leia and Rex are small enough to share with me, so I’m sure we can make it work.”

“There’s spare rolls for anyone comfortable with sleeping in the hold,” Fett grunts. “Or on the floor in the passenger room.”

“Well, I guess I could ask for a little help fi--”

“Vos,” Ahsoka snaps, letting her voice take on the kind of ‘obey me or get fresher duty’ irritation that she’d perfected back when the rebellion still had her managing people, before they’d realized she was more use in the field. “Do not.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Tholme looks unimpressed with that raised eyebrow, but the kind of unimpressed that’s split between his own padawan and the stranger before him.

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

“No,” she cuts him off. “No flirting.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable and she’d have maybe been okay with it if she was actually the seventeen-or-eighteen-ish(?) that she looked, but she’s not. She’s in her thirties and Vos is... what, twenty? Twenty-one? No.

He stares at her, and she wonders momentarily if she’d gone too far in the direction of judging his intentions in the Force and preempted actual flirtations.

“I’m sorry?” He offers, looking confused, but ashamed. “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

Ahsoka closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes. “Right. That was... I’m not sure how much Padawan Billaba told you about me.”

“Enough,” Tholme says. He moves forward and puts a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. Ahsoka has no idea if it’s to comfort him or hold him back. “I didn’t share most of it with my padawan, but I have a general understanding of what’s going on.”

Quinlan darts a look at his teacher, but Ahsoka doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says, and bows, and stiffly turns away to walk to the galley.

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

Leia squirms into the bench seat, shoving her way under Ahsoka’s arm like a particularly wriggly tooka.

“What was that?” Leia demands, the authority of a rebellion general rather useless in the squeaky voice of a child.

“What was what?”

“The whole thing with Padawan Vos,” Leia says. “You blew up at him before he even did anything.”

That’s pretty true.

“I felt the flirtation coming before it happened and reacted inappropriately because I panicked. I’m significantly older than him, but I can’t tell him that, so it’s just awkward and uncomfortable and... I’m not okay, Princess. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

“What? I need therapy too! Captain Rex needs therapy! I’m pretty sure Fett needs therapy! You, Fulcrum, you really need therapy. None of us are okay.” She huffs, wiggling impossibly closer. “I don’t like it, but it’s true.”

“I know,” Ahsoka groans. “I just... I just need to hold out until the Temple.”

“Will you be able to hold it together if you see someone you actually care about?” Leia demands. “What are you going to do when you see Kenobi?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

“Leia, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I was fighting that war before you were even born, and I’ve dealt with the consequences since. I know the risks and I’ll thank you to remember who taught you to control your own mind.”

Leia stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not the child you appear to be,” Ahsoka reminds her, not a little sharply. “You want to dish it out, be ready to take it. What will you do when we see Bail Organa? When we see the toddler that is Anakin Skywalker?”

“I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Ahsoka mutters. She isn’t surprised when Leia ducks out of the embrace and leaves the galley. She lets the girl go, guilt warring with the memory of how Master Kenobi had more than once spoken that way to Anakin at the height of the war. The fact that she’s an adult in the body of a child isn’t an excuse for poking at Ahsoka’s open wounds. It was cruel and unnecessary, and unbecoming of a... not a Jedi. A princess. A politician.

She rests her head on her arms and zones out. She should meditate, but that seems like... too much effort.

She can feel Vos and Tholme setting up in the room they’ve been assigned. Neither seems particularly angry. Most likely, Tholme’s given the absolute shortest explanation of ‘child soldier, dead master, highly traumatized and emotionally unstable’ to Vos to smooth over the incident in the cargo hold. Rex is with Leia; he’s agitated, but less so than Leia herself. Fett’s annoyed, in the cockpit, but he seems annoyed as often as not. There’s a shudder at lift-off, and a few minutes later, they’re in hyperspace, headed for the Core.

Fett finds her, falls into the other bench in full armor, and drops his elbows onto the table. The helmet clunks down a moment later.

She doesn’t lift her head. “What do you want?”

“Do I need to keep Vos away from you?”

“What?”

“Vos. He made you uncomfortable. Was that him being someone that hurt you in the future, or just the interaction being awkward?”

She lifts her head. She stares at him. “What?”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “Do you need me to tell Vos to stay the hell away from you?”

She’s gaping. “You realize I’m thirty-two, right? I can handle my own battles.”

“You’re also traumatized as hell and everyone can see it,” Fett argues back. “If Vos himself is a trigger, I can handle it.”

“He’s not,” she tells him. This is strange. Fett’s being strange. “He was actually a friend of my grandmaster’s. I’m just uncomfortable with the flirting because I’m a lot older than he realizes, and I can’t tell him that.”

He nods sharply, and then looks away. The silence sits.

“Thanks for asking?” Ahsoka says, well aware of how her confusion over the offer turns it into a question. “I mean, thank you for... caring.”

I guess, she finishes in the privacy of her own head. Or at least pretending to.

Fett makes a face, still not facing her. He eyes the galley instead. She can guess where his thoughts are going. The galley is... not very big, especially with six people on board instead of one, but she’s sure they’ve stocked up enough. On the off chance they do go through more than expected, because of how many growing bodies are in residence, they can stop off and buy more. They have those resources now.

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

“Who’s going to cry if I spice things properly?” he asks.

“Probably Leia,” she says immediately. “Vos will try to power through it even though he’s going to be overwhelmed. No idea about Tholme, but I think he’ll keep a straight face whether he likes it or not. Rex and I are fine, ‘hot’ was pretty much the only flavor of seasoning the GAR had.”

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

“You already knew I was a child soldier, Fett; don’t act surprised.”

“That doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”

“I was fourteen. That’s old enough by Mando standards, Fett. Just think back, when did you get on the battlefield?”

“I take your point,” he says, lip curling unpleasantly. “It just hits different now that I’m old enough to look back and think of how damned young fourteen really is.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

“...closer to seven, by the end. Kamino was just making speedies at that point. Triple growth on the average instead of double, but averages in that case meant they’d been growing at double rates for six years and then got forced through four growth cycles in a single year to beef up the army when we kept losing men.” She looks down at the table, picking at a scratch in the plastipaint with her nail. “Rex and the rest of the ones from the beginning were basically twenty in mind and body, even if they’d only been decanted ten years earlier. The speedies... I always wondered. They’d gone from functionally twelve to functionally twenty in a year. That’s not... even in Kamino, that can’t have been normal. They didn’t act like adults, not the way the originals did.”

Fett rubs at his face, groaning. He swears under his breath in three different languages.

She pities him, if only because he hasn’t actually done any of this yet. He’s paying for the crimes of a man he likely won’t ever become.

She kicks him under the table. “Wanna make tiingilar and see how long it takes Vos to start crying while he insists it’s fine?”

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

Dinner is when the questions start. Some are relatively easy. Others, not so much.

“My Master was Leia’s biological father,” is an easy truth to share. “She inherited his power, so I need to get her to the temple for her own safety, because home no longer is.”

“Yes, her adoptive parents were unfortunately killed rather recently. We’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Rex is with me. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa.”

That one gets her an odd look.

“I thought...” Quinlan trails off, gesturing between Rex and Fett.

Fett keeps his face impassive, but his discomfort and guilt leak into the Force. “I didn’t know Rex existed until I ran into these three in a spaceport cantina a few weeks ago.”

Quinlan blinks at him, looks at Rex again, and then turns back to Fett with a grin that might have been described as ‘saucy’ if he were less smug about it. “Wild oats, huh?”

“Are you shitting me right now,” Leia whispers, and Ahsoka elbows her.

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

Quinlan’s grin fades as Fett just continues to eye him.

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

Darting eyes answer him, as Quinlan tries to gauge Rex. “Ten? Maybe twelve?”

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

Quinlan’s grin fades further as he does the math.

“I’d have been between fifteen and seventeen when he was born,” Fett says, tone flat. “Between fourteen and sixteen at conception. I know damn well I wasn’t doing anything that could have resulted in a kid at that age.”

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

“I’m a clone,” Rex says, and Ahsoka can feel the amusement he gets out of Quinlan’s confused shock. They’d both had plenty of respect for Master Vos, but Padawan Vos was nothing but trouble. “Harvested genetic material, grown in a tube, inconsistent aging meaning I don’t even know how old I am for sure.”

“I broke him out,” Ahsoka adds, which is half true.

“There was a chip in my head,” Rex adds, with a bright smile. Quinlan’s discomfort grows. “She got it out. Also, lots of brothers. None of them are... around anymore. The creators were trying to make an army.”

Vos and Tholme have no response. Fett looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Leia’s just ignoring them and picking at her food.

Ahsoka lifts a hand and, without looking, Rex high-fives her.

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

“Drop your elbow.”

Ahsoka tries to cover her smile at the dirty look that Leia shoots Fett. Fett remains unimpressed by the glare of royalty, just gestures for the girl to do as he said.

“I know how to fight,” Leia grumbles. “I took lessons. I was good at them.”

“And I’m better,” Fett says, leaving no room for argument. “You want the Torrents to take over?”

The Torrents. Rex and Soka. She likes being referred to that way. Like they’re a team that never got split up.

Force, she wished they’d never gotten split up.

“Again,” Fett orders, and Leia moves through the Mandalorian kata with ill grace in her emotions and all grace in her sweeping limbs.

Well, as much grace as an undersized six-year-old can, at any rate.

“Think he’ll ask me to spar her again?” Rex asks, dropping down into the seat next to Ahsoka and passing her a drink.

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “I think he’s wondering if it’s worth asking Vos to spar with her, so she gets more experience with size differences.”

“Hm?”

“She flinched at his face again,” she tells him. “The whole... thing with Boba, I guess. She still won’t tell me why Fett triggers her sometimes, but he’s not pressing her to spar with him, and there’s only so much she can get out of fighting me. Asking Tholme would be presumptuous, but Vos is just a padawan. I think it’d work out.”

“And you?”

She looks at him, already feeling a cresting wave of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with. “What about me?”

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

She should. She hasn’t sparred with a saber since she got tossed back into a body only half-familiar to her. She’s let Leia borrow the shorter one to learn some basic blocking moves, Shii-Cho and then, with hesitance, the first Soresu form. Another time, she loaned it to Rex to practice some attacks; they both know that the next time he picks up her saber in battle, having lost his weapons or she her grip, it will be neither the first or last time he wields a sword of light. None of that, however, is... sparring.

None of that is against someone who knows what they’re doing.

How long has it been since she sparred with anyone other than Kanan and Ezra?

How long has it been since she sparred without the looming specter of Darth Vader in the back of her mind, without fear of the Inquisitors, without the knowledge that any saber held by someone other than her two friends would be red as blood and twice as drenched.

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

“I should,” she acknowledges, eyes on where Fett is nudging Leia’s feet into position for some kind of leveraging flip. She’s so small. “It would probably be a good idea to spar against a master at some point.”

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

“I never knew him,” she says. “And he isn’t Dark. It should be fine.”

Rex nods, taking her word for it. They watch as Leia stumbles on a final move, and Fett gestures for her to sit down and get a drink.

“That man is a terror,” she informs them.

(She’d once described him as a slave-driver. She had not made that mistake twice.)

“Least it’s not Kamino!” Rex tells her cheerfully. When Leia refuses to look impressed, he laughs at her.

Ahsoka has a half-second’s warning before heavy boots thud to the ground next to her. “What’s Kamino?”

“Hello, Vos, it’s nice to see you too,” she drawls. “I’m good, thanks for asking, and yourself?”

The boy-not-quite-man rolls his eyes. “Hi, Torrents; hi, tiny one.”

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth as the conversation drops into the same awkward gap that always happens when Quinlan stumbles into a subject he didn’t know to avoid.

“Like... you were made there, or you were researching how it works for your own--”

Ahsoka slaps a hand over his mouth. “Now’s a great time to stop talking.”

He licks her palm.

She bares her teeth and arches her fingers just enough to press nails into his cheek.

He bites at her palm, and she yanks her hand away.

“You’re all children,” Leia accuses, conveniently forgetting that Ahsoka and Rex are both over a decade older than her.

“I can throw you the length of a swimming pool,” Ahsoka tells her. “One of the fancy competition-ready ones that would make a Tatooinian cry. You are absolutely the child here.”

“Using the Force is cheating, sir,” Rex informs her.

“Only if there’s a competition,” Ahsoka shoots back. “And proving that a certain princess is a small child is not a competition. It’s a declarative fact.”

“I’m going to rip open the seams on all your tops except the ugliest one,” Leia decides.

“Try me,” Ahsoka challenges. “Adi’ka.”

A low, rough cough interrupts them. “Are you done?”

Fett has his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. He knows they’re all adults here, and is entirely unamused. As the silence drags, the eyebrow climbs a little higher.

“Done with what?” Quinlan finally asks, thereby volunteering himself to spar in hand-to-hand with Jango Fett, as one does.

“Poor, poor Vos,” Rex laughs, watching as Fett barks out orders at Quinlan every five seconds to fix his footwork, to stop dropping his guard, to stop wasting energy on flips instead of just dodging the easy way.

“Throw him!” Ahsoka calls. To her delight, Fett obliges.

The thing is, Quinlan isn’t bad at brawling. He’s got training, endurance, skill. The man knows what he’s doing, objectively. He’s just not a match for Fett, and is used enough to relying on his saber that his hand-to-hand skills are rusty. They are perhaps less rusty than those Jedi who don’t take questionable jobs in the Mid-Outer Rim, and Ahsoka’s got a suspicion that Vos regularly gets into bar fights in his downtime, but none of that is enough for him to actually do more than survive against Fett without his saber.

Even the saber wouldn’t help, if Fett had his armor.

“Whose idea was this?”

Ahsoka cranes her head back and smiles. “Hello, Master Tholme. Vos... volunteered.”

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

Tholme snorts, crossing his arms and eyeing the spar in front of him. “I thought Fett hated Jedi. Giving us a ride for the sake of you three is one thing, but why is he teaching my padawan?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

There’s a small twitch of a smile, quickly gone. “He said something wrong, I’m guessing?”

“There was no way he could have known,” she dismisses. “We’re just, like, ninety-percent tragic backstories.”

“You’d think the Force would warn him,” Rex notes.

“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia chides.

“No, no, he’s right,” Ahsoka corrects. “The Force does sometimes step in to stop a person from saying something stupid. However, Padawan Vos is at an age where people think they are very rational while being more irrational than they likely ever will be again.”

“Do I want to ask what you were doing at that age?” Tholme asks.

“Running bla...” she trails off, then whips around to gape at him.

He smiles, bland and unassuming. “Does Fett know?”

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

“That you’re significantly older than you look,” he says, voice just low enough that the sparring duo can’t hear him. “All three of you.”

Ahsoka turns back to the spar, only catching Tholme out of the corner of her eye. “He knows.”

“Mm. Were you planning on telling the Council?”

“Yes.” That part was never in question. “How did you figure it out?”

“I am a good investigator,” he says. “And you rely a little too heavily on your physical forms to obfuscate. Were it just one of you, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the pattern repeated across three is a little easier to discern.”

“I hoped the whole ‘child soldiers’ thing would be a bigger distraction,” Ahsoka mutters. She glances at Leia and Rex. Both of them are used to being in charge to some degree, giving orders and making contingency plans, but in this... in this, Ahsoka is in charge. They’d decided that at the very start. It didn’t matter that Rex had lived longer and had more experience, or that Leia had held the highest Rebellion rank of the three of them. Ahsoka had been agreed as leader, and they were relying on her.

They’re waiting on her orders. Stiff and unhappy, in Leia’s case, but they trust her.

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

“No,” Tholme says. “Your secrets remain your own unless they endanger us, and I’ve a feeling they won’t be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rex jokes, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been working with this family for too long to trust that trouble won’t find them around the next corner.”

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

“Sokari was telling the truth about her master being Leia’s biological father,” Rex says. He shrugs. “I worked with him, with his wife, with both of his kids, with his master and his padawan. All of them, to a one, are trouble magnets.”

“Ah, but that’s not the secret that’s putting us in danger,” Tholme points out. “Simply existence as a Jedi.”

Rex shrugs. “Fair enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Ahsoka lurches to her feet, turning with a smile and dancing backward into the the stretch of empty cargo hold they used for such things. “A spar, Master Tholme?”

He looks past her, to Quinlan, and raises a brow. “Would you not prefer to spar with someone a little closer to your level first?”

She barks out a laugh. “Master Tholme, I’m afraid I’ve spent more of my life fighting to survive than having normal friendly spars. My style is more lethal than the average, and you’ve already seen what war’s done to my mind. I ask to spar with you because, if I lose control, if I slip in time or react on an instinct that isn’t appropriate, I trust that you’ll be more able to stop me than a senior padawan.”

He smiles. “Yes, I gathered as much. Still, better to ask. Shall we wait for them to finish up?”

Ahsoka shrugs, turns, and yells. “Clear the deck!”

Rex snorts behind her, and lowly mutters, “Sir, yes, sir.”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “At ease, Captain.”

“That’s ‘Commander’ to you, I got promoted,” he sniffs, chin held high.

Heavy steps herald Fett’s arrival at their little group. “The hells are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a spar with a Jedi Master, and I want you and Vos to not get stabbed.”

“I’m not that easy to injure in an actual fight, let alone by accident,” Fett grouses. He looks up and over at Vos, who is already significantly taller, if a fair shot less built. “This one, on the other hand...”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka laughs and backs into the center of the cargo hold, drawing her sabers. “Don’t worry, Vos, I won’t play dirty. You’ll probably get your master back in one piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you? He’s a Jedi Master and former Watchman. You’re... what, eighteen?”

Ahsoka raises a brow and activates her sabers, tapping the blades together and watching as more than one person winces. “Wanna bet on how long I last?”

“No,” he says immediately, stepping back to join Rex on the bench. “You’ve already blindsided me enough. I’m not dumb enough to fall for whatever you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

“Greaves go on the legs, these are vambraces.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just going to stop talking now!”

“Good plan,” Leia snarks, and then literally hisses when Rex ruffles her hair.

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

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

She wins, but barely. She's had a few weeks to practice her forms, has sparred hands-only with Rex and Fett, but this is her first real try at using her sabers against a person, instead of a blaster or thin air, since she arrived in the past. She’s only mostly adjusted to her body.

But Tholme is a healer and a watchman, not a duelist. Ahsoka held her own against Ventress, against Grievous, against Maul when she was this age. Still adjusting to her body or not, her lineage is one of battle, and it bled true.

“You’re terrifying,” Quinlan tells her after they’re done, smiling like the sun as he hands her a towel. “Please never turn that on me.”

She laughs at him. “Would you believe that I’m out of practice?”

“Out of practice with what?” he asks, horrified and fascinated. “Fighting Sith Lords?”

“Among other things,” she says, and smirks when he chokes on his drink. “Multiple darkside users who claimed to be Sith, at least. One being a full Lord, one that was disowned by his master, and one that was apprenticed to a Banite apprentice, so she wasn’t technically allowed to be a Darth because of the rule of two.”

Tholme meets her eyes past Quinlan’s shoulder, head tilted and eyes half-shut in consideration. He’s taking her seriously. He knows what she’s not saying.

“How...” Quinlan trails off and shakes his head. “You know what, no. Asking you people questions never ends well.”

“Good plan,” Ahsoka says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Also, you need to spar with Fett more. Your footwork is shit.”

“It is not,” Quinlan gripes. “You’re all just scary good at this stuff.”

“You mean surviving?” Leia pipes up, and smiles innocently when Quinlan turns to pout at her.

“You’re getting bullied by a six-year-old,” Rex informs him.

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

Ahsoka laughs, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. For a week, everything is honestly great. She trains, she laughs, she works through the nightmares.

Then fucking Denon happens.

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

Denon is a city-planet on the intersection of two major hyperlanes. It’s the kind of place where they stop for two things:

Fuel.

Paperwork.

Technically, there’s a whole mess of paperwork they have to fill out to continue along this specific hyperlane, since they aren’t official Republic ships, and don’t have the licenses to just pass along like ships that are pre-registered to the Trade Federation or the like. They could sneak past--literally all of them know smuggler’s routes--but it’s honestly less of a pain to do things legally. They have a Jedi Master. They have cash. Some of that cash wasn’t quite legally acquired, but nobody needs to know that.

It’s supposed to be a pit stop. That’s all.

It’s just a pit stop.

But no, the galaxy isn’t that kind and Ahsoka’s luck is currently being compounded with a Skywalker, two Fetts, and Vos, which means that of course they run into trouble. Of course they do. There was never any other option, was there?

“Motherfucker,” Ahsoka snaps, lifting her head up and slamming her drink on the table.

The glass is empty. That’s good. They’re in a restaurant right now, a little splurging after weeks with only each others’ company, and spilling the sugary child-friendly juice with that move would have drawn way too much attention from the servers.

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

“Sir?” Rex asks, kicking Ahsoka under the table. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wr--that jackass,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Rex, grab a blaster, I’ve got shebs to kick.”

“Okay,” Rex says, grabbing one out of Fett’s holster and scooting out of the booth before anyone can tell him not to. “Whose?”

“I didn’t even know that he was... osik, I don’t have jurisdiction,” she realizes. “I don’t have any record of wrongdoing. I can’t arrest him since we don’t have evidence of criminal wrongdoing...”

“Are you two going to explain what’s going on?” Vos asks. “Or sit down, maybe?”

Ahsoka makes her decision. She eyes the window--the restaurant in question is a little dingy, but it’s also several dozen stories in the air. “Rex, remember the thing we did on Geonosis that you hated?”

He pauses, and then sighs heavily. “Yes, sir. I remember the... yeeting.”

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

It’s a good thing the windows are forcefields instead of transparisteel. A bit of a twist to the energy and they’re gone.

She only hears a little screaming before the wind tears all noises away while they plummet.

They land lightly--of course--and Ahsoka wraps them both in a don’t notice me aura. Nobody even notices that they’ve just come from above. It’s great that she can just Do These Things again, and get brushed off as Weird Jedi Shit, instead of worrying about the Empire. She’s missed being able to jump out of windows without fear.

Rex follows her as she starts running through the city. They don’t have comms, and he’s still so small, which means he can’t keep up with her even if she runs at normal speeds without Force enhancement.

“Should you carry me?” he asks, before she can figure out if it’s worth suggesting. She did it a few times before they joined up with Jango.

“It’s not... urgent, I think,” she says. She hesitates to speak, even as she keeps jogging with Rex at her heels. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can ding him for so we can attack him. It’s all well and good that I can beat him right now, but all the crimes I know about haven’t happened yet, so it wouldn’t be legal...”

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

She scrolls the conversation back mentally, considers, and says, “Oh.”

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

“Ah,” Rex says. He makes a face. “I understand the desire to jump out a window, now. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”

Ahsoka laughs. “I mean, I just... every time I’ve seen him for almost twenty years, it’s been like... on sight, you know? We’ve never not attacked each other, except when I needed him to cause problems on Mandalore. But I always knew I was in the right, then.”

“So... what do we arrest him for?” Rex prompts.

“Um... carrying a lightsaber without a license?” she hazards. “We’ll need Tholme there. Hopefully I can just shout at him and he’ll attack me, but I think he only went full nutjob after Master Kenobi cut his legs off. He might be too controlled to try to kill me just for yelling at him.”

“...do we have to stalk him?” Rex asks, sounding like he’d most likely sigh if he weren’t mid-run.

She scoops him up and swings him around onto her back before she answers. “I think we have to stalk him, Rex’ika.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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

Maul is... exceptionally sneaky, actually. Either that, or he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. Ahsoka’s betting on the former, because she’s seen this particular skocha kung take over a planet before anyone realized he was the most dangerous person around.

Or maybe he’s just not committing crimes, and is in fact just here to buy groceries.

He’s examining a papaya.

She fantasizes about jumping across the market and greeting him with a heel to the cheekbone.

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think I should go hit him?”

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

“Why does he have to be so bo--did he just fucking bite a nelom?”

“It appears so, Sir.”

“Like... like rind and all. Just bit the little fucker.”

“Seems it.”

A scuff of metal. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Ahsoka tips her head around to peer through the grate. “We’re spying, Fett, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Rex cranes his head. “We’re hanging upside-down from a fire escape to get a look at a suspected Sith Apprentice that is currently shopping for various fruits, Mand’alor.”

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

“Sokari,” the master greets. “This seems a very conspicuous way to spy.”

She shrugs as well as she can from this angle. “Yes, but you see, this way’s more fun.”

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

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

Apparently, Tholme and Fett had told Quinlan to take care of Leia, as Leia had wanted to finish her juice and refused to get involved in the Torrents’ nonsense. According to her, if they couldn’t be bothered to explain the nonsense, they didn’t need her.

This was true and accurate.

Quinlan shows up while they’re still stalking Maul, having moved to a low rooftop for a decent vantage point with less likelihood of being spotted. He’s giving Leia an eopie-back ride, and the pout on her face at needing it is adorable. She pouts harder when she sees them.

“Are you even trying to hide?” Leia scoffs.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admits. She’s got Fett’s binoculars out. “I’m not sure he’s caught wind of the fact that we’re here yet.”

“Or he has and he’s just biding his time to escape while we’re distracted,” Tholme points out.

“Meh,” Ahsoka says, avidly devouring the visual that is a teenage Maul glaring at leafy vegetables. “I just want him to do something so I have an excuse to beat his ass.”

“Do I get to know who?” Quinlan asks, setting Leia down on the roof. “Or are we going to keep being completely unwilling to share information?”

“Baby Sith Lord,” Ahsoka says. “He’s fifteen. A child.”

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

“You’re... that’s... ugh,” Quinlan groans as loudly and as dramatically as he dares, flopping down to the rooftop. “Master Tholme, please tell me this isn’t a real Sith.”

“He’s Dark,” Tholme confirms. “Sith is... up for debate until we have evidence.”

“He’s a bitch is what he is,” Ahsoka mutters. She observes the teenager in question stop to poke at some pink tomatoes. “E chu ta, break the law, already!”

“Does he have a lightsaber?” Quinlan asks. “If he has a lightsaber and no Jedi ID or specialty license, we can probably arrest him.”

“Auntie Soka doesn’t have a license or ID,” Leia points out.

“She’s got a Jedi escort,” Tholme says. “And if our supposed Sith is polite and plays nice, we can probably escort him to the Temple as well.”

Rex snorts derisively.

“Do you know why he’s on Denon?” Fett asks.

“No clue,” Ahsoka admits. “Evil reasons, probably.”

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

“Thanks, princess, how’s that attempt to open the jam jar by yourself coming?”

Leia says something very inappropriate for a princess, for a child, and for a lady. It’s fairly appropriate for a soldier, which is admittedly what she’s been for a few years now. Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at the girl like the mature operative she is.

“I wish we could still get him to lose his osik by just showing up and insulting him,” Rex mutters, low enough that Quinlan probably can’t hear.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Ahsoka confesses. “I want him to try to punch me in the face, and fail.”

“Don’t bully the baby Sith,” Rex admonishes.

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

“I know, but you’re tw--significantly older than him.”

“But... but it’s the motherfucker himself.”

“...you can bully him a little, but only because he’s a Sith.”

Fett steals the binoculars. “You can borrow them again when you stop acting like children.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rex says, dry as Ryloth. “I’m ten.”

“Pretty tall for your age,” Ahsoka mutters, and then giggles.

“Don’t steal my jokes,” Rex says. He elbows her, hard.

“You know,” Quinlan says, slow and tired. “Master Tholme and I are trained investigators.”

Ahsoka and Rex look at each other, and then up at him.

“Okay?”

“...do you want me to find actual evidence of this guy doing something criminal?”

“Oh, yes please.”

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

Quinlan, as it turns out, is not overselling his skills. He does catch Maul doing something illegal later that day. It’s a little more ‘stealing corporate secrets in the dead of night’ and less ‘torturing people for kicks,’ but it’s still enough to legally arrest him. Quinlan attempts to do so.

Quinlan does not succeed, and is forced to jump out a window to avoid getting cut in half. Maul follows, steals a passing speeder by throwing out the driver, and takes off. Someone--looks like Tholme--drops back to save the driver, but the rest of them give chase. Ahsoka gleefully takes point on that, of course. She’s the best pilot.

(Rex looks bored, but someone is likely to puke by the end of the night. She hopes it’s not Leia, who insisted on coming for some fucking reason.)

“How the kriff is a teenager that good?!” Quinlan yells, clinging to the edge of the speeder to avoid getting tipped out as Ahsoka swerves around a corner with a wild laugh.

“He’s a Sith!” Leia shouts over the wind. “What do you think?”

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

Ahsoka screeches as she drifts across four lanes of traffic and into an alleyway to pursue Maul. He’s pretty good at dodging cross-building walkways, but she’s better. She bares her teeth, hissing, and tries to pick a plan.

“Vos, how’s your aim with Force throws?” She calls to the backseat.

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

Vos takes a second longer to process that than Jango does.

“I’m wh--”

He cuts off, screaming, and is flung forward by Quinlan to crash headfirst into a teenage Sith.

“Take the wheel!” Ahsoka commands, not waiting to see who follows the order, because Fett and Maul are both getting to their feet, the other speeder is about to crash, and she’s not sure who’s going to win that fight.

She jumps from the speeder they’ve been violently dragging around Denon, and lands feet-first on Maul’s... shoulder.

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

“You should wear armor!” she chirps at him, drawing both sabers and grinning as he whirls to face her, eyes wide with hate.

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

“Did you just throw me?” Fett demands, higher pitched than she’d normally expect.

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

“Why not? Throwing people was standard practice in the GAR.”

She can’t see his face, but she’s pretty sure he’s about ready to strangle her.

Ahsoka cannot, at that point, continue snarking with the father of her best friend, because there’s a red lightsaber coming for her throat, and she should probably worry about that. Maul’s very good at killing people and she’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic.

As she is quickly reminded, he is... fifteen. And shorter than she’s used to. And already injured.

It’s really, really easy to take him out, actually.

At some point, the other speeder was safely recovered before it caused property damage, and their own is landing a few meters away with Vos and the kids.

“You have Force-negating cuffs, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

“Oh,” she says, and grimaces. “I guess I’ll just... keep sitting on him then.”

Maul snarls, and she raps him on the skull. “Stop that, it’s uncivilized.”

Rex snorts.

Jango makes a noise that is incredibly frustrated with the lot of them, and turns on Rex. “Was she telling the truth?”

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

Rex’s face goes pained. “It was in the five-oh-first. And a few others.”

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

Quinlan throws his hands up in the air again. “Come on! I just proved I know what I’m doing!”

“And their tragic backstory is none of your business, prudii!”

Quinlan blinks at him, and then glances at Ahsoka. “Um.”

“He called you a shadow since your training, um, seems to be pointing in that direction,” she says as carefully as she can. “We were theorizing.”

“Wh... you actually paid attention?” Quinlan asks, looking horribly confused. “I thought I was just annoying you.”

Ahsoka laughs at him. “Oh, Vos... I’ve been running black ops for... much longer than most would guess. Trust me, I know another spy when I see them.”

She smiles as kindly as she can, because she hadn’t actually meant to make him feel left out or unwanted or... well, she’d been pretty patronizing, especially for someone seemingly younger than him. The smile does not work. Quinlan just looks kind of horrified about how young she just implied she started spy work.

Granted, she’d been sixteen for Zygerria...

Deciding to ignore him for a bit, she shifts on Maul’s back and pats him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby Sith. We’re going to get you lots of nice therapy. Mind healers, no Sith tortures, all that fun stuff. Maybe some plushies.”

“You’re also getting therapy, right?” Quinlan asks. “Please say you are. I’m required for the specifics of my training and if anything you’ve said is true, I feel like you really need it and I’m scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Ahsoka laughs, knowing exactly how empty it sounds. “Oh hell, if I didn’t get therapy, I imagine Kix would rise from the grave to force me into it.”

The name means nothing to anyone except Rex, and... ah, yeah, she told Fett about Kix a few weeks ago.

“No more throwing me without warning,” Fett grumbles, dropping to sit on the ground next to her. “Especially not at baby Sith Lords.”

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

“He speaks!” Ahsoka cheers. “Aw, I knew you could do it.”

“’Soka, I told you not to bully him,” Rex complains. “It’s tacky. You’re being tacky.”

“I’m allowed to be tacky,” Ahsoka declares. “I’ve died twice, that’s, like, permission from the universe.”

“You’ve died twice?” Quinlan asks, back in ‘fascinated horror’ territory. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t ask--”

“Too late! The first time was on a planet that doesn’t exist and my Master lost his mind, killed a god, and used the good favor of another god to have me brought back to life at her expense. Not in that order.”

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

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

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

“Maul, you’ll never get big and strong and ready to kill if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

He bares his teeth.

“No, I don’t eat my veggies, but I’m a Togruta, so if I eat too many vegetables I throw up.”

Rex kicks her thigh, right on the faulds. “What did I say about bullying the Sith Lord?”

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

He kicks at her again. “Get up, we’re swapping out the watch.”

“But I wanted to hang out with my favorite little criminal mastermind.”

Rex drops to the floor and presses his forehead to her shoulder. “How the hell is being around this guy the first thing to make you cheer up in weeks?”

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

Rex jabs a finger into her ribs, and she squeaks. “Go get something to eat, Commander.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling to her feet and moseying along to the galley. She walks in on Tholme and Fett having an argument about the ways in which Jedi and Mandalorians differ. Quinlan’s on the side, watching with wide eyes, and little Leia’s drinking a juice box at his side, tucked up under his arm and occasionally saying things to fan the flames. Ahsoka assumes she’s enjoying herself.

She opens the cooling unit, looks over the contents, and pulls out a raw leg of eopie mutton. She leans against the counter, bites into the chilled-but-not-frozen meat, and uses the back of one hand to wipe the blood off her chin. The ‘real adults’ don’t notice.

“I’m like ninety percent sure you’re doing this to mess with me but also...” Quinlan trails off, staring at her with horror. “Why?”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but all the obligate carnivores I know are like... generally holding to basic rules of courtesy when it comes to not grossing people out,” Quinlan says. “Like, I don’t chew with my mouth open. You don’t... eat in the most intimidating--did you just crack the bone with your teeth?!”

Ahsoka smirks at him, using her free hand to take away the shard of bone so she can suck out the marrow without eating the bones themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t polite society. We’re in a galley on a bounty hunter’s ship, and I’ve been living on the run or in an army for most of my life. Table manners are optional.”

“No, they’re not,” Leia orders. “Fett, it’s your ship, tell her to--”

“--and another thing!” Fett snaps at Tholme, clearly paying less than no attention to the food argument.

Ahsoka keeps on eating, trying to catch wind of where the discussion’s at. Mostly, it seems to be at ‘talking past each other.’ Neither of them seems to have fully grasped more than the absolute most basic parts of the other culture, and that’s only enough to insult each other, not actually have a constructive conversation. She’d have expected more out of Tholme, at least. He’s not exactly young.

“Hey, quick question,” she says, in a moment where both of them have paused for breath and the opportunity to seethe. “Fett, when’s the last time you worked with a Jedi, or any member of a Force-based religion, before I popped into your life?”

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

“And Tholme, when’s the last time you worked with anyone from the Mandalorian system?”

Tholme’s reaction isn’t any more gracious than Fett’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says. “Vos, were either of them actually interested in that conversation, or just looking for an excuse to yell?”

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

“Fett,” she snaps. “I am not a child.”

“And neither am I,” he growls right back. “This is my ship, and I damn well don’t need you treating me like a misbehaving youngling. You’ve got a problem, you bring it to my face, not get all smug about people’s tempers blowing over.”

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

He stands with his arms crossed, in full armor save for the helmet. She puts aside the eopie meat and wipes her hands, smiling until she can put her hands on her hips and let it drop to a challenge.

“You know, I’m just--I’m just gonna go,” Quinlan mutters, pulling Leia out with him, the girl hanging from under one of his arms. “This, uh, this looks like a problem for... you folks. Um. Yeah.”

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

Fett rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then gestures at the table. “Sit.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

He drops his hand and glares at her. “We have another week on this ship together. We are going to have this conversation. Sit.”

She sits, right on the warm spot left behind by Quinlan and Leia. She crosses her arms, lifts a brow, and waits.

Fett takes the seat across from her. Tholme leans against the counter.

“We all know you’re older than you look,” Fett says. “I heard Tholme mention it, I know that much has been shared. You’re acting like an actual teenager, and I’ve... I’ve put up with a lot. I am trying to keep things civil, particularly with you. I’ve tried to be friendly. You’ve been fucked up since we met, fine, everyone’s got trauma. The thing where you’ve started talking shit to our faces for what seems like your own amusement? That has to stop. You’re older than me, Torrent. Fucking act like it.”

She blinks at him, slow and not exactly happy, and turns to Tholme.

The man shrugs. “I was planning to put up with it until we arrived to the temple and handed you over to some mind healers. Fett doesn’t have that kind of time.”

There’s a curdle in her stomach, defensive and angry and guilty.

“You’ve been... a bitch,” Fett finally says. “You know that. I’m not going to mince words. You’ve been holier-than-thou and rude and condescending, and aiming that at Antilles is one thing, when you’ve apparently known her since she was a toddler and taught her things. Aiming at the rest of us isn’t going to fly. We’re all adults trying to share a space. Stop acting like... just like you have been.”

There is no defense to be made that they aren’t both already aware of.

She closes her eyes and tries to strangle the burst of irrational rage.

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

She’s felt freer than she had in years, and in that freedom allowed herself too much rein, let herself lace her words with barbed wires and poison instead of sparks and spices, comments that were cruel instead of just joking. Too familiar. Too comfortable.

“My behavior’s been inappropriate,” she finally says, the words clumsy and too big in her mouth. “You’re right about that. I’m sorry, and I’ll endeavor to keep a tighter rein on my less pleasant behaviors in the future.”

At least she only lashes out with words. It could be worse.

She opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on the wall behind Fett, wrestles her expression into stiff neutrality. “Am I dismissed?”

“...uh, no, not after that,” Fett says, sounding just a little horrified. “What the hell was that?”

Tholme hisses out a breath. “Let her go.”

“No, this needs to be discussed, that’s not a healthy rea--”

“Fett, let her go,” Tholme insists, low and heavy.

Fett looks between the two for a moment, seems to come to a realization he doesn’t like, and then gestures almost violently towards the door. “Fine. Go.”

She walks out, doesn’t sprint. She’s stiff. She’s controlled. She’s the one that fucked up, so it’s fine if she doesn’t feel great right now. Getting called out on one’s own failings as a person isn’t something to get upset about if the failings are real. The feelings are real and normal, but this was her fault, and so it’s up to her to fix it, and she can’t let them know it hurt her, because this was her mistake.

