loses energy and joy to draw → recovers for days → slowly finds energy and joy in drawing again → has to go to work → loses energy and joy to draw → recovers for d 🔁

CHRIS STURNIOLO BF HEADCANONS ⋆˙⟡♡

warnings: none, just fluff!

-

⭑ you better have tylenol, and a whole bunch of patience if you’re with this boy.

⭑ so much energy and expects you to be on the same level as him.

⭑ sometimes he’ll tone it down if you’re having a bad day or if you just need some quiet time.

⭑ at the end of the day, he’s so exhausted that he doesn’t even say goodnight, just knocks out.

⭑ you and chris are cuddled up on his bed, enjoying each other’s presence when you decide to ask his opinion on something.

“chris what do you think about this hoodie?”

chris: 💀😴

you: 😐

⭑ BLANKET HOGGER. doesn’t matter how big or how small the blanket is, you’ll be left shivering while chris is bundled up with 50% of the sheets dragging on the floor.

⭑ on nights where he doesn’t immediately tap out, he’s resting his chin on your head while one hand is playing with your hair and the other caressing your arm while yapping your ear off.

“if you were a chicken, what kinda chicken would you be?”

“chris i swear to god.”

⭑ needs to be touching you in some way. And it’s not always sexually. small touches like, playing with your ears, hand on your thigh, or just playing footsies under the table, contact is his fav.

⭑ whenever he’s in disagreement with his brothers about something he makes sure to throw you into the mix and ask your opinion cus lets be real, you almost always agree with him.

⭑ randomly jabs your side to tickle you whenever there’s a moment of silence between you two.

⭑ asks your opinion on designs for his brand before launching anything. also makes sure you get at least one of every item he’s designed.

⭑ don’t think he’s the jealous or protective type. but if someone is making you uncomfortable he’ll definitely tell them to back off.

⭑ the media found out about you two on accident 💀.

⭑ chris was streaming one day and forgot to tell you but it was too late when you walked into his room unannounced in your grammy pj’s ready to knock tf out when chris let out a loud “ohhhhh shitttt..” when you realized that you were fucked.

⭑ you looked at chris and chris looked at you before you both shrugged your shoulders and went on with what you were doing, honestly not giving af atp.

⭑ comments flooding about who you were, tiktoks posted about you two with dating rumors, had to wait until the next day when chris posted on his story the both of you in skin care hello kitty masks facing the mirror with his arm around your shoulder and you leaning up to give him a peck on the face.

⭑ yeah, yall broke the internet.

⭑ you were featured in the next podcast with you and chris properly talking about your relationship.

⭑ after that chris would post you any chance he got. from cute insta stories, to goofy tiktok trends, he just wanted the world to know about his amazing gf.

⭑ PDA PDA PDA PDA. in the back of the triplets vlogs that you sometimes feature in, fans can spot you and chris in the background hugging with chris sometimes attacking you with kisses.

⭑ just a clingy guy tbh.

⭑ whenever you wake up from one you and chris’ shared afternoon naps to go find something to eat in the kitchen, chris makes his way to you like 2 minutes later and wraps his arms around your waste peeking over your shoulder so he can also have some of what you’re making.

⭑ loves going out and seeing things that remind him of you, but when he’s about to buy it and the store says “we don’t take apple pay” he’s upset for the rest of the day talking about “what fucking store doesn’t take apple pay”

“what kinda guy forgets his wallet…”

⭑ he ends up ordering it for you online 💀

⭑ overall a cute silly guy who just loves to love on you.

-

A/N: i want him. im posting sm cus theres soo many things in my drafts guys, imma try to even my posting days out though, bare with me <3.

Hello this is the Anon that requested the zoning out ECT S/O I understand you aren't doing mk, what about Demon Slayer, with Tengen, Misturi, Shinobu, Obanai(rlly hope I spelled that right) and Rengoku

yep! thank you for requesting! again it will take a bit for me to do my other requests because i am stressed out currently and i’ve barely had any motivation to write. thank you for your patience :)

Content warning : being tengens 4th wife 💃🏾🕺🏽 , insecurities , ADHD ,

Tengen U.

i feel like tengen would be able to deal with your zoning out and stuff pretty well… i have a feeling Suma zones out a lot as well plus he is friends with Rengoku and all the other pillars so ya’know he kinda deals with their different personalities all the time

whenever you’re talking to him you tend to fidget with your top or something random you had gotten from the house or outside to help you concentrate, tengen noticed this when you first got married and joined everyone but he didn’t wanna bring it up just incase you got insecure and tried to pretend to be “normal”

with being cut off during conversations he kinda gets a tad bit annoyed because he does have four wives now with different personalities and a lot to say, but he never really gets upset with you, suma, makio or hinatsuru if one of you ever cut him or each other off. he just listens to what one of you have to say then go back to whatever he was saying or whatever one of you guys were saying, he’s very patient when it comes to you four to be honest

your relationship is pretty open and there’s a lot of communication so if you’re getting distracted or even bored with a certain topic you kinda just say that whenever it’s your turn to speak or something, then you talk about something else or do whatever you want in another room

makio tends to get very upset with the cutting off people thing, Suma doesn’t really care because she does the exact same thing (it’s giving adhd 😀👍🏾), hinatsuru is very calm and willing to listen to whatever any of you guys have to say. she’s a very patient person and doesn’t really get upset and tengen has learned to deal with each of your personalities over time so depending on which one you are he’ll either give back that energy (makio🗿) or be patient.