She goes to the cargo hold.

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

Ahsoka works out her frustrations on Fett’s punching bag. She does not augment herself with the Force, just uses raw strength and technique, ignoring the tears that press at her eyes.

She’s fine.

It’s not weird. It’s not odd. It’s not strange to not notice she’s been kind of a bitch since her mood came up with the whole Depa thing, and then Maul. She’s been mean, mostly to Vos and Fett, and nobody’s confronted her about it until now. They let her have room for her trauma, and she hadn’t reined it in. She’s just gotten worse.

‘Snippy’ she’d always been, but age apparently hadn’t fucking tempered it.

“Um.”

She catches the punching bag, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She hasn’t worked out all the twitchy, nervous energy yet.

“Vos,” she greets, once she’s caught herself enough that her voice won’t waver. He’s on the other side of the bag, but she knows his voice. “Do you need something?”

“You’re kind of... projecting,” he tells her, drifting to where she can actually see him. “Not self-loathing, but, um, recrimination? You just don’t feel very good and I was hoping to help”

Why in all the Sith hells does he have to be nice.

“I got called out on my behavior and wasn’t ready to face the fact that I’d kriffed up,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine. And I’m... sorry. I haven’t been fair to you and was using you as an easy target for some of my ruder comments.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” he admits, coming closer. “I’ve been tutored by Shadows before, and a lot of them act like you. I just assumed it was more of that.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself run loose like that,” she says. “I’m... it wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says. “Not with... not with you. Or anyone other than Rex and a mind healer, really. Most of it is...”

She trails off, distantly noticing that her eyes are tearing up enough to blur her vision, and her nails are digging into the bag in a way Fett won’t appreciate.

There’s so much that beat her down, never quite breaking her, that she doesn’t even know what made her act the way she does.

“Want to spar?”

She looks over at him, wonders what he sees that makes him want to fight her when she’s visibly unstable.

He smiles, kind and easy, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s genuine in intent, if not in energy. He wants to help. “You all keep saying I could work on my hand-to-hand. Just take off the armor so I don’t break a finger, maybe.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

She’s going to wipe the floor with this boy. “You sure you wanna fight me?”

“You won’t be able to meditate until you do,” he says. He’s right, damn him. “The other option is that I go get your... vod, I think? I go get Rex and you two can talk it out since you trust him with more. I don’t want to do that, though, he’s still a kid.”

She eyes him, lips pressed together and mind awhirl with emotions and thoughts she’d tried to beat out of her head and into the bag. “Ever fought someone without the Force?”

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

“Oh, you meant me not having the Force,” he realizes. “Er, no. Is... is that something you’ve done a lot?”

She smiles at him. “You’re planning on Shadow work. That means getting captured and stripped of everything you are at some point, Force included. Unfortunately, the cuffs are in use on a very annoying Dathomirian right now, so we’ll have to make do with you shielding like your mind’s a Kessel Spice Mine.”

“...do I want to know how often you’ve been captured?”

“No, you don’t.”

When he comes at her, it’s easy to dodge. It’s easy to tap him on target points, little pokes that show she could take him out, but isn’t going to until he’s learned something. He stays grinning throughout, letting her take the lead, and he treats her like... like a knight. Like a teacher. He’s stepped back and gone from trying to impress her as a fellow padawan, to proving himself to a full knight.

She’s not sure when that change happened, or why or how, but it makes things much smoother. She wants to think that it would have even if she hadn’t gotten a wakeup call from Fett.

So she treats him the way she treated Ezra, for the year she’d spent traveling with Kanan. She treats him as a student that’s willing to learn, good but not yet great, competent but not yet ready to survive. She draws him into the kind of chest-heaving exhaustion that tells a fighter just how much energy they waste.

(Ahsoka may have had her own style, but her grandmaster had been the pinnacle of a Soresu user. She’d spent years on the frontlines of a war. She knew the worth of conserving energy, and she’d teach it to any who stepped in to challenge her.)

“Who taught you to fight like this?” He asks, when they’ve taken a handful of moments to circle each other. His steps are heavy, sure, planted. Her own are light and ready.

“Soldiers,” she says. It’s true enough.

“Not your Master?” he asks, just as he tries to kick for her upper arm. It’s a safe question. For anyone else, it would be a safe question.

But for Ahsoka, it’s another chink in the armor, after a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of self-loathing, a dervish of instability.

She doesn’t break right away.

She spirals. She fights Quinlan, but doesn’t quite see him. Her strikes get sloppy, her feet stumble. She can’t make herself meet Quinlan’s eyes, not when the scrape of his heel against the metal sounds like the rasp of a breathing machine. Her shields get fuzzy, she knows, and she leaks what she feels into the air, making it sour and thick. She doesn’t notice, because all she can see, all she can--all she can hear and feel and--

She drops to her knees and grabs at her head, trying to stop it.

“Sokari?”

She breathes. In and out, harsh and jagged but natural in a way that the damned respirator wasn’t.

Her master her teacher her brother the traitor the hound the executioner

Her face is hot. Something prickles. It might be tears.

She tries to say something, tries to say a name or a request, tries to make anything come out of her mouth that isn’t the broken wail of a woman who hasn’t let herself think about how she died.

She feels herself pulled into someone’s arms, and she can’t quite tell who, but they’re bigger than she is, and feel warm and worried. They care. They don’t understand, they’re scared, but they care.

Her hands shake, clutched to her chest and she can’t breathe she can’t make herself take in enough air to do a Force-damned thing the empire is going to feel her her shields are down and broken and her emotions are spilling and the empire is going to find HER ANAKIN IS GOING TO FIND HER AND--

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

Her breath is coming so fast that she’s hiccupping more than she’s actually inhaling. She feels small hands in gloves on either side of her face, and then her forehead presses to something warm.

Rex. A Keldabe kiss. Her brother, her partner, her other half. He’s here. He’s calm. If he’s calm, then things are fine.

“What happened?” Light voice, high voice, small and distant. Leia. Little Leia little princess Leia she’s in danger she’s in trouble Anakin will--

“Commander.”

No. Here and now. She needs to focus on here and now. Her throat feels cold. She breathes too fast, still. She can’t stop it.

“I don’t know.” That’s Vos. He was... they were doing something. He was here. Talking to her. “We were sparring, and she just--”

Right, sparring.

“I don’t know if I said something?” He offers, voice pitching up, unsure and worried. Is he the one holding her? He’s the one holding her. That’s embarrassing.

“Commander?” Rex prompts. “Commander, can you open your eyes?”

She tries. She can’t. She shakes her head.

“Soka?” he asks, voice quiet. “Where are you?”

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

His voice is so soft. So worried. She held him the same way after Mandalore, after Order 66, after all his brothers, all her friends...

“Soka.”

Her mind is spinning, and suddenly all she can hear is Anakin Skywalker is dead. I destroyed him.

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

“Commander,” Rex tries again, but her head is a vortex of Then you will die and Perhaps this child and not the Jedi way.

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can only see that yellow eye that’s too familiar but belongs to a stranger can only hear a voice that shouldn’t exist can only mourn and break and--

“Soka?”

“Malachor,” she manages. “I--h-he--I died.”

“What did you say?” someone asks. A vod. It’s the right voice, almost, rough and business-like, not accusing anyone yet, and... and... no. No. Not one of her boys. It’s Fett.

“Um, right at the end? I asked her who taught her to fight like this,” Quinlan says, nervous. “And she said it was soldiers. And I joked, I asked that it wasn’t her Master, and she didn’t answer that. A couple minutes later, she just started...”

“Oh, Soka,” Rex whispers, pulling her closer. “Commander, just breathe with me.”

“H-h-he, he just--R-Rex, he j-just--and I c-c-couldn’t--”

“I know,” her captain whispers. “I know, just breathe with me.”

“He k-k-k-killed me,” she sobs, falling out of the Keldabe and into too-small arms. “I l-loved--he was my broth-ther and--and he just--he killed me, he didn’t even stop.”

“I know,” Rex whispers. “Soka, I know.”

Of course he does.

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

“It was just bad timing,” Rex says, once they’re in the room she’s been sharing with her little family, curled up under a blanket and watching the floor like it has all the secrets to how she lost her world three times over.

“Is there anything we need to keep in mind?” Fett asks, gruff and uncomfortable. She wonders if he’s angry that she took his necessary confrontation and turned it into this mess.

“Don’t bring up her Jedi Master,” Rex says, and pulls her in when she shivers. Her eyes squeeze shut before she can stop them, tears beading up again. “Just... don’t. It’s too soon.”

“He’s--”

“He Fell,” Ahsoka interrupts. “I thought he died, but he became a Sith. And fifteen years later, we ran into each other, and I refused to join him in the Dark, so he tried to kill me.”

Fett swears, low and muffled. She thinks he has a hand over his mouth.

Quin and Leia aren’t there. She thinks they’re keeping an eye on their Baby Sith prisoner. That’s good.

“Soka,” Rex whispers, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She’s too old to be this kind of mess. She’s thirty-two. She’s Fulcrum. She’s...

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

“We can avoid the subject unless you bring it up,” Tholme promises. “Definitely until the Temple. Is there anything else we shouldn’t talk about?”

Ahsoka can practically feel Rex’s deadpan look. “Sir, we’re a trio of child soldiers ripped from everything we know. Every other sentence is a risk. We’re just... working our way through.”

There’s a knock at the door. Oh. Quin and Leia.

“Just figured we’d drop this off before we went down to visit Mr. Grumpy-Face,” Quinlan whispers. He still thinks Leia’s a child. He’s trying to make things less terrible for her. That’s nice. “We decided he’ll be less angry if he tries Hoth chocolate, and made some for everyone.”

They definitely made it for Ahsoka herself, and Maul was an afterthought. Still. It’s sweet.

“Commander?” Rex prompts, jostling her a little to try and get her to sit up.

“Gimme a sec,” she manages. It takes longer than it should to push herself away from him, to accept the mug that Leia gives her, too-serious worry in the furrow of her brow and the twist of her soul.

She doesn’t look six. She doesn’t even look twenty-two. This girl was always too old for her skin, forced to grow up in the hostile fear of the Empire.

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

She can barely taste it beyond the ashes she imagines coating her tongue.

I destroyed him, her memory echoes. His slightest hesitation before he made the final move, it haunts her. She almost reached him. If only she’d tried harder, yelled louder, been better...

She shivers.

“Do you need help falling asleep?” Tholme asks. “I’m a regular healer, not a mind healer, but...”

She probably should.

She takes another sip of her drink, willing herself to taste it. It’s good. She likes it. She knows she does.

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

“It doesn’t always work, but I can try,” he tells her.

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

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

Everyone’s careful around her for days. The whole decision to be nicer doesn’t mean anything when she’s walking about in a daze of too few emotions, drained of everything she could feel in favor of a grey cloud of fluff in everything she does.

She does forms. Single saber and Jar’kai. Ataru and Djem so and Soresu. Reverse grip, regular grip, partial reverse on either side.

Again. Again. Again.

She loses herself in the motions, not meditating so much as just empty.

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

Leia and Tholme keep their shields locked up tight, and she doesn’t know how they feel. She thinks Leia might be judging her. She think Tholme might be pitying.

Maul simply hates. It’s an old and familiar sensation to walk into, and she takes unthinking comfort in his rage. She’s silent instead of snippy, when she plays the role of guard, and they stare at each other in silence. His eyes burn, and she wonders how much he’s heard of her nightmares.

“You need to talk,” Rex tells her, when he finds her with a cold cup of caff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond it all. She lifts her head. “Soka.”

She just stares at him.

He sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Commander, please.”

She can’t.

Ahsoka stares at the wall behind him, resting her chin on his head. Her neck itches under the lek at the back of her head, a little tingle of a feeling that she can’t bring herself to do anything about. The pale light of the galley is sharp against the chipped paint of the metal that surrounds them. It hurts her eyes to look, but it’s not the deep and dark lit only by red--

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

“Breathe,” Rex tells her, too-small hands clinging at her back. “Just breathe, ‘Soka.”

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

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

“Tell me something good.”

Ahsoka blinks. She looks at Leia. She doesn’t have the energy to parse that.

Leia chances a look at Rex, who isn’t leaving Ahsoka’s side any more than he has to, and Fett on the other side. Tholme’s asleep and Quin’s on Baby Sith duty. It’s just people who know, right now.

The little girl across the table, the child senator, the spy, purses her lips and huffs in irritation. “You knew my biological father before he became one of the worst people in the galaxy. Both of you did. Tell me something good about him.”

Good things.

About Anakin.

“You fought a war as a Jedi,” Leia prompts. “Surely you must have done some good things with him, or at least thought you were.”

Did they?

Every mission ended in tragedy or was just a ploy of Palpatine’s. Every saved life was just...

Wait.

“He built Threepio,” she finally says. “Your father wi--I mean, Bail wiped Threepio’s memory after the Empire rose, for your safety, but Anakin was the one who built him.”

Leia sits up, eyes brighter. “I didn’t know that. I... was Artoo involved? Did he build R2D2, or...”

“No,” Rex says, “But Artoo was his favorite astromech, and they always pushed each other into stupid stunts. We risked a hell of a lot to save that droid, more than once, and I didn’t find out until you started working with the Rebellion full-time, but Artoo and Threepio were the witnesses for your bio-parents’ wedding.”

Leia gapes at him. So does Ahsoka. (Fett doesn’t know enough to care.)

Rex grins, and if it looks a little forced, that’s fine. “He had a holo recording. I was one of the few people left that knew about the marriage that might have wanted to see, so Artoo offered. It was... sweet.”

He waits, probably for Ahsoka to add something herself, but she has nothing.

“I think that’s when they swapped droids, since Threepio was more useful to a politician and Artoo did his best work when we set him loose on the enemy.”

“He never changed,” Leia muses. “Did he always swear that much?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers, as Rex laughs. “Always. All the binary I learned started with the best swears.”

She tries to think of another good memory, something else that Leia might appreciate. Her mind ticks back to saving Stinky, which is just a terrible option, because that mission started with Hutts and ended with the Battle of Teth. That massive loss of life, all for the son of the creature that had put Leia in chains.

She wonders if she has anything in her memory that doesn’t end in blood and graves.

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Fives and Echo got lost in the undercity their first time on leave, and we had to get the General to help us find them?”

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

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

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

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

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

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

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

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

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

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

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #rex and ahsoka #Quinlan Vos #Tholme #Depa Billaba #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ben Kenobi #Maul #Darth Maul #time travel #de aging #ptsd #trauma #child soldiers #Phoenix Files #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #disaster lineage

[libraryofloveletters]

The Parent Trap

Eddie Diaz x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of war, death and loss of parent/spouse

Category: Fluff 

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: Based on this request!

Part 2- The Mistletoe Proposal

--- 

Emily, your daughter, sat beside a little boy on the playground bench while the other kids ran around in the sun waiting for their parents. “Hey” you smiled at the kids on the bench, you sat beside your daughter, she gave you a half hug. “Mom, this is Christopher, he’s my friend. He’s in my class and he likes to paint just like me!” she gushed, looking over at the little boy who had a smile on his face. 

“Hi Christopher, I'm y/n. It’s nice to meet you” you leaned forward so he could see you. He gave you a big smile, the two children told you about their day at school, how they learned about amphibians and reptiles, their teacher showed them a video about frogs. 

“Christopher, are you waiting for someone sweetheart ?” 

“My dad” he looked over at you

“Chris, buddy!” a man’s voice shouted, looking over your shoulder you saw a man running towards you guys. 

“Dad!” the little boy shouted back as he stood up, you helped him with his crutches as his father came over. “Hi bud” the man picked him up whilst he hugged him. The back of his t-shirt read “Los Angeles Fire Department” 

“Dad, this is Emily my friend” Emily stood up, “Hi Chris's dad” she gave him a toothy grin, she was missing a few teeth. The man chuckled as he put Christopher down, “Hi Emily, I'm Eddie” he stuck his hand out, she gave him a high five which made him smile at her. 

The interaction made your heart swell, he was good with kids. 

“You are?” he looked at you, “I'm y/n, Emily’s mom” you smiled at him, he gave you a nod. 

“Mommy?” Emily tugged on your hand, “yeah love bug?” 

“Can Chris come over for a playdate now?” 

“Oh baby,” you glance at Eddie, “I don’t know. Maybe Chris and his dad have somewhere to be” 

“We don’t,” Christopher answers for his father, “can I go dad? please?” the boy looks up at him. Eddie was a sucker for his son clearly, anyone that looked at them could see how much he loved him, he’d do anything to keep him happy. 

“Uh- okay yeah. That’s fine” Eddie gave in, just as you suspected. “Christopher come in!” your daughter walked up with Christopher, you watched them with a smile on your face, you and Eddie following behind them.

“Hey, sorry about them ambushing you like that. If you have somewhere to be, we can reschedule ?” you offered, you didn't want him to feel pressured just because the kids wanted to hang out. 

“Nah it’s cool, we were just going to go home and play video games or something” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, “I'm sure he rather the company than a lame afternoon at home with dad” his comment made you smile. “Em! Wait up!” you jogged to catch up to the kids, Eddie followed behind you. 

“Uh let me give you the address” you turned to Eddie, “oh that’s cool, I'll just follow behind you.” he said nonchalantly. 

“I didn't drive today” 

“Oh,” he paused for a moment, “how about you guys come with us and you can direct me? Maybe we can stop for pizza or something ?” he looks down at the kids, “how does that sound?” he asks them, a loud mess of “yes” and excited shouting filled your ears, Eddie led the 3 of you over to this truck. He lifted Christopher into the truck and proceeded to do the same with Emily. “Cool necklace!” she picked up the pendant on his neck, he smiled at her “Emily!” you gave her a look, Eddie shook his head. “It’s cool isn't it ? it’s my Saint Christoper’s pendant” 

“Like Christopher ?” she asked him, still fiddling with the pendant. 

“Yeah, just like Christopher” 

Eddie got in the truck, he drove to the pizza place down the road from the school. Eddie asked the kids what they wanted, they both wanted the same thing but kept changing their minds each time they decided. “How about I get both and you choose when we get home?” he offered the kids, they nodded. 

Home. The idea of a home with Eddie flicker through your mind monetarily, you shook the idea from your head. You had only just met this man, what's wrong with you. 

“Oh wait!” you were digging through your pocket, Eddie’s eyes practically burning a hole into you. 

Pulling some cash from your pocket, “here, for the food” Eddie refused to take it from you. 

“I got it, don’t worry about it” he said as he opened the door. 

“It’s a lot” you went to give him the cash again, he rested his hand on yours. “Next time, this time is on me” he smiled. Eddie left you and the kids in the car. You looked over at the backseat, Chris and Emily were whispering about something but a phone rang, interrupting their conversation. “It’s your dad’s phone kiddo” you looked at Chris and then at the phone, “it says it’s Buck, do you want to answer it ?” Chris nodded. He answered once you passed him the phone, he had it on speaker. 

“Eddie! are we on for tonight ?” the man shouted from the other end of the call. “Buck!” Chris laughed. “Christopher! Hey buddy, where’s your dad?” 

“Inside” 

“And where are you ?” 

“In the car” 

“By yourself?” you could hear the panic in his voice, you spoke up. 

“Hi, I'm y/n, I'm Emily’s mom uh- she’s friends with Christoper. They’re having a playdate. Eddie is inside getting pizza, he’ll be back in a few” you explain, the line goes silent for a moment. “Oh, okay. Can you tell Eddie to call me back ?” 

“Sure” you say, “bye Buck!” Christoper says which made the man chuckle, “bye buddy, have fun at your playdate” 

Christopher handed the phone back to you as Eddie came back to the truck. “There’s my phone, I thought I left it at the station” he said, getting in. “Oh no, your friend called, Christoper answered” 

“Who was it?” he looked back at his son 

“Buck” he smiled at his dad, Eddie smiled back at him, “He asked for you to call him back ?” 

“Thanks” was all he said as he started driving. You directed him to your house, which was the opposite direction of the pizza place. “The one with the red door,” you pointed at house number 56, “that one” Eddie pulled into your driveway. Once again, he helped the kids get out of the truck, you turned to the kids, “do you want to eat inside or outside ?” you asked, they looked at each other, “outside!” they simultaneously shouted. Unlocking the front door, the kids walked in, Emily led him to the backdoor and made their way outside. 

“Plates?” Eddie asked, you turned your attention to the fridge. “Uh cupboard to the left of the fridge” you leaned over into the fridge, reaching for the lemonade. “Wait does he drink lemonade- oh sorry!” You bumped into Eddie, his arm reaching for your arm to steady you. 

“It’s okay, yeah he does” Eddie smiled, leaving you in the house as he went out to see the kids. Hands on the counter, you steadied your breathing for a moment, you were basically pressed up against your daughter’s friend’s ridiculously hot father. Pouring the lemonade into the glasses, you take a moment before going to pick up the glasses, right as you reach for them, Eddie’s hand touches yours, startling you. “Holy shit!” your hand clutches at your chest, Eddie has a slight red tint on his cheeks, you couldn’t tell if it was a blush or from the heat. “I’m sorry” he said, giving your shoulder a squeeze before getting the glasses. “I don’t mean to keep scaring you like that” “Oh, no worries. Just been a little jumpy lately” following him out the backdoor.

--

Christopher and Emily sat in the shade and were painting something on the two giant tablecloths you had given them. “Why tablecloths?” Eddie glanced at you, then turning his attention back to the children. He sat beside you on the porch swing you had outside. “It’s big enough for them to express all their idea without having to squish them into one tiny piece of paper, plus you can use it as a tablecloth afterwards,” you laughed “you couldn't imagine how excited they are when they see it on the table” Eddie nodded, smiling at his son who was covered in paint beside a paint covered Emily. 

“We should get going soon, I'm sure your husband-” you looked at him as he paused mid-sentence, “or wife, will be home soon” his comment earned a loud cackle from you, a hand covering your mouth. “Oh god no,” you hand rested on his arm, “there’s no husband or wife in the picture, just me and love bug” 

“Oh sorry, I just assumed you were married” 

“No worries, I'm sure the missus or mister is waiting for you at home too” 

Eddie shook his head, “Christopher’s mom, my wife- my ex I guess, she passed last year” he said quietly, his eyes fixated on the little boy sitting in the grass. The smile faded from your face, “Eddie, I'm so sorry” you whispered. Emily’s father was never in the picture, the two of you never had to experience that type of loss or hurt. You couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like for Eddie to lose his wife, for Christopher to lose his mom. “It’s okay. Truthfully, she had just come back into our lives. Christoper was really enjoying his time with her, so was I” his voice wavered for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“What about you ? Where’s Emily’s dad ?” he turned to you, clearly wanting to get the topic off of her, you indulged his questions.

 “Hooked up with Emily’s dad at a college party, found out I was pregnant with her a few weeks later. I told him, he said he didn't want anything to do with “that thing”” you used air quotes with the last part, 

“I'm sorry, he sounds like an ass. No offence” Eddie looked at you making you laugh. 

“None taken, I regret him with my whole being but I never regretted having her. She’s my best friend” you looked over at your daughter.

“I wasn't here for the first few years of Christopher’s life, I was in Afghanistan. I would tell myself that I'm doing it for him but honestly, I regret that. I missed all his firsts, the first steps, the first words... I know I'm here now but I can’t help but think what if I didn't make it home ? What would have happened?” you rested your hand on Eddie’s hand, “hey, you can’t think like that. Yeah, it sucks you missed the firsts but think about how many more there are. The first day of high school, first date, first car, first graduation, first time picking him up from a party” you smiled, giving his hand a little squeeze. 

The sky was now a reddish orange colour, it was around 8pm and you hadn’t realized how much time had gone by. “Alright kids, let’s see those paintings” you walked over to look at the paintings, “Eddie, I think we have two future artists here” he walked over too, he smiled at the kids and their paintings. “Y/n, I think you’re right. but buddy, we gotta get home” he helped Chris up, Emily tugged herself up by clinging to your leg, “you good there bug ?” your hand rested atop her head. “Mommy?” 

“Yes?” 

“Can Chris and his dad stay for dinner?” Your daughter leaned from behind your leg and gave Chris a thumbs up which he returned. “What are you two up to ?” you asked her, 

“Nothing! Can they stay ? pleaseeee” she begged you, you glanced at the boy and his father. 

“Bubba, I don't know. I’m sure Eddie’s got work in the morning, you and Chris both have school. They probably want to get home” 

“Actually,” Eddie turned to you, “if it’s okay with you, I don't mind staying” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure Chris would like that too” You nodded, Eddie picked up Christoper with one arm and came over to pick up Emily with the other. Once again, your heart swells at the sight of this man and the children. 

-- 

Dinner was quiet, it was nice having a full table for once, normally it was just the two of you. “How was school guys?” Eddie asks the kids at the table, you were in the kitchen putting away the leftovers. “We painted frogs and saw a video about them” Christopher told him, Emily adding on to his statement. 

“Our teacher said she went on a date last night” she and Christopher giggled. 

“Did she?” Eddie chuckled, humouring the children. 

“I think you should go on a date with Emily’s mom” Christoper says to his father, you can hear Eddie cough after almost choking on his soda.

“I promise she’s nice” your daughter says, you hold back a laugh from the kitchen. 

“Why do you guys go watch some tv? I’ll take these to the kitchen” the sound of clattering dishes and little feet was the sound that filled the house for the next few moments. 

Eddie rests the plates in the sink and turns on the tap. “I got it, don’t worry” you tell him, he shakes his head. “Please, you made dinner and let us hang out here all afternoon, the least I can do is wash the dishes” 

“So, that was an interesting conversation y'all were having” you smile at him, again, that slight red tint popped back up on his face. “you heard that ?” his eyes on the sink, “yeah, I promise I am nice but I had no idea they were going to try and set us up” you laughed, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Eddie let out a laugh too, “yeah, that was uh- a little- it definitely caught me off guard” he turned to you. 

The time was now 10:30, “I think it’s time we get home” Eddie said, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel. “Yeah, it’s pretty late” you watch as Eddie walks to the living room to get Christoper. A few moments later, Chris comes into the kitchen, you walk over and kneel down so the two of you are face to face. 

“Thank you for letting me hang out and have dinner here” he says sweetly, you give him a smile. “You’re welcome my love, you’re welcome to come over anytime you’d like” Christopher gives you a hug which you return. You walk in back to the living room where you find a scene similar to the one you just had wth Christopher. Emily sat beside Eddie on the couch, her little arms wrapped around his neck, “think about it ?” she asked him, sticking her pinky out to him. He laughed and nodded, “I will” he linked his pinky with hers. “Ready to go home bud ?” Eddie asked his son who nodded, Christopher said goodbye to Emily before they made their way over to the door. Emily had already ran off to go get ready for bed leaving you at the door as Eddie helped Chris in the truck. You stepped out onto the porch, Eddie was halfway between the truck and your front door. 

“Thank you for having us over today” 

“Thank you for coming, it was nice to have a full house” 

Eddie turned on his heels and headed to the truck, he stopped and turned back towards you. “I really enjoyed this, maybe we could have a playdate of our own sometime?” your brows furrowed at his comment. 

Was he suggesting that you get together and play with toys or play with something else.. 

Eddie senses your confusion, “oh god, I didn't mean, sorry uh-” he let out an awkward chuckle, “I meant maybe we could go out sometime ? together but without the kids ?” he made his way over to you. 

“Are you asking me on a date or a playdate ?” you tease him, you bit your lip, holding back a smile. Eddie rolled his eyes playfully, “a date y/n, I'd like to go on a date with you” 

“I’d like that Eddie” 

Eddie pressed a kiss to your cheek, “goodnight y/n”

“Goodnight Eddie” 

--

taglist: @ssa-volturi​ @advicefromnixxxx​

#eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz oneshot #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz fan fic #eddie diaz fanfic #eddie diaz fic #christopher diaz #911 #911onfox #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 imagine #911 oneshot #9-1-1 #9-1-1 oneshot #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 reader insert #9-1-1 imagine #9-1-1 on fox #9-1-1onfox

[ladykissingfish]

The Akatsuki as Parents

Obito

Was a bit reluctant when he found out he was going to be a daddy ... at first. Not because he didn’t want kids ((he really did)), but because he severely doubted his own ability to be a father. But the second he holds the baby in his arms, he’s hooked. He will be so eagerly helpful and hands-on that during the child’s infancy, the other parent will rarely have to lift a finger. Diapers need changing? Obito’s on it. Baby needs to be fed at 2am? Obito’s already out of bed and warming formula on the stove. Rash? Fever? A cough? Obito is consulting every doctor within a 20 mile radius on what to do. Note that Obito is a hard-core traditionalist and, if he isn’t married to the child’s other parent before he gets them pregnant, he’ll be persistent about doing so before the kid is born. Sobs the first time his child calls him “papa”. As the child grows older, Obito will be a tireless teacher and mentor, and you better believe that the kid will know every facet of what was once the Uchiha clan. Sharingan training is a bit nerve-wracking for Dad, because while he wants his child to grow strong, he knows the power of the eye is a deadly one, and doesn’t like to see his son/daughter get hurt. Is the type to be a bit more strict with his sons than with daughters, in fact being a complete pushover for anything his little girl(s) wants. Very, VERY likely to insist a girl be named Nohara. Also the type to sneak and let his kid eat lots of sweets (like Obito himself does) before meals, much to the other parent’s chagrin. Also involves the other Akatsuki members as uncles/aunt in the kid’s life, especially Itachi and Sasuke as he wants the kid to be exposed to members of the family more often.

Hidan

The literal first words out of his mouth are “pregnant? Why the hell didn’t you make me wear a condom?!” Takes a long time to warm up to the idea of parenthood, but once he does, he’s surprisingly better at it than anyone would anticipate. He tends to be very fast-paced in his body movements and not really used to being careful, so if he’s holding his infant it’s best to make him sit still in a chair first. Once the kid(s) is older, it’s better, because Hidan’s energy levels will match (and overshadow) even the liveliest of children. It will be a big point of contention between Hidan and his co-parent on whether or not to introduce their kid to Jashinism, and Hidan will eventually promise to wait until the child is an adult to start talking about “all that shit”; although Hidan’s idea of adulthood seems to be when the kid is old enough to use a kunai. Puts a startling amount of emphasis on his kid getting a good education, and will be sure to send him or her to the best village school that he possibly can. The reason behind this is because Hidan himself had a poor education growing up, and is in fact barely able to read or do basic math; and he says over and over that his kid “isn’t gonna be some dumbass like his/her father”.

Kakuzu

Nearly faints when told he’s going to be a father. Will immediately get out a calculator and start figuring out expenses like diapers, food, toys, education ... is so preoccupied that he ends up neglecting the person who carries his child, causing them to go off on their own expecting to be a single parent. Oddly, it’s Hidan who sets the old guy straight. He stays on his case and talks to him until the nonagenarian sees the error of his ways, and goes after the person having his baby. Kakuzu will be gentle with a baby, and show a surprising affinity for making up and singing lullabies. As the kid gets older, Kakuzu will be a bit more strict. “Food is expensive; you better eat every bite on your plate.” “A hole in your pants? No give them to me and I’ll mend them; buying new clothes is unnecessary.” His child will grow up knowing how to stretch a buck and budget money better than any other kid their age. Kakuzu isn’t really one for showing much warmth or affection, but there will be a few rare moments in his kid’s life where his father hugs him and tells him how proud he is of him. Kakuzu knows that the life of a shinobi is hard and therefore encourages his kid to pursue other career paths, such as opening up his/her own business.

Konan and Nagato

These two are so closely intertwined that they could only be parental mates to each other. When a baby comes into the picture, Nagato will still maintain his position as leader of the Akatsuki as Pein, but will insist that Konan quit. It’s for a practical purpose rather than a sentimental one; they both lost their collective parents to war, and Nagato always thought that if he had a child, he’d ensure that at least one parent would be around to always take care of him or her. Konan, however, will still keep in touch with all of the Akatsuki members, who will become very enthusiastic uncles to her child. She’s always been a good cook but with a child she’ll level up to professional chef caliber, creating dishes that are fun and healthy. Her child(ren) will be taught all of their mother’s paper jutsus, and Nagato will work to devise a way for the brightest one to get his rinnegan once he passes. The kids will primarily spend time with Nagato through Pein, and only be taken to meet their father when Konan feels they’re ready. Because Konan and Nagato had a childhood devoid of parental love, they’re often at a loss for how to be affectionate or sentimental, instead putting a lot of emphasis on “toughening” their kids up, so that they’re prepared to face the cruelties of the world. But the kids will know that mom and dad love them; it’s obvious in everything they say and do.

Deidara

Will be the fun, loving, yet highly irresponsible father. As soon as his kid is born he anxiously awaits to see if he or she inherits his explosion-release kekkei genkai; and if the kid DOES, he’s ecstatic. “Art is an explosion” won’t just be a saying in his household; it’ll be a way of life. The child will grow up given complete freedom to express his or her artistic tendencies, with Deidara highly praising any and every impact they make on the outside world. Yet despite being for artistic creativity, he’ll be (surprisingly) strongly against the child joining any kind of organization that’s like the Akatsuki; he regrets his own decision to join as he feels it out a horrible damper on his artistic expression and independence. Likes to tell his young children stories every night, which are actually just heavily edited and sanitized versions of his Akatsuki missions. Like Obito, will be a bit more of a pushover for a daughter than a son, and will love spending hours brushing and styling the beautiful long hair that the girl inherits from him. He’ll let any member of the Akatsuki around his kids except for Hidan (because he doesn’t want his foul language around the child).

Zetsu

There are people in this world who know for certain that their lives wouldn’t be fulfilled by having children, and Zetsu is one of these individuals. While wanting no offspring of his own, he IS rather a good “uncle” to the children of his fellow Akatsuki members ((although the majority of these kids are too terrified of his physical appearance to want to go anywhere near him until they’re at least teenagers)).

Sasori

A child would be hard-pressed to elicit any kind of emotional reaction from Sasori, as the man cleared himself of most feeling when he underwent his puppet transformation. However, one thing that he could never rid himself of, was his ability to love. Even if he has difficulty showing it, he loves his child and would do literally anything to help or protect them. When the child is a baby, Sasori will spend hours crafting tiny puppet-dolls for the kid to play with. As he grew up with a skilled medic grandmother, he possesses a wide knowledge of herbs and healing, which he will painstakingly pass on to his children. Not one to baby his children by any means, as he lives by the philosophy that the world is tough meaning you have to be tougher; however will offer advice, support, and encouragement on any issues that may be troubling his son/daughter. Early on he expresses a desire for his child to learn to be a master puppeteer like himself; however will be understanding if they choose to pursue a different path. Is very smart and naturally mistrustful of strangers, so will likely choose to educate his kids at home rather than send them to a village school. The type to seem more like a trusted mentor or an interesting uncle than an actual father; also the type to relate to his teen or adult children better than young kids.

Itachi

Itachi never feels like he deserves any of the good things in life, because of what he’s done, and therefore doesn’t know how to handle blessings that are given to him. A baby is the ultimate example of this. Itachi will feel as though any child of his would be better off not knowing him or being “exposed” to the cursed Uchiha bloodline, so at first he’ll make it a point to barely be around his baby ((even though this kills him inside)). Surprisingly, of all people, it’s Deidara who will talk him out of this mindset, telling him how important it is for a child to be around their father “even if he is a damned red-eyed weirdo”. Once Itachi allows himself to fully commit to parenthood, that’s it — he’ll be the best damned father in the universe. He’ll be warm and affectionate, especially liking to pick his kid up (no matter how old they are or how embarrassed it makes them) and squeeze them. He’s not much of a disciplinarian, believing that kids need to be able to make mistakes in order to grow from them. The only time he’ll ever get angry is when the child does something that could have resulted in a serious injury. Itachi’s intelligence has always been off the charts, and he utilizes this to help his kid be a spectacular student. In fact, as the kid gets older, they’ll start bringing his/her friends around the house in order to receive Itachi’s tutoring. Itachi’s brother Sasuke will adore his nephew/niece and come home more often simply to be with them. Also Kisame will come around practically every day, and the kid will grow up learning an impressive arsenal of water jutsus to compliment the traditional Uchiha fire jutsus.

Kisame

The tall, somewhat awkward father that scares all of his kid’s friends with his intimidating physical appearance ... until he opens his mouth and they hear a god-awful dad joke come out. Any child of Kisame’s is going to be part shark, and therefore have some affinity for being in/breathing under the water. Kisame’s favorite pastime will be taking his baby (and yes, I do mean baby, as he tends to start his kid on this when they’re young) out for long swims in the ocean. Kisame has always been self-conscious of his looks, so from the time the child is born he will spend a good deal of time teaching him or her to have self-confidence and love for him/herself. Like many of the others in the Akatsuki, Kisame never received much of a formal education, and therefore puts a lot of emphasis on his child going to a “normal” school and giving it their all when it comes to their studies. When the child proves him or herself physically capable, Kisame will start training with them on how to wield/control samehada, as well as fight with a variety of swords. It goes without saying that Itachi will be in Kisame’s kid’s life from the day they’re born, and be their favorite “uncle”.

#the akatsuki #parenting #obito uchiha #itachi uchiha #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #zetsu #nagato #konan #kisame #i’d call any one of these guys Daddy including Konan 😫

[yunhoiseyecandy]

✕ 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞; 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬

✕ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

✕ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 ◆ 𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✕ 𝐰/𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 𝟐.𝟗𝐤

✕ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

[𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭] @little-precious-baby , @multidreams-and-desires , @hanatiny , @latte-fairytaekwoon , @cloudyyeonnie

─────

no matter how many times he’s been on stage, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the high of it all never gets old.

and he can’t bear thinking of the day it all ends.

he remembers the first time he ever picked up a guitar, the way the tips of his fingers brushed against the rough cords as he strummed to the beat. it was something that came so natural to him, and he knew at that moment, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he hummed, this was meant to be.

it’s been almost seven years since that day, and his heart still swells whenever he thinks about how he felt. it was amazing, but it’d been hard to try and convince his parents to allow him to play, let alone buy him his own instrument.

hongjoong chuckles at the old memories, and he finds it hard to believe that he was once a fifteen-year-old boy who begged his parents to let him do what he loved, hot, wet tears running down his cheeks as he pleaded on his knees.

he loved his parents, and to see them disagree with something that meant so much to him crushed him. they used to push for him to study harder in school, beg his teachers for extra credit so he could have even a slim chance at passing the class, but that simply wasn’t who he was meant to be.

he used to be a more than acceptable student, but since he started playing in a small band that had been formed by a few friends of him, he couldn’t focus on anything but the music he adored.

music was his drug, and it would be difficult to put him in rehab. eventually, though, his parents had chosen their son over school work and caved in. that christmas they had gotten him his favorite guitar, and he can still feel the smoothness of the mahogany as he ran his fingers over it.

he’d grown greatly since then, but the rush he still gets is the only thing that hasn’t changed since.

this was who he was meant to be, and he knew that nothing else could compare. he was more than proud of himself for choosing this career path, and he knew it’s the only thing he could do best.

that’s why he always put his all into every performance, head moving to the beat while he sang his heart out till it was hard to breath. and tonight was no different, especially since he had one of the biggest record labels in his country out in the crowd, scouting for the next best performer

—

“we’re up in five, man.” san said loud enough so the rest of the group could hear. hongjoong blocked out everyone, his fingers brushing over the strings as he sang the lyrics to their song under his breath over and over again.

they couldn’t afford to screw up this gig, and it was already going to be a challenge since they had one of their group members, seonghwa, out with a cold. he was the main drummer, so they had to call for backup if they wanted any chance of success tonight.

hongjoong twisted the cap off his water bottle and took a sip before groaning, “fuck. if I keep messing up this note we’re gonna be screwed.” he’d always had trouble with that certain line, but it always got to him right before they were up.

san laughed, “yeah, well whose fault is that for not coming to practice on time?” mingi looked over to him before bursting out laughing, but it soon faded when he saw the look on hongjoong’s face. “sorry, but it’s true!”

sure, they’d all been friends for years now, but that didn’t change how annoying san and mingi could be sometimes. seonghwa really needed to get better, or hongjoong would end up losing his mind.

“doesn’t matter,” he tossed his bottle into the recycling bin, “it’s not like I’m just sitting around when I don’t show up.”

“dude, we’re just messing with you. we all know you’re the try hard amongst us three.” this time it was san who lost it at mingi’s words, both the boys heads thrown back onto the couch as they held their stomachs.

“fuck you.” was all hongjoong could say, knowing damn well they would just look at him and continue to giggle like children if he tries to defend himself. he sighed, looking to his wrist watch and then standing up to collect his belongings.

it was now time to perform, and he was more then excited as he walked out onto the stage, his bandmates following right behind him. hongjoong never really knew why he got stage fright, especially considering how many gigs they’ve had in the past.

he’s done this before, but something told him tonight was going to be different. and that eerie feeling didn’t pass on, not even when he went on stage and played like it was his last. his heart felt like it would burst through his chest at any moment, and he loved the way it made him feel.

he could taste the sweat that ran down his face and over his lips as his tongue ran over them, but he had to ignore the saltiness of it and focus on what lyric came next. 

“you say you don’t want me but you always come crawling back,”

“I’m like your drug call me your dealer I’ll give you that,”

“I’m not your baby, don’t make it seem like we’re reserved,”

“you broke my heart and I learned my worth fuckin’ try hard.”

he looked over to mingi after he sang the last word, his hands gripping the white microphone as he smirked. mingi’s hair was damp, and hongjoong assumed he’d taken a water bottle and poured it over his head after his drums solo was over.

it was a signature move that made the crowd go wild, and the red head did it at almost all of their performances. they’d done it since the beginning, as all of their fans seemed to love it.

they watched as the people in front of them threw their hands up in they air as their bodies jumped up and down, and hongjoong smiled fondly as he watched the lightsticks they had around their necks glow. 

this environment, the setting, it made him fill with joy. and maybe it was the red t-shirt you had on that was different from the rest of the crowd that made his eyes meet yours, or it just might’ve been fate, but he couldn’t seem to pull his focus away from you no matter how hard he tried.

that is, until san wrapped his arm around him and bowed towards the hundreds of people they gave their thanks to. “c’mon, it’s time to go now man.”

—

“okay let me get this straight,” your friend mia started, taking a fast swig of her martini. “hongjoong, kim fucking hongjoong, locked eyes with you?” 

you knew you must’ve sounded crazy when you told her, but you saw what you saw. “yeah, I know. sounds stupid, right?” you ran a hand through your hair as you sighed, and you couldn’t believe your own words. 

you’d been waiting months to go to one of their concerts, let alone be close enough to the stage to be able to breath the same air as them. and to have one of the members actually acknowledge you existed had over the moon. 

you can still feel the way heat crept onto your cheeks when he bit his lip, your eyes wide when he winked your way. it felt like the whole world stopped for a moment, surreal, almost. you hated how easily he got to you, too, like he knew just a smirk or a smile would make you a mess.

and it was right. because as soon as you left the venue, your legs feeling like jello as you ran to the restroom, your lace underwear was a mess that only proved how sensitive you could be.

and that only made you wonder if the small exchange you two shared made hongjoong feel the same way. 

but all your thoughts and curiosities stopped when you the hotel door slid open and revealed the man you were just thinking about, his two friends and many people with cameras trailing behind him.

“is it true you have a new solo song coming up in the next week?!” one reporter shouted towards mingi. “are you three planning to split up soon like the rumors have stated?!” san huffed as he pulled his hoodie over his face, pushing hongjoong and the taller boy forward and near some stools at the bar.

they were all relieved when security came out of the elevator and blocked the rest of the paparazzi outside the building, preventing any more unwanted people from coming in.

“I love performing, but trying to go home and sleep can be so fucking tiring.” hongjoong said, running his hand through his messy dark blue hair. san and mingi nodded, and they waved over a bar tender to order a round of beers.

“tell me about it, they just always act like they’re about to attack us or some shit,” mingi huffed, “I’m so exhausted.” it was normal for mingi to get tired and anxious after a long day, but san and hongjoong knew it would be best if he went up and slept as soon as he could.

it had been hard for the younger one ever since he’d needed a break due to anxiety, so they were careful nowadays not to push him to his limit. they cared for each other, and seeing one of their own feeling down was never a good sight. “you should go up to your room, mingi.”

san hummed, agreeing with hongjoong as he took a sip of his beer. “yeah, we’ll check up on you later.”

mingi new better than to argue with them, so he stood up and fixed his leather jacket, telling him he’d order room service and then go to sleep. “see you guys later then.”

your eyes fixed themselves on mingi as he took the elevator up, hands shaky and clammy as you realized who the two guys in front of you were. “mia, you s-see them too, right?”

her mouth was open wide when you looked over to her, and you could tell she was speechless. you tried to regain your compose and took a sip of your drink, trying everything to try and get your senses back.

she saw what you were doing and played along, realizing you wanted nothing more than to crawl up in a ball and scream into a pillow. “so.. how’s school?”

you two bursted out laughing at her words, but your knee hit the counter and both san and hongjoong looked up at you. san looked away when he saw you were okay, but hongjoong’s gaze didn’t leave yours after he recognized you as the girl from the concert. 

“shit, he’s looking at you, y/n.” you focused your eyes on the glass in front of you, toying with the hem of your shirt as you let out a shaky breath. “shut up or they’ll hear us-”

“oh, you’re the girl from the concert, right?”

—

you didn’t even know how you were in this position, his lips smashed against yours in a hot and steamy kiss as you ground your bodies into each other. but you were. 

so for now, the only thing on your mind was how his hand felt between your thighs, thumb brushing over your clit and making your legs want to give out soon.

your back arched against the door when you felt his lips ghost over your collarbone, and you could feel his lip piercing against your skin as it burned. “ngh, hongjoong,”

your clothes had been discarded long ago, only your white lace that was now soaked through on, and hongjoong still had his black ripped jeans on along with his white t-shirt. he moved you to sit on his bed, “lay back for me princess, I wanna make you feel good.”

you did as he told, sitting up on your elbows so you could watch him. his tongue swept up and down your left thigh as his fingers toyed with you over your panties., “please, just do something already..”

he smirked and gave a sharp squeeze to your other thigh, “patience, baby.” you felt him drag his lips up your body, taking his time to place wet kisses across your stomach and over your hip bones. “I bet you taste amazing.”

you groaned at his words, pulling him up to you by the nape of his neck and you crashed your lips together. he swiped his tongue over yours, groaning into your mouth as he did so. “then taste me.”

you didn’t have to say it again, and he trailed his way down your body while his fingers pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing them on the floor. you watched as he spread your legs wide for him, and you could’ve come right them and there just from the sight of his head in between your thighs.

“so pretty,” his arms wrapped around you, nails digging into the skin of your waist. his eyes didn’t leave yours when he licked a long stripe up your pussy, taking his time to swirl his tongue around your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

you couldn’t help it as you reached down to grip his hair, and he moaned into you when he felt his scalp burn as you tugged. “fuck, you feel so good joongie.”

all his fans called him by that nickname, so he’s not exactly sure why it felt different when you said it. it came out like a whine, and he felt his boxers get tighter and tighter with each passing second. “tell me how much you want me, y/n.”

“I want you so bad,” you whispered into his ear after he crawled his way back up your body. “I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming your name.”

he tugged his underwear down and slid them off, placing lingering kisses on your neck as he teased you with the tip of his cock. “you want me, princess? want me to have my way with you, make you come over and over again,” his breath fanned your ear, “make your cum mess up the sheets while I keep you quiet with my hand around your throat?”

you couldn’t help the borderline pornographic moan that slipped past your lips at his words, or the way your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. he placed an open mouthed kiss on your lips, shaking his head lightly before pulling away from your body. “nah ah, baby. I wanna slap that pretty ass you have while I fuck you,” without warning, he pulled you to the edge of the bed and flipped you over, pushing his hand on the small of your back. “good girl.”

your nails scratched at the fabric beneath you, pushing your ass out and groaning when he spread your legs apart. he grabbed himself and dragged his cock up and down your pussy, and he swore he’d never been harder.

you couldn’t believe this was happening right now. one of your favorite artists is about to fuck you dumb, and all because you both so happened to stay at the same hotel for one night.

“you’re so wet, y/n. fucking soaking for me.” he leaned down to bite your ear before pushing himself in you with one single thrust. he didn’t move, and you assumed he wanted to give you time to adjust. “beg for it, baby.” and only if it was that easy.

the way you screamed for him to fuck you, and all while his hand was secured tightly around your throat. 

the way your brain was starting to get fuzzy, only thoughts of how good he felt inside of you present.

the way he would land a harsh slap to your ass if you tried to muffle your moans. 

the way he would groan or hiss whenever you clenched tightly around his cock.

it was all too fucking much

but you completely lost all your senses when he pushed down on the small of your back while he fucked into you, and you swore you could feel him in places you didn’t even know existed. “r-right there, fuck!”

he was panting, and in that moment he knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. it felt different, almost too good to give up. he knew you were his new drug, and rehab would be a bitch if he wanted to quit.

his hand squeezed one last time, halting the breath you were ready to take. you felt your nails tear the bed sheets below you as you came, and you could feel his cum fill you up as it spilled out and onto the cloth under you. 

after he pulled out, he kissed up your back and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll go get the bath ready.”

and that’s when you knew, he was way more than just some boy in a band.

─────

#hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong angst #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop boy group #kpop fanfic #ateez #kpop #kim hongjoong #Ateez hongjoong #listen- #don't @ me for the made up lyrics vewrgnbpri #I TRIED #big oof

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (17)

word count; 8202

summary; after a dangerous call, neither of you can handle the waiting around anymore, and everything finally bubbles over.

notes; you’re welcome.

warnings; descriptive injury, reference to death, reference to arson, minor character injury.

“Holy fucking shit, I know they prepared us for this stuff with all those drills and what have you, but I never expected this.”

You smacked at Newt’s arm roughly, covering your face as you stared up at the building, smoke curling up from the top of the building, and scared students were all gathering on the grasses and the tennis courts, filtering out of the buildings and lining up, and it was eerily quiet. The usual fires you attended were loud, screaming and shouting of worried relatives as chatter went up, and big ones like this had news cameras and reporters gathering around, hounding victims for interviews and information.

This time, it was unsettlingly calm.

The kids had all followed routine, lined up with their teachers, each of whom were going along with attendance records, checking off the kids that had arrived and making sure they were where they were supposed to be, while tickling names off. Only the gentle voices of teachers talking in low tones to their classes could be heard instead of the usual clamouring, and you could still hear the alarms of the school’s fire alarms from inside as they rang.

Glowing flames licked up into the sky, windows shattering as glass got too hot and the smoke was black as possessions burned. Kids were crying, and at the gates were camera flashes and news team, all of whom held back out of earshot as they weren’t allowed to film the children, kept back from school property, and it was a blessing you were thankful for, because they would have been overwhelmed. You let out a slow breath, three other ambulances all pulling up, and you swallowed thickly while staring at the burning remnants of a once productive high school.

Even if they weren’t injured, you’d be required to check every kid here, and you were grateful for the assistance of other paramedics. They were already beginning to shift their equipment, setting up with tables and chairs that staff were carrying out from a sports hall storage room that wasn’t connected to the main building, safe from the flames and creating a makeshift triage bay.

Even just as you looked around, there were hundreds of kids that you and Newt would have to sort through alone. The firemen were buzzing around behind you, undoing rolls of hoses and taking them to the nearest hydrants, trying to come up with some kind of game plan, and you stared up at the building, nothing but pure confusion and empathy for the terror these students must be feeling.

“There’s gotta’ be, like, two thousand kids here.” You mumbled, cupping a hand over your eyes to look up at the glare, and your body sank a little.

“Yep, and you get to pick a piece of paper, choose your year group.” You jumped slightly, an unfamiliar voice, and your eyes found a similar uniform to your own, stretched over broad shoulders of a man who was a lot taller than you were, hair pulled back neatly behind his head in a ponytail, tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, and a beard neatly tucked away underneath his chin. “I’m Arthur, firehouse ‘46, and I’m apparently the one in charge of dividing up all the classes.”

“Is it too much to hope we get the freshmen?” You chuckled, taking a piece of the folded paper from his hands as he tried to keep it fair, and a deep chuckle vibrated through him as he nodded.

“Unfortunately, it would be, because my partner already picked that one out for us. No favouritism, I swear, just luck.”

“I’d challenge you on that, but your fist looks like it’s about the size of my head, so you’d probably win that fight.” He let out a louder laugh at that, raising a brow as you opened the piece of paper, his messy handwriting illegible for a second, and you studied it, before he was letting out a low whistle. “Juniors. Tough break.”

Newt let out a groan, what was arguably going to be the rowdiest and loudest group, protesting the most and kicking up a fuss, and you shrugged, accepting his final pitiful smile before he moved on. Newt watched him go, eyes scanning along him slowly for a second, before you clicked your fingers at him. “Hey, you just fixed things with your boyfriend! You gave me shit for being friendly with other firefighters, stop checking out other paramedics!”

“I wasn’t checking him out!” Newt gasped, cheeks tinting pink. “I was just looking, I guess. He’s not my type, I don’t want them too tall, it makes me feel tiny. I hate that. I want to be pushed up against the wall, not thrown around like a rag-doll. Too much muscle.” You glanced at him again, noting what he meant, because the man did look like he spent every free minute he had at the gym, and you shrugged.

Your eyes wandered then, you couldn't help it, flickering over the others around you before finding your team. The Truck team were all reporting to Thomas, no step-in lieutenant having arrived in Gally’s place yet, and didn’t like the idea of being a firefighter down on your team. He seemed to be coping through, giving out orders to a team twice the size, each breaking away in the usual pairs he made as they divided off to complete tasks.

Around the entrance to your ambulance, two tables had been set up, one on each side and a third one across them, forms being laid out in stacks with pens, each to be filled out by a student and held with them to take home, ones you’d have to sign every time to show you dismissed them, and you flexed your fingers, already anticipating the ache that would come.

The lines were beginning to shift again, teaching staff arriving with their lines of students, waiting to be told what to do, and you shared a look with Newt, before diving right into it. Splitting off the classes, you sat down behind one table, kids slowly filling out each form and coming to sit with you, letting you do initial checks across their eyes, their pulse and their reaction times, before signing each form.

Some were a little more injured, with small cuts and grazes, jostling in the halls knocking them around or to the floor, and you had quite a few bumped heads. Some had worse smoke inhalation, and some had been closer to the initial blast. Those were the worst ones, the ones with head injuries that were filling up the chairs laid out to wait for parents, and you had to not only sign your name on their forms but fill out medical information cards for them, ready to be sent to the hospital, and only an hour in, you felt like your hand was going to drop off. You’d scarcely made it to the other side off half of the kids, watching them all slowly being collected by crying and fearful parents, let in at the gates to find their kids, when you found out what had happened.

The gas taps in the science labs had exploded, a leaky seal that hadn't closed off and a bunsen burner that was too close to the leak. The science experiment gone wrong had sent flames bursting through all the labs along the floor, and you had to choke back bile when the kids who’d been sitting closer to the flames had come in.

They were shaking, sobbing tears and blood from burned skin that still smelled of gas. Melted plastic on smart uniform ties and burned clothing that still looks smokey. Ash was beginning to fall from the sky, blowing in your direction from the wind, some still glowing until it reached the ground, and they were all trembling from the trauma just at the remnants of it. You didn’t blame them.

The kid coming forwards next was shaky, an empty form clutched carefully in his hands as he handed it over, and you scribbled your name on it, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You know you gotta’ fill this out, right? I can’t let you leave until you have.”

“I know.” He whispered, the hands that were clenched under the table being lifted after a moment's hesitation, and he held his palms out, open hand facing you, backs pressed to the table. “I would but it hurt, I tried.”

You could see the etched strains of dotted ink at the top, your eyes wide as you took in the damage to his hands. He seemed alright everywhere else; a little red along parts of his skin where he’d gotten too close to some flames, but other than that, nothing too bad, but the damage to his palms was extensive. Blackened skin was charred and burned, bleeding and red flesh exposed underneath and raw to the cold air and you imagined it would be agony, the injuries travelling all the way to his wrists. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I, um, my hands got burned when I was trying to get out.”

I can see that, kid, but how?” You were filling in the form yourself, scribbling down the notes you could do yourself, and letting him substitute his name, date of birth and class number as you reached those sections, pen moving quickly over the paper as you waited for a reason. “I can't let you go until you tell me.”

“A door got stuck. I had to push it open.”

“How stuck was this door, because these aren’t the kind of burns that happen with quick movements, this took prolonged exposure.” He squirmed in his seat, avoiding your eye, and you gave in. Beside you, scattered around on your table and in the ambulance were the contents of your medkit, and the drawers, all running low on supplies as you’d tended to many injured kids, and you shook your head at his reluctance to speak. “Alright, fine, we’ll wait it out. Any allergies?”

He shook his head, chin wobbling a bit, and you handed his form back over to him, a neat crease down the middle where it was folded in half, and he held his hands out for you upon request. His face screwed up at the sting of the antiseptic spray, soft warnings on murmured apologies on your lips as you sterilised the wounds, before beginning to wrap them with aloe and cream soaked bandages. He shed several tears during the process, twisting to wipe his face on his shoulder as you patched up the first hand.

“Ready to talk, yet?”

He looked up at you again, shaking his head slowly after a second, and you let out a disappointed sigh that you hoped might make him cave, but he held strong. You worked on the other hand, wrapping the medicinal bandages slowly and carefully over his skin, weaving between his fingers and around his thumb, making sure to cover all of the exposed flesh right down to his thumb, before tucking it in carefully and sealing them with tape.

“You can go and wait over on those chairs until you’re ready to fess up, and you’re gonna’ have to go to the hospital for real treatment.” You nodded to one of the teachers as he went, head hung low and sulking as he walked away, before you turned to the next kid.

This one was worse, the same burns but these ones travelled halfway up his forearms, another empty sheet placed down in front of you, before he too was glancing at the last kid with burned hands, and your eyes narrowed on the two. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got stuck, behind a-”

“A closed door? Is that what you're about to say?” A guilty look flashed over the second boy’s features, wide-eyed as he swallowed the lump formed in his throat, and he nodded. “That’s total bullshit. I don’t know what the two of you have been up to, but you don’t think I know what causes burns when I see them? I work in a firehouse, my firemen get burned up all the time, and this isn’t what happens when you push open a burning door. This is what happens when you hold onto something hot for a long time.”

He didn’t say anything, he just held out his hands, hissing in pain but managing to blink away his tears, unlike his friend, when you began to treat his wounds. The more severe they were, the more supplies you required, and you opted to dab the aloe gel and burn cream mix up to his elbows on each hand with a cotton pad, gentle not to let the tips of your fingers drag on open flesh as dry rubber from your gloves irritated the wounds.

“You need to tell me what happened, because I can’t let you go when you’ve got burns like this. You know it’s criminal evidence, right? If you don’t fess up and tell me the truth, you’ll have to tell it to the police. Why didn’t your teachers bring you forwards first if you had these kinds of injuries?”

“Because we weren’t in class.” He eventually whispered, and now the tears flowed, something inside of him seeming to crack wide open as hot tears flowed, the kid breaking down before you in a sob. You were wrapping his second arm carefully by the time he managed to catch his breath, his reaction shocking you a little, you didn’t want to make the kid cry with your threat of talking to the police, you just wanted to know what would happen. “We didn’t do this, I swear! We weren’t involved!”

“I know that, this was a freak accident, we already know that much, but you can tell me what happened.” Once you were finished, you took a seat before him, taking off blood and ointment stained gloves and throwing them in the bin bag you and Newt were rapidly filling up. As you did, you noticed Newt treating a kid with much the same injuries, your eyes narrowing a little on them for a second, before you sat down, picking up your pen and beginning to fill in the empty form. “We were skipping class.”

“All kids do that.” You chuckled, taking his name and date of birth as he worried his lower lip between his teeth, and just like that, all of a sudden, he was twisting to the side in his seat, retching violently onto the floor, as more tears began to flow. You abandoned the forms, rounding the edge of the table and the area around you where parents had been collecting their kids and teachers had been dismissing them suddenly fell silent, everybody turning to look over, and you rubbed his back gently, the contents of his stomach emptying.

When he was finished, he sat back up, trying to wipe at his mouth and wincing when he rubbed his mouth against his bandages by mistake, before lowering his hand. He slumped, seemingly drained of energy, eyes hooded a little, and you checked his pupils and his reactions again but they came out perfectly fine, and so this reaction wasn’t related to any injuries. “There were four of us.”

“Four of you?”

“Yeah, four of us skipped class.” You glanced around, noting only three with burned hands as Newt dismissed his kid to join your first, and a chilling feeling settled like a pit in your stomach. “We were in the theatre rooms, they’re below the science floors. We were messing around, and Ian went to the toilets in the corridors. When the explosion went off, the floor started to collapse, and a beam went over the door.”

You hated that you already knew where it was going, and your eyes impossibly wide as you glanced around, trying to find the yellow stripes of any fireman you knew to be free from your house, or any house, but they were all busy and out of view.

“The beam caught fire, and we tried so hard to move it, we tried but it hurt so much, and there was so much smoke and it got so hot, and we couldn't do it anymore. We had to go, we tried so hard but we had to go!” He was borderline hysterical, stuttering over his words as he cried, before he was gagging again, and you stepped out of the way, just avoiding his upchuck as he emptied his stomach again, guilt and anxiety taking a physical reaction on him. You processed his words, before the heavy truth settled over you again.

“Oh my God, Newt, there’s a kid still trapped in there.”

“What?” Your partner whipped around in his seat, eyes wide, before looking to the kid still heaving, and the other two with matching injuries. “Go find someone on the team, I'll finish up here!”

You nodded, pausing for a second to look around, before catching sight of a few metallic strips glinting in the light not far from the Squad truck. You stumbled over your feet, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to get there. Rounding the edge of the red van, you found Winston sitting on the edge of the truck, door open, one foot on the floor by his helmet as the other was pulled up, his back pressed to the wall, and he was panting for breath, sweating as his mask lay beside him.

He cracked an eye open as he looked up at you, confusion taking over his face for a second, before concern was replacing it. “What’s up? Aren’t you dismissing kids?”

“There’s still a kiss trapped in there?”

“We did a sweep, everyone did, they checked every room and every floor, all the rooms.” You shook your head, hands shaking a little with your fear, and you felt the tremors spread over your body.

“No, no, there is someone.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, and he sat up a little further. “There’s three kids, burns all over their hands and up their arms, because they were skipping class. They were right under the explosions, a kid was in one of the bathrooms and a beam fell over the door, they tried to move it but they couldn't, he’s trapped inside.”

“He’s been in there since this fucking happened? That was hours ago!” Despite his shock and disbelief, he was on his feet again, grabbing for his mask and his helmet, being the first one to finish his set of tasks clearly not coming much in handy, because he was going to be going back inside. “Where was he?”

“Uh, they said they were near the drama and theatre halls.” He nodded his head, hooking his mask back up to his oxygen tank as he pulled it up and adjusted the straps on his shoulders. “Winston, I gotta’ go with you.”

“No way, it’s falling apart in there.”

“I know, but you said it yourself, it’s been hours. That kid is gonna’ need immediate first aid, and how much first aid do you know?” He looked conflicted, tapping his foot a little and glancing around, watching as a few more members of your team, as well as others, all began to emerge from different exits. There was only so much of the fire they could risk putting out, when the building was igniting faster than they could contain it, it would have to simply burn itself out. “C’mon, Winston. Just grab me gear and let's go.”

“Fine, but stick by my fucking side and don’t take a step away, okay?”

“I promise!” You nodded, and he opened up one of the spare lockers. You knew the drill, kicking off your shoes and grabbing the heatproof gear that was labelled in a silver tin with your name across the front in permanent marker. Tugging the pants up your legs as fast as you could, you sealed them at the waist, tying them tightly and grabbing your jacket. You buttoned it up, fingers shaking as you did, before kicking off your shoes, uncaring of where they landed.

Pulling on your boots, you knelt down to tie them, your med bag landing beside you as Winston had retrieved it, and he looked more than anxious as he stared at you, letting you tuck the laces into the edge of the shoes to hide them once they were tight. “You’re gonna’ have to carry your bag, because you need to wear a tank and mask.”

He shook the other objects in his hands, and you stood, turning around and guiding your arms through the straps as he held it out, your breath forced from your lungs as the heavy weight settled onto your back. Following it, he rested the mask over your face, the glass fogging up for a second as you took heavy breaths, clearing a second later when cool oxygen was twisted on and began to come through. He fixed his own mask, gloves and helmet following as you copied him, checking it was all sealed up tight around your skin, before grabbing your bag.

You always felt like an astronaut in this gear, big and puffy and baggy, like you were walking with added gravity following behind him in wide and shuffling steps as quickly as you could, nerves and fear riding more and more as you headed towards burning entrances. It was something you’d never get used to, the idea of walking straight into flames, of walking into a burning building, and you patted deftly across the front of your helmet to find your torch, turning it on as Winston did the same, and then, you were plunging into thick black smoke.

It was like something from a horror movie, you could see other firemen wandering around, their shadows as they tried to at least secure as much as they could as the fire ripped through the building, burning through whatever fuel it could, and none of them paid you any mind. Clutching your bag up to your chest, you kept your eyes fixed on Winston, not daring to take your eyes off of him in case you lost him, and he was following signs as he went, trying to find the downstairs floors of the drama and theatre.

Your steps left footprints in the ash that was lining the floor, each footstep padded to silence by the thick grey layer, like a breadcrumb trail as you went, and it was a guiding light that was brushed away seconds later with the air currents created by flames.

You knew it when you finally arrived, large amphitheatres and halls, Winston pausing as he tried to identify which way the toilets would be, and his head twisted as he looked from one end to the other.

“You check that side, I’ll check this one. Do not go out of yelling range or sight.”

You gave him a mock-salute, peeling off to the left when he went to the right, and you scanned along the walls for the doorways.

There was nothing, just places where posters had been on the walls, the smashed glass of photos or peel offs to more corridors, but no toilets or burned beams. Just as you reached the end of the hall, only one direction coming off of it in a short pathway, you noticed something. It was crumbled now, black and crumbled but it could definitely have once been a solid beam, and as you squinted through the smoke, you could just about make out a doorway.

“Winston! I think I got it!” You yelled as loud as you could, turning around to find him spinning to look at you, and you held an arm out in a point down a connected corridor. He took off in a jog, as fast as he could move in the heat and the layers of clothes, and while it took him only seconds to reach you, it felt like it dragged on and on, the emergency making everything seem too slow as you worried for the trapped kid’s well-being.

He stepped ahead first, pacing towards it, and you followed after him, a slightly relieved breath leaving you when you were close enough for your head torches to reflect on signs signalling for the toilets. Winston placed a hand on the beam as the two of you approached it, pressing down on it as best he could, and the beam groaned at the pressure, but despite the force he applied, it didn’t crack.

He held out an arm, pushing you back slightly as his hand went to the toolkit around his waist, and unhooking a small hand axe. He held it up, adjusting it carefully in his grip, before swinging it up high and bringing it back down. It dug in, getting stuck for a second, and a large splintering sound filled the air, but it didn’t break.

He tried again, and again, and your anxiety was almost ready to burst when it finally cracked, hitting the floor with a loud thud, and you jumped, wincing slightly at the sound. The half still attached to the ceiling fell down, bringing a little more of the ceiling down, and it all became unstable again. Pieces of the roof were crumbling away, crashing down in bundles of flames to the floor, but at least one problem was solved.

Putting away the axe, Winston kicked open the door, waiting to see if any fire would come out. There was fire crawling along the roof, but the tiled floors were clean, the room smoky and filled with ash but reasonably safe, and the two of you entered.

As promised, there he was, the fourth student was unconscious on the floor beside one of the sinks. You glanced around, noting the jacket he must have been wearing was soaked with water, lay over his face as he’d tried to breathe through it to stop too much smoke inhalation, and Winston glanced at you as you sunk to your knees.

“Smart kid, that move probably saved his life.” You peed it back, checking for any signs of breathing, and you found his vets to be rising and falling very slowly and weakly, barely taking in any oxygen at all. Lifting up the torch from your keyring, you raised an eyelid, bloodshot eyes encasing pupils that were hardly responsive, reactions that took over a second to come into focus, and barely moving.

Scanning along his arms, you noted the raw burns that were forming along his flesh, tugging your bag open quickly and grabbing for the aloe inside. If he was to be carried back through the building, you wanted to minimise any risk of his wounds getting any worse. You didn’t try to be delicate or gentle, you were rushing, knowing you had to put speed over gentleness now, and that you could treat them properly once you were back outside.

Twisting on down on the taps, not much water came through, dripping through the pipes, and you used your teeth to pull off one glove, daring to touch the water. It wasn’t exactly cold, the pipes underground being heated by the fires above, but it was cool enough, and you dropped piles of bandages down into the sink to begin to soak. Taking open the gel, you squeezed out thick rows of it onto his arms, using your bare hand to rub it in, trying to be fast as the skin on the back of your hand began to hurt. Once it was rubbed in, you began to pick up dripping bandages, not even bothering to ring them out, before sealing the cool wrapping around his arms as best you could to keep them secured.

As soon as they were on, you were pulling your glove back on, and rubbing at the back of your hand through the material to soothe the pain there.

“He needs oxygen, with reaction times like this, I’m surprised he’s still breathing.”

“I can give him my mask.”

Winston reached for his mask, and you shook your head. He was covered in burns, he was out cold, and there was no way he’d wake up anytime between now and the hospital, it at all. Despite being alive, you had no idea what the long-term effects would be on him, and you hoped for the best, but you knew there wasn’t much Winston could do without his mask. “You can’t, you’re gonna’ have to carry him out of here. He takes my mask.”

No way, I’m trained for this, you aren’t. You’ll choke up in here before getting back to the main corridors.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly carry this kid. So, if we want to get him out of here alive, we’re just going to have to risk it.” You didn’t wait for his response, ignoring his protests as you took off your helmet, reaching behind your head for the elastics of the mask, and pulling them off. The second it was gone, your skin flared up at the rush of heat, and you took a gasping breath. Your lungs were searching for oxygen, the flames burning most of it away, and you were getting so little now that your pure source was gone.

Hooking the mask over the kid’s face, you took off your tank, holding it on your arms as Winston glared at you from behind the glass, crouching down to pick the boy up from the floor, and you placed the tank onto him too, waiting for Winston to adjust his grip before letting go of the pair. Putting your helmet back on, you tucked your hair under the collar of your jacket, protecting the back of your neck.

Zipping your bag back up and draping the damp hoodie over his head for added protection against the flames, you hid your face in your elbow, coughing against the smoke and trying to breathe lightly so as not to suck too much of it into your lungs.

“Follow me, keep up, okay? Don’t fall behind.”

There were worry and concern in his voice, friendly and desperate as he pleased with you, and you nodded your head. He turned, moving as quickly as he could as he left the bathrooms again, backing or of the door and back into the hallway. If you’d thought the bathroom had been bad, this was far worse, your eyes watering and lungs burning as soon as you stepped out. You kept one arm raised, simply to protect your face, your bag clenched under the other arm.

Winston was moving faster than you were, the lack of oxygen making you fall behind, but you could still seem him ahead, and you could see the large and fresh imprints of his bots in the ash before they were fading in the swirling storm of burning debris, following them once the smoke was too much for you to keep your eyes raised for too long. They were stinging, watering continuously to blink free dust that got in them, and your tears were almost absorbed right off of your face.

When you looked back up, daring to stare into the hallway, it was void of movement, all the firemen having cleared out as the smoke got thicker, burning through the insulation in the walls now. The corridors forked, and you paused, trying to remember which way you’d come. There was no daylight to guide you, no windows you could see through, just thick smoke lit up by orange flames, and you swallowed down on a sore throat coughing again as you grew more and more scared.

You had to move, you knew you did, and so you chose one option, knowing that moving in either way was better than simply standing still. Following it along, the further you went, the more and more unfamiliar it became, the minutes melting away as you stumbling along all the while knowing you’d chosen the wrong way. You found the wall, hand sitting on it lightly to help guide your way, and your fingers bumped against a raised section.

Pausing, you brushed the dust away, squinting to read what it said. There were several classroom guidances, and then something that made you want to cry with relief, even if it was the wrong direction. The gardens. You hadn't seen any gardens upon coming into the school grounds, and so you assumed you were on the other side of the building now, having stumbled along for so long you’d moved all that way, but as long as you got out, you’d be fine.

Following that guidance, you paused each time you found a sign, before finally, doors that had burned right off their hinges and had fallen off allowed a little sunlight to poke through the smoke.

Your feet scraped on the ground as you finally made it out, soft ash falling away to be replaced with concrete, and you wanted to fall to the ground, knees weak with bliss at escaping the building, but you forced yourself to keep going. You were gasping, throat raw as you took deep breaths, finally able to do so once again and you felt a little dizzy as your head spun at the sudden rush of fresh air.

You grabbed at the front of your jacket, sweltering in the thick material as you tugged on it until it came loose, flapping at the front and letting in cold air and you felt a little less restrained.

You stayed away from the building as you tried to walk around it, following the flashing lights on the ambulances until the place where you’d been stationed started to come into sight once again. It was clearer, only a few kids left milling around, the fire teams having retreated back to their vans, equipment being stripped off and water bottles handed out, and you searched for your own team.

You found them, all gathered around and starting at the entrance, even Winston and Newt, and you noticed that one of the ambulances was gone, presumably having rushed your reduced child to the hospital. They were waiting for you to emerge from the entrance you’d entered, all looking nervous, and Newt was the first to notice you coming around the other side.

As soon as he had, the group were turning to you, your body slumping a little more under your weight, and you staggered towards them. Newt found you first, taking your bag from your hands as you held it out to him, and offering him a tired smile as he shook his head fondly.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Newt, I swear.” He frowned for only a second longer, before his lips were breaking in a smile, and Brenda was up next. She took you into a tight hug, arms underneath the edge of your jacket, which Minho was peeling down your arms for you and taking away the added weight, and you thanked him silently with a nod as you wrapped your arms back around her. “Bren, I’m okay.”

“You think you’re a damn firefighter, I swear it!”

You laughed at that, throat a little raspy as it trailed off into a caught, and Newt chuckled. “Let’s get you some water, okay?”

“That sounds awesome.” You followed them over to the trucks, Newt jogging ahead to get you a bottle, and as soon as you arrived, you took it. You cracked the lid open taking a large gulp, and looking around for a second, before the person you were unintentionally searching for was found. He looked angry, a face like thunder as he stormed over, shoulders squared and tense with furrowed brows.

His steps had purpose, and the closer he got, the more you could take him in. Slightly dirty skin, sweaty and stained with soot and ash had tracks under his eyes cut into them from tears, the edges of his scowl wobbling as he looked still on the edges of jagged emotions, and you were filled with guilt. You met him halfway, mouth dropping to talk to him but he beat you to it, a sharp inhale before he is grabbing your arm, and dragging you between the two parked fire trucks as the rest of the firemen all seemed to clear away in fear of his anger.

“Are you fucking insane?” There was a crack to his voice that you didn’t comment on, giving away that his anger was actually fear, no rage at all but simply worry that you had caused, and you hated that you’d done it, but you wouldn't take your action back, not when you’d saved a life once again. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you’d let that boy die in there. “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was? I come out after hours in that burning building to find you and check you’re okay just to find out you’ve gone into the fucking wreckage? To find out you took off your goddamn mask and got lost?”

His frown melted away, fresh tears filling his eyes, and he sniffed lightly, his face crumpling again as his tears came free. Two large droplets leaked along his cheeks, leaving wet marks, and your stomach twisted with guilt. You took off your gloves, dropping them down to the floor without a care to be able to cup his cheeks and wipe them away from his flushed skin as he stared at you. “I got stuck, Tommy. That’s it, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew that kid was in there and I let him die to save my own life.”

You sank down, every muscle in your body aching as you sat on the edge of the van, finally giving in to your exhaustion, and he let out a shaky and weak sob again. He followed, sinking to his knees in front of you, his entire body collapsing under the weight of his worry, but his eyes never left your own.

He lifted a bare hand, cupping your cheek the way you had for him a second ago, and his eyes moved as he swept his sights over your face, trying to take a more deep and calming breath. The simple skin to skin touch grounded him.

“Don’t make me lose you, too.” He whispered, a silent beg in his words not to leave him, and your heart cracked a little in your chest. “I know you’re mad at me right now, okay? You say you’re not but I know you are because I spent enough time with you mad when we first met to know what that looks like on you.”

You chuckled, his lips flicking up at the edges as you did.

“I can handle you being mad, though, okay? I can handle that, because I love you, but I can’t handle you dying. I can’t take that. Don’t do that to me, I need y-” Your hands smoothed over his chest, finding the edges of the jacket he had yet to shed and pulling him forwards. You bowed your head down to his level, cutting off his words by placing your lips on his, and he shuddered under your touch, groaning into your mouth as his mind caught up with what was happening.

He panted slightly, twisting his head to the side to get a better angle, and this was nothing like last night. He wasn’t shy or worried, he just poured out everything he felt, his lips working slowly but surely with your own, a desperation and need hidden underneath in the kiss that made you tremble, because it was nothing like you’d ever felt before. You didn’t feel the metal you were sitting on or the truck behind you, the voices of everyone still around seemed to face away, your entire focus shifting to only him.

He pressed up, kissing you just as firmly and gripping your jaw with a little more force. After a moment longer, lungs demanding air, he pulled back, long enough for a gasping breath and to lick over his lips. He forced himself to stand up on shaky legs, one hand on your waist pulling you with him, before he was pressing you back into the edge of the truck for support. The cold metal against your back was nothing with the way his chest pressed to you, drawing in his head as he held you so close, that hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush up against him.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your nose bumping his as he stole several more pecks from your lips as the two of you caught your breath, and you puckered your lips for him each time, stuttering as his fingertips pressed into your skin through your shirt. “I know this isn’t how you wanted our real first kiss to go.”

“I so don’t care anymore. Just shut up and kiss me again, sweetheart.” He closed the gap himself, and you hummed happily as his tongue dragged over your lower lip, tempting you to part them, and you moaned weakly when his tongue dared to dip out and brush with your own. It was a connection you both needed, long overdue and frantic.

A messy kiss, clashes of teeth with need and raspy breaths between kisses, bumping foreheads when you moved but you'd have time to perfect it, but right now, you just needed to make the promises to each other that you were okay, and you were still here. When he finally pulled back, it was reluctantly, dragging slightly kiss swollen lips away from your own to stare at you, darkened eyes going soft the longer he looked, and he pulled away long enough to run the back of a finger over your cheek, a look that could only be described as adoration taking over. “I love you, and you don’t have to say it back, not until you really mean it, but I mean it and I want you to know. I want everyone to know, you’re always gonna’ be my first and only choice, angel.”

You grinned, a giggle that you muted by pressing your lips to his own in a chaste kiss, and when you pulled back, he followed your lips for a second, only furthering your intimate amusement.

“I’m never going to get tired of being able to kiss you now.”

“I should hope not.” He beamed, brushing the tip of his nose with your own, before stepping back fully, and bringing his hand to yours, weaving your fingers together. “Go sort out your team, lieutenant, they’ll be needing you to help pack away.”

“I’m sure they can wait a few more minutes, I’ve waited months to get here with you.”

“Yeah, well, you can have me all to yourself later. You still owe me pizza.” His joy only brightened more at the offer, his brows raising, and he was nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll stay over, and you can kiss me as much as you want.”

“I’d love that.” He pecked your lips one more time, a pink blush taking over his features as he realised he could now, before he was stepping back. “I’ll meet you back at the firehouse?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You whispered, and he turned away, giving you a second of privacy, lifting your fingers to brush over your lips, your mind still reeling as you attempted to process what had happened. A throat cleared a second later, and Newt was standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted toward the ambulance.

“I’m not putting all that shit away myself so you can daydream about kissing Tommy.” He scoffed, teasing you a little as he made his way over, and you couldn't help the smirk your lips were forming. “So, did he finally man up and kiss you? He's only been talking about it for months.”

“I kissed him, actually.” Newt’s jaw dropped, his hands shooting up in the air with a loud cheer to follow.

“I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it! Gally owes me twenty damn bucks, and I will collect.” He slung an arm over your shoulders, guiding you towards the ambulance that he needed help with beginning to pack away, and you shrugged, reaching up your hand to hold onto Newt’s as it hung over your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you were betting on us.”

“I was betting on you, I knew he would psych himself out, all my money was on you, love.” He offered a cheesy grin, pinching at your cheek, and you raised your brows.

“Well then, shouldn't I get half of the winnings? Since I helped you to victory, and all..” Newt let you go when you reached the van, the tables being folded away by the staff, but there were medical supplies piled high in the entrance to the ambulance, and you had to pack them all away correctly, and double-check over the doses of medicines, in such a high-risk area for theft.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy you a cocktail with half the winnings, if you come on a double date with me and Derek?” You chuckled, unsure whether or not he was serious, and an odd look passed over newt’s face, the blond scratching at his jaw and avoiding your eye.

“A double date, really?”

“Look, you already know Derek, you and he are friends. Good friends. Tommy has been my best mate since I was just a lad and always will be, and you’re my best friend too. I really like Derek, okay? I really like him, and I want him and Tommy to get along too, because they’re both so important to me, and I figure a double date makes it casual.” He shrugged, looking back up to you, curious for your opinion as his cheeks grew warm. “Is it stupid? I just felt like going out to dinner or something made for less tension than a baseball game and a pizza.”

“It’s not stupid, Newt. I’m totally down for it, sounds fun, but you’re gonna’ have to convince Thomas.” You teased, and your partner rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please, I don’t gotta’ do shit if you’re on board. You have him wrapped around your little finger. You don’t even have to pucker up or bat your eyelashes, he’s already all soft on you.” Newt pouted, mocking you playfully with the words, and your guts twisted in a nervous excitement.

“I’ll talk to him about it, tomorrow morning.”

“Breakfast date?” He climbed up into the back of the van, beginning to scoop up the materials like bandages and plasters to put them away, and you started sorting through the bottles of medicine and pills that would need counting.

“Dinner date, actually.” Newt gasped falsely, holding a hand over his heart.

“Scandalous, staying over already.”

“You’re just jealous.” You shot back, his face dropping in a mock glare.

“Low blow.” He threw a roll of bandages at you, ones that bounced off of your head as you laughed at him, and rolled away to the concrete, and he pointed at them. “Go get them, and leave your attitude out there when you come back.”

You flipped him off, standing up to follow after the sealed bandages packet, and you scooped them up, glancing around the scene as two ambulances had already left, their house firetrucks following, and the third house was finishing their packing up. Brenda was packing away the coats into the van, hanging them up on the hooks inside the compartment to be washed and cleaned for later, and Minho was rolling the fire hoses back up with Jeff and Clint.

Thomas was rubbing a hand over his forehead, staring up at the building for a second, before turning, glancing around, and his eyes found yours. He paused for a second, one eye dropping in a lazy wink a moment later when he let Thomas crack through his lieutenant persona for a second, and he licked over his lips, stretching to a wide smile. He nodded his head for a second, a simple gesture but it felt like more than just that, and your lips pressed together to hold your smile, nodding your head in return, and letting your stare linger for a second longer, before going back to work.

Newt was waiting, still packing away and whistling a tune to himself as he worked, taking the bandages from you when you approached, and you hummed along in time with the tune once you recognised it enough, his eyes glinting when you did. It was an unspoken thing, a delicate symbol of friendship as the two of you worked in quiet harmony, humming along to the same song as you worked, settling in to a well worn and familiar routine that you hoped would never break.

#thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #thomas the maze runner #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

[mazuwii]

Eren Jaeger SFW Alphabet

Authors note: I hope this is feeding you guys because I am dragging this motivation by its hair😤

I was going to do Bertholdt next but I got a request for Miche so either of them will come out next😄

If you guys can’t comment (I’ve no idea how to turn replies on) Then I’m Lunology on wattpad, just comment on my aot scenarios book and I’ll post here! <3

—A (Affection, how affectionate is he?)

•Not the most lovey-dovey person in the entire cast, Eren is really shy when it comes to conveying his feelings for you. But when you both are alone, and he's comfortable with you he can hug you, or pinch your cheeks as a way of saying "You're so cute I could squish you into nothing."

•He has a very aggressive way of showing affection, like biting your cheek, kissing places with his hands clamping shut on them, it's difficult to get him to let go.

—B (Bestfriend, what would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

•Being best friends with Eren is a wild ride. You'd think he adopted you as a best friend being the loud, boisterous extrovert that he is yet you're the one always getting him out of trouble.

•He's loud, fun, spontaneous but incredibly annoying. My guy will SPAM you with useless TikTok videos, his entire fyp on your messages.

•But he's very funny too, he crops your faces on animated videos and it lowkey looks so shit that it's funny.

•As your best friend, Eren will fight anyone who even thinks about threatening you (lmao he can't fight) so you're just stuck with scolding him and disinfecting his bleeding lip💀

—C (Cuddling. Does he like to cuddle? How would he cuddle?)

•If he gets a random wave of gratitude he'd just randomly burst into your room and hug you, it would be sooo random. You're just playing a game and this guy hugs you but as a joke, he walks around the room while hugging you so the chair you're on walts around everywhere with him. Once you understand what this weirdo is doing you just burst out laughing with him because you both look dumb.

•Like the dude is just staring into space when he remembers that one time you slapped a teacher for him, or almost got yourself in trouble to give him something and he just goes: ƈ ͡ (ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ु COME HERE Y/NNNNNN!!

•Eren is a pretty fun boyfriend, wouldn't just stick to a cuddle session, it would be more like... playing a game on the console with you sprawled out on his lap.

—D (Domestic. Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

•While Eren wants to tie a knot when it comes to you and him, having children never ever crosses his mind. It's just fun fun fun until you're twenty-eight and you're asking when he wants to have a mini Jaegar. He just looks a bit taken back because it isn't an easy job...

•And when it comes to cooking and cleaning, he's actually somewhat good at cleaning, never missing a spot with his aggressive wiping. However... I don't see him as a cooker if you get me💀 probably burnt his finger while boiling water and never tries again.

•If we're talking about domestic then yeah maybe, maybe he does have a nice husband in him. Not one that pretends there's a spider on you when you wake up... or nOt one that hogs the pillows.

—E (Ending, If he had to break up with his partner, how would he do it?)

•He felt as if he wasn't giving you enough and that other men could satisfy you. Eren would be too scared to face you when he breaks the news so he would leave a note and completely disappear from your life.

—F (Fiancé. How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

•Eren doesn't really put labels on things, at least, he says that... the guy calls you wifey even though you aren't married. Sure he may think about it for a few minutes but quickly shuts himself down since he's extremely shy when it comes to chatting about the two of you

•Eventually when he goes to all his friends' weddings, he gets jealous and decides he should put a ring on it LMAO, you can expect him to be incredibly flustered and even play it off with a 'cool' when you say yes. It's best you hug him so that you don't see how red his face turns.

•I'm just sayin' he's going all out for your wedding, it's so funny, he's so extra... why are their ten limousines? Men shooting guns upwards the moment you both kiss?! A fucking food fight-

—G  (Gentle. How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

•If we're talking about physically, he is not gentle and he doesn't even try to be. He sometimes accidentally hurts you but never misses a second to kiss the spot and over-apologise. But Eren would never think about hurting you on purpose unless it was a life or death situation.

•Emotionally, he's fragile and would love reassurance. Emotionally, towards you, he doesn't be careful, always giving you jump scares, purposely pranking you

—H (Hugs, do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

•For you, he loves aggressive hugs where it's breaking your bones and he just lifts you off the floor and violently shakes you around like he can't get enough of you.

•He loves loves loves loves LOVES hugs when you two are alone and treating you like your a happy huge dog, ruffling every single part of your body for no reason at all and rubbing you with a relaxing force...?

•Again, Eren is very shy so you'd have to start hugging him first for him to get used to it and eventually, he'll be the one knocking into your body for a bear hug

—I (I love you. How fast do they say the L-word?)

•Eren says I love you through the number of shits he gives (Not literally)... If he cares about you he worries a lot and checks up on you almost all the time so

•It would probably be at a time where he did something so risky and you got so scared that the moment you caught onto him you cried it out, he'd apologetically say it back and hug you, with meaning of course.

—J (How Jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

•Coming from someone who tries her hardest to make this accurate, I can say Eren gets jealous to the  m a x

•At first he thinks to himself that you'd tell whoever it is flirting with you to fuck off but his pride shatters when he realises you didn't say anything and it doesn't sound like you will

•My guy either walks out in dismay and gets petty with you afterwards or he walks up to you and tells you the both of you have to go home before shooting a dirty look at the flirty dude or straight up telling him to piss off

•That may result in a physical fight 💀 that guy needs anger management classes...

—K (Kisses, what are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

•For Eren, I can say that he doesn't make out often but when he does he'll probably leave your lips bruised, he has an obsession with biting your lip at the wrong time💀 he's too rough on most occasions, it isn't fun... calm down Jaegar.

•Eren loves kissing your cheek, except he bites it and leaves a slobber of saliva on it. He thinks it's cute as fuck, he won't stop.

•As for where he likes being kissed... he likes feeling delicate and loved so he really enjoys it when you sweep his rapunzel ass hair aside and kiss the temple of his forehead

—M (Mornings, how are mornings spent with him)

•The blanket is probably completely off of him and his leg is resting on your hip. He's an animal so the guy wakes up at like...6am without an alarm- it isn't even a training day! It's a day off! And he still wakes up at that early time.

•A few morning exercises for an hour before he attempts to wake you up... violently.

•Listen! Eren likes making breakfast with you, it doesn't feel the same without you- it's defintely not because he has no idea how to work the gas and oven🌚

•He's very funny and social when he isn't hungry so mornings are pretty fun with him, cracking a few jokes while getting you dirty with pancake mix (he said he can't control where flour goes, this is why you don't get him to cook)

•And then after that, it's time to shower... idk you decide if you'll go in with him¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Just sayin' his skin is very red afterwards, my guy uses cold water but scrubs so hard with the lufa-)

—N (Night, how are nights spent with him?)

•Like I said, Eren is like a dog, he spends his days using his full energy and he makes sure to use it all up so by 22:00 he should be knocked out.

•Eren isn't too bothered on cooking so you both probably just watch something before bed while eating take out

•afterwards it's a... really boiling hot shower, brush your teeth, have a conversation in bed for a while until you're both falling asleep at the sound of your voices.

•"Hah... loser... I can...- I can see you falling asleep *Jaegar yawn* first..." even though he's the one with the heavy, falling eyelids.

—O (Open, when would he start revealing things about himself? Did he say everything all at once? Or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

•Eren is very hesitant when it comes to being emotional, he thinks it isn't very masculine so you have to remove the toxic part away and reassure him millions of times that just because he cried, it doesn't make him girly.

•It would be an accident, he'd be trying to go stargazinh with you, you were resting on his arm and he was rambling and the subject suddenly got onto him. Without realising, he spilled everything right then and there... somehow without crying.

•The least you could do was hold on his hand and squeeze it gently... I doubt he's paying attention, he's probably scowling in memory.

•It's best you reassure him that nothing is his fault, nothing could have prevented what happened

—P (Patience, how easily angered are they?)

•He is very impatient to say the least, a control freak.

•When things don't go his way, he shouts, punches walls, scrunches up his hair but the moment there are tears in his eyes, everyone needs to leave the room

•oh ho ho HOOO you don't want to Eren to cry from anger, he turns into the silent kid with a glock in his bag... leave him for an hour and you'll come back to a fully destroyed room👁👄👁

—Q (Quizzes, how much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

•He remembers dumb small details, your favourite flowers, why you don't like public bathrooms, the reason you won't stop annoying his half brother 💀 (You wanna know Zeke's wiping technique... who doesn't?!)

•However he can't for the life of him, remember your doctors appointment or to pick up your medicine... he's halfway home and goes "Fuck-"

—R (Remember, what is his favourite moment in your relationship?)

•He and you go out on a lot of dates, but they're always wacky and messy. One of his favourites was when you both attacked Armin at the beach with water guns and then both Armin and Mikasa were both searching for you to get revenge

•You two hid behind a palm tree, giggling lowly with each other, aiming to attack your two oblivious friends but little did you both know, they heard your low confident remarks and lunged from behind the tree with two full buckets of freezing sea water dumped on you.

•He always remembers that day when he drifts off into a daydream and it always makes him smile

—S (Security, how protective are they? How would they protect you?)

•Trust me when I say... Eren would kill for you...

•So in conclusion, he is very protective and would not hesitate to take far measures to protect you. He's pretty much your ride or die

•While he doesn't show his protectiveness, he acts on it... if that makes sense? Listen, he's very protective but he's sneaky about it! I don't know how to describe it

—T (Try. How much effort would he put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

•Despite how immature he seems, Eren completes all tasks in his day. And he makes sure of it

•When it comes to dates, it's very random... more spontanous but it's always something like. "Oh by the way, we're going to a waterpark this Sunday." Orrr "Babe! Get ready, we're going to eat out with Armin and his girlfriend!"

•You have an hour and a half to get ready so I would call your relationship active 😭 not even sexually active just active.

•Eren can be thoughtful but you have to shove your interests in his face for him to know what you want. Cartoon posters? He catches you watching a lot of gravity falls, steven universe, AWOG, etc... and then anytime he sees stuff to do with that in shops, he gets it for you on the way.

—U (Ugly, what are some bad habits of his?)

•Like I said earlier, Eren has some... mild anger issues🌚

•Nothing can calm him down, unless you have Ackerman strength I doubt you can stop him. He has no idea how to deal with his emotions so it just bubbles up and then he sees an object and thinks 💡 this can take my shit load of anger

•The walls probably have a lot dents yk and calming him down is very difficult but to be thoughtful, you tried getting him a few things to help him deal with his stress properly

—V (Vanity, how concerned is he with his looks)

•Couldn't really give two shits about his appearance, my guy grew rapunzel ass hair and just tied it up because I doubt he's bothered to take care of it

•Sure he wouldn't mind you washing it for him and applying conditioner, in fact, he loves it.

•Eren doesn't care about his appearance and just throws on a hoodie and sweatpants most of the time. You have to choose the shit he wears when you go out on fancy occassions 💀

—W (Whole, would they feel incomplete without you?)

•Again, to Eren, you're his world and he'd do anything to make sure that world is safe and healthy so without you, who would he feel the need to protect?

•Okay MAYBE he doesn't like worrying but he just does so I guess that would be a good thing if you broke up but it isn't as worth it💀

•But ever since you've been his sunshine cheerleader, he can't imagine a morning without your whining ass voice, or fighting with you to the bathroom in the morning, jumping on your back out of nowhere

•You're everywhere in his head, of course he couldn't feel whole without you

—X (Xtra, a random headcannon for him)

•Anytime Eren loses at something(it could be a hobby or a game) he'd stop doing it. Just dropping the entire thing.

•Unless he feels competitive, that always fires him up to do better... so in a way, Jean motivates him to do things. Those two actually care for each other but they hate each other (not literally) they're like siblings!

•Sorry, am I making sense?💀

—Y (Yuck, what are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in person?)

•First of all, my mans fucking hates chocolate, put it near him and he'll kick it or throw it against the nearest wall.

•Like Eren was such a good boi when he was little, eating everything his momma put on his plate, even the brussel sprouts he fucking despised.

•But chocolate is his last straw. Chocolate and peanut butter. It gets stuck to the roof of his mouth and he panics like a drama queen, fanning his face like a princess and washing his mouth with his heart POUNDING against his chest

—Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of his?)

•He sleeps pretty normally, when he turns he lets out a soft satisfied groan, which I'd say is ordinary

•As for his sleeping weight, I'd say he's a heavy sleeper, you'd need to shake him to wake him up, slap his face or something because when that sleep is BUSSIN he won't be WAKIN (bad joke sorry)

•And he's gaping. Shut his mouth please.

•His hands may accidentily fall on some places on your body, he places them everywhere. Like on your nose, on your belly

Authors note:

Have you guys noticed that I don't add the letter L🌚? *shocked noises*

Jaaaa that's because I don't wanna write about kids so forgive me lmao

I'M SO GLAD THIS IS FINISHED! I WANT TO ADD EVERY CHARACTER COS I FEEL SO BAAAAAD FOR NOT DOING A LOT OF YOUR REQUESTS!

Deadass my brain just went bye bye when it came to writing and I recharge by reading actual original work by published authors, it helps me get back on track

Bertholdt/Miche is next!

#Eren #eren fluff #eren sfw #eren yaeger aot #eren yaeger #eren jaeger #Ereh! #erehhhh #mikasa moment #eren x reader

[whump-town]

Give and Take

This one's for you @genevievedarcygranger

I couldn't even tell you what this is about but it's something? Like about Hotch? I'm pretty sure there is no plot so just buckle in or whatever. I don't know, this is weird

The key to building a profile, to standing before someone and piecing together the important parts of their character, is to figure which parts of themselves they give to you and which parts they accidentally show. Most people are fairly easy to read (which is the optimal word, really. No one wants to be profiled but most people don’t mind a little reading on them. Makes them feel special, understood). The thing about secrets, about people, is that they always carry their burdens. It’s like any wound, you naturally lean to protect what hurts. And when once you figure out what hurts, when you can spot the source of the blood you’ll find no matter how advanced a species humans pretend to be, we still have the look of a wounded animal. A dog backed into the corner of an alley. A lame cat waiting to see if swift justice will rain down.

And the wound being protected speaks measures but more importantly…

It’s the reaction-- what happens when the wounds been found and what they anticipate the reaction will be to it.

But, hey, that’s all complicated nonsense. Take it with a grain of salt. Honestly, people always tell you everything that you need to know about them. Especially when they have something to hide.

The first time that Aaron Hotchner ever saw a dead body he was twelve.

The river is unforgiving. That May had brought treacherous storms. Drops of rain that fell so hard, so roughly they’d leave welts on exposed skin. Children still marched to school with the threat of their umbrellas being snapped out of small hands and the wind pushing back clothing, trying to disrobe them as they fought against its pushing hand.

Two days of hard rainfall had the river spewing over the bridge in town. Spitting up its murky water like a well-fed newborn, leaving the fallen limbs of trees and dead fish to rot in the sun. By the time the storm blew over the children were as unsettled as the river itself. Jittery with energy, begging for release. So, out they went. Mothers called from their front porches, father’s leveled threatening fingers-- stay away from the river.

It’ll suck you in and it’ll never let you go.

Johnny Martin was three years older than Hotch. He’d failed kindergarten, first grade, and the seventh grade and was generally regarded as a pointless child, someone to look over. Nobody worth a damn fails that many grades, you know? Nobody worth giving a second chance to let alone a third and a fourth. Except it wasn’t that Johnny was intellectually any different than the other kids. It was just as simple as his father was a nobody, a heavy drinker, and his mother was a weak, dreadful sight. So no one ever tried. His teachers didn’t pay him any attention. No one did, really.

That’s probably why he drowned.

He was bloated, Hotch didn’t even know what he was looking at for a moment. There was a cut across his face, the skin raised around the edges that nearly made it look like pursed lips. A panting mouth. Then he’d seen the eyes, bulging and red. He hadn’t screamed, wasn’t even afraid. No point in wasting the energy on something like that. The real things worth fearing lived at home.

He never told anyone about Johnny Martin.

They found his body a little while after Hotch did. A group of twenty-somethings trampling through the woods with their artfully rolled joints wedged in cigarette cartons and the cheapest beer they could afford. He climbed up a tree, watched them call the cops, and take Johnny Martin away.

For a week, he watched everyone pretend like they gave a shit about Johnny Martin. Heard his English teacher profess some make-believe story and saw the tears glimmer in her eyes. In death, Johnny Martin became a whole person. For the first time in Johnny Martin’s entire life, he wasn’t a ghost, he was a boy. A living thing for which people felt remorse, for which people mourned.

When they’d never looked at him before.

Hotch wanted to know if that’s all it took. Is death really all he needed to become a whole person? For someone to notice the cigarette burns on his arms or to look at him? To notice him? Is absence the only way to be known?

He’s only told the general outline of that story twice. Once while drunk at a college party, one of the few places that sort of talk is welcome. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?” And they circle around to him. Expectant eyes filled with the reflection of the flames of the fire dancing. He’d been thinking about his father’s office. The sound of the gunshot filling the house. Walking slowly down the hall, still stepping around the weak points in the floor so that he wouldn’t make a sound. Standing there looking at the blood splattered on the roof.

They put heart attack on the official death certificate. Illegal, sure, but not as ugly as suicide. Besides, a man like Richard Hotchner’s reputation would be ruined by his final actions. That couldn’t happen. So he’d been given a hero’s goodbye. A veteran of the Korean war sent off to the sound of his widow’s sobs, his two sons standing like little soldiers.

But that sort of thing ruins the mood. Kills the vibe so artfully created by the warmth of the dying fire and the joints being passed around.

So he tells them about Johnny Martin.

They hang onto his every word.

When he tells Dave it’s a diversion.

He’s laying in a hospital bed, the morphine has him slurring a bit but he’s talking more than Dave’s ever heard out of him. The kid hardly makes a peep for the three months he’s been working with them and he gets tossed down a few sets of stairs and he’s suddenly impossible to shut up. Dave was just trying to fret over him, expressing some concern until Haley could get here to do the heavy lifting. He ends up with more than he bargained for.

“No, s’okay. I’ve seen dead bodies, sir. Promise.”

Hotch tells him about Johnny Martin, curates a similar story to the one he told that night around the fire.

He’s a good storyteller and, though Dave can tell which elements of the story have been shifted for his enjoyment there are truths in all lies. Dave wants to ask what Hotch means when he mumbles out that part about ghosts, he doesn’t catch the exact wording but the implication. His dismissiveness towards Johnny Martin “some people you never notice, they’re just ghosts and there’s nothing you can do to change, to be seen”. Dave doesn’t ask what Hotch means by that and he still manages to find his answer.

Hotch has this tendency to step back. All his manners and smiles are for flourish, Southern hospitality that allows him to nimbly work his way through a crowd. Secretly, he’s an introvert. He always finds his way to the corner of the room, back facing the wall and watching. It’s where he’s most relaxed, where he’s unnoticed.

A ghost.

But even ghosts can be found out.

Even ghosts give a little bump in the night.

Aaron Hotchner doesn’t actually believe in ghosts but for a week he thinks he might. It freaks him out so bad that he tells Derek but he’s lost so much sleep freaking out over this that he mostly just sounds a little crazy. The fact that he tells Derek speaks measures but before everyone else, Derek was who he relied on and Derek is who he falls back on.

There was a broken plate in the kitchen, a plate that he didn’t break because he’d only gone to the living room. He couldn’t tell what it was but there had been this strange scratching. Then the plate fell. Honestly, he tore off. Ran to his bedroom and to Haley and when she asked what that sound was he said he hadn’t heard anything. Though he didn’t tell Derek that part, he more or less crawled into Haley’s arms and laid there until he felt safe again. Until her half-conscious rubbing at his back lulled him back to sleep.

They didn’t die so at least it wasn’t a serial killer.

It’s a cat.

Hotch’s ghost is a cat.

An old mangy orange thing that Hotch reluctantly takes into the house, Haley names him Casper. Naturally, she can’t let it go. Her husband the bravely trained, frequently praised federal agent tucking and running because an elderly cat had managed to let itself into their home.

Derek asks her about it, the ghost, the next time they all go out for drinks and she makes him swear to secrecy but he tells the others.

Not that day, nearly a year or more later.

After New York.

Penelope Garcia stays up all night watching what she thinks is going to be her friend’s last hours. Watches Hotch get tossed like a rag doll by a car bomb, and land discarded out of the view of the cameras. Just gone and she’s torn between not wanting to know and knowing she has to look. No matter what she’s going to see, she has to go on. They sift through the recording, speeding up the time-lapse. She watches him slowly gain consciousness over a stretch of twenty minutes, all taking place in less than a minute for her. Sees him stumble as he tries to stand, sagging against a street lamp and gagging up nothing. His stomach was too empty.

He’s disoriented, limping around the road.

Then came Sam.

The kid who tried to kill Hotch standing over his shoulder, touching his arm, and so close, so dangerously close. She cries, sits there and cries as she urges Derek to be faster. What if he has to finish the job? Kate was moving around, they were both alive, but Hotch can’t protect her. He can hardly stand.

He screams himself hoarse.

As Derek runs up on them all he can smell is burning rubber and blood. He’s breathing oddly, too quickly and his ribs aren’t moving the right way but Derek can see Hotch. He’s right there coherently speaking, words clear. So it doesn’t matter, the blood-splattered out on the road and running down Hotch’s collar.

And then Sam…

And the ambulance.

And Kate.

Reid, Prentiss, and Rossi are waiting for Hotch when he steps away from Kate. Reid had seen how immobile Hotch’s right shoulder had been, how stiffly it had moved as Hotch struggled into his kevlar. Rossi had seen his poor coloring, the bruises under his eyes from his lack of sleep. The way the cuts looked against his face. Prentiss had been behind him. She always is, creepily just a step behind. She’d seen how awkwardly his right leg had taken his weight. She even rolled her eyes when she noticed he forced himself to stop limping once she saw.

But what they all knew, what they’d all seen was a clock.

Another timer dangerously close to zero.

You know what they say. The bigger the man, the harder the fall.

Emily can’t get the sound of his body hitting the ground out of her head.

Hotch gets a room, courtesy of the entire hospital still being cleared out, to sleep off the drugs they give him. Groggily he groans, wakes up enough to look around him and falls back to sleep.

JJ gets sick, it’s too early in the pregnancy to be morning sickness but they’ve all just had an awful night and she’s filled with this senseless guit. Can’t stop thinking about Hotch’s soft, sheepish congratulations. Why didn’t she just tell him? What did she think was going to happen?

9/11 left New York hypervigilant and even with the threat eliminated the team is asked to stay in one place. So they stay with Hotch, all crammed up on top of each other. Legs thrown over laps and blankets jerked like children, a group of adults afraid to fall asleep. It’s impossible to sleep so Derek tells them about Hotch’s ghost, filling the dark room with noise. Better than sitting here just watching Hotch breathe, waiting for each inhale. He exaggerates it, of course. Hotch is asleep and can't exactly defend himself. Not that there’s all that much he could say-- he spent three sleepless nights ghost-hunting a cat.

“He ever tell you about that ghost haunting him?”

The next morning, still groggy and his presence of mind making it impossible to not feel the pain but too heavy to really care, he doesn’t fight with Derek nearly as much as he should.

They take the case of The Angel Maker Part 2 and, for once, Hotch does what’s best for him. He takes time off, drives home to save his ears from the trouble of the jet climbing to proper altitude. He gets back on a Wednesday, the others are waiting (Garcia may or may not have tracked his phone). Climbs slowly out of the car, the shrapnel wound on his leg hasn’t healed yet, and doesn’t look nearly that scary standing in jeans he’s had to roll the bottoms of and a patchy beard.

Which is why he doesn’t wear jeans. Suit pants he can have tailored to fit both his waist and the length of his legs. The problem with Levi's or a pair of Wranglers is that one of those measurements is always wrong. So the waist is small enough but the length isn’t long enough. He has to compromise one of them and he typically caves in the length.

Garcia knits him a hat that winter. It’s black to match the rest of his clothes with a red little fuzzy ball at the top. He thinks he can accept the gift and forget it-- like the gloves Reid got him or the cigars from Rossi. That’s not the case. He wears the hat. In a mix-up, a crowd of suits, he’s much easier to catch with his little red fuzz ball sticking out over the crowd.

And he isn’t allowed to forget about Reid’s gloves. He’s guilted into those too and finds himself being ushered into cases where the weather will be chilly with his only access being that hat and a pair of gloves.

The parts of Aaron Hotchner that he gives without prompting aren’t necessarily not him. He is decently grumpy and a workaholic. The man can not take a compliment, a fact that Morgan and Prentiss love to exploit. He’s boring, repetitive. Anyone who has spent more than a week with him can testify to that. He just likes to eat the same foods over and over and isn’t too picky but he won’t touch uncooked cauliflower because it’s texture is weird. Like a bouncy ball. As far as spending time with him goes, another weird thing to learn is that he’s messy. Methodical, yes. Messy… at the same time. He does have a bookshelf and his books are organized but he’s also really bad for leaving his unfinished books out on tables like decorations.

The parts that don’t come readily, the parts that require reading or profiling or just generally bugging the shit out of him are decent too. He’s an optimist. He wants to believe everyone is good, redeemable. Partially because he needs himself to be and because he’s a hopeless romantic and an optimist and that’s an impossible thing to be in this line of work. But some people are just good and some people are worth a second chance (and a third and fourth). He thinks that one-day people will forget he exists-- what happens when the team doesn’t need him to be around? When there’s no reason he has to be invited out?

And then what?

Aaron Hotchner is afraid of becoming a ghost again.

#criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jennifer jareua #spencer reid

[xxnatxx]

Chapter 3 - A Daily Thing

masterlist for this fic!

Reply, message, etc., to be on taglist!

TW: slight mentions of sex, cursing.

So there he was,

19, with a newborn baby boy, and no baby momma to help him raise Ren.

For 6 years Bakugou managed to somehow juggle his work life, social life, and private life with his son incredibly well. Though he obviously struggled being a single dad, he of course had his friends to help him out with Ren, as well as him parents who were more than stoked to have a grandchild who looked just like Bakugou.

And now, Bakugou is 25 and Ren is 6 years old and about to enter first grade! He hasn’t gotten his quirk yet, and though he looks just like his hot headed father, his personality is quite opposite of his. Ren was a sweet boy, who was often times shy and quite emotional, but he had his fathers big heart and perseverance. Bakugou didn’t really know how he ended up with such an angel, given that he himself had a pretty explosive personality and his birth mother, Olivia, had a pretty nasty one. But of course, he absolutely loved Ren, and would without a doubt do anything for him

He and Ren lived in a pretty modern and spacious apartment, and when Bakugou would head off to his newly opened agency, Ren would stay with his grand parents. Ren never really questioned why he didn’t have a mom like the kids in the movies and tv shows, all he knew was that Bakugou was his dad, and taht was enough to keep the little boy happy as ever. And Bakugou knew that eventually he’d have to explain to Ren the truth about why he doesn’t have a mom, wether it be in 5, 10, or 15 years, he didn’t really know what he was gonna do when the time came, but he didn’t like spending time dwelling on it, he’d rather spend his time with Ren teaching him how to be a good, humble person, because unlike Bakugou at his age, Ren is actually a pretty decent human.

7: 05 AM

Bakugou is roughly shaken awake from his dream by Ren, who’s whispering-screaming,

“Dad! Dad! It’s time for school, I have school today remember!” he excitedly says as Bakugou scoops him up and ruffles his spikey blond locks saying,

“Wow, you’re really starting 1st grade today huh buddie”

“Yup! So cmon dad lets go” he says pulling Bakugous fingers with his dainty little hands, wanting him to help him get dressed for his first day.

Bakugou would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he had a partner to help him care for Ren, because even though he didn’t like admitting it, taking care of a child is hard, especially on your own. Maybe if he has someone, they could help out with Ren when Bakugou couldn’t, help guide Ren, and also, give Bakugou some comfort as well. Since Ren was born, Bakugou hasn’t been with anyone, no dates, no one night stands, nothing. And he honestly did think about finding soemone one day, but it just really wasn’t something to get his hopes up for. Ren was all he needed.

8:15 AM,

It’s now almost time for the children and their parents to start tricking into the classroom to officially start the first day of Kindergarten. And you were beyond nervous. First job since graduating college, and after earning two degrees, it was finally time to start your dream job as a children’s science teacher.

You’d always been pretty good with kids, and given that you had an ocean quirk, a science teacher was just something that came with lots of interest to you. Of course, you were also beyond excited to meet your kids, but one thing you had forgotten about was meeting the kids parents as well. Kids at this age are usually pretty sweet and innocent, (though some are a little tricky to work it) but parents, were often times judgemental of their kids teachers, which is understandable, but it still made you nearly shit your pants to think about.

15 minutes later, a few kids and parents start to trickle in to your ocean themed classroom, and so far, things were going pretty well. You were introducing yourself to both the parents and kids, guiding them to their assigned seats, trying to make everyone feel as comfortable as possible. Most kids are being quite energetic towards you, one even running up to you and hugging your legs, telling you how excited he was to start school. Another kid complimenting the light blue dress you were wearing, which somewhat color coordinated with your classroom decor. You were so flattered to see that your new students were fond of you and more outgoing than you thought they’d be. Well, all except for one certain blond 6 year old.

After a majority of the kids and parents had come in and began filling the room with chatter, you were still waiting outside the door for one more student by the name of Ren, to begin class. While you’re talking to another teacher that had approached you previously, you hear slightly heavy foot steps coming up behind you. As you wave goodbye to the teacher you were conversing with, you swiftly turn around, catching the piercing red eyes of a somewhat tall man. His natural attractiveness caught you by suprise, and you let out a gasp that only you could hear as you observe his chiseled features. He looked as if he was constantly on edge, yet he still had this dewy radiant skin and beautiful blond hair tied that was tied in a half up-half down messy bun. He seemed to be around the same age as you, but could honestly still pass as a teenager if he wasn’t so buff and built. You quickly notice that he’s wearing a hero costume, it hadn’t registered in your brain that the man standing a few feet in front of you was actually Dynamight, the #5 Pro-Hero, until you look down scanning his costume. That’s when you notice the little boy with the same blonde hair and ruby eyes that was securely holding onto his leg with both arms, peeking over at you.

“Oh, hello there, I”m Mrs. L/N, are you Ren by any chance? I’ve been waiting for you to get here” you say gently putting your hands on your knees to peek down at the boy who seemed to be quite nervous.

Looking back up at the stunning pro hero you say,

“So then that must make you his dad, right? It’s nice to meet you guys” with a kind and gentle smile, speaking in the most genuine voice you can, to hopefully put the small boy at ease.

Instead of responding, he simply stares back at you, completely still and completely quiet.

Bakugou has never really found anyone he’s met attractive to the point of having a crush on them. Nor did he want to, since he told himself he’d be forever alone until he had Ren, he just never really cared for crushes, feelings, or relationships. But now, he’s starting at your bright E/C eyes, noticing how the warm smile on your face has yet to fade, and how the genuine kind energy you radiate is enough to put even his incredibly reserved son at ease. As he begins to subtly observe your delicate features, he feels the depths of his stomach begin to flutter. But why? Why is it that all of a sudden, he’s feeling something he’s never felt before?

After a few silent seconds, Bakugou notices his son begin to step slightly in front of him, and pulling on his pant leg as if urging him to respond to your question. As he meets your eyes again, he sees you patiently waiting for a response,

“Yes, sorry, i’m Ren’s father, nice to meet you” he says as firmly as he can, hopefully to regain some of the confidence he lost when you first spoke to him.

“Thank you,

So it seems you guys are the last ones to get here so let’s head inside and i’ll lead you to your seat, Ren” you respond looking down at the small boy who now seems to be a little less visibly anxious. They both follow you into the classroom, where Bakugou and Ren immediately notice the interesting room decor you have scattered across your room. There’s green bean bags and blue stools in one corner of the room, right next to a bigger-than-average fish tank that’s filled with odd colored fish, both big and small. Along with seaweed, bubbles, sand, and various ocean animals that have been painted on the walls to make it look like the underwater ocean.

You lead them to Ren’s seat and walk up to the front of the class to begin your introduction to the class as a whole. Everyone who isn’t already looking at you, turns your way as you begin to say,

“Okay, so it seems like everyone’s here’s now which means it’s time for me to officially introduce myself to everyone. But first I’d like to give a big welcome to everyone, I’m so glad I can be your teacher this year and hopefully, you guys can have fun learning about science since I know it can be a little hard to grasp sometimes,

Bakugou can’t help but be mesmerized by you as you speak, he’s never come across someone who’s been this kind that hasn’t completely irritated him. And Ren seems to like you as well, his previous teachers were both quite loud and obnoxious, which resulted in Ren not being able to be very comfortable around them. But seeing how Ren’s already sitting at the edge of his seat, eager to hear you talk more about yourself, he thinks it’s gonna be a pretty good year for Ren in school.

You continue speaking, now beginning to talk about your personal self,

So, my name is Y/N L/N, you guys can call me Miss. L/N, Miss.{First letter of L/N}, or Miss, really just whatever you feel most comfortable with. I graduated from XXX College last year with a degree in Children’s education and another degree in Marine Biology, I have a dog named Bubbles, my favorite color is F/C, I’m 25 years old and I love to cook” you say to the class, still having the same smile and glimmer in your eyes as before.

“So if you guys want to ask me any questions about myself to get to know me a little better, you can raise your hand and I’ll answer” as soon as you finish speaking, you see a bunch of tiny little hands eagerly wave in the air,

“Me me me! I have a question!” one little girl in a high pitched voice says.

You lightly giggle at everyone’s response, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou. And For a split second, your eyes meet as you scan the room for the little girl who’s lost in a sea of hands, and the feeling of rumbling in his stomach returns, at this point, he has to admit, you’re absolutely beautiful. And you’re smart, enjoys cooking like him, and are the same age as he is. These things only make the feeling in his stomach grow bigger.

“Yes, what’s your question honey” you say when you finally spot the little girl in the back of the class.

“So what’s your quirk, do you have one?Because I do! ” she excitedly asks.

The class awaits your response as they redirect their vision from the girl to you, and you say

“I do have a quirk actually, it’s called Ocean, I can basically manipulate water, communicate with, control and summon ocean animals, breathe underwater, and so on, and it’s actually why my room is decorated the way it is and the reason I have a degree in Marine Biology!” you respond, and your response earns you a series of responses from the kids such as,

“Woooaaahhh”

“That’s such a cool quirk! No fair!”

“Why aren’t you a hero then Miss. L/N?” one student asks, which leads Bakugou to then wonder,

Yeah, why isn’t she a hero? With a quirk like that she could end up being a pretty high ranked hero, so why an elementary school teacher instead?

You respond by saying,

“Well, I actually was gonna be a hero at some point, i even have my hero license and went to a hero school, but I realized before I graduated high school that I actually wasn’t very passionate about being a hero, but I realized I much rather enjoyed science and working with kids. So, I decided to study in college instead. And now i’m here.” finishing yourself off with a smile.

“But now, we’re gonna play some games to hopefully get to know each other a little better....” you continue speaking, explaining different games and such, but Bakugou isn’t even listening. It’s official , you’ve intrigued him. He can’t help but want to speak to you again even if it’s just about Ren and school, but when he begins to feel this way, he quickly shuts the thoughts that overtake his brain down. You’re Ren’s teacher first of all, and though it wouldn’t be illegal to date you, it’s still a little weird. He’s also not looking for a relationship, not now and not ever. So before he can let whatever he’s feeling develop, he tells himself to not take interest in you. If he’s never taken interest in anyone before, why should he start now?

Parents have to either drop off their kids at the front of the school, or walk with them to their classroom at the elementary school. Usually, Bakugou would’ve just dropped Ren off at the front and driven off to work, but now, he might just have to start walking him to class. He had already declared to himself that he wouldn’t take interest in you, and simply push his atraction to you away until he no longer got knots in his stomach with every glance you gave him, every conversation you guys had, just any interaction really.

So every day, he’ll go in to school walking Ren to class, and causally bring up some sort of school related thing to you as Ren waltzed into class, which would eventually lead to a few minutes of casual conversation. This was as far as Bakugou would let himself go though, it was just a simple little thing that would fill him with enough satisfaction to last for the rest of his lonely life.

It was just,

a daily thing.

taglist:

@unicornlover25, @sam-i-am-1025, @nightlygiggless, @aphelionsyzygy, @bigdaddyriotsbitch

#bakugou x reader #bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou fanfiction #mha #bakugou katsuki #dad bakugou #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader

[op-sheepy]

ok so I'm particularly interested in

Bellamy Law

Law and Bible stuff

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

shichibukai applications

reverse hanahaki disease (?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

if you feel like elaborating on any of these!

This is gonna get long and I actually contemplated posting them separately but would that have been more work? Yeah, that felt like more work so for anyone interested, check under the cut. :D

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Bellamy Law

Hm… This would be an attempt to explore the parallels and contrasts between Bellamy and Law. I've always found it fascinating that the former was a foil to the latter.

They both come from well-off  towns in the North Blue.

Bellamy left because of boredom. Law had no choice because Flevance.

Both ended up seeking Doflamingo  because of  his notoriety as a pirate. Both admired him initially

Doffy favored one over the other though. Bellamy always sought his approval but was never really part of the inner circle Doflamingo cared about.

Law got the dubious privilege of being part of the family despite being absent for so long. Even offered one of the highest seats by Doffy's side for seemingly nothing.

Law had no trouble turning his back on Doffy once he realized the man's nature. Bellamy tried to stick to his principles until the end despite admitting that he new he was wrong.

Bellamy can (and did) quit piracy after his ordeal with Doflamingo. Having the option to live peacefully, perhaps a return to his previous life (the one he considered boring). Law can't do that quite as easily what with his Devil fruit and his reputation.

I thought it would be interesting trying to explore what Bellamy was thinking. Did he hear the Donquixote Pirates talk about their missing 'family'? Did he get to see Doffy be amused at Law's rise as a Supernova while he kept being reminded of his own status? Did Law save Bellamy partially because he also saw what he could have been had Corazon not saved him?

On principle, Bellamy should have hated Trafalgar Law. Does. Bastard even saved him without him wanting it. But there was something about the shadows haunting those eyes and Bellamy started to wonder.

He had heard the family talk about Law before. The child personally taught by Doflamingo, chosen to be his right hand. Never was he compared to the man because Law was just obviously better. Smarter. Stronger. Bellamy was ever just an uncouth thug.

He was allowed to 'borrow' Doflamingo's symbol while Law had an empty seat waiting for his return–a seat Bellamy had wanted enough to risk everything for.

Maybe he had resented, Trafalgar Law for carelessly rejecting the things he had that Bellamy had always desired. In the end too, Trafalgar Law did prove to be better. He'd done as a child what Bellamy had trouble doing even as he was now.

But having been given the chance to observe the other man as they all recovered, he wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether despite Law being better than Bellamy, Bellamy had had it better–barring the poor life choices.

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Law and Bible stuff

This is just me wanting to know how many biblical parallels and themes I can draw from Law, the Donquixote brothers, the characters associated with them, and his backstory. Honestly not sure whether this would become a fic and in what style or I'm gonna give up and just make it a post.

Not gonna elaborate on them much but here are the ideas in more bullet points (yay):

Law gets familiar with all four horsemen of the apocalypse: conquest, war, famine, and death. He even survives them.

Law is like the son in the parable of the prodigal son to the Donquixote pirates. Except the themes are inverted.

Doflamingo and Rocinante -> Cain and Abel

Ope Ope no Mi -> Granting eternal life by sacrificing one's own life

Gods descending or living among humans. Also, Homing and his family being prosecuted for other people's sins.

That scene where they were hanged by their arms outstretched looks like a crucifixion. Also, Rocinante was on the right while Doflamingo was on the left. Similar to how the penitent thief was on the right and the unrepentant one to the left.

Flevance being considered a paradise with walls/fences/gates and somewhere Law cannot return to.

In the panel where the Donquixote pirates are seated at the table, there were thirteen of them with Doffy at the center. Same as The Last Supper

There are a lot more of these (David and Goliath, Solomon, Jonah, Job, etc.) but I kinda lost the notes and some are more visual so I can't really explain it too well. This would is a drabble series to emphasize or highlight the parallels so no proper snippet for this one.

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Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

Originally an idea to get around most of the Heart Pirates being nameless but evolved to include other characters as kids. Chopper is a kindergarten teacher and he convinces Law to take over his class for a week because somehow Law has the qualifications to and free time. Naturally, he wasn't able to say no.

Unfortunately, despite not being terrible at handling children, Chopper's class is filled with menaces. Also, despite not being terrible, Law can still be awkward so...

"Mr. Trofao–fargar—"

"Trafalgar."

The kid—which one was this one again? Shit, he should really get them name plates or something—scrunched up his face and tried harder, "Tar-pal—"

"Law. Just call me Law."

"Mr. Low"—eh, close enough—"can I go to the bathroom?" Wide imploring eyes stared up at him.

"Sure, go ahead." Law gestured towards the exit of the classroom with his head.

The kid just stared expectantly at him and he tried to suppress the need to narrow his eyes.

"Is there… anything else?"

"Mr. Chopper always comes with me to hold my hand."

Really?

"Mr. Chopper isn't here. You should practice doing it on your own now." He said after a deep inhale.

"But the monsters might get me…"

"No, they won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Before the kid could open his mouth again to argue, he added, "Besides, children taste terrible so you're safe."

The kid looked stricken and took a step back from him. Uh oh. Glistening eyes, wobbling lower lip… "Alright! I'll go with you." The kid did not look reassured. In fact he looked like going alone with Law was the last thing he wanted to do. Guess, he kinda implied that he ate children didn't he? Oops.

Well, the kid needs to go and he's not going to be cleaning up after him if he wets himself.

Law glanced at the rest of the children. It was Arts and Craft time and they seemed preoccupied enough. Still, Law doubted Chopper ever left these kids alone–already he could see some of them glancing up at him, waiting for him to leave no doubt to cause trouble. That Monkey kid in particular looked extremely suspicious.

He stood up from his crouch and clapped twice to get everyone's attention.

"Alright. Fall in line. Single file."

There was some grumbling and questioning directed at him. "What's going on?"

Law shrugged. "You're all going to the bathroom."

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Shichibukai Application Forms

Crackfic where the World Government and relevant parties review various Shichbukai Applications. Most submitted by the pirates applying themselves, some produced by their own staff. They discuss and debate. As well as judge pirate resumes.

She scanned the document. Terrible format, really. If you fail to impress within the first page, you've failed entirely. There just wasn't anyone promising enough in this batch of applications or any of the other ones before. The last one had been that clown. "Apprentice to the Pirate King," was a pretty hefty credential.

"Oh, how about this one? Three years experience pillaging, and they even listed all the towns they looted." One of the newly transferred administrative staff said.

"None of these are worth considering at all. You know, when Mihawk was asked to submit his application, he hadn't bothered with all of this. He just sent us a card with his name on it and the title "World's Strongest Swordsman," underneath."

The staff perked up. "Oh, there was an application like that." There was scramble and some shuffling before a plain white card was produced. "Here."

"'From Trafalgar Law'. What does this even mean?"

"Well, it did come with a big box..."

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Reverse Hanahaki Disease

(?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

Haha. At first it was going to be that way (because it is hilarious) but the inflicted would probably choke to death too soon. Or if both enemies had it, they'd end up just coughing flowers at each other until they stopped being enemies.

The version I ended up going with was that this variant of Hanahaki, instead of afflicting those with unrequited love, affected those in denial instead. The reverse part comes from the original idea that this would usually happen if you somehow fell in love with your nemesis (someone you originally hated). So it's not the thought that the other person can't love you, it's that you can't accept that you love that other person. You get cured by confessing to the person sincerely.

This is actually another KidLaw (surprise!). And the flower coughed up directly represents the person they're in love with (I went with Oda's flower representation for them because I found it funny for plot)

So the idea is that, you get sick but you don't automatically know (maybe) who it is because that's part of being in denial. Kid and Law have many enemies after all. In this story they both get it though not exactly at the same time and not known to the other.

He survived Amber Lead Syndrome only to be killed off by a stupid flower disease that apparently knows more about his own feelings than he does.

He glared at the petals. Tulips. Red.

An image of a cocky grin and a shock of red hair flashed through his mind and—nope. That's not right.

He coughed harder, tears stinging his eyes with the effort. More flowers. Now he has enough for a bouquet.

Alright, he was a doctor. He could do this. Differential time.

First, which variant does he have. He doesn't particularly feel unloved or hopeless. There wasn't anyone he wanted in particular to love him. Ok, nothing. It was maybe safe to say he had that other variant.

Which was stupid because Law had many enemies and he hated all of them.

And cue the racking coughs. More red. He was very familiar with that particular shade.

New theory. This was a new variant that somehow makes you sick when you think of the person you hated the most.

Yes, that had to be it. He thought as he all but collapsed on the floor from the sudden paroxysm.

I knew this was gonna get long. :) Oh well...

Thank you for playing. :D

#One Piece #One piece fanfiction #wip game #trafalgar law #donquixote brothers #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote roci #donquixote homing #donquixote pirates #one piece bellamy #bellamy the hyena #eustass kid #kidlaw #trafalgar d water law

[munchcorner]

Complicated (BakuDeku)

Bakugou and Midoriya knew what they wanted ever since they were children. They both wanted to be heroes, and that's one thing that will never change no matter how many times their relationship changes, and when their relationship slowly got better, feelings bloomed. They wholeheartedly believed that entering a relationship together would help them grow and achieve their dreams together as they push each other to become better. But the opposite happened. These feelings had put them in complicated situations.

Bakugou stood in the middle of the gym, a bouquet of red tulips and violets in his hands as he waits for Midoriya. Today was supposed to be one of their training sessions with All Might, but Bakugou chose to ask All Might to give him this night to confess his feelings for Midoriya. He can feel his hands trembling and sweating as he waits for Midoriya to enter the gym. It's not because he prepared for the last three months, but because he was scared. He was afraid of being rejected because even though Midoriya would forgive him for everything he's done, it doesn't guarantee that he'll reciprocate Bakugou's feelings.

"Calm your ass down," Bakugou whispers to himself as he closes his eyes and raises his head, "nothing's guaranteed, so worry about the results after,"

Bakugou takes a deep breath and releases it before facing the door. Now isn't the time to be scared. He practiced what he'd say for the past three months, memorized every word of the confession he wrote in his notebook. It should be easy, but it wasn't.

Midoriya walked through the door, eyes scanning the gym to search for All Might when he saw that Bakugou was alone.

"Where's All Might?" Midoriya asks, eyes wandering around the gym searching for his teacher that he failed to notice the bouquet of flower in Bakugou's hand.

The gym was empty, practically the same as when they're training with All Might. Bakugou looked up ways to make his confession as romantic as possible. Skimmed through every romantic shop, there were but decided that simply standing in front of Midoriya would be the best choice. They didn't need anything fancy. They didn't need the stupid heart decorations, didn't need a cheesy confession that involved the entire class holding up cards that would spell something that Bakugou himself could say. He believed that standing there and baring his heart would be the best because nothing could beat the sincerity of the heart.

"He's not here," Bakugou answers, capturing Midoriya's attention. That's when the latter noticed the bouquet in Bakugou's hand.

"Oh," Midoriya whispered, his eyes glued on the bouquet. He couldn't tell what was happening, couldn't tell if he wasn't aware that Bakugou would confess to someone tonight. He raises his head, stares at Bakugou, and awkwardly scratches his nape, "looks like I didn't get a memo about the event tonight,"

Midoriya's heart stings at the thought of Bakugou confessing to someone else but seeing the flowers in his hands, he could tell. Those flowers meant loyalty, love, passion, and devotion. Bakugou wouldn't hold onto those if he weren't going to confess to someone.

"I'll just take my leave. Good luck," Midoriya says and pauses to eye the bouquet once again before forcing himself to smile at Bakugou, "good luck confessing, Kacchan,"

Bakugou raises a brow and pushes the bouquet to Mirodiya's chest, startling him, "it's for you, dumbass,"

Midoriya blinks at him, too frozen to move, "What?"

Bakugou feels the heat rush to his face and ears. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His mind was blank, and all those efforts of memorizing his confession were useless because he ended up opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

Irritation starts to bubble in Bakugou's chest as his plan fails. It wasn't supposed to go this way, but he couldn't back out. So, he stares Midoriya straight in the and, with his heart pounding in his chest, says, "I like you, Deku,"

It was four words, four simple words, but it was enough to make Midoriya's heart go on a rampage. He lifts his hand to take the bouquet Bakugou had given him and stares at it with disbelief, "can you repeat what you said?"

Bakugou grits his teeth and swallows. He doesn't want to repeat it, but the disbelief in Midoriya's face was annoying, "I said I fucking like you, dumbass!"

Midoriya blinks before tears start to fill his eyes, "that's not how people confess, you know, Kacchan?"

Bakugou rolls his eyes, "you were pressing my buttons,"

"How? I just asked you to repeat yourself to make sure I didn't mishear," Midoriya defends himself and wipes away the tear that fell from his eyes.

"How does someone mishear a sentence like that?" Bakugou says and walks towards Midoriya to cup his cheeks and wipe his tears, "it's not something I'd say daily,"

"That's the point. I sounded like something you wouldn't say," Midoriya says and sniffs, "well, not to me, at least,"

Bakugou furrows his brows and pinches Midoriya's cheeks between his fingers before pulling them to stretch, "and who told you that you wouldn't hear these words from me, huh?"

"Wait, Kacchan! It hurts!" Midoriya complains as he tries to pry Bakugou's hands off his cheeks with one hand to avoid getting the flowers involved.

Bakugou lets go and raises his eyebrow at Midoriya, "now, did you hear what I said earlier?"

Midoriya grins while rubbing his cheeks, "can I hear it again?"

"You-" Bakugou says and pulls Midoriya into a tight hug, whispering, "I like you. You annoying piece of shit,"

They both chuckle at Bakugou's last words. Midoriya wraps his arms around Bakugou and buries his face on the crook of his neck, "I like you too, Kacchan,"

Their relationship slowly started to change then. That night was spent with them sitting on the gym floor with Midoriya leaning on Bakugou's shoulder as they talk. The following days were then spent with awkward good mornings, cheek and forehead kisses, and hand-holding. They weren't subtle about their new relationship, and everyone could put two and two together.

Their faces would turn red at the simply intertwining their pinkies, would get flustered when their skin accidentally brushes against each other as they pass by, and there's always an evident smile on their face as they watch each other's performance during class activities.

Everything was fine. They were happy and in love. They were at the top of their class, and they were growing together. But everything changed when Mirdoriya's new quirks manifested.

Bakugou was always there for him, sacrificing his sleep to help him, staying up late to make notes for Midoriya to try when using his quirk because he knows Midoriya likes things written down, he's there when Midoriya's frustrated about not making progress. Bakugou had always been there.

"Bakugou," Aizawa calls out after a class exercise.

They were in the classroom to receive comments about their performances earlier. The atmosphere was heavy, considering what happened just a few hours ago.

"I know," Bakugou answers before Aizawa could even say anything.

"You know I had high expectations for you during that activity," Aizawa starts. Midoriya watches as Bakugou fist one hand under his table, "you're one of the smartest students of this class. So, I don't understand why you'd make a miscalculation of blowing up an entire building and almost killing hundreds of people. I know it's an activity but what if it was real? What if your classmates weren't there to back you up?"

"I know," Bakugou whispers through gritted teeth. He knows, he's aware, he didn't need anyone to mention his mistakes. But he needed to hear it.

"It's disappointing," Aizawa says and proceeds to tell the others his comments.

Bakugou couldn't hear anything after that. All he can hear is the ringing in his ear as the memories of his classmates rushing to save the civilians in the activity keep flashing in his head.

The class ended, and Bakugou was the first one to walk out the door. He needed time to alone, he needed to clear his head, but that was impossible when he hears someone chasing after him.

"Not now, Deku," Bakugou whispers after stopping to let Midoriya catch up.

"Kacchan," Midoriya whispers, hand reaching out to hold Bakugou's in hopes of comforting him.

"I said not now," Bakugou whispers and turns around to look at Midoriya with glassy eyes.

Midoriya reaches for the back of Bakugou's head and guides him to rest his forehead on his shoulder as he sobs. He wanted to tell Bakugou. It's alright, everyone makes mistakes, but he knows Bakugou all too well to tell him that. No words would be enough to make Bakugou feel better, so he opted to remain silent and let Bakugou cry on his shoulder.

After that day, Bakugou started to work harder. He was putting his everything into every activity and is putting more into his training with Midoriya.

"Kacchan," Midoriya calls out after All Might had given them a break from Midoriya's quirk training.

"You're holding back, aren't you?" Bakugou asks and glares at Midoriya.

"I wasn't-"

"Stop lying!" Bakugou yells and pulls Midoriya's collar, "tell me, why were you holding back?"

"You looked exhausted. You looked like you'd collapse anytime," Midoriya explains and wraps his fingers around Bakugou's wrist, "look at the bags under your eyes. You look like someone who hasn't slept in a week,"

Bakugou grits his teeth and pulls Midoriya closer to him, "stop worrying about me and think about how to control all your goddamn quirks,"

"But Kacchan," Midoriya says and removes Bakugou's hands from him, "you're my partner. I can't go all out when you look like you can't handle it,"

"What?" Bakugou asks, obviously offended. He can feel his hand twitching, but before he could even do anything, he freezes at Midoriya's words.

"Let's end this," Midoriya says, his voice firm and eyes determined.

"Stop, what? Fighting?" Bakugou asks despite knowing what Midoriya means, "fine, we'll talk about this at the dorms,"

"Kacchan, you know-"

Bakugou's hand releases sparks, and the smell of smoke start to surround them, making Midoriya stop, "You must be taking my feelings lightly if you're going to stop this just because of one small argument,"

"It's not because of this, Kacchan. We've been holding each other back," Midoriya explains while looking straight into Bakugou's glaring eyes, hoping that by doing so, he'd make Bakugou listen, "isn't suffocating to always spend your time helping me, staying up late to write notes and pointers. Aren't you suffocated that I'm the center of your world because I am,"

Bakugou's heart clenches. He's been doing everything for Midoriya. He'd been sacrificing so much only for Midoriya to feel suffocated. Bakugou rarely feels self-doubt. He rarely regrets decisions he knows he did right, but this made him question everything he's been doing up to now.

"You're just tired. Let's tell All Might we need some rest," Bakugou says and walks away, hoping to save their relationship, but Midoriya grabs his wrist to stop him.

"Kacchan," Midoriya pleads, "let's just end this. Things will only get worse if we keep going,"

Bakugou grits his teeth and pulls his hand away, "if you to end it so badly, then let me stay,"

"What?" Midoriya asks, confused and uncertain if he heard Bakugou right.

"Let's go back to the way we were," Bakugou begs. He can feel his eyes sting as his heart shatters. But he does his best to keep his voice as stable as he can.

"Kacchan," Midoriya whispers, not knowing what kind of relationship Bakugou wants to return to.

Did he want to be friends? Rivals? Acquaintances? Their relationship had constantly been changing, and Midoriya couldn't pinpoint what 'back to the way we were before' meant.

"We've been together since childhood, Deku. You've always been stuck to me like glue so let me stay. I don't care what relationship we have. Just let me stay by your side," Bakugou explains and sniffles. He wipes away the tear that fell from his eyes before turning around to face Midoriya.

Midoriya bites his bottom lip, "okay," he agrees because just like Bakugou, he couldn't imagine what life is like without Kacchan.

Training continues without them saying anything to All Might, but they're certain he knows.

They returned to the dorm in silence and went their separate ways. No good nights were said, and no good night kisses were given. It was weird not doing any of those, but they were aware of their new relationship, and they both knew the new boundaries they've set up the moment they returned to being friends.

Bakugou and Midoriya didn't have to announce their breakup. Everyone noticed the moment Bakugou and Midoriya started joining their own friends for breakfast, lunch and heading to the dorms. No one asked them anything, no one acted differently, but they were considerate for not asking for details.

Years passed, and Bakugou and Midoriya maintained being friends. They were both caring towards each other, but they made sure not to care too much. Bakugou returned to being the same person that he was back before he and Midoriya started dating. He was back to being incredibly focused on his goals and even became the person with the most variety of special moves.

Bakugou was back to the person Midoriya had always admired, not that he stopped admiring Bakugou when they were dating. But he seemed to be back to before he chose to focus on Midoriya instead of himself.

Midoriya didn't stay the same, though. He slowly became more confident, assertive, and more determined. He's already mastered most of his quirks thanks to his classmates, but most especially because of All Might and Bakugou. He learned to combine his quirks and learned how to use seventy-five percent of All for One.

They grew as individuals, which was enough reason for Midoriya to believe that they can try again. So, when the winter ball came, Midoriya asks Bakugou to meet him in the gym. He stood in the middle of it, like how Bakugou did the night he confessed to him. In his hands is the same bouquet Bakugou had given when he confessed.

Midoriya can feel his heart drumming against his chest as he waits for Bakugou to enter, but as he waits, he couldn't help but smile as he thinks that maybe this is what Bakugou felt when he was in that position.

"Ahh," Midoriya whispers, "this is nerve wreaking,"

He tries to calm himself by talking to himself, and when he hears Bakugou enter the gym, he stops talking, "stop muttering to yourself, you fucking idiot, I can hear it from here. It gives me the creeps seeing you talking to yourself,"

"What the fuck is this?" Bakugou asks upon seeing Midoriya. The scene in front of him is like deja vu, but now they're in opposite situations.

"Hey," Midoriya greets, making Bakugou raise his brow as he walks towards him.

"What do you mean 'hey?' Explain," Bakugou says with his hands deep in his pocket, too scared to take the bouquet Midoriya was giving him. Too scared to hope that this could mean a second chance for their love to bloom.

"I don't know how to do this," Midoriya confesses and releases an awkward chuckle, "it's awkward to confess to you when I'm the one who broke it off,"

Bakugou rolls his eyes and scoffs, "damn, right, you fucking idiot,"

"But I want to give us a second chance, Kacchan," Midoriya says and takes a deep breath, "I still love you, that never changed, and I'm taking a risk assuming you feel the same,"

"Did you google that?" Bakugou asks before laughing. Midoriya looked like he was reciting something he memorized, and Bakugou couldn't help the laughter that bursts out of him.

Midoriya's face turns red after being caught. He did do his research, but he didn't know it'll be this hard to confess.

"I don't have much experience, okay?" Midoriya says and runs his hand through his hair, "you're the only person I ever confessed to, so give me a slack,"

Bakugou chuckles and takes the bouquet before pulling Midoriya into a hug with one hand, "I thought we'd never get another chance,"

Midoriya can feel the pain in Bakugou's voice as he says those words. His heart clenches, and he wraps his arms around Bakugou, "I'm sorry,"

"No, it's fine, you were thinking of what's best for us," Bakugou whispers and hugs him tighter, "but please, don't break it off again,"

Midoriya nods and feels Bakugou's tears fall on his shoulder. He can feel Bakugou trembling, so he kisses his cheek and whispers, "you'll ruin my suit,"

Bakugou chokes on a laugh and jokingly hits Midoriya's arm, "you're so fucking romantic, you know?"

"I know," Midoriya whispers and laughs before adding, "I love you, Kacchan,"

"I love you too, Deku," Bakugou whispers and pulls away to wipe his tears, "now let's get out of here. I want to dance with you and win couple of the night. I don't want to see half-and-half winning that shit,"

Midoriya chuckles and follows Bakugou. He intertwines their fingers together and says, "you really wanna beat Shoto in everything, don't you?"

"Hell yeah, I do," Bakugou says and pulls Midoriya faster for them to return to the ball.

Everything goes well after that. Their boundaries are still up, but they are affectionate towards each other. Their good mornings, kisses, and I love yous are back, and it feels so good. Everything seemed so perfect until they graduated. Midoriya and his self-sacrificial nature were scaring Bakugou. He was overworking himself to the point of exhaustion, and it was starting to annoy him.

"I told you to take a break from time to time," Bakugou says after bursting into Midoriya's hospital room. He saw the stunt Midoriya had pulled earlier, and he couldn't help but panic when he sees Midoriya hit the ground while covered in blood. He knows that it's part of their job, but he feels like he's going to die of worrying too much every time he sees Midoriya overexerting himself.

"I'm fine, Kacchan. Recovery girl already came by and healed most of my wounds. I can go back to work in a day or two," Midoriya says and with a shrug as if it was nothing.

Bakugou can feel his blood boiling at how careless Midoriya is, so he walks to him and grabs his collar, "when will you ever fucking learn to take a rest? Do you honestly think everything you're doing is something to be proud of? You're setting the wrong example by constantly chasing after death. It's our job to save, not to desperately find a way to kill ourselves,"

"But they need the sign of peace," Midoriya reasons calmly while holding Bakugou's wrists.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, "please, don't flatter yourself too much. The symbol of peace ended with All Might. You're not the only hero capable of saving people's lives, Deku. People like half-and-half, ponytail, cheeks, and tape exists,"

Midoriya turns away, his face guilty, "I just did what I thought was right at the time,"

"At the time? You do it every time. Do you know how many times I visited you in this goddamn hospital this month because of your recklessness?" Bakugou asks and gently lets go of Midoriya, "six times, Deku. I came here six times,"

"It won't happen again, Kacchan. I promise," Midoriya says when he sees the genuine rage in Bakugou's eyes.

"Right, you told me that the fifth time I visited. You promised me you won't do it again after you were sent here half-dead," Bakugou says. He takes a sharp inhale and stares at Midoriya, "you know, Deku, I love you. I fucking do, but I can't put up with this anymore,"

Midoriya freezes. He can feel his tears pricking his eyes, "Kacchan,"

"I don't want to be scared of losing you every single time, Deku. So, unless you're ready to value your life, don't ever come near me," Bakugou says and walks out of the door.

Midoriya feels his tears drip on his bandaged hands as he stares at the door. He can't let Bakugou walk away. H can't, not when he has a ring tucked in his cabinet. Midoriya tries to stand up and chase after Bakugou, but he couldn't even move his legs.

"Come on, don't fail me now," Midoriya says while hitting his legs, "move! I need you to fucking move!"

Midoriya was yelling for who knows how long. He kept on hitting his legs and forcing them to move. He needed to chase after Bakugou, but no matter how long he screams, no matter how hard he hits his legs, he was stuck there to cry over losing Bakugou.

Midoriya tried to visit Bakugou's agency, apartment, and parents' house, but Bakugou wasn't around. He tried asking Kirishima, Sero, Mina, Kaminari, and Jirou, but all he got was the same sympathetic expression as they say, "he left,"

Midoriya was clueless, he couldn't think of a place Bakugou would run to, but he never stopped trying. He asked airports for travel histories, asked All Might to help him, and begged the Bakugou's to tell him more, but all this resulted in nothing.

Midoriya can feel his regrets growing with each passing day of not knowing where Bakugou is, but hope arises once again when Shoto visits him and gives him a letter, "It's from Bakugou,"

Midoriya thanks him and read the letter, "I'll see you at half-and-half's wedding. If you manage to survive not acquiring any injuries in your fights, then we'll give this relationship a third chance,"

He holds onto that promise. Bakugou wasn't one to back out on his words, so he does his best to stay safe. He stopped putting himself in unnecessary danger. He learned to call back-up when needed and started to take care of himself.

As days to Todoroki's wedding approaches, the anxiety Midoriya's been feeling grows as well. It's been so long since he talked to Bakugou, so he doesn't know how to act when he meets him. But what he's most scared of was Bakugou leaving again. He knew he did well. He was never sent to the hospital in the past year, he was even bulkier than before, and the bags under his eyes were gone as well.

The day arrives, and Midoriya puts the ring box in his pocket. He drives to the venue with a hopeful heart, and when he sees Bakugou standing there, his heart leaps, and his jaw drops.

Bakugou's hot. That's the only thing he could think of. He didn't change much, he still had that grumpy look on his face, but to Midoriya, he still looks ethereal.

Midoriya runs to the washroom to check on himself. He can't face Bakugou looking like a complete mess, so he fixes himself and rehearses.

"Okay, you can do this, Izuku. Just walk up to him after the ceremony, start a small talk, ask him how he's feeling, and propose," Midoriya says as he stares at his reflection, "easy,"

"What if I say no?" Bakugou's voice echoes in the washroom as he walks to stand beside Midoriya.

"Kacchan!" Midoriya says, his heart racing in panic.

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

"Stop yelling. It hurts my ears," Bakugou says and washes his hand, "so, what if I say no?"

Midoriya didn't consider that option. He was thinking, hoping, that maybe Bakugou still feels the same. He's been so focused on the positive that he didn't take that option into account.

"Will you let me go?" Bakugou asks and leans on the sink.

Midoriya gulps and slowly shakes his head, "I can't think of a life without you in it, Kacchan. I don't think I can let go that easily,"

Bakugou scoffs in amusement, "Is that why you stopped courting death?"

Midoriya presses his lips into a thin line and nods, "it was the only way to bring you back,"

"So, me leaving is why you're taking care of yourself?" Bakugou asks. Midoriya nods with his head hung low, "do you think I'd be happy hearing that?"

Midoriya shakes his head, "well, that was the initial reason. But I learned that I have people I can rely on, that I don't have to do everything by myself. I also found out that I'm putting more people at risk by trying to be a hero who solves everything alone. I realized all those because of you,"

Bakugou remains silent which scared Midoriya. But he forces himself to raise his head and look at Bakugou. He can feel his heart trying to escape his chest when he sees the proud smile on Bakugou's face.

"I'd say yes to your proposal but don't do it now," Bakugou says and walks out the door, "it's half-and-half and ponytail's day. Don't spoil it for them," Bakugu says and walks out the washroom, leaving Midoriya with tears of joy falling from his eyes.

The ceremony proceeds with Bakugou hanging out with his friends while Midoriya stays with his group of friends. But despite that, he couldn't keep his eyes off Bakugou.

"He won't vanish into thin air," Uraraka comments when he catches Midoriya staring at Bakugou for the nth time.

"But what if he just leaves? What if he just walks out of the venue?" Midoriya says and messes with his hair, "I'm too paranoid,"

"I'm glad you're aware," Iida says after approaching them, "he won't leave, Midoriya. Have faith in him,"

Midoriya nods and glimpses at Bakugou one last time to take in that smile of his before focusing on talking to the other guests.

After a few hours of talking and socializing, Midoriya feels his soul slowly leaving his body. All he wants to do is leave the place and throw himself on his bed to sleep. He was sitting alone on the table when his eyes slowly giving up on him when he feels someone tap his shoulder.

"Kacchan?" Midoriya whispers and immediately sits up straight when he saw him.

"You wanna sleep here, or do you want to sleep with me? Half-and-half prepared rooms for us," Bakugou says, making Midoriya blush.

"Kacchan, aren't we moving a bit too fast?" Midoriya asks and covers his face with his hands. He's not ready. Bakugou just got here. He can't just go there.

"The fuck you talking about? I said sleep not fuck," Bakugou says before rolling his eyes, "but if you don't want to, then it's fine. Half-and-half reserved a room for you anyway,"

Bakugou starts to walk away, leaving Midoriya to watch his back. Midoriya gets a flashback of what happened in the hospital. Before he could even think about what he's doing, he already activates his quirk and wraps his arms around Bakugou's waist to stop him from leaving.

"Don't go, Kacchan," Midoriya whispers while sobbing, "don't leave me,"

Bakugou turns around and sighs, "I'm already here, I'm not leaving,"

"Shit, I'm sorry," Midoriya says and attempts to pull away, but Bakugou immediately hugs him, "besides, I can't imagine a life without your crying ass following me around,"

Midoriya hits Bakugou's chest, making both of them chuckle, "also, you're ruining my suit," Bakugou whispers and pulls away before walking towards his room.

"That was years ago!" Midoriya yells after he realizes that he said those words to Bakugou the night he confessed.

"I hold grudges!" Bakugou yells and shows Midoriya his middle finger.

The night progresses with Bakugou and Midoriya cuddling. It took them hours talking about everything that happened before finally lying on the bed with their arms wrapped around each other.

"Are you really okay with me proposing this early?" Midoriya asks while playing with the ring on Bakugou's right ring finger.

Bakugou nods, "it's fine. We've always been in love with each other. We just bumped into a few issues along the way. Besides, there's a thing called long engagements,"

Midoriya nods and stays quiet. He lets himself enjoy Bakugou's warmth and lets himself be lulled by Bakugou's heartbeat.

Midoriya opens his eyes when he feels the sunlight hitting his eyes. He slowly sits up and rubs his eyes when he caught that Bakugou wasn't beside him anymore. He feels his heart race, and panic starts to take over him when he walks around only to find out that Bakugou wasn't anywhere. He looks around for any sign that Bakugou didn't leave, but his suit wasn't on the chair where they left it, folded. The towel was wet, and Bakugou's shoes weren't there.

"He's wearing the ring, Izuku. Stop panicking," Midoriya whispers to himself and walks into the washroom to wash his face, but he freezes when he sees the engagement ring on the sink.

Midoriya's thoughts go haywire as he tries to rack it for reasons why Bakugou would leave when everything's been fine. He was starting to go insane with all the thoughts running through his head when he hears the door open, and Bakugou's humming fills the room. Midoriya immediately walks out to meet him.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Bakugou asks when Midoriya comes out with evident stress written all over his face.

Bakugou puts the tray of food on the nearest flat surface he could find and walks to wrap his arms around Midoriya, "I thought you were going to leave,"

"Why would that even cross your mind?" Bakugou asks and guides Midoriya to the bed to let him sit on his lap, "I accepted your fucking proposal, so why would I leave?"

"I don't know," Midoriya says and hides his face in Bakugou's neck, "maybe I'm still scared that you'd walk away from me the same way you walked out on me at the hospital,"

Bakugou feels the guilt in his chest after listening to Midoriya, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again,"

They sit like that for a few hours before finally having their breakfast. Bakugou watches Midoriya, who has bloodshot eyes and is still sniffling. He stares at him and thinks about how to take away the trauma Midoriya has.

"I love you, Izuku," Bakugou whispers out of nowhere, "I won't be leaving you any time soon,"

Midoriya freezes and smiles at the reassurance, "thank you,"

Bakugou does his best to make it up to Midoriya. He makes sure to be there when Midoriya wakes up and makes sure Midoriya falls asleep before him. He wanted to reassure Midoriya that he'll always be there and there's no way he'll leave. He doesn't skip saying I love you but makes sure not to say it too much. He also tries to take Midoriya out as much as possible without making it too suffocating because he's too scared of repeating the same mistakes they did back then.

They were both working on making their relationship better, one where they don't suffocate each other and making sure to be conscious of the other's feelings. Years passed, and they were doing well. The lessons they learned from their previous relationship seemed to have worked out.

"I didn't know we'd reach this point," Midoriya whispers after the reception had ended.

"The moment you decided to stick to me like a leech, I already knew there's no escaping you," Bakugou says while drying his hair.

Midoriya rolls his eyes, "stop acting like you don't want this too,"

"I wasn't complaining," Bakugou says and lets himself plop on the bed, "now go to bed. We still have shit to do tomorrow,"

Midoriya nods and chuckles before lying on the bed, letting Bakugou wrap his arms around his waist, "good night, Kacchan,"

"Good night, nerd," Bakugou whispers and presses a kiss to Midoriya's forehead as they drift off to a comfortable sleep knowing that there's no escaping now that they're married.

--*--

I also have this posted on Wattpad and AO3.

#bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bkdk #katsudeku #decchan #bnha bakugou #bnha midoriya #bnha katsuki #bnha izuku #bakudeku fanfic #bakugou x midoriya #kacchan x deku #kacchan #deku #mha bakugou #mha midoriya #mha fanfiction #bnha #mha #katsuki x izuku

[firstknightss]

GWAINCELOT ESSAY THREE???

[commentary voice] ah yes and this gwaincelot essay.... which turned into a fic was inspired by @nextstopparis and @little-ligi

GWAINE TEACHING LANCELOT HOW TO READ. and thats how they actually CONFESS.

imagine gwaine seeing lancelot trip up reading leon’s plan for the day, seeing him trying to understand it. and gwaines, hes a little in love. Hes. Hes a little hit with feelings for this Noble (tm) knight. So OF COURSE he CANT EMOTION and he tries to show his affection for lancelot without yknow being in ‘loVE’

he comes over with his swishy hair and bantery tone like “oooOhHh LANCELOT! Lancey! Hey! Hello! Can’t read leon’s goddamn awful handwriting huh?”

And Lancelots embarrassed and flushes red and gwaine thinks hes Fucked Up (and he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, this is the first time he’s actually felt emotions this deep for someone) and tries to fix it panickedly, like the Anxiety Clown He Is.

He keeps on saying sorry and apologising, and Lancelot, the EVER CALM KNIGHT GUY, goes “it’s fine, it’s okay. It’s nothing to do with you...” and then he hesitates. He HESITATES. “....it’s just that...” and then he BITES HIS LIP and gwaine thinks he might just faint there and then, “...i cant read.”

and now it hits him, gwaine, gwaine, who thought literacy was something trash and something he didn’t really need, realises how important it is. and so, yknow because hes kind of wrapped in those Emotions (tm), he pulls lancelot’s sleeve after practice, when they’re alone in the changing room. (and if lancelot wasn’t so tired and miserable, he would have easily seen gwaine BLUSH)

And he, shyly asks if lancelot wouldnt mind being tutored by him.

Now Lancelot is OVERJOYED, and he’s borderline CRYING because lancelot, poor old village boy lancelot who’d been kicked out of the knights of camelot, and had to become a MERCENARY and fight for masters who didn’t care for him, has NEVER HAD someone literally CARE about him so much. (Apart from Merlin. He loves merlin <3)

so now imagine lancelot waking up an hour early the next morning, and showing up into gwaine’s room. He knows gwaine literally doesnt sleep with a lock, so he just barges in, and starts shaking gwaine.

Now GWAINE sleeps like a Log (had so much shit going on irl, time to sleep it away) and when he opens his bleary eyes, seeing lancelot in one of his stupid v neck shirts over him, hes like “....h...helo??”

and lancelot’s all like. “We- werent YOU gonna give me reading lessons.” And gwaine nods, yawning (and in that moment lancelot thinks gwaine looks unimaginably cute, so cute that he wants to literally ruffle gwaine’s hair and run his hands through how silky and brown it is.)

THEN gwaine pulls on the dont care-ish mask, and makes his arms into a pillow under his head, as he leans against the wall behind his bed, in some kind of somewhat???flirty??? manner??? [i dont...i dont know what hes trying to do. On the other hand! Not does Lancelot :) ]

Lancelot, does not realise this is gwaine’s poor attempt at flirting - since he’s seen gwaine ACTUALLY flirting and this is like. Nothing. And its also poorly executed. Which is NOTHING like gwaine.

So he pulls gwaine’s arm, and half hauls him out of bed.

As gwaine’s head crashes into lancelot’s stomach, he can smell lancelot’s clothes. They smell of flowers, and cotton and everything so natural and gwaine, who literally smells of wine, and wood and Tavern. (And aftershave, or the 500AD equivalent)

[see here, see im trying to bring themes of dionysis okay. OkayyyyyyyyY. yours truly likes looking at greek mythology. And both these two complete dionysis]

Gwaine, in his sleepy stupor, nestles his head on Lancelot’s hip, who gives a sigh and stands there. One hand clutching gwaine’s, leaving the other free.....

....to rake through his soft, flowy brown hair. And twirl his fingers through its waves, and Gwaine cuddles in further.

And since Lancelot left the door open, Leon (the other bitch who wakes up at 4am to do idk nothing) sees them two...like that, illuminated by the SUNLIGHT behind them, and smiles a little.

And then he trips over the stairs, the moment is lost.

Gwaine and Lancelot pull away at the same time, and gwaine’s face turns back to “ha ha im a Jerk (tm)” and if he wasnt too busy trying to hide how flustered he was, he’d see Lancelot looking at him the way he used to look at GWEN.

They both blink and look at each other, understandingly, neither of them to speak of this again.

And then Gwaine drags himself out of bed, and Lancelot raises his eyebrows as he watches him (totally not checking him out) haul out a book from his cupboard.

Gwaine’s too sleepy for this, he keeps yawning and rubbing his eyes (looking like a cat, Lancelot notes) and Lancelot takes a deep breath, his eyes understanding.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Lancelot, I love..” he bites his tongue, cursing his half asleep mind “..doing this, and love hanging out with you...I just cant stay up this early.”

Reading lessons, from now on, are at 1:30am-whenever Gwaine and Lancelot stop rambling about Odysseus and Circe and Telemachus

[i dont know any other ancient books apart from like. Ancient greek/Roman ones. So i guess. Its not historically accurate,,,,BUUIT this is a fanfic for a pair who had like no scenes together SO i think i can take some ✨creative liberties✨]

Lancelot has heard of the journey of Aneas from travelling bards, singing songs in his native old english. Gwaine’s eyes are quick at latin, and he learnt the flaws of Romulus and Remus in his pure latin. Gwaine’s a good teacher, and lancelot is a quick study, and it’s not long before they’re arguing over which Goddess caused the most harm in the Illiad.

Gwaine’s never met someone who he could reveal that he loved reading to, he loved doing.

Lancelot’s never met someone who he could tell he couldn’t read, and ask if they could teach him, love learning.

They make it work.

The other knights notice, of course they notice. Percival notices how Lancelot stumbles into the Gwaine’s room at night, bright eyed. Elyan notices Lancelot and Gwaine’s voices from Gwaine’s room opposite him; sometimes slow, Gwaine speaking slowly and Lancelot following; sometimes heated and passionate.

(They’re arguing. They’re arguing about how to pronounce Minerva)

Merlin finds the two, in the early hours of the morning - when the birds are figuring what song they sing today - on Gwaine’s bed.

Gwaine leaned against the bedframe, his trousered legs splayed over the sheets. Loosely braided, long brown hair fell over his closed eyelids, his mouth in a small smile.

And Merlin follows his arm draped over Lancelot, snuggled beside him, his head on his broad shoulder, every breath of wind pushing against curly black hair, making it almost /bounce/. His eyes are covered by the other man’s hair, and he looks...content. More content than Merlin has ever seen him.

He slips out as quietly as he came in, and smirks, hes gotta tell arthur they finally got their shit together oh GOD

Its no surprise to anyone but them, when Arthur pulls Lancelot out of training, and into his chambers.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone Lancelot.” He starts, his face geniune, his voice giving away hints of relief. (He thought he was never going to see his knight smile again after all the ordeals that had happened to him)

“Oh...” Lancelot’s heart sinks, “...how did you find out, Sire?”

Arthur blinks, taking in the change of mood in Lancelot, maybe it wasn’t anything important, maybe they were trying to keep it casual, hell they didnt want the king knowing.

“I- uh, I just noticed...” Goddamnit Merlin, and Goddamn his need to tell him everything he saw. (Merlin had advised him not to do this, as they sat on his bed after a long night. This was really his fault.)

Lancelot pales, and he places his hands down on the table beside him, palms slapping stone as he did so.

“Well, I guess I should tell you the whole truth then,” his voice is quiet, and Arthur steps closer, “Sire I am not of Noble birth, and was born in a village - as you know.”

Arthur nods, his arms crossed, but his Kingly Bravado fell away at the sight of his knight, and one of his closest friends, being this vulnerable.

“Yes I know, but what does this ha-“

“And we children in the village we-“ he falters, “-we were never taught to read.”

“Yes, no I understand, I-“ he pauses, Lancelot’s words hitting him a bit too late, this was about literacy?

This, this whole conversation was about literacy?

Not being gay?

Merlin was going to have a field day

“Sire?”

“I understand Lancelot, and is this why you feel a little out of place with the other knights?” He carries it on, with a smile, he has a few questions to ask merlin.

“Yes, and that’s why I asked Gwaine to tutor me from time to time, although, the sessions carry through late into the night, which may have been affecting my performance at practice. I’ll have you know that this is a temporary th-“

“It’s fine Lancelot,” Arthur places a hand on his shoulder, “You are still exceptional at practice,”

“Thank you Sire,” Lancelot twinkles.

✨

“Theyre, theyre not together?” Merlin cant stop laughing, tears streaming down his face, “theyre not TOGETHER?? oh my God arthur what did you DO”

They sit together on Arthur’s bed, drinking wine from stemless cups together, with Arthur recounting the events of the day; red faced.

“I mean, it was your idea Merlin.”

“I just saw them, and I assumed...I didnt...I didnt think youd ASK them.”

“What do you think I’d do then?? Let them be on their merry way.”

“Yes!”

✨

“Do you like me?” Gwaine asks, unexpectedly, one night, the moon vibrant against the loud sea.

“You’re...tolerable...” Lancelot says, a smile tugging at his lips, as the silver moonlight falls against his hair, a halo around him.

✨

The knights give them the look every morning, as the two of them stumbled out of the same room, more frequently than ever.

Sometimes Lancelot would throw on Gwaine’s shirt, when he’d crumpled his own beyond repair. Sometimes Gwaine would put some of Lancelot’s hair oil on, when his hair was frizzy.

They gave each other knowing looks when Gwaine and Lancelot started whispering and giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.

✨

And then Stupid gwaine had to go get fucking stabbed, and their delicate dance was like trying to waltz through a minefield.

Lancelot clutches onto Gwaine’s arm as Merlin feels his forehead with shaking hands.

“He’s burning up.”

“Infection...?” Lancelot sounds broken, and nods, fumbling with his pack to find some bandages.

It was just a simple quest; a save the day, get the girl, do various harmless shenanigans type of quest.

He’d half expected Gwaine to get the girl, and he cant help but give out a half choked laugh. Gwaine had no idea what hit him when she turned out to be the evil one all along.

He tries to forget that Gwaine showed no interest in her, he tries to forget that Gwaine’s been less frequent at the Tavern, he tries to forget that he hasn’t seen Gwaine with anyone since months now.

Gwaine, his beautiful Gwaine was lying on his lap, hot red blood rushing from his side, staining his polished chainmail with dark, sticky blood.

He’s been out for nearly an hour now, and Lancelot remembers carrying him, through the entire forest, forgetting his sword and his helmet and just grabbing Gwaine and getting the shit out of there.

Gwaine’s lack of self preservation was really rubbing off on Lancelot nowadays.

Merlin watches as Lancelot holds back tears, his own eyes stinging. Gwaine can’t die like this, he can’t die like this....

“hælan beorn adl”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Lancelot could feel warmth coming back into the fingers he was grabbing.

He was coming back.

And then the weight of everything hits him.

He was in Fucking Love.

✨

“Hey.” Gwaine’s voice is rough from disuse, but Lancelot nearly sobs when he hears the voice.

“Don’t fucking do that to me again, amor meus.” He puts his head down on Gwaine’s chest; finding the hammering of his heart calming.

He shimmies onto Merlin’s bed, which Gwaine had been lying in for the past few days.

“Did you mean, ami meus?” Gwaine sounds tired, too tired to be awake.

“Huh? Did i say something else?” Lancelot decides to play dumb, a sparkle in his eyes,

“I thought I heard amor meus,” Gwaine pushes his nose into Lancelot’s hair, taking in the wonderful smell of coconut.

“Well then, at least your hearing’s okay, amor meus.”

Gwaine gulped, and was sure Lancelot could hear his loud swallow.

“Lancelot, I hope this isnt a big joke with me teachin you latin and all,” Gwaine’s voice is a little wobbly from the slee deprivation and the magic and the pain numbers, “because I’ll have you know that I really love you, and I cant go on like this any longer,”

“Its okay Gwaine, I learnt latin from the man I love, of course it’s not a joke.”

“The man you love? Who’s tha-“

Realisation hits him like a brick.

Oh.

Oh.

“Me?” His voice cracks, and Lancelot looks up, a smirk on his face.

“Of course dumbass.”

“Like I’m meant to know that,” Gwaine tries to keep his dont care-ish aura, but they both know he’s too exhausted to keep that up.

“mmm?”

Gwaine kisses him on the nose, and he wraps himself around him.

And thats how Merlin finds them later that day, eyes blinking as he stood there.

✨

“I’m glad you’ve found someone, Lancelot.” Arthur coughs.

“Is that what that whole talk was about???”

“Answer the question.” His words sound harsh, but he’s barely hiding a smile.

“I’m glad too, I’m Glad I found Gwaine too.” Lancelot blushes, turning to gwaine.

“Why are you asking anyway, Princess?”

“Oh just, making sure this time.”

#shit this turned into a fic #im sorry #uhh #gwainecelot #gwaine #lancelot #gwaine x Lancelot #gwaine/lancelot #i should post this onto ao3 #but like. fix it up first #fun times #first tumblr fic yall #im growing!!! #IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN ESSAY WHAT IS THIS #gwaincelot #im SO sorry

[the-final-sif]

My head produced a scene, basically what happens after the ending to my blue core Katsuki vs Overhaul post where Dabi captures Katsuki after Katsuki defeated Overhaul. The whole fight/fights were broadcast out, and the heroes get free too late to stop Dabi from taking the heavily weakened Katsuki.

So, the LOV/PLF now have Katsuki. He’s still heavily weakened and injured, but they patch him up as best they can and he’s put on painkillers, which have the added benefit of keeping him hazy so escaping his harder for him. 

Aizawa is losing his fucking mind, as are a lot of class 1-A, but unlike before they have no leads on where Katsuki is, given that the league now has way more resources to keep him hidden.

Or at least, they think they have no leads.

Hawks, a double agent, is working on fixing that. Sort of. It doesn’t take him long to find out where Katsuki is. The league is wary about letting him have any information on the matter, but Hawks is a charmer and convinces them he just likes the kid and wants to be sure he’s okay.

Finally, Hawks gets down to where Katsuki is being kept. He’s meant to stay quiet so Katsuki doesn’t notice him. That was his plan anyways.

His plan did not involve a wide eyed Dabi being in the cell already.

Katsuki is high on painkillers, gaze bleary as he recounts his mother’s anger and blame after the last time he got kidnapped. His words are slurred and voice quiet, sad, weak. Towards the end of his story, he refocuses, red eyes seeming to see Dabi again, for just long enough for him to get out a single sentence.

“Guess you'd understand what that's like, huh Touya?”

And then he’s passed out. Leaving Hawks and Dabi both equally stunned and confused.

Dabi recovers first, pushing his way out of the cell almost in a frenzy, brushing past everyone else to get up to the roof. Desperate for fresh air and to be alone. He is not alone. Hawks is stunned for several seconds longer, but once he regains himself, once all the puzzle pieces fall into place, he’s surging after Dabi, frantic to not lose him. Not again.

When Hawks gets to the roof, Dabi is on the far side of it, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling off the side. The door was silent, Hawks was silent, Dabi is not looking at him. That doesn’t stop Dabi from speaking the moment Hawks pauses in indecision.

"I know you're there."

Throwing on a smile Hawks tries to play it off, stepping forward as if nothing is wrong. As if this doesn’t change everything.

"Hey, uh, sorry, didn't mean to intrude, I just saw you and you looked kinda upset-"

"Don't lie to me, spy. I know who you are. I know you heard him."

Hawks blood freezes, but Dabi's made no move to attack him, so he steps a little closer against his better judgment. He’s not afraid. How could he be?

"... So I'm guessing the kid got it right?"

"... Go away."

"That's a yes then."

Hawks is still a few steps back, and he's got so many mixed emotions but in the end, he's a hero. He does what he does best. Besides, there’s no way he could walk away from this. Not again.

"Listen, I don't know what hap-"

"Fuck off. I'm not doing this. I'm not someone you can save, Hawks. Don't waste your time. Just take the kid and go. I figured out you're a spy, your cover was blown, blah blah, so you didn't have any other choice but to cut your losses and save who you could."

Hawks' eyes soften, hesitation slipping away as he steps forward, hopping up onto the roof's edge to sit next to Dabi. They’re sitting too close together, but Dabi doesn’t try to move away despite his words. Both their gazes look out over the horizon as Hawks tone shifts to something regretful.

"I can't save him."

That gets Dabi to look at him, blue eyes angry and accusing.

"The fuck are you talking about? You could cut those damn chains and be gone before the damn alarm even sounds."

His words, an odd hostile vote of confidence, only serve to make Hawks' expression fall further into soft apologetic sadness.

"You’re right, I could do that, but I can't save him.” He pauses for a moment. “I figured out his location two days ago. I've been lying to the Commission about it since I found out. I’m going to keep lying to them about it."

Now Dabi just looks confused, eyes narrowed and face scrunched up as he tries to figure out Hawks’ game.

"Why the hell would you do that? What's stopping you from just taking his ass back to his shitty high school?"

Hawks' voice turned cold, eyes hallow. He looks more defeated than Dabi had ever seen him, which isn’t saying much. But he also looks more defeated than Touya had ever seen him, and that says a lot more.

"Because if I bring him back, if any hero brings him back, he won't be returning to UA. At all."

Then after a beat, almost as an afterthought, Hawks continued. There’s too casual a tone to his words, as if he’s on the news giving an update on a bad situation while trying not to let his mask break.

"The Commission saw the broadcast. Everyone did. Everyone saw a 16 year old unleash the equivalent of a small nuclear weapon in under 10 seconds. According to one of his classmates, the kid can do it with no real prep and a 12 to 24 hour recovery. No long lasting damage if the attacks are spaced out enough. After the Commission saw that, they gave me new orders."

It takes a moment for Dabi to process that. He's almost gaping at Hawks in horror and revulsion. Hawks doesn’t need to say what his orders are. Both of them already know what the Commission does.

"They can't- I mean I know they'd fucking try it, but UA wouldn't give up one of their best students. Fuck, that homeroom teacher of his wouldn't put up with that shit."

"His parents already signed the forms. Hardly took anything to convince them. UA has no legal ground to stop anything.”

Dabi tries a different approach, still unwilling to believe it.

"It wouldn't work. He's too old, you know how stubborn that damn kid is. I can tell you for a fact we aren’t gonna be able to break him, and they sure as hell won’t either."

"They can. They’ll make it work. One way or another.”

That’s all Hawks has to say, both of them know how true it is.

“The public wouldn’t-”

Hawks barks out a laugh, and it is an ugly, angry sound of resentment.

"They've got it all planned out, No matter what state he's in when he's recovered, the story is he got brainwashed by you lot and required a specialized recovery program along with extensive therapy. That excuses the personality change and sudden cooperation. UA can't do shit about it, even with their PR influence, they let the kid get kidnapped twice and the public is already upset with how they’ve handled him."

Hawks' gaze turns bitter and his voice is near venomous.

"The Commissions’ already got a new name picked out for him and everything. ‘Firecracker’ because they thought it'd ‘create positive associations’ and ‘make him more marketable to children’."

Both of them need a moment after that. Dabi looks away, furious now. Hawks takes a deep breath and gives him a watery grin of helplessness.

"Like I said, I could get the kid out of here, but I can't save him."

Dabi takes a deep breath too. Then another. His anger focuses, turning from unfiltered rage to a targeted fury. He knows what Hawks was saying now. Knows just how this story goes. How it’s already gone. But things are not the same as they were back then, and Dabi is sick of this fucking story.

"Alright. So, the kid can't go back until those fucks are out of the way. We're sitting on the roof of a fucking villain organization that's already trying to bring down the government. I'm one of it's fucking commanders. That’s not a problem. Or at least it won’t be for very long."

For the first time since he got the orders, hope sparks in Hawks' chest, and it's his turn to be wide eyed. If it was anyone else- anyone in the fucking world, there’d be no way. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Dabi. This is Touya. But doubt still taints his voice.

"I- It's not just one person. It's dozens and dozens, and they're all heavily protected.”

"So? We aren't one person either. There's a whole damn army here waiting to go."

Hawks bites his lip, but the hope only grows stronger. He used to have dreams of getting free. Of ending the people who trapped him here. It’d been a long time since he had those dreams. They’d been foolish, he had no where else to go but his pretty gilded cage. Nobody to turn to. No help, no savior. But that wasn’t true, maybe it never really had been. He’d gotten a feeling that someone had been bailing him out when he’d almost slipped up a few times as a double agent. Maybe someone had been.

"Will the kid be safe here in the meantime? This won't happen quickly. Even with all the resources in the world."

Dabi considers it, well and truly, before he nods firmly.

"Yeah, it'll be a pain to actually keep him here. Word going around is that he's a little escape artist. But Tomura's not gonna hurt him, he’s given a standing no harm order and nobody around here’s stupid enough to go against that. I'll keep my eye on him too. Just in case."

Then he pauses, plans taking shape in his head, growing and spinning, forming more completely.

"All we'll need from you is names and faces. We need to know who needs to go."

It's terrifying, it’s the wrong choice, it’s a stupid idea, but Hawks nods in agreement after a few seconds of internal debate. He wouldn't under any other circumstances- but fuck. He can't let them do what they did to him to someone else. He just can't. Hawks wants out of his cage, and he sure as fuck isn’t letting them drag another kid into it.

“I- I can do that. Give me a day to get everything together, I don’t know all the names, but I can get code names if nothing else.”

Dabi nods once more to affirm the plan, and the two of them sit in silence for a few more heartbeats, unsaid word lingering between them. It's Dabi who breaks the silence, an uncharacteristic softness to his voice.

"God, I can't believe you finally find out my name, and what, fucking five minutes later we're already back on our bullshit."

Hawks laughs, but this time it's light and childish like it used to be. Like it should be. He kicks his legs out, stretching out his wings behind him.

"What can I say? There was a reason the Commission hated it when I hung out with you, isn't that right Touya?"

It brings back memories Dabi had been suppressing for months now, pretending that they meant nothing to him, even as he let Hawks into the league, covered for him, erased camera footage and lied to protect him. He can't help but laugh too. His laugh is raspy from years of smoke and burned lungs. Hawks can’t help but take joy in hearing it again.

"I supposed so. You really haven't changed at all Keigo."

It's the first time in nearly 10 years Hawks heard that name, and it makes him grin ear to ear, silly and open and feeling comfortable like he hasn't since the last time he was called that. The last time he was Keigo.

Dabi takes another deep breath in and then twists to hop back onto the main part of the roof, pausing to meet Hawks' eyes with a long lost mischievous grin on his face.

"Come on slowpoke, we've got shit to do."

It’s not the first time he’s been called that. It’s the first time in a long time, but it’s just like every time before.

Just like every time before, Hawks' wings flutter in indignation (Touya was the only one who ever called him that, because he thought it was ever so funny how affronted Keigo got, so much so that no matter how fast he got, Touya refused to let it drop).

“You are the worst.”

Hawks grumbled, rolling his eyes as he hopped to his feet, snagging Dabi's hand to tug him back towards the door. Dabi is laughing at him again, but Hawks can't find it in himself to be actually annoyed.

How could he be? For the first time in too many years, he had his Touya back with him. He was allowed to be Keigo again, even if it was only for a short period. And for once, he had a feeling that things might be okay after all.

#dabihawks #villain Hawks #dabi is touya #dabi #keigo takamai #hot wings #bnha hawks #hawks #katsuki bakugou #touya todoroki #katsuki's kidnappings #childhood friends #sif speaks #bnha #mha #sif writes #my headcanons #dabi is todoroki touya #dabi is a todoroki #the lov #the league of villains #the paranormal liberation front #the plf

[babyboyblasty]

CHAPTER 12:

All the girls had at least one bag in their hand. Momo had eight (some big but most of them medium sized that only contained one or two things each), Mina four, Hagakure two, Jirou one, Uraraka one, Tsuyu two, and Aoyama five. The only one without any bags was Bakugou since he hasn’t bought anything. So far— and he will rather die than admit it out loud— hanging out with his classmates wasn’t the most terrible thing that has happened to him these past three days. He was actually kinda having a good time.

"You should have come with us to get your nails painted too, Bakugou-kun" Hagakure placed an invisible hand on his shoulder where he saw some glittery blue polish.

"Yeah! I think a nice /green/ would look great on you" Uraraka smiled, giving a wink to Tsuyu who shook her head.

“Actually, I think Bakubabe would prefer a firetruck /red/ ” Mina nudged Jirou who gave her friend a knowing look.

"On the contrary, I believe a nice dark color like black or purple would suit Bakugou-san best" Momo suggested, oblivious to what her other friends were hinting at. "Perhaps Bakugou would like to join us on our next trip?" she turned to look at him and he looked back at her then the rest who were waiting for his answer like they were insane.

"But I won't be a girl then" he replied like they'd forgotten. 

"We know that, kero, but Bakugou-chan is fun when he is not yelling," Tsuyu responded, a finger to her cheek.

"You joining us again would be très bien, monsieur" Aoyama smiled over at him, wiggling his fingers in front of his face to show off simplistic french tipped fingernails. 

Bakugou didn't really respond but he did smile a little on the inside. Not that they needed to know that though.

The conversation was dropped to start another one about what they've bought so far, cuticle care (via Aoyama), and what they wanted to do tomorrow in their free day. That somehow turned into Momo recalling a restaurant she visited with her parents where the food was magnificent and that led to Bakugou claiming he can make the best damn breakfast they've ever had and Jirou challenging him to cook breakfast for them tomorrow to prove it. He agreed of course and the girls couldn't wait. They already knew Bakugou was a great cook but challenging him was always fun for both them and for Bakugou since he liked to prove he was the best.

After walking around for a bit, the girls decided that they wanted to go into a store that just recently opened. It was one similar to Victoria Secret that sold lingerie and other intimate clothing that Bakugou didn’t feel comfortable in so the blonde stayed outside on his phone. 

"Is that Bakugou Katsuki I'm seeing? Or do my eyes deceive me" Bakugou could practically hear the smirk and sarcasm dripping from the words. Looking up, he saw Emo Deku 2.0 walking over to where he was standing, the smug bastard. 

"Is that the human vibrator I'm seeing? Or is it just a big pile of dog shit" he countered back, baring his teeth up at the guy. Shindou Yo always rubbed him the wrong way and just the sound of his voice and that dumb way he patronized and looked down at him like he was better was enough to make his blood boil. He thought he’d seen the end of him after their provisional hero license exam when he was a first year and Shindou was a third year, but fate has a funny way of working and Bakugou seems to run into the guy more often than he'd like when he's out doing public service hero work or at internships. 

"No need for insults, Bakugou. I was just surprised to see you, that's all. I heard about what happened over at the agency but I didn't believe it. I mean, you /are/ supposed to be the best, right? So how on earth was I to believe that a small time thug got the upper hand on the Great Explosion Murder God DynaMight?" Shindou tilted his head, looking down at Bakugou with fake curiosity and concern. "I could see I was mistaken though. Maybe you're just not as amazing as they say you are /just/ yet. That's okay though. It took me all three years at Ketsubutsu Academy to fully learn how to be a great hero but I guess some people need more time. It's okay being a late bloomer. Isn't that right, Katsuki?"

Bakugou was positively fuming and it took everything in him not to launch at him right then and there. He wasn't the same explosive boy from his first year that couldn't control his impulses. Besides, making him lose his composure is what that asshole wanted and he won't give him the satisfaction. He won't compromise his perfect record and possibly endanger someone by using his quirk in a public setting. Clenching his fist as hard as he could, he let the sparks threatening to ignite die in his palms.

"What? You've got nothing to say, Katsuki? How very unlike you" the black haired boy teased. It's been two years since Shindou Yo graduated from Ketsubutsu Academy High School and half a year since he's been working as a rookie pro hero. He was assigned to this mall by the agency he works at and imagine his surprise when he saw Bakugou just standing there in the open like that. Really, he just couldn't resist coming over and saying hi. The blonde was always so entertaining. 

"Pro-hero Grand! May we have your autograph?" a small girl and boy ran over to them, each holding a pen and notebook in their hands up to Shindou's face. The man's condescending smile changed into a friendly one at the flip of a switch. "Of course! It'd be an honor" he laughed and gave them both his signature. Bakugou let out a 'tch' sound, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thank you for your support!" he waved them goodbye and the children waved back with a 'thank you', running off back to a woman who they guessed was their mother.

"Does it ever get tiring being a two-faced bitch?" Bakugou growled and Shindou turned back to him, letting out an amused laugh.

"See? There he is. Or should I say she now?" he made a thinking face and laughed when Bakugou audibly growled like a dog. "That's what I like about you, Bakugou. Always so feisty" he cooed before stepping a bit closer. Bakugou kept his ground so they were almost chest to chest, Bakugou glaring up at the guy because of his new height. If he was smaller by one or two inches before, he is now nearly half a foot shorter than the bastard. "You know, this look actually kinda suits you. It makes you look cute when you're angry so really I can't even take you seriously. Not that I did before, but now I get the sudden urge to hug you. Isn't that funny?" he smirked.

"Well take a good long look, perv, because I'll be turning back to normal tomorrow morning," Bakugou spat. Shindou looked genuinely confused for a split second and it made Bakugou get a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Tomorrow morning? Are you sure? Did Eraser tell you that?" the pro hero raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. 

"What the hell are you getting at?" Bakugou frowned. 

"Oh nothing, don't mind me. If that's what your teacher said then it must be true" he shrugged.

"Is there something you're not telling me? If there is, spit it out already."

"Like I said, it's nothing. Anyway, I must be getting back to work. The streets don't keep themselves safe, you know?" Shindou smiled and turned to leave but Bakugou immediately grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face him and gripping onto the black and gold top piece of his hero costume to pull him down to his eye level.

"Woah there Bakugou. Aren't we moving just a bit too fast?" the older of the two chuckled.

"Listen up, dumbass. I swear if there's something you're not telling me I'll—" he growled out before getting interrupted by a stern voice.

"Bakugou! What is going on here? Let go of him immediately" Iida stepped up to both of them. Midoriya, Todoroki, and the other three standing behind the tall, navy haired male were all ready to intervene if need be, Midoriya and Todoroki more so than the rest.

Bakugou unclenched his hands from Shindou's hero costume with a huff and Shindou smoothed it out with a throaty laugh.

"Thanks for that. Iida Tenya, right? Ingenium's younger brother?" Shindou smiled. 

The class rep nodded and answered 'yes, I am' before putting his hands together. "Pro-hero Grand," Iida gave a deep bow, "I apologize in advance for my classmate's despicable behavior. As class rep it is my responsibility to ensure everyone acts their best in order to better represent the name of U.A. My apologies again, sir!" Iida was practically yelling and it caused a few heads to turn their way in curiosity to what was happening, but they all looked away with a sharp glare from a certain ash blonde that basically told them to mind their own fucking business. "Is everything okay? Was Bakugou bothering you?"

Bakugou could have laughed. Of course they'd think that so he wasn’t even surprised.

"What?" Shindou laughed before the black haired hero began maneuvering the younger so that he had an arm around Bakugou's shoulders and his other hand was holding one of Bakugou's wrists like they were the best of pals. "Oh no, not at all. Bakugou-kun and I were just talking about old times. I was giving him a few words of my experience so far and some advice as a pro hero" the male gave a bright smile. "What you saw just now was a new move Bakugou was demonstrating to me. There is no problem here, right Katsuki?"

"Whatever."

Midoriya's eyes flickered over to Kacchan. Honestly, he doesn't think that that was what happened at all. He thinks Shindou said or did something that made Bakugou react that way. He's known the blonde for a long time now and while his childhood friend might be a hot head, he wasn't the type to start fights without reason. Todoroki, Shoji, and Koda thought the same but didn't say anything. They didn’t get good vibes from Shindou either.

Todoroki didn't like the interaction between those two one bit and Izuku felt the need to go up and pull his Kacchan away from him.

"Well, that's a relief" Iida answered with a bit of hesitance. He was still a bit suspicious but let the matter slide.

"I hope to see you all out in the field in a few years. Work hard" Shindou said his goodbyes to all of them individually before turning to Bakugou. "It was nice bumping into you, Katsuki-chan. And I meant what I said earlier too. You look good" he winked and Bakugou growled. "Take care, guys" he smiled, waving goodbye. 

They all watched the hero go before Iida was turning to Bakugou. "What happened between you two, Bakugou?" he frowned and Bakugou grumbled.

"Nothin' that concerns any of you. Now quit buggin me."

Iida tried not to take offense. After a few years of being classmates, he should be used to the blonde's somewhat hostile way of speaking. “As you wish. Why were you alone? Where are the girls and Aoyama?” he asked.

“In the store” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Almost as if by magic, Bakugou’s group started walking out of the store, some carrying new small bags. 

“Deku-kun! Iida-kun!” Uraraka grinned, going up to them excitedly.

“Uraraka-san. It’s good to see you” Izuku smiled. The rest of them caught up before Iida started lecturing the girls about leaving Bakugou alone.

“I can take care of myself, four eyes!” he yelled but Iida paid no attention to him as he continued talking to the rest about what he saw happening with Bakugou and Shindou earlier to make a point about why we should all be in groups or in pairs at all times. Mina gasped loudly and Momo turned around to look at Bakugou with sympathy.

“Did he do something to you, Bakugou?" the pink girl was stomping over to him, a furious look on her face. "Where is he? I’ll beat him up I swear” Mina frowned, looking around to see if she can spot the black haired hero around. For his sake, he better pray she doesn't. Apparently she thought the same thing Midoriya did.

"Bakugou-kun! I am terribly sorry we left you alone. I should have known better and stayed behind with you. I am so sorry for your troubles" she apologized.

"Hah? Do you think I'm some type of damsel in distress now or something? It's fine, ponytail. Quit apologizing" he grumbled, looking away. “You too, Pinky.”

Momo gave him a soft smile and went in for a hug. She was sure he'd most likely push her off so when he didn't, she was very surprised. He didn't hug back but Momo didn't expect him to and she hugged him a bit tighter, the rest of the girls going in for a group hug as well. The boys were unsure what to do (even though some of them really wanted to join) so they stood to the side and watched how Bakugou started telling them to quit being "sentimental fucks" and let go already. They could tell he didn’t really mind it when he didn't immediately threaten to blow them up though.

Bakugou couldn’t wait until he went back to normal tomorrow.

[ word count: 2318 ]

(the shindou and bakugou inspiration for this chapter was these two pieces of fanart!)

#bakubowl #fanfic #boku no hero academia #bakugou x everyone #bnha #gender bender #temporary fem!bakugou #fem!bakugou #bakugou centric #BAKUBOOBS!?!

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (8)

Word Count: 12,827 // angst (mention of physical abuse/harm, mention of child abuse/neglect, mention of forced pregnancy, mention of murder), smut (brief mention of cockwarming and masturbation), no fluff 

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: I’m so sorry this took FOREVER for me to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please come scream in my inbox so I can scream with you! - 🐰

The red and yellow iron man figurine is snatched away from his clammy little hands, the harsh ridges of the plastic cutting across his palm to leave gashes that burned. Jungkook’s eyes are already glossy with unshed tears as he stares at the beloved toy in her grasp.

“Fucking useless piece of shit!” His mother screams, voice cracking as she throws the plastic figure at the man sprawled on the couch, a small pouch of belly fat pooling over his unzipped jeans. His dark disheveled hair and tattered clothing makes him look older than he actually is, earning a disgusted sneer from the woman. The head of the figurine hits the side of his arm but he simply glares at the child, and then at his wife, before turning away in silence. Iron Man lays on the dirty carpet, feet pulled apart, head dislodged from the neck.

“You think you’re the only fucking man in the world that works!? If I didn’t push out your bastard child, I would’ve left you years ago!”

Jungkook’s face scrunches into a frown, hiccupping as he gasps for air between sobs and hiccups. He knew he shouldn’t cry for the sake of angering his parents further but he couldn’t help it. Catching his mother’s attention, he steps back only for her to yank his small arm through the oversized superhero shirt and drag him across the living room. The child falls onto his knees, unable to help himself as the grip on his arms numbed his little hand in which he held his lunch bag.

“I’m sorry! Mama, I’m sorry! Mama!”

The soggy brown sandwich bag tumbles away from his grasp as his mother drags him into his makeshift room behind the sliding door of a storage unit. The shoebox-sized space is thankfully warm as it’s situated next to the hissing water heater. Jungkook’s mother pushes him onto the futon next to his school bag, empty cartons of milk, and mismatched socks.

“Don’t you dare make a fucking sound,” she spits, glaring down at the shaking boy who’d curled into the yellowed blankets in the corner. “You don’t want to upset mama, do you?”

Jungkook shakes his head, toes digging into the sheets below him. His ears are ringing, but he knew better than to disagree when her eyes become as red as the knitted dragon on his socks. Red means danger, red means silence.

The door slides shut with a bang and little Jungkook shakes and shakes, bent knees knocking into each other as cold sweat forms on his temples. He wipes his moist eyes with the back of his hand and curls into the corner, hunger pains wringing his stomach tight. He struggles to hold in his bladder and cries harder when he tremors once more and his pants turn dark with urine.  

The room gets darker, the house falls steadily falls silent, yet there is still no food offered to him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed as the only window in the room is nailed shut with wooden boards; only the small amount of sunlight shining between the rotten wood tells him when to sleep and when to dress for school. Looking at the dark gaps, he’s disappointed to find that it’s well past dinner time.

He can hear his parents screaming at each other between bouts of silence, their voices lowering gradually as exhaustion takes over them. He’s glad that at least he’s left alone. When the screaming ends, there is moaning, sounds of flesh against flesh, and silence once more.

They must have forgotten he hasn’t eaten, he thinks to himself as his frown deepens.  

Jungkook knows they are most likely asleep but he doesn’t want to risk disturbing the peace – the silence – that he can finally enjoy. If it weren’t for his hunger, he would be perfectly content staying still. He closes his eyes to the world and wishes on the lonely lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that one of his parents will awaken and at least take pity on him to throw the sandwich bag in the room. The roaches might have gotten to it first but he wasn’t in a position to complain.

Wiping away the dried snot on his face with the back of his hand, Jungkook looks up at the spotted roof and imagines a big studio like the one Iron Man has. When he becomes big and strong, he would have a drawer full of chocolates and another one full of clean and cool clothes like his classmates. He would be so successful and so cool that his teachers will fall to their knees and he will never have to do homework again. Even Iron Man will come knocking at his door to spend time with him – that’s how cool he will be.

Despite the growling in his stomach, Jungkook giggles softly. He discards his soiled bottoms away from the futon, being extra careful not to let the wetness touch his backpack, and lets his big shirt fall over his knees. He then rolls over to cushion his head with the back of his backpack. At least in his dreams, he lived well.

Some days are painful but some days should be better, he thinks.  

“It’s a miracle you survived,” Taehyung says one day as he hands Jungkook a bigger share of his rice ball. Jungkook rolls the sleeves of his black Busan middle school uniform up to his elbows, knowing the smell will be hard to get rid of if the loose seaweed falls apart in his hands like last time. The cheap tuna Taehyung stuffed it with smelled like gasoline and they made it a habit to hold their breaths as they chew. The mayonnaise at least helps the mouthfuls of fish slide right down their throats. No matter how strange his lunch boxes smelled, Jungkook never complained.

“I hate them,” Jungkook whimpers as he chew, leaning the heel of his sticky palms against the wet boulder beneath as his older friend rubs the tender sores on his neck with a free hand. Several bruises trail down his spine and Taehyung knows there are more underneath the uniform. “I just want to get out of here.”

Their naked feet, exposed under their rolled pants, dangle from the sharp layer of rock and moss protruding from the side of the boulder. The sound of ocean waves drown their voices and they find themselves shouting over its volume. Jungkook jumps slightly when cold water splashes over his toes.

“We’ll go anywhere you want.” Taehyung stretches his neck from side to side to undo the knots, his steel eyes landing on the grains of dry rice rolling down the rock.

Jungkook looks at his dearest friend, truly look at him, and grabs another rice ball from the canteen. He coughs slightly when the tuna goes down the wrong pipe, taking a swing of the water bottle from his opened backpack laying at his feet. It was hard for him to sit still when Taehyung says such things so frivolously. In fact, Jungkook found himself annoyed – annoyed that these fantasies are way beyond his imagination and annoyed that Taehyung might not mean what he says and Jungkook is just waiting around for leftovers  like the rice ball in his hands.

Jungkook kicks the side of the rock as he licks his fingers clean, scraping his heel along the ridges back and forth. His bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “You’re going away to med school later too…we might not see each other even when you get to college. It’s like…ten years.”

Jungkook can just imagine it. Taehyung, the miracle from a small town in Busan who surpassed everyone with his razor-sharp intelligence and sly fox charms. He’ll walk up to a podium for a white coat ceremony to attend the nation’s best medical school. There will be cheers and flowers everywhere; he bet even the president will show up for the ceremony because Taehyung will represent the rags-to-riches fantasy everyone wants. He’ll go on to be a surgeon full of pride and joy. He’ll marry a naïve but rich girl from Gangnam who will pity his hardships and they’ll have five children together and live in a penthouse. They’ll live on the top floor where they can look down at the people passing by like they’re nothing but ants.

And as for him, he might still be sleeping in that same storage closet next to the hissing water heater.

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung pushes the half-full canteen towards the younger boy, giving away his share, and wipes his hands on his pants. There are three giant rice balls left and even some pickled radish at the bottom. The food offering doesn’t make the younger boy smile like he usually do, his brain is so full of worries it might explode.

Jungkook shakes his head at nothing. The future seems so, so far away, almost out of reach. He can barely image his life without Kim Taehyung, the only genius the sad little town has produced this generation who ironically became his best friend and caretaker. There’s been rumors that he’d skipped four grades and grew up speaking Cantonese just from watching films. Jungkook hasn’t confirmed these theories himself but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. He had a future as bright as the stars while Jungkook knew, deep in his heart, that his kind is bound to be in the sewers. He’s forever looking up at the stars that Taehyung can collect without lifting a finger.  

“I won’t burden you, Tae. I’m just trouble.”

“You’re not,” he runs his fingers through Jungkook’s dark cocoa hair with his damp fingertips. The younger boy trembles slightly at the feeling, kicking his feet to hide how much he’s enjoying it. “That’s what they want you to believe…but you’re not. We’ll get out of here together, I promise.”

“N-No, you have to go Tae,” Jungkook puts the rice ball back in the steel canteen set between them and turns, serious all of the sudden. His voice is cracking and his leg shakes up and down as he tries hard to control the rage and grief boiling inside him.

He knows what will happen. When Taehyung leaves, luggage in hand, to whatever top-tier college in the country with a full scholarship, he’ll end his life. He’ll take the kitchen knife and plunge it deep into his heart and bleed out in front of his sad excuse of a mother. His father can join in on the crying, or the celebration, over his corpse once he wakes up from a drunken slumber. Actually, they might not even notice he’s bleeding. With the piles of newspaper and dishes laying around, Jungkook would be nothing but bones underneath all that garbage by the time they discover his body.

Taehyung, gripping the hair above the nape of the boy’s neck, keeps him in place like a bothersome cub. “I won’t leave you, Kook. I swear on my life I won’t. When the time is right, we’ll get out of here together.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply immediately, weighing the sincerity on his ears. Feeling tears sting his eyes, he leans his forehead on the older male’s broad shoulders to hide his face and circles his arms around his biceps. Taehyung nuzzles his chin into the younger boy’s hair and smells the salt of the sea in his scalp.

“I’m useless,” Jungkook says at last. He’d decided that Taehyung was genuinely concerned about him after all and not showing off. Those words were not like the empty promises he’s heard many times growing up. “I’m not smart like you. I can deliver milk and newspaper and that’s about it.”

Jungkook rubs his cheek up and down Taehyung’s shoulder blade, scratching the little wound on his cheek until it burned. He can still feel the buckle of his father’s belt ripping a patch of skin off the top of his cheekbones. He had considered leaving that day without a dime to his name but knew better to stay.

Taehyung reaches behind him and tugs his backpack forward, choosing to instead comfort the boy through a gift he’s been wanting to give for some time. He shrugs Jungkook away, earning a pout as the boy wanted to hear more honeyed words of comfort. His irritation, however, is short lived when he sees a flash of onyx and silver in Taehyung’s hands. He watches as the film camera gleams under the tangerine sun, the cracks on the side oozing a type of charm only antiques have.

“This is grandpa’s camera,” Taehyung says as he sets the camera down on his friend’s lap. “I want you to take pictures of the things you love before we get out of here.”

It’s not a gift, but a promise.

“You’re giving this to me?”

He nods. “Don’t worry, he ran off ages ago. I wanted you to have it…I think you’ll like it once you get the hang of it. There’s already a roll inside, it’s half used. I know you wanted that camera from Mickey’s but…this is good enough for now.”

Jungkook’s cheeks turn bright red as he holds the camera in his hands, brushing his thumbs across the protruding lens and the square of white plastic in the corner. He didn’t realize that Taehyung paid enough attention to catch him staring at things he can’t afford. It was equally humiliating as it is flattering that someone notices his wants and needs. Although the camera in his hands is not as fancy as the one in the display cases, Jungkook is more than grateful for he would not be able to afford the basic point-and-shoot camera on a delivery boy salary.

He can’t help but think maybe this will be Taehyung’s final gift to him before he goes away. Maybe the older boy is just taking pity on him because attachment is an illusion that slowly dissipates as absence takes its rightful place.

That rags-to-riches fantasy happens to those who are smart and sincere like Taehyung and not to boys like him – boys who stupidly spend hard-earned money on Iron Man comic books despite needing money to escape.

“I can’t afford to buy film,” Jungkook complains because he knows he’ll burst into tears if he thanked Taehyung. He peers into the viewer with one eye closed. He takes a shot of the waves dancing under their feet. The cerulean blue, their tanned feet, the black rocks – he can already feel excitement bubbling within him when he’ll make the time to develop the roll at the school photography lab.

“I have a box of unused ones in the basement. I’ll dig it out for you later.”

“Mm…okay.”

He points the camera towards the setting sun, taking a snap just when two birds fly past him. The film inside clicks into place with a satisfying snap, making him giggle. He turns at the waist and points the lens towards Taehyung, who stares into the camera with a disinterested amusement that tugs Jungkook’s heart a little more than he feels comfortable with. To please the boy, Taehyung holds a peace sign over his cheek, shielding half of his face as his eye peers past the ‘v’ shaped fingers. Jungkook takes the shot.

“Happy?”

He giggles louder this time. “Very much so.”

Taehyung takes the camera away, enveloping his large hand over the boy’s fingers. He holds the viewer up to eye level, seeing Jungkook nibble on his lower lip. He knows what the boy is thinking. There’s no way he can look pretty with the wound on his cheek, with the purple bruise blossoming around his right eye, the chapped lips split open from his nervous gnawing. Sensing his discomfort, Taehyung reaches over with his free hand and tugs at Jungkook’s hair tucked behind his ears. His deep mahogany-black locks bounces forward like a curtain, shielding the injuries without effort.

“Perfect.”

The camera snaps once more.

*

You curse under your breath after splashing your face with cold water in the office bathroom. Work has been absolute hell in contrast to the newfound heaven at home with Jungkook. You swear there’s a force in the universe set out to get you; as one part of your life heals, another part has its wounds reopen. When Jin called in sick for a few days two weeks ago, you did not realize how different he was going to be when he returned. Something about the way he looks at you these days leaves you paralyzed, often times leading you to work entirely in your personal office instead of the open cubicle like you usually do.

You assume that perhaps there is something going on in his personal life that can explain his passive aggression towards you and your coworkers. Taking pity on him through your own self-talk, you complete his share of the paperwork without complaints for an entire week without earning a single ‘thank you’ or even a smile from him. He often walked back and forth in the hallway, dialing his phone with an aggression that leaves you wondering if the screen even works with how hard he’s pressing. Knowing he was the type of person to need distance during hard times, you didn’t push it.

That is, until he’s suddenly calling in the middle of the night and dragging you out of break rooms. The office is already short on staff due to Sora’s absence, you didn’t need to be reprimanded for laziness especially after you carried his entire workload and apologized on his behalf for mistakes in the software he was supposed to fix.

Honestly, you’re not sure why Jin is cold one moment, hot the next, and then absolutely boiling on some days. But you’ve had enough of it and you’ve reached breaking point today when you heard rumors for the first time that your department, usually praised for its performance, has too many unprofessional workers (it did not take energy for you to figure out people are talking about your little cat-and-mouse chase with Jin). Thus, it was a relief when your former assistant shows up at the office and gives you a break from the cycle of avoiding your childhood friend while saving whatever reputation you have left here.

Pleasant and giving as always, Sora brings sandwiches for the people in your department with no pressure to have the favor returned. It’s the first time you’ve seen your assistant since she took her maternal leave; you almost forgot about her despite receiving occasional updates about her condition and even yearning for her when Jin disappears from his cubicle or stares at you from across the room. To you, she’s one of the best persons you’ve worked with so far in your career. Although Jin is great at handling IT issues that arise too many times for you to wonder if the whole job should be thrown away, it was Sora who brightens the atmosphere with her rambunctious laughter and messy desk in which she was miraculously able to get work done at an unmatched rate. Sporting a small bump beneath her floral wrap dress, she greets you with a kiss on both cheeks.

As you take her in your arms, you peer at Jin leaning against the office fridge with arms folded. His public questioning about Jungkook stays fresh in your mind and everyone else’s as they quietly glance between you and him between conversation.

Almost every time he chases after you, the first words out of his mouth was your boyfriend’s name. It got to the point where you wish you’d wake up from this nightmare that will pass when whatever in his life fixes itself. You’re sure his irrational behavior, arriving from nowhere with the suddenness of a car crash, is coming from something else in his life. You are sure, one hundred percent, that this is the kind of asshole behavior that somehow manifested in your male peers back in college, not that you were ever on the receiving end of it. Until now.

Currently, Jin seems to be deep in thought, sporting dark bags under his eyes. His eyes meet yours momentarily before you pull back and gasp at Sora’s belly with the vigor of a seasoned actress.

“Why do I have a feeling you didn’t just come to bring sandwiches?” You tease while your coworkers chuckle, turning their heads towards you for a moment before turning back to their plates. There are only a few sandwiches left on the counter as you couldn’t leave a conference call until much later unlike others. Actually, it was the same conference call from the person who was disrupted when Jin pulled you out of the room for an “emergency” days ago. You were too angry to even listen to him then, and even angrier now that you’re here smiling after apologizing with a bow just moments before.

With the merry atmosphere dancing in the otherwise cold break room, even your boss sitting at the end of the table has a difficult time asking people to head back to their cubicles and corner offices.

“No, I came here because I missed you,” she squeezes your arms, dragging you softly towards the table scattered with sandwiches of all types. How unfortunate the lobster roll – your favorite – is all gone.

“Please,” you scoff and she laughs with that hearty, sweet sound you missed so much.

“Actually,” she begins, “I’ve been thinking of staying at home to be a mother.”

Your jaw hangs. “You won’t be coming back after this?”

Her face falls slightly at your question and you immediately shut all your thoughts deep inside. You don’t understand the first thing about being a mother. It’s only reasonable you hear her out first. From the corner of your eyes, you see Jin walk towards the coffee pot and pour himself a cup in his chipped mug that brings a spark of annoyance in your chest.

“I do,” she sighs, “but…I found out I’m having twins. Just last week actually. This entire pregnancy was a bit of an accident and I needed time to rethink my priorities. My husband is more than thrilled we’re having twins, you know how he is-“

You nod in sympathy.

“-but it’s difficult for me. I already have a toddler and now with two more…I thought about handing in my resignation soon. I just wanted to see you all one more time before I do.”

You place your hand on her back once you see the tears in her eyes, leading her outside of the break room and into the small walkway where sunlight from the open windows gives you a better view of her solemn yet saccharine face.

“You do what’s right for you. But I understand it’ll be difficult for you to get another job if you need one later with kids around. Have you talked it over with Alex?”

At the sound of her husband’s name from your lips, her cheeks redden slightly.

“He’s glad that I’m strongly considering staying at home. He always wanted to have a big family and we’re more than financially stable with his salary alone. It’s just…I’m going to miss work.” She looks up at you, eyes watering even more. “It feels like I have a family here. Especially you, I feel like I have the little sister I always wanted.”

“Oh Sora,” you sigh, bringing her in your embrace once more and letting her cheek rest on your perfumed shoulder. She inhales the scent of soft geranium and jasmine, letting it calm her anxiousness only further amplified by pregnancy hormones. If the rest of your coworkers found out how emotional she’s getting, they all will follow suit and cry along with her. “We’re still family whether you work here or not. I’m always a phone call away and you know the team will be here to help you if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she sniffles, “I’m grateful…really, for everything.”

“It’s no problem at all,” you smile. “I can’t wait for the babies to arrive. From the bottom of my heart, congratulations on the twins, Sora. It’s such a rare and precious thing.”

She beams at you, eyes glistening, her smile stretching wider as she takes your hands in hers and gives them an eager squeeze.

“I don’t even know how to explain it. Just seeing the ultrasound for the first time was, god I wish you were there!”

“Me too,” you agree, turning your head to the side to see Jin peering at you from between the gap of the door and the column in the corner of the hallway.  “Alex must be so thrilled.”

She rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t shut up about it. He’s baby-proofing the entire house right about now even though I’m not even due for another six months.”

You giggle with her, thinking back to the time you walked into your home to see Jungkook on all fours, rubbing sandpaper to the edges of your coffee table. It’s too dangerous, he said when you stand in front of him with a fist on your hip, you’ll hurt yourself. His strong arms bulge and flex as he works the wood with the ferocity of a mad man. You wonder if Alex is in the same position on the floor, religiously rubbing sandpaper back and forth against the corner of the wooden table.

“That’s so funny,” you muse. “Jungkook baby-proofed the house once and made a mess of the living room…and I’m the farthest thing from a clumsy child.”

Sora raises an eyebrow, elbowing you softly on the side. “Is he dropping hints? You have sex regularly, don’t you?”

“Shhh! Sora!”

She cackles as you turn back and forth between the open door and at her amused face.

“We’re not even married, or even engaged!”

“Well,” she shrugs. “Do you really need to be married to have a child these days? Men can have baby fevers way early in the relationship,” she muses, thinking back to her college days. She seems completely different from the emotional expecting mother just a few minutes ago now that men are the topic of the conversation. Classic Sora move. “I conceived my daughter just a day before Alex proposed.”

You blush, tucking your hair behind your ears. For a moment, you think of your picture-perfect boyfriend on his knees rubbing your lower belly and cooing with his ears pressed up against you. “I guess not but…Jungkook and I aren’t ready for that yet. At least, for the time being.” You shake your head dramatically from side to side, bringing your hands up to your face. “All this baby talk is giving me ideas I don’t like.”

“Alright alright,” Sora waves her hand back and forth like she’s swatting away a fly. “I won’t be one of those annoying office moms that constantly pressure people into pooping out kids.”

You laugh, leaning your back against the wall.

A coworker from two cubicles down peeks his head out the door and urges for Sora to come back into the room. From the ruckus, you can hear your coworkers fighting over the last few sandwiches in a game of rock paper scissors. It seems people are also curious about the picture of her ultrasounds – which you didn’t realize were there before – scattered across the lunch table.

Everyone except for Jin, that is.

You turn towards the door as she waves you off and staggers into the room, just in time to maneuver around Jin who walks towards you while closing the door behind him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he pleads, peering down at you with a heavy, foreboding stare that wipes the remaining laughter out of your chest.

“Can we talk later?” You move to the side to walk past him, only to be blocked as he steps along with you. You really don’t want to deal with him today when you’re having a good time. You actually don’t want to deal with him at all, at your wit’s end.

“You don’t pick up my calls and you almost always leave before me, if not right away. When I ask, you avoid me.”

Every word out of his mouth is true and you feel sick being confronted with it all despite how valid your anger is with the way he seems to want nothing to do with you when he returned, then wanting to bombard you all five working days last week. However, you’re not sure if the sourness in your gut is regret or anger; regretful that you stayed away from Jin like your boyfriend asked or angry that he is slowly getting on your nerves with his recent behavior. Anytime Jin approaches, it’s never about work or even about your friendship and always about your relationship with Jungkook that he somehow sees as unhealthy and worrying.

“Sora is retiring, Jin. I want to be there for her.” You step around him, only for him to grab you by the elbow and drag you further away from the door. You push him away, glancing at the end of the hallway to see if anyone saw.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jin questions.

“No,” you whisper-snarl, looking back and forth from the door to your childhood friend. “What the hell happened to you? Why do you keep picking fights with me when you know I’m going to react the same way?”

He raises an eyebrow. “With you ignoring me?”

You can feel the anger in your veins making your nerves curl. For the past week, he had been insufferable. You’d never seen someone turn from a friend to a stranger so quickly after you have to bear the weight of his eyes following your every move, leaving you unable to do any substantial office work without errors. Even then, you assume he must have personal business to take care of and needed the well-deserved sympathy. After all, Jin has always been a hard worker and you’ve never once doubted his work ethic, especially in this company where he thrived from your recommendation.

However, his newfound aggression has you thinking back to your boyfriend’s warning about how little you know about men despite living with one. His glare sharpens every time you leave early to head back home or when you take a quick call from Jungkook during your lunch breaks. His eyes seem to follow you across the room as you move back and forth from the copier to your office. You think Jin would be over this little temper tantrum of his until, just yesterday, he’d thrown his cup of coffee in the break room sink while you were on the phone. The sound of porcelain meeting steel and the anger in his eyes was something you couldn’t forget about and in your heart you knew the fury extended past you onto your boyfriend waiting for you at home.

“I know you obviously have an issue with Jungkook.”

“So now you’re ready to discuss?”

“Discuss what?” You scoff. “You claim to be my friend who watches out for me yet you can’t even be happy that I’m finally with someone who cares for me. Jin,” you sigh in exasperation, “look, I know you let your paranoia or whatever get in the way but I promise you Jungkook isn’t a liar or a cheat like Namjoon. You’re overreacting.”

He crosses his arms. “Are you so sure about that?”

“About what?”

“Him not lying to you.”

You didn’t like how serious he looked at that very moment. You’d constantly teased about how his classic poker face he kept from his agent days is the reason why he’s been single since the day he was born. It’s a type of unique hardened face that intimidates anyone smaller than him. Now that this sternness is directed at you, you’re not enjoying a single moment of it.

“There’s no reason for him to lie to me.” You’re confident in that statement and he can sense it by the way your spine straightens and your eyes brighten.

It tugs his heart that you feel so strongly about another man when he knows the truth. It hurts him to know that you’ll be ruined by the files he received from Hoseok and Yoongi sitting in his flash drive. Above all, what hurts him the most is that he risked both of his former coworkers’ safety to verify his intuition, an intuition you easily brushed off to prioritize a months-old relationship against his life-long friendship to you.

On the other hand, you can’t fathom just how much Jungkook can possibly keep from you despite being the most sensitive and loving boy you’ve ever met. A little over two weeks ago, on your balcony, Jungkook had revealed everything you needed to know about him and the reason why he feels the way he feels. He’d trusted you enough to tell you something that affected him the most, that justified his habits you were once annoyed by, and that gave you the reason to become more than just his girlfriend. Sitting on his lap, kissing his scars, and listening to his words, you knew nothing can stop you from loving this boy you met under unwelcomed circumstances.

Really, it was ridiculous that you never noticed the signs before. Jungkook had always cowered to your anger, always the one to put your needs first before his, almost never raising his voice at you except for the few times you were oblivious to your surroundings and endangered your wellbeing.

And here, your friend, belittles you the longer he doubts the validity of your relationship with Jungkook.

Jin’s lips part but you manage to speak before him, stepping closer to him as you crane your neck to meet his unwavering gaze.

“I need to set this straight.” You put a hand on his arm. “I appreciate you as a friend, as someone who has been with me for a long time and looked out for me. I know you’ve always been good to me and I don’t hate you, even if I’m more than angry at you right now. I know you care a lot about the people close to you.”

You see him visibly soften at your words. The tender, loving expression on his handsome face makes you weak for a moment.

“But I need to draw a line here. I’m a woman who can make her own choices about what she wants. I don’t need you to be this…bodyguard stressing yourself to protect me from harm. I know what I’m doing and who I’m with. For god’s sake Jin, I’ve been living with Jungkook for months. If he’d somehow lied to me, I’d know by now. So please,” you beg, your eyes going back to the laughter coming from the closed break room door to your best friend’s piercing eyes. “Leave my relationship alone. Let me land on my feet after what Namjoon did to me. I’m,” you sigh, “so happy now. I’m at peace. So please…Jin,” you squeeze his arm. “Please. Can we just go back to being us?”

For the longest time he stays silent, his eyes moving across your face as if he’s looking for something important.

He finds his voice when you step away from him. “…I understand. I’m sorry…for making you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.” He takes your hands in his. “I’m really sorry.”

You offer him a small, sympathetic smile and bask in the warmth of his palms. “I’m sorry too, for avoiding you when I could’ve said all of this earlier.”

“I just-” he starts and pauses.

Jin looks out the window, focusing on nothing in particular. He can see the top of trees and similar silver rectangle buildings reflecting sunlight. He watches a few cars drive past the swirl path leading to the parking lot situated around the main entrance of the building. He looks back down at you.

“I actually wrote everything I wanted to say and…I was too chicken shit to read it out loud. I,” he clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. “I’m just going through a hard time. I know I’m taking all of it out on you. I’m really sorry, I really-”

“Wait, Jin,” you cup his face in your warm hands, immediately shedding all traces of anger and annoyance you carried for the last few days. Of course, your friend of many years would never hurt or anger you on purpose. He’s overthinking and lashing out when logic hits a wall of emotions, just like you had with Jungkook before. You’ve never seen Jin on the verge of tears until now and it’s tugging your heart painfully. “I forgive you, everything’s okay now, right? You’re still one of my dearest friends, I’m not going to be mad at you forever.”

Jin shakes his head. “No, there’s just…”

He freezes mid-sentence again, leaving you curious as to what his next few words might be. Jin’s eyes move frantically from his shoes to the trees outside. Sweat prickles his scalp as he considers the weight of what he’s about to do next, what he’s about to reveal to you. He’d considered and reconsidered his plans only to wing it all last minute. What good does thinking ever do for him? When Jungkook holds your heart captive, is planning worth the trouble? Or is it easier to play Jeon’s game with his unpredictability? Right now, Jin is convinced it’s the latter.

You watch as he digs into his pocket to reveal a small black flash drive the size of a rifle bullet. “Everything I want to say,” he swallows, “is all here.”

You feel glued to the ground by the weight of the object in his hands and by how intense his gaze is as it sets on you. If Jungkook can see you know, you know he would be furious. Jin takes your hand, revealing your soft pink palm, and places the flash drive in the center before curling your fingers around it. Even though the object itself is as light as a feather, the burden of his words lay heavy against your chest, restricting your ability to breathe.

He whispers your name softly like a prayer, rubbing his thumb across your enclosed fist. “Please read it all for me when you’re alone. I promise I’ll leave you and Jungkook alone unless you need me.”

“W-What’s in it?”

A love confession? Maybe Jungkook was right all along about Jin, about men.

Jin shakes his head. “Just read it. Alone. I went through a lot of trouble to make this for you. If you forgive me and want me to be the Kim Seokjin you grew up with, read it.”

Your fist tightens slightly as you take another step away from him. When you walked to the office this morning and found him staring into his mug of pitch-black coffee, you weren’t expecting anything more than the usual passive aggressiveness or being chased during lunch breaks between your boyfriend’s calls. You didn’t expect to stand here in front of him, wondering if the contents of this flash drive will confirm the doubts Jungkook had about him all along.

Noona, can’t you see he wants you for himself?

You dig your hands into your pocket and tuck the flash drive away, garnering the strength to finally look back into your friend’s eyes. Jin’s eyes are fixed on your pocket before they scour your face once more as if he were searching for something.

“What is it?”

How ironic that you’re the one asking the questions now.

Jin’s lips part just slightly before he digs his fists into the pockets of his black slacks and look out the window. It’s strange that he can’t find the words he wanted to say when he can finally be alone with you for once without raising the suspicion of others or, worse, Jungkook’s. The wind blows gently into the hallway, carrying with it the scent of wet leaves. He stares into the distance as you stare at him until a round of laughter interrupts your thoughts. You look at the break room door and then back at your friend who seemed to have turned to stone.

“I’ll make sure to read it,” you reassure him, unable to bear the silence any longer.

He turns back to you but his smile is sad. You gaze at him longer, unable to decipher anything that just happened in this lonely hallway. One thing for sure, you know the contents of Jin’s flash drive needed to be opened alone and whatever is inside affects you more than it’ll affect Jungkook. Something about the content is going to change you, alter your reality, and take the blissful filter you’ve been wearing for the last two weeks at home. The thought makes you feel queasy as if you have something dirty to hide, as if you’re committing adultery behind Jungkook’s back after he’d spilled his heart out to you.

It was Jin who turns on his heels and heads back into the room.

You dig the flash drive out of your pocket and hold it up to the sunlight. It’s such a small and simple plastic tool costing just as much as a tin of mints.

Yet, it scares you so much you nearly miss your phone vibrating in your back pocket. Jungkook’s name flashes across your screen and for the first time, you hesitate to press the answer button.

Perhaps you thought too highly of yourself all along. How different are you really from Yori or Namjoon when you can keep a man’s secret in your pocket while you live with another?

*

So far, Jungkook has learned that fear is a strong motivator. It influences you, shapes you, makes you create paths where there isn’t one. It crawls up the walls and knocks on your window as a reminder that there’s always something lurking in the distance. It’s why Jungkook believes in never settling when things get comfortable.

When he asked Taehyung to make placebo pills, he had done so in fear that you would leave him. Yet, this does nothing to settle his nerves. In fact, it makes him uneasy that he’ll get caught somehow as if the birth control pills he flushed down the toilet never melted. In his unease, he can imagine those eggshell white tablets sticking to the sides of the drain despite the chances being slim to none. One call from a neighbor about a clogged pipe and it’s over for him.

This is the nightmare that lingered in his mind before he’d sat you down in his lap and pressed your hand against the dent on his cheek. Three weeks ago, you listened to him attentively as he wraps you slowly around his fingers. He can smell himself on your neck, taste himself on your tongue, feel your touch so agonizingly sweet on his taut stomach. It pained him a little that you, the privileged girl from the world above, might trade love for pity. But you were so accepting and so understanding of his past, his dependency on Taehyung and you, that there was no way someone can come along and convince him you weren’t made for him. Making love to you, worshipping your skin and scent, has never been so otherworldly for him.

Sitting in front of the television and replaying the footage of you from the wedding that could have taken you away from him, Jungkook inhales and exhales slowly. He’d taken the time to clip Namjoon’s footage away so that all that’s left is you in the wedding boutique twirling multiple dresses to your chest, your soft wavy hair pooling over your shoulders as you do so. In a silk robe, you lift a ballroom dress up against the mirror, eyes moving up and down the charmeuse and tulle quickly to take in all its miniscule details.

He loves that about you. The way your eyes glisten and widen when something strikes your heart. It’s the same look you gave him, sitting in his lap on that damp balcony, running your thumb over the scar on his cheek.

It was especially painful for Jungkook to reopen his past wounds but in one way he felt the invisible weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t tell you everything – especially not about the strings Taehyung pulled for him to live a normal life – but he was satisfied that you didn’t mind one bit. He swears he could hear you purring and sighing softly underneath his chin, reacting with a slight gasp when he tells you how often he was hurt back then and how thankful he was that Taehyung took him under his wing. Although a small spark of jealousy ignited in his chest when you mentioned inviting his attractive friend for dinner once he’s back in down, Jungkook was more than grateful that you didn’t seem to mind how attached he is to the older man.

He wonders if you’d react that same way if he’d told you he’d lost his virginity to Taehyung a year into high school and that his first kiss happened on that same beach rock. He wonders if you’d react in the same sympathetic manner if you truly knew what happened before he was able to graduate high school before the world plunged into tar.

*

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Jungkook’s hands tremble as he yanks the storage drawer open and dig out his shirts, undergarments, and jeans into the duffel bag. He has to make sure he doesn’t forget his winter clothes because he would be livid if he finally gets out of this house only to freeze to death on the streets. From between the cracks of the rotten wood plastered against his window, he can see Taehyung standing with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Taehyung looks around the house, at the rusted gates connected to the concrete walls that surround the perimeter, and the mailbox slumped over the garbage can. He looks at the messily covered windows and puffs out a smoke. There’s a similar slumped duffel bag next to his feet inflated with clothes and packets of food.

“I’m leaving.”

Jungkook’s mother attempts to grab him by the neck, unable to do so easily as he stands tall after he outgrew his middle school uniform. Her grip slips as fast as it comes.

“You ungrateful little shit!” She spits, reaching up successfully this time to grasp the ends of his hair as she shoves hard enough for him to stumble into the wall.

Relentless, Jungkook continues throwing his clothes, then his lunch box filled with coins and a wad of cash, into the bag.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?!” She sobs, throwing herself on the floor next to his shoes and dirty socks. She scratches the slits on her arms and proceeds to drag her nails across the floor. A wretched cry falls from her lips and  Jungkook feels his throat clenching, his eyes watering. Rather than sadness, it was boiling hot resentment that keeps him silent.

He doesn’t turn to look at her. He knows she’s going to manipulate him, somehow, with her disgusting guilt-tripping shrieks and nail him against the wall to prevent him from moving.

She pounds the sticky floor mats with the heel of her palms, her voice hoarse. “I made you, Jungkook! I took care of you, I fed you, I bought your fucking clothes. And you’re leaving me with this fucking asshole,” she slams her hands down again, her head snapping towards the sound of the back door slamming open followed by heavy footsteps. His hands begin to sweat, causing the toolkit he grabs from the top of the shelf to slip and clatter on the floor.

In the distance, Jungkook can hear his father crushing a can of beer against the kitchen counter and throw it in the sink for him to clean like he usually does. No longer is he going to be yanked around like a puppet for these two sad excuses of a human being. How his mother was able to carry him inside her full term and give birth while smoking and drinking like a sailor is unknown to him. He’s grateful, at least, that he came out sane. He thinks with a sudden surge of anger that perhaps his mother’s need to have a punching bag was more critical than the inconvenience that the pregnancy caused her.

To her, his father coming back with the stench of prostitutes and alcohol always became his fault. It was his fault that his mother’s body isn’t as it used to be. It was his fault their marriage is dead. Above all, it was his fault for existing to remind them that they produced another good-for-nothing trash to add to the pile of garbage that is this town’s desolate population.

“I’m not coming back,” Jungkook grunts as he throws a camera and several rolls of film in the bag. “I never want to see you or dad ever again.”

His mother shakes her head over and over again, arms stretched towards the door as it suddenly slams open to reveal the lean yet pot-bellied figure of a graying man. His father looks down at the duffel bag on the floor, and then at his wife curled next to Jungkook shoes. His face seems lifeless – like a corpse – with bulging black beady eyes that reflect no light and a mouth set in a thin strip. It’s the first time in years that the man came to see Jungkook in the makeshift bedroom, usually taking the couch in the living room as his permanent place of residence. It’s where he drinks, where he watches the same television program about car remodeling, and where he demands weekly handjobs in his drunken stupor.

“You’re leaving?” He interrogates, voice low and tired as if he’d woken up from a slumber.

Jungkook nods, zipping his bag and glancing around the room to see if he missed anything. He didn’t own much but it pains him to leave his heavy stack of comic books behind. There was no way he could carry that with him across the country.

“Why?”

Jungkook looks at his father under the single light bulb illuminating the otherwise dark and swampy room. For the first time, he notices how similar they look. He has the man’s eyes, his soft yet chiseled jaw, and even the mole under the lips. If the man were several decades younger, they would be a splitting image of each other. The thought makes bile rise up Jungkook’s throat.

Why is he leaving? Was that even a question he needed to answer? One night with the Jeons and anyone will run far away. Jungkook has lived here for nearly a decade and a half and at no point during his residency was he able to remember a time when his body wasn’t covered with bruises or scars. It’s a miracle that he’s never broken a bone nor hospitalized after being whipped across his bare buttocks for years like a prisoner. The humiliation was far worse than the pain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jungkook retorts for the first time, gaze hardening. “I fucking hate living in this hellhole.”

His mother watches as her husband swings forward and slams his fist down on the side of Jungkook’s temples, knocking the boy against the open drawers. Jungkook splutters a ball of saliva and blood and digs his arms and legs into onto the ground the crawl away. Unfortunately, the room had only so much room for him to move. The stronger male pulls him by the ankles, dragging him back and flipping him on his back for him to see the belt buckle coming undone.

Jungkook crosses his arms across his face and shields his eyes away from the light and those deep black eyes. From the gaps between his forearms, he sees his mother crawling towards him and yanking his pants down, digging her nails so deeply into the patch of skin where his hips meet the waistband that the scratch marks instantly bleed.

“This boy needs to be taught a lesson!” He hears his father say with a voice as sudden and full of viciousness as thunder, the first lash coming down across his arm. He cries out, spine stiffening as a he gasps into the side of the bag. His breath is ripped out of his lungs. The second lash comes down shortly afterwards across his thighs where former bruises had only recently begun to heal.

“He does, doesn’t he?!” His mother encourages, no longer seeming as distressed as she was before looking down at his scrunched and tear-streaked face.

“When I am done with you, boy, you are going to wish you were dead. You ungrateful piece of-”

A stream of thick liquid splatters over Jungkook’s trembling body, a few droplets attempting to seep into his eyelids squeezed shut. His pounding head gifts him with a vision so hazy he might as well stare through a dense blanket of fog. When his arms come down at his sides to hold his temples together, he can feel his veins pulsing beneath.

It takes a full minute for him to even understand what he was looking at. There’s a muscular arm holding his father across the chest to hold the man’s spine straight and another swung over his shoulders as a silver scalpel, following a trail across the neck, stays lodged deep into the trachea. Jungkook sees another splash of red fall over his bare knees as the stream of blood falls to his feet. The smell of iron is thick in the air when his father, eyes bulging out further than he thought possible, slumps to the side.

Pulling himself away from the weight of the corpse at his feet, Jungkook watches the figure rip the knife standing tall from the man’s throat and plunge into the side of his frozen mother’s neck. He watches her pale, skinny limbs thrash as if she’s burned before she slumps down next to the futon.

With a feeling he can only describe as akin to relief, Jungkook looks up at his savior.

“I told you you’ll need me here.”

With soaked hands, Taehyung gathers the boy in his arms and leans him against the wall. He watches as Jungkook’s face scrunches in pain once more and stray tears make its way down his baby soft cheeks. He takes his trembling bottom lip under his front teeth and shakes as he whimpers like a wounded puppy.

He is truly a puppy, Taehyung thinks.  

The older boy takes his place against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, watching Jungkook with the same enthusiasm as one watches a child take its first steps. Jungkook, wiping the splatters of blood from his face, exhales and sniffles loudly before crawling towards his mother. He wraps his fingers around the silver scalpel from her throat and pull until her skull knocks back down to the floor with a thud. Bloods seeps from her wound down to his fingers and, with a sudden strength, Jungkook lodges the sharp end of the tool into her heart. She must have been partially alive as a throaty gasp makes its way out of her mouth.

Her blood is darker than he remembered from the many period-stained panties of hers he scrubbed with his hands over the kitchen sink. It looked like tar, thick and warm yet lightweight as it drenches his clothes. Remembering his state of undress, he curls his fingers around the waistband of his pants and pull it up towards his hips and over the scratches at his side.

Jungkook grasps the knife once more to push further and relishes in the feeling of it hitting bone. He realizes, with wonder, that his parents don’t even look like corpses in front of him but like puppets.

Maybe that’s how they saw him when they were alive – like a puppet they could throw around without a care knowing it’ll live and die under this roof.

Jungkook takes the knife and stumbles over to his father’s body with enthusiasm, puncturing the man’s stomach and dragging the knife up towards the breastbone. More tar-black blood seep into the flooring, flooding the horizontal bamboo until it ran underneath the drawers and the small shelf holding his textbooks in a neat stack. He grips the knife and plunges, again and again, into the side of the man’s head, gasping only slightly when the bone gives away with a small crack like a camera shutter.

Jungkook situates himself on his knees, heels digging into his buttocks, and looks down at his soaked hands resembling red gloves. He examines his nails, the cuticles darkening as the blood oxidizes in the swampy room. He blinks a few times, watching the red glow under the dim lightbulb above him.

He’s imagined this moment many times before in his fantasies, some much more exciting and drawn-out than what occurred like a fight scene from a Bruce Lee movie. But none of those fantasies included Taehyung coming to rescue him like he had many times before. None of these fantasies included such quick and boring deaths. He was hoping he could say everything he wanted to say to them, about how much he loathed them with all his heart, how much he wished he could watch them boil alive like an insect in a summer pond.

They probably knew but didn’t care.

Now that it’s over, now that there will no longer be screaming and tiring cycles of starvation and receiving the belt, Jungkook is rather grateful for Taehyung’s interruption. And he’s grateful that his best friend of years has never really hid his experience from him. Taehyung just merely waited for his slow brain to catch up.

There’s only one thing he could say as the room falls silent and still.

“Is this what happened to your grandpa too?”

It was with a sudden intuition that Jungkook asked such a question.  

“This…and a little more.”

Jungkook slumps down to the floor, looking past his shoulder at Taehyung, silently motioning him to come hold him.

Reading the silence without hesitation, the older boy crawls forward and envelops him in his embrace, keeping him tucked beneath his chin as two hands grip the underside of his arms. He shields the boy’s gaze away from the bodies, knowing that the first time is always the most poignant despite him taking it so well.

“They’ll know it was us.”

Taehyung brushes Jungkook’s bangs back and tucks the ends behind his ear.

“They’ll find us even if we left.” Jungkook continues. Without looking, Taehyung can hear the pout in his voice.

“Are you worried?”

Jungkook nods, fingers palming the thick ropes of muscle beneath his grip.

“Don’t be,” Taehyung chuckles, his long fingers brushing over the small sensitive patch of skin just behind the boy’s earlobes. “I’ll take care of you.”

*

Jungkook decides to take a long, cold shower after ending the call with you. It concerns him that you sounded exhausted over the phone but he expected it anyway as you’ve been working far too much this week. Your voice, so soft and gentle, makes him semi-hard enough that he finds himself palming the length of his cock under the running water to relieve his frustrations. It had taken him a substantial amount of self-control to refrain from asking for more time in the bedroom these days. As sweet as you are allowing him to nestle inside you and nuzzle you when you were too tired and sleepy to move, your exhaustion ultimately lead him to tucking you in his arms and make sure you at least get some sleep. God, how he wishes for you to run your hands over his chest and arms now.

Jungkook twists the shower knob into the wall and ruffle his dripping hair. He slides the glass door to the left, heaving a soft sigh as he examines the surface of the tub, the toilet, and the sink. The smell of sanitizing lemon cleanser still lingers in the air but he knows the scent will be long gone by the time you’re back from work. Next to the polished sink, he prepared a small basket of bath supplies – jasmine-scented bath salts, dried flowers, and a heart-shaped sponge – for you to pamper yourself when you drag your feet through the front door looking like death. Work has been rough on you and he was more than happy to handle all the responsibilities at home that you sometimes habitually do.

He grabs the towel folded over the slightly rusted rack erected next to the shower curtain (he reminds himself to replace that) and wraps the fluffy material around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabs his cellphone just in time for it vibrates aggressively in his grip.

Head tilted to one side to make sure the moisture at the ends of his hair doesn’t drip on the surface, he answers the call with a smile.

“Tae!”

“Is she pregnant yet?”

Jungkook exhales softly, a smile dancing on his lips. The older Taehyung gets, the less he beats around the bush. “Not yet but she’ll be fertile next week, I think I’ll have better luck soon. How’ve you been? Jimin told me you were in Cuba…and Hong Kong too.”

He hears a sigh over the speakers and chews on his bottom lip. Oh, Jimin is going to get an earful for sure for blabbering his business around.

“I had to deal with a few people…listen,” his voice lowers suddenly, “has anyone approached you or your girlfriend recently?”

Jungkook walks into the bedroom, turning off the bathroom lights with his elbow on the way out. He sits at the edge of the bed, combing his hair back until the droplets trail down his spine and shoulder blades.

“Not that I know of,” he shakes his head, “why do you ask?”

When Taehyung doesn’t reply immediately, a pang of anxiety wraps his heart in a vice grip.

“I-is there someone after me?” He grips his phone.

A few thousand miles away, the older man shakes his head, re-evaluating what he needs to hide or reveal. He wants Jungkook to be prepared for emergencies but after discovering that this Kim Seokjin person is in the same city and, out of a strange coincidence that may not be a coincidence, worked in the same building as you, he’s come to a logical conclusion that makes the situation unpredictable. A basic background check tells him that Seokjin no longer works for the government nor does he have permission to access private health and criminal records of strangers. It explains why the man needed to contact Hoseok and Yoongi. The motive behind such an unethical behavior could also be because of you, Taehyung guesses when he scrolled through Seokjin’s social media profiles to see more than a few pictures of him and you at cocktail parties and birthday gatherings. It did not take much deduction to understand that Taehyung is staring at the jealous male figure that his closest friend complained of lingering around his precious noona. Perhaps the man is using unethical means to dig for the literal skeletons in Jungkook’s closet?

However, if Jungkook sees the man as a threat and if Seokjin has evidence in his possessions, why has neither of the men taken drastic action? Jungkook is far too immature (Taehyung admits) to not consider using his services to take care of a male threat. He seems unusually at peace with you now, leading Taehyung into a wall. If Jungkook isn’t truly threatened and if Seokjin hasn’t acted yet, the former agent is probably smart enough to realize you’re not worth the trouble of dealing with a criminal. The contents of Jungkook’s case must have scared him off. Yes, that’s it.

Taehyung mentally slaps himself on the forehead for not thinking through before calling and worrying the boy.

“Tae? Are you still there?”

That bug he planted in the software used to track juvenile criminal cases lent him more paranoia than relief. There were numerous times Jungkook and his files were accessed by agents that were actively filtering or attempting to study old cases to his annoyance. Maybe the pictures scared Seokjin off for good. Two weeks is too long of a wait to expose a man when there’s an abundance of evidence.

“You don’t have to worry. I was asking because someone messed up a shipment and my customer isn’t very happy. Sent some threats that sounded a little too serious than the usual.”

Jungkook exhales a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding. “…I mean…it sounded serious enough to worry you. Should I keep watch? Should I tell Jimin?”

“No, no need for that. I called to check, just in case. You know nothing is guaranteed in our line of work.”

The thought makes Jungkook upset. Nothing is guaranteed, but he hopes your devotion and Taehyung’s safety is. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without the both of you.

“Okay…” Jungkook looks down at his toes clenching into the floor. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong, right?”

To that, Taehyung replies quickly. “Of course. We’re brothers after all.”

He smiles to that, brushing his locks back and standing. He makes his way towards the closet, fishing out a pair of black sweatpants and a matching cashmere shirt.

Hearing the ruffle of clothes through the phone, Taehyung makes the decision not to tell you about Kim Seokjin after all. With the expectation of pregnancy and Jungkook’s proneness to jealousy, he didn’t need more work on his plate. Despite the brotherhood, they each had their own lives after all and constant surveillance of the past would do more harm than good, reopen wounds that have longed healed.

“I’m catching a flight, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” Jungkook beams. He suddenly looks forward to the day he’ll introduce Taehyung to you if there’s business that needs to be done in the city. “Bye, Tae-”

The doorbell rings, prompting Jungkook to turn towards the opening where he can see past the living room to partial front door. By the time the bell rings a second time, Taehyung has already dropped the call. Jungkook makes his way out of the bedroom slowly, keeping his feet light.

Taehyung has already reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. Being approached by someone seems unlikely if this customer of his had expressed similar threats in the past. Yet, somewhere in his gut, he couldn’t fight the feeling that there’s something he isn’t noticing. And the answer to that feeling might be on the other side of the door.

When he reaches the panel, he presses the button next to the monitor to reveal the image of a neatly dressed middle-aged woman carrying a small, wrapped box in her hands. He can tell just from her clothes that she belongs to this part of the town – her posture itself reflects wealth and respect.

It took a few more blinks until he realizes who he’s looking at.

Mother-in-law!

The door opens with a loud clang, causing the woman’s head to snap upwards at the tall man smiling down at her. She notes his damp hair and handsome features – doe eyes, a button nose, pink shapely lips and aristocratic cheekbones. You sure know how to pick your men.

“Are you…Jungkook?” The woman inquires.

He nods eagerly, stepping to the side. “Yes, you’re noona’s mother, right? Please come in.”

He notices the hesitation followed by a pair of Celine heels clicking against the polished floors. He mentally rewards himself for dedicating the morning to polish the bathroom, the kitchen, and the parquet. The house smells a bit like lemon but the balcony carried the scent of orange blossoms that masked the unpleasant sharp notes of artificial fruit.

The woman’s eyes move across the living room, eyebrows slightly raised as if she was bracing herself to witness a pig sty instead of a home.

“What time does she get off work?”

Jungkook closes the door and hovers an arm across her back to lead her towards the sofa. She’s about the same height as you, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. He silently hopes the furniture doesn’t smell like sweat as he’s been melting there with the television on for the first half of the afternoon.

“A-about nine, she’s been working overtime for this week.” His knees hit the side of the couch but any hint of pain is overridden with the need to impress. “Please take a seat, I’ll bring you some water.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, although the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jungkook backs slowly towards the kitchen and then jogs to the fridge, yanking the door open and fetching a cool bottle of water. His hands shake when he fishes a glass from the dish rack, making sure he chose the glass without the uneven bottom. He should have refunded the entire set months ago when it came with such a frustrating defect.

He quickly pours into the cup and wipes any stray droplets on the side of the glass with the back of his hand. She thanks him under her breath when he sets the cup in front of her with a wooden coaster propped underneath. She takes the glass in her hands and take a small sip, smacking her lips together as if she’s tasting wine.

Jungkook struggles to look for the right words to say.  

“I brought marinated crabs,” she thrusts the neatly packed box towards him, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Jungkook’s smile couldn’t have been any larger as he takes the wrapped box from her with both hands. “Thank you so much…I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared. I wasn’t aware you were coming.”

At that, your mother clears her throat. “I came to talk to you about my daughter. Without her knowing, you see. I’m sure you know we…haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.”

Jungkook nods, placing the box on the table and gathering his hands in his lap. Despite keeping close watch on your every move, he’s kept in the dark about your family situation. He only remembers you shaking with laughter and tears when hearing about your mother maintaining close ties with the Kim family after what happened. Even though the woman hurts for her daughter, financial ties are hard to break.

“…Yes, I’m aware.”

The older woman sighs softly, dragging her gaze across Jungkook’s expression and posture. The boy certainly is polite but it was obvious he was not from the kind of world you’re from. She can tell by the way he fidgets and seem too eager to please; it was endearing but also pathetic to watch. He’s extremely sweet and charming – she admits – and overwhelmingly so. Unlike Namjoon, he seems to be much more expressive and sensitive.

She can understand why you took such a liking to him, why you could overlook the not-so-pleasant behavior that reveals his poor upbringing.

“I wanted to come to tell you…I found someone for her.”

He smiles, not understanding the woman for a few moments until her solemn eyes met his. He can feel his belly clenching as his stomach drops. He must have misheard, that’s it. “I-I’m sorry?”

Your mother takes another sip from her glass, looking around the house once more, as if she were stalling time, before planting her eyes on Jungkook’s appalled expression. She seems guilty, at least, that she’s said such a thing to the boy although she’s never once held a high opinion of him.

“I’ve been looking for a suitable partner for her.” She continues. “I am aware she is rightfully upset with me and she won’t listen to me, much less talk. I know she was seeing several men before she became…serious with you.”

Jungkook can feel his stomach churning.

“You must know by now what kind of family she comes from. There are some…things that are expected of her to respect our traditions. I know it’s entirely unfair of me to-”

Jungkook stands, turning away from her as he brings a hand up to his mouth. His temples pulse with nausea as her voice grows louder.

“-come here and ask for you to understand! What you did to Namjoon did irreversible damage to my daughter’s reputation and as a mother,” she shakes her head from side to side, “I can no longer sit still and watch her make a terrible mistake”

“I…” Jungkook starts, his heart hammering in his chest. “What I did to him…I would never do to noona. I’d never hurt her o-or even think about doing such a thing.”

The woman sighs, her eyes devoid of warmth. “I know, darling. I do trust that the incident happened because you were protecting her feelings. I can appreciate your sentient. However,…she’s my only child. As a mother…as her only parent…I have to make sure she’s on the right path.”

Jungkook turns, his eyes glazed as he bores into the box sitting on the couch. This wasn’t a present given for pleasantries, it was brought to cushion her true intentions.

“Jungkook…” The woman stands to stretch her arms out and hold Jungkook’s hands under her warm palms. He’s paralyzed, whether or not it’s from her insulting logic or from her general disapproval of him, she doesn’t care to know.

“I’m not your enemy. I know you love my daughter, I’ve heard of how much you’ve taken care of her. Please understand that-”

His ears are ringing. Jungkook can feel himself shrinking under her gaze. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry because he knows, deep down, how incompatible he is with you considering the two very different lives you both have led. Did you phone your mother for the first time in months behind his back after he told you about his past? Did you pretend to be okay even if it scared you?

It’s like your mother reached into his core and pulled every shred of insecurity he carried within him. Every night for the last few months, he felt like he was given permission to consume the forbidden fruit that is you, knowing there are consequences to his consumption. Your devotion, your promises, your endless compassion towards him – is it all going to turn into a mirage?

He knows since the very beginning that in many ways he’s incomparable to Namjoon and even some of your rebound lovers he had the displeasure of following around. A glance at a man’s wristwatch and he could tell whether they belonged to your world or not. Jungkook can only hope that the struggles he’d faced would give him the leverage others don’t have. He is willing to risk it all for you and make sure you won’t ever have to experience a single morsel of pain he’d endured.

“Can you give me a chance?” Jungkook pleads, voice small.

Suddenly, anger flashes across your mother’s face but as quick as it came, it disappeared. He could tell she was struggling to keep herself in check after several months of you ignoring her calls, her incessant demands to maintain the family image, and the burn of needing to sneak around your schedule to reach your new apartment herself. It’s the pent-up frustration of having the family pride stepped on again and again by you that has led her to this moment.

If he were your guardian, he’d also be worried too. He can forgive your mother just as he had forgiven you many times.

“A chance?” She fumes.

Jungkook nods. “I promise I won’t disappoint you…I-I have a business and I’m more than willing to be the sole provider-”

The woman’s hand tighten around his relaxed fists.

“Jungkook,” she grits. “You are not hearing me. I don’t want her marrying into a family out of our circle. We have an established tradition of-”

Jungkook scoffs, ripping his hands away. “No, ma’am. You are not hearing me.”

Her eyebrows come together as her foundation-covered wrinkles deepen with a frown. She watches Jungkook walk across the living room to the hanging picture of you and your father. You were a mere child then, staring naively up at your late father with wonder as your little fists reach up to take the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

Digging his hands inside his pocket and running his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he turns to the woman.

“I’m asking for a chance because I’ve already decided to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

#bunny:fic #yandere bts #yandere fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan angst #bangtan smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #only you #chapter 8 #i had to make a super hard decision to take out the smut that I wrote like over a thousand words for *WHEEEZEEEEE* #there will be smut in OY9 tho i GUARANTEE #pls don't come for me with pitchforks lmfao

[jercmiah]

did someone say bring in a depressed stoner who also thinks he’s funny??? no?? oh ok.

                  Look at them, they're just staring at me                        Like come and watch the skinny kid                      With a steadily declining mental health                       & laugh as he attempts to give you                            what he cannot give himself

                                         MEET JEREMIAH.

tw .    mental health,  depression, drugs

his biological parents were young and incredibly immature, and after far too many visits from social workers he had been placed in foster care. at approximately NINE years old.  

then there’s Charlotte and Shanice Banks, two amazing, strong ass women who longed to have their own children after they’d been together for thirteen years already. shanice, a lawyer, and charlotte a school teacher.  charlotte was jeremiah’s fifth grade english teacher, he was a class clown, she noted, he got a kick out of making the other students laugh.  all in all, he seemed to be a very positive kid and was quite surprised to read his file and learn the horrific details surrounding his childhood.

it didn’t take much for them to decide to make jeremiah the newest addition to their family.       he was officially adopted at the age of 13. he loves his moms so much and would fight lit anyone for them. truly a momma’s boy but “in a sexy way” as he’d say. 

however his childhood and mental health eventually caught up to him when he was sixteen which led to some bad shit, causing his parents to send him to a psychiatric hospital for a few months.   “you’d go to a hospital when your not feeling well physically, you can go to when you’re not feeling well mentally as well,” is how they convinced him when he protested.

he was diagnosed with manic depression and has to take his medication pretty regularly and he.... usually does.

started selling bud when he was eighteen to preps, he managed to become a pretty reliable drug dealer. his moms would be so proud if they knew.

                                                PERSONALITY

his mothers raised him teaching about toxic masculinity and the importance of feeling and showing his emotions so he’s not afraid to cry watching a nicholas sparks film or go on womanist rants.  and, per him, “womanist is more inclusive than feminism”

self deprecating humor because he truly ! hates himself sometimes ! but he hides it behind “haha jk ;)”

A LOSER!!! a sarcastic asshole!! he’d technically be considered a nerd because of how lame he is but his grades never backed him up with that.. also always gets yelled at for skateboarding in places he shouldn’t. like why are you skating in a library, jeremy?

is truly sad a lot of the time but also could never really be taken seriously because he’s always joking. 

dressed up as hermione granger to impress a girl once, has never seen harry potter. dressed up as kim possible a few years later because he really wanted to wear a red wig.

he’s high 80% of the time.

                                        CONNECTIONS

adopted siblings ??  -  he has two OTHER siblings ! younger or older doesn’t matter !  also adopted?? up to you! 

the yin to his yang  -   a best friend! gender doesn’t matter, but his parents probably depend on this person to sort of watch over him. they love them as if they’re also one of their own kids!

unrequited crush  -   pls let him be all heart-eyes, kindergarten crush over this specific muse.  the one he dressed up as hermione granger for.

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL DRUG DEALER -  hi !! he sells !! he needs clients !! it would be fun if he’s a concerned drug dealer as well, cutting your muse off if he 

someone he knew from his hospital stays -   pretty self explanatory!

EX GIRLFRIEND  -  this one will be kinda sad. anyway they were head over heels for each other but he cut things off / ghosted abruptly after he went through his episode.  this person doesn’t know he stayed at a psychiatric hospital and probably thinks he just abandoned their relationship.   COULD TIE INTO UNREQUITED CRUSH AS WELL.

#irvingintro #drugs tw #hes just a drug dealer ok #depression tw #mental illness tw

[iamcayc]

Chapter 2: Kids

Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Gojo Satoru/Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Flirting, Developing Relationship, Original Character(s), Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Strangers to Lovers, annoyances to lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Vaginal Fingering, Heavy Petting, Gojo Satoru is a Little Shit

---

The phone ringing startles you as you’re sitting on your couch, a true crime documentary on the television as the soundtrack to your night of grading essays. There’s still half a stack of essays to slog through, and only one more glass of wine left in the bottle on your coffee table.

You glance at the screen of your phone, frowning at the name you see.

“What’s up, Nanami?” The phone rests against your shoulder as you scribble a barely-passing grade on the paper in your hand.

“You busy?”

Well, this isn’t going to end well.

“I’m almost out of wine and have twelve more essays to suffer through before I can call it a night.” Nanami chuckles at your predicament. “So, yeah, I guess you can say I’m a bit busy. Why?”

Nanami sighs and you can just see him rubbing his temple as he tries to work out a way to ask you something he knows you aren’t going to like.

“Spit it out, would ya?” you probe with a sigh.

“Satoru wants your help with a mission.”

Your frown immediately deepens. “I already told him that I’m not a sorcerer.”

A muffled series of thwumps and thuds force you to hold the phone away from your ear before a new voice chirps through the device.

“Technically, you only told me that you have asthma,” Gojo says brightly. “You didn’t say anything about not being a sorcerer.”

Your eyes narrow at nothing in particular. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re the kind of guy who likes to point out technicalities?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound a warm caress through the phone. You’re fairly certain that’s mostly the wine reacting, but you aren’t taking any chances.

“Regardless, let me make it perfectly clear to you: I am not any kind of practicing, jujutsu sorcerer,” you say slowly, clearly. “I received enough training to keep my energy in check and help out where I can as a Window since I work at a school and know what to look for. Now, if you’d be so kind as to return my cousin’s phone, I’d like to tell him to make himself available for you since he is sorcerer.”

A soft grunt sounds as you listen to the phone getting passed back to Nanami. “I’m sorry, Kaya. I tried explaining—where the fuck are you going? Satoru!”

As he shouts Gojo’s name, a polite knock sounds at your door. You leap to your feet, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Kaya? Kaya, are you there?” Nanami’s voice sounds tired. “Do not open that door. You give this guy a fucking inch and he takes a mile.”

“Are you telling me that the random-ass person knocking on my door right now is Gojo?” you ask tersely. “Because I’m pretty fucking sure I live a solid distance away from your school.”

Nanami sighs and mutters a series of graphic swears as the person at the door begins to knock on the door to the beat of “Mary had a Little Lamb.”

“I can’t tell you if he’s being so stubborn because he genuinely needs your technique, or if he’s only thinking with his cock, but you do not have to answer that door.” You snort, not buying for a second that Gojo has any intention of giving up so quickly.

“I’m never having dinner with you again,” you hiss into the phone before hanging up. As far as you’re concerned, this is all Nanami’s fault for allowing Gojo to crash their weekly dinner. You toss the phone on your couch before stomping towards the door and yanking it open to reveal a casually-dressed Gojo leaning against the jamb with a grin.

“What the fuck do you want?” you ask with thinly-veiled hostility. Gojo ignores the venom and grins wider.

“I have to say,” he remarks, “I think you’ve got the most beautiful eyes when you’re irritated.”

You haven’t wanted to throttle someone in so long, you forgot what it felt like to have your blood boil.

“What do you want?” you ask again, this time through gritted teeth.

“Your help.” Gojo tilts his head innocently as he looks at you. “Pretty please?”

The bubbling frustration with this man isn’t something you need your neighbors witnessing, so you step aside and yank him through the door, surprised that he allowed you to grab hold of him at all, considering what you know of him.

You ignore his chuckle as you stomp back into your living room and pause your documentary, knowing you’ll likely have to restart the whole thing since you missed so much thanks to the asshat currently making himself comfortable on your couch. He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, tilting his head back to look at you.

“You’ve got a nice place for a teacher.” You stare at him. He did not just backhand compliment you. “Though, the sound proofing tiles are a little odd.”

“You’re an asshole,” you tell him with a glare. “And now that I am fully aware of the fact that you have highly selective hearing, let me say this one more time: I have absolutely no interested in joining your mission.”

“Because of your asthma, right?”

Dear fucking god, you want to punch him.

“And the fact that I’m not a fucking sorcerer. I have never and will never work as one.”

“Why not?” Gojo watches you as you sink onto a pillow on the floor at the coffee table. “Nanamin isn’t anywhere near my level and he still makes a solid living doing exorcisms.”

You look at him as you pick up your red pen. “If you had to quantify the actual size of your ego, how big would it be?”

The jab is ignored with a dismissive wave. “Your cursed technique, it’s based on sounds that you personally create, right?”

“I mean, it’s definitely bigger than your dick. There’s no way that thing is bigger than a handful of centimeters, considering the way you carry on every time I have the displeasure of seeing you.”

“But that can’t be it, because if that were the case, you would be wreaking havoc on the populace if you so much as farted.”

“I wonder what that server thought when you finally whipped it out, after doing everything she could think of to get your attention? Ha! I bet she was so disappointed.”

Gojo leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he grins at you. His aura is practically dancing around him; he’s loving every second of this.

“You really didn’t like her, did you?”

“I really didn’t care either way.” Half-truth, but who’s counting? “I just got tired of seeing her tits every time she came to check on us. That, and her aura was starting to make me motion sick with the undulating and buzzing.”

He raises a white brow. “You can see auras?”

“I heard them first. I’ve always been sensitive to sounds.” You frown at the introductory paragraph of the paper in your hand. Did you students even read the assignment? “I only started to see the auras after training with Nanami.”

“I’ve never heard of someone hearing an aura... what’s mine sound like?”

You look up at him, surprised to see that he’d taken off the sunglasses he’d been wearing to pin you with those eyes. Why is someone so far up their own ass this hot?

Setting down your pen, you take a breath to center yourself, allowing your own aura to reach out to his. You let your eyes guide the edges of your aura along the edges his, like a bow across a string. If Gojo feels anything, he doesn’t say; he just watches you with an intense expression.

At some point, you let your eyes meet his, and that’s when his aura begins singing to you.

“You sound like a cello’s mid-range, that sweet spot of notes on the G and D strings.”

“What does your sound like?”

The question throws you off. No one has ever asked about yours before. It’s not that you don’t know how your aura sounds, but rather, you aren’t sure how to explain what you hear.

“It sounds like me,” you reply plainly. “I sound like... just me.”

He regards you quietly before letting his cheek rest on his fist. His gaze softens as he looks at you, sending whatever traces of annoyance you feel towards him scattering into nothing.

“There have been reports of a cursed human loose in a residential area outside of Hidaka. Some sightings have it listed as a child, others say it's a few adults. But all the witnesses agree that whatever it is, it’s luring children from the area into the woods.”

“Is this the part where you tell me why Six Eyes needs me to find some cursed human in the woods?”

He shrugs. “I’m not good with kids.”

You snort. “You’re a teacher.”

“And you’ll notice that my students are well above the age of 6 years old.”

“So are mine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Pot, meet kettle.” You set down your pen and look at him seriously. “And before you throw my whole aura-sight at me, I’ll point out that you seemed to have no idea that I could see auras until a few minutes ago. So, tell me why you want my help on a mission you and your students are more than equipped to handle on your own?”

Gojo leans back against the couch once again and sighs. You let silence creep into the space between you. His aura isn’t singing anymore, but it isn’t agitated, so you haven’t totally pissed him off. Yet.

“I want you to lure the curses out and get them to bring the missing kids with them.” One of his hands slides through his hair. “At least, that was my initial idea. But, if you can see and hear auras, that might help us get the kids out before shit goes south with the curses.”

You frown. “That original plan assumes that I can control more than one curse at a time, which isn’t the most fool-proof, either. I’m not being modest when I say that I’m not a sorcerer, I’m being honest. Your dark-haired student’s aura is more powerful than mine, and he wasn’t even trying to let me see his aura.”

Gojo considers you quietly, his blue eyes shimmering in the artificial light of your apartment. You’re tempted to examine the shifting colors of his irises up close, until you remember that you know better than to let your body anywhere near a man that self-confident.

“I’d say you’re an upper Grade 3, just as you are now. Properly motivated, maybe a Grade 2. Still, that’s more than enough to draw out a few curses. I don’t need you to exorcise them, only get their attention and make them a bit more docile for the kids to take out.”

“You really aren’t going to let this one go, are you?” you ask him, sighing as you rest your chin on the heel of your palm. He flashes you a bright grin, sending an armada of butterflies up your stomach and into your throat.

“Nope.”

You lean back on your palms as you look at him. You have no interest in telling him that you’ve already decided to help since there are missing kids involved, so you let him watch you watch him. Because, maturity.

“And what do I get out of this? Other than a potential asthma attack?”

His grin slips into a smirk. “What do you want?”

You raise your brow, knowing full well what he’s insinuating. “I don’t touch sloppy seconds, thanks. I was thinking more along the lines of a few bottles of really nice wine, or maybe an expensive whisky. Or, if you’re feeling really guilty about triggering my asthma, never asking me to help with your job ever again.”

“Since I’m feeling generous, why don’t you decide after you’ve helped me out? You know, see how much effort you have to put in and get the most reward for your buck.”

You don’t trust that new sparkle in his eyes as you agree to his terms.

You only agree to meet Gojo and the others after school the next day because the sooner you’re done with this favor, the better. Then, you can get back to watching Netflix specials on serial killers and grading piss-poor essays on the Baroque movement in peace.

The grounds of the Tokyo Jujutsu High School are well kept, despite there being so few students enrolled. The spans of the campus practically begged to be bustling with chattering students, but all it gets is the occasional grumpy alumni and sporadic admissions.

It wouldn’t hurt to plant some flowers either.

“I told you she wasn’t going to show up with a flute or drum!” You glance over your shoulder and see Gojo leading the two boys from before and a new addition, a girl with down-turned eyes and a bored expression.

Gojo inclines his head towards you by way of greeting. “Kaya, you saw these two yesterday, Yuji and Megumi.” His thumb points out Pinky first, then the dark-haired kid whose temperament you like. “This is my other first-year, Nobara.”

You wave with a polite smile, your teacher’s smile. “Nice to meet you all.”

Nobara peers at you a little longer, her eyes sweeping up and down your outfit with analytical eyes. You couldn’t wait to hear what a sixteen year old has to say about your clothes. You chose to swap out your black jeans for a sturdy pair of athletic leggings to increase mobility, though you are acutely aware of how tight the pants are, especially around your ass.

You pick at an invisible lint on the sleeve of your jacket. Gojo is doing a marvelous job of surveying your… assets.

“I want you to design our new uniforms,” she declares boldly. You blink in surprise since that is definitely not what you were expecting. Not sure what’s so stunning about leggings and a rarely-used running shirt, even if it has Gojo eyeballing your butt with enough heat to send his aura in languid waves around him.

“Thanks, I think.” You slip on your leather jacket and look over at Gojo with an arched brow. “Are you finished gawking? I have classes to teach tomorrow, and there’s nothing worse than trying not to make a bunch of teenage girls cry when you’re too tired to tell them their god-awful piano composition sounds like something out of a third-rate anime.”

If they thought Nobara offers up some hot takes, they need to see you with less than six hours of sleep and a full day of classes on the horizon.

Gojo chuckles as he rubs his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. There is something unfairly sensual about the motion, and extremely predatory. Frowning slightly, you turn away and hand the kids the the earplugs you had stuffed in your pocket before you’d left the apartment.

“What’re these for?” Yuji asks, inspecting the bits of foam like you just handed him cocaine. .

“Maestro, here, uses a cursed technique rooted in sound.” You feel Gojo sling his arm around your shoulders. “Though, seems like she didn’t bring enough for me to get a pair, too.”

You shoot him a look. “You know precisely why I didn’t bother. Now, can we please get a move on?”

Wordlessly, the kids gather around and latch onto Gojo’s jacket, and you brace yourself for the gut-punch that comes along with teleporting. Nanami graciously informed you of Gojo’s aptitude for warping after a series of threats of bodily harm that exponentially increased in severity the more he dodged your questions. In that time, you realized that Gojo’s perpetual use of Limitless could stop your technique without a thought.

You’re in the midst of replaying a particularly entertaining memory of Nanami squealing like a pig after you started to make him juggle kitchen knives when you feel a strong hand press you against Gojo’s chest by the small of your back. Sputtering with utter indignation, you glare up at the grinning man, wishing with every fiber of your being that your knee could make contact with his balls at that moment.

“Ready, maestro?”

“Fuck off, Gojo.” Yuji snickers from behind him. Gojo watches you expectantly and your glare deepens. “I’m ready.”

“There’s a good girl.”

“Dude, keep that shit up and she’s going to find a way around your Limitless to kick your ass,” Megumi mutters from the right. “And Lord knows, the majority of us will sell tickets to that show.”

You don’t hear Gojo’s reply as you're lost in trying not to hurl all over the man as he yanks your body through space. The surrounding trees whisper and rustle in the evening breeze, the low glow of the sunset making the setting feel eerie. You hope the missing kids are okay, but you’re jaded enough to know better. Rolling your shoulders, you shake off the creeping shadows of memories you’ve worked hard to ignore on a daily basis.

“You’re up, Kaya.” Gojo nods at you as he removes his blindfold, his eyes more aquamarine in the dying light. “Think you can tag the auras for me?”

“Everyone got their earplugs in?” you ask the teenagers behind you. They all respond with solemn nods, their expressions resolute. You glance at Gojo, his eyes unseeing but all-seeing as he looks out into the forest around you.

“When I start singing, Six Eyes should pick up any auras my technique hits, like sonar.” It’s been over a year since you last sang, but you’d prepped your vocal cords most of the day with hot tea and a couple shots of bourbon before heading to the school. “I’ll also be willing whatever hears me to come to me as I sing.”

He looks at you with slight concern. “How long can you sustain that?”

You set square your shoulders and look back out into the darkness ahead. “As long as I need to. My priority will be the kids, you guys can deal with the cursed human.”

He nods as you take a deep breath to settle the flurry of nerves in your stomach. Why are you so nervous about singing in front of Gojo, of all people? His opinion has never mattered to you, since the moment he crashed your dinner. Who cares if he doesn’t like the song choice or if he thinks your voice is garbage?

“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors is a go-to warm up song for you. It sits right in your chest range, so it’s easy to project as you start walking slowly into the woods. Besides, you know how it feels to beg someone, anyone for help but end up ignored instead.

Gojo’s footfalls are nearly silent as he stalks behind you, but your voice makes his aura pulse against your own. It’s a comforting feeling, lending you more courage than you were feeling, that’s for sure.

A sharp rustling to your left makes you pause, the movement too harsh and erratic to dismiss as an animal. The icy blue of the aura halos around a tiny form, the fear tinkling like a shrill bell being shaken by a child. Gojo stiffens behind you, but you raise your palm before shooing him back.

Without faltering in the song, you crouch down in the direction of the stumbling child, pulling a small handbell from your other jacket pocket. A steady, calming beat in time with your singing pulses forward, coaxing the child out slowly as her aura shifts from pale blue to a saturated cobalt.

A little girl, no older than six or seven, flies into your arms, making your stumble in your singing. She’s coated in dirt and gods know what else, clutching your jacket so tight that her tiny knuckles turn white.

“You caught the culprit’s attention,” Gojo chuckles as you soothe the frightened child into letting go of your jacket. She clings to your leg when you stand, her snot and tears soaking into your leggings. You try not to cringe, but Gojo catches your obvious distaste and laughs, earning him a glare.

“There’s a cluster of black auras there,” you tell him quietly, gesturing further into the woods, to the east. “I can see them, but they’re silent.”

He hums as he nods, stroking his chin thoughtfully before he looks at you again. His eyes flick to the little girl, whose grip on your leg is starting to get painful, and it’s in that moment you realize two things.

First, that you get to tell Gojo, “I told you so.”

Second, in relation to the first, the tiny girl death-gripping your leg has an aura that is shrieking and melting into an opaque black.

Fuck.

Without a second thought, you send a surge of your cursed energy into your aura, ballooning it up rapidly. You swing the handbell down sharply, a clear, piercing note with the demand to be let go striking the tiny cursed human, tossing her away from you a good 30 yards.

A dull ringing pulses in your ears as you struggle to keep your balance. You shouldn’t have used that move so soon out of semi-retirement.

Arms scoop you up before you hit the ground. Muffled voices bicker as you barely hold onto your consciousness, but they fade away quickly as you’re overtaken with another bout of nausea that pulls you back towards consciousness. You try to move, but the arms hold you tighter against what you learn is Gojo’s chest.

“Easy, easy.” His breath warms your face as he calms you. “Shocked you’re not passed out yet.”

You don’t have the energy to remind him that he’s the pot and you’re the kettle when it comes to stubbornness. Based on the bits and pieces of the room you can see through still-blurred vision, he had warped you both back to your apartment.

He lays you down on your bed, checks your pulse, then slips out of the room long enough to get you a glass of water and a banana.

“I told you I wasn’t a sorcerer for a reason,” you mumble as you push yourself up slowly. The dizziness is gone, but exhaustion presses against your bones at this point. Gojo sits on the edge of the bed as he watches you sip at the water and peel the banana.

“Your stamina is shit, yeah. But you know what you’re doing.” You break apart the banana bite by bite. Like hell you’re going to eat an obviously phallic fruit in front of a man with the maturity level of a teenage boy. “I’d say with a bit of training, you could hold your own without passing out again.”

You shoot him a look that hopefully conveys how little interest you have in making that a reality. He only gives you a small smile before he stands.

“Better go check on the kids, make sure they didn’t completely fuck that simple exorcism.” He pauses at the bedroom door, lifting his blindfold just enough to look at you with one eye. “Thanks for your help, maestro. Think about what you want for compensation. I’ll be in touch.”

He winks at you with that one azure eye before he just blinks out of sight. Your thoughts start replaying your time in his arms, a coveted location, you’re sure. He smelled like cedarwood and eucalyptus, but on the designer fragrance side of the spectrum, which surprises you considering how boring his attire generally is.

Sighing, you fish your phone out of the inner pocket of your jacket and swipe it open. No new messages, but a couple of missed calls from Nanami. You’re too tired to both giving him a lecture, so you just tell him he’s your personal chauffeur tomorrow until you can pick you bike up from the school.

And if you even THINK about sending Gojo in your place, consider yourself a eunuch the next time I see you, got it?

You don’t bother to see if he responds. Instead, you shed your clothes and crawl back under the covers, setting a few different alarms, just in case. Yawning, you curl onto your side and let your eyes drift closed, willing your brain to just shut the fuck up with the semi-intrusive thoughts. Falling asleep now would get you a solid 7.5 hours, more than enough for another round of compositional reviews.

I wonder what he thought of my singing…

#jjk #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #archive of our own #fanfiction #ao3 #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x oc #nanami kento #also on ao3 #itadori yuji #fushiguro megumi #kugisaki nobara