Mitsuri K.

congratulations, you’ve found your perfect match 👁👄👁👍🏾 how’s it feel?

Mitsuri gives off a lot of zoning out, can’t concentrate and getting distracted very quickly energy so ya’know perfect fucking match made in heaven by god himself. he can get distracted by a lot of things very easily she just tries not to during pillar meetings so she doesn’t get yelled at by Tengen 😔

if you cut her off in the middle of a conversation she doesn’t mind at all honestly! she probably does the same thing too so y’all have 5 minute conversations about one thing then “OH as i was saying earlier about that cat!” or “WAIT i just remembered! did you do that thing” every five minutes i kid you not half of your conversations are forgotten because you guys just keep piling different topics onto each other

as for the fidgeting thing she doesn’t do that but whenever you do and you don’t have anything to fidget with she gives you her hand to mess with. she does really mind so be honest and it happens so much that it’s so normal so her

if she starts seeing you get more insecure about this and trying to “mask” your personality with another one that isn’t like you she’d be so sad…. she loves how you are normally. one thing she hates is whenever you get overly insecure and stop talking around others

she helps you with being more confident about yourself personality wise. she thinks it’s a big deal if you’re confident in the person you truly are instead of trying to fake it for others approval

Shinobu K.

you and shinobu are both similar and different in a lot of ways… she zones out, gets distracted and even unintentionally interrupts people that isn’t Tomioka (she does that intentionally). she may not zone out as much as you do but she does get distracted a lot.

if you can’t concentrate on something she always offers help or even suggests you take a break from whatever you can’t concentrate on and work on it later. whenever she helps you she kinda just sits with you and gets you back on track, even grabbing you a snack because she says a small snack could help with focusing again and it does :)

i literally had no idea how to write for her 🗿

Obanai I.

complete opposites 😀 he is very calm and stuff while you aren’t a lot of the time. you also zone out alot which reminds him of Muichiro because of how often you do it. you also get distracted mid conversation and kinda just stop listening to what he’s saying and go to do something else, he gets hella offended by the way but never tells you that

there was one time someone said something negative about your personality and how you unintentionally interrupt others and you got insecure and started trying to change yourself. Obanai was fucking livid… he hated how someone made you insecure for being you. he loves the person you are, even though you zoning out or something does get a little frustrating it’s who you are and he wouldn’t trade your personality for the world… imma just say that person got an ear full 😁

if you fidget a lot or can’t really stay still he lets you hold Kaburamaru if you need something to help you. the snake actually really loved you btw and it normally doesn’t like a lot of people but you’re the only one he allows, congratulations — the snake has claimed you as second person

Kyojuro R.

you both are so similar in the cutting people off and zoning out that it’s like you both were made for each other. though he doesn’t fidget or get distracted easily he does like to learn more so please! do tell him more! he will listen very carefully and will definitely do research on how to help

if you zone out mid conversation he will simply just sit and wait until you come back so he can continue the conversation with you again. this man had an incredible amount of patience when it comes to you, his fellow hashira are always so amazed on how he can sit and wait for minutes for you to snap back and remember what he was saying. i feel like while he’s waiting he kinda thinks of what to say ans even what to bring up about the conversation

if you are getting bored with a subject you always tell him so that he can change it to whatever you’d like and continue the conversation that was being had earlier later. he also does the same with you as well. just like with Tengen your relationship is very open and there’s alot of communication, so there is nothing that is hidden from one another unless it’s a present or something

this took a whole because ✨writers block✨ :(

Dangan-FuckThis: Full Cast!

Finished last 3 characters

Viktor Chanel the Ultimate Bitch Face: Note- Name changed from Zee. Anyways, this rich social media influencer has a permanent resting bitch face, and a personality to match. He rarely engages in conversation, preferring to inspect his nails, groom his hair, play on his phone, etc. That being said, Vik is annoyingly useful, and as hard as cooperation is, it’s definitely worth it. Vik’s sharp tongue and limited patience can cause anyone to crack under interrogation. Vik may be unpleasant, but staying on his good side is definitely worth it.

Stephanie the Ultimate Ditz: Sweet yet airheaded, Steph rarely pays attention to her surroundings and thus can barely descend a flight of stairs without injuring herself. She spends most of the game in medical care due to how many injuries she sustains. Despite this, Stephanie is completely baffled as to why people call her ditzy. Even though she meant to dye her hair blonde and red (and ended up with green and purple), she forgot to bring pants, and she broke her arm bc she didn’t notice a door close on it.

Noah the Ultimate Overwatch Skin Reviewer: insisting on wearing his mask at all times, Noah has something of an obsession with how people present themselves. He reviews skins, and discusses what different appearances say about people. Noah determines whether or not he likes people, or if they’re good or bad, entirely on appearance.

——

Dangan-FuckThis is a parody thing of Danganronpa. Basically, what if Danganronpa was really stupid.

I have the death order and everything planned out so after this, we can start killing bitches. In the meantime, let me know if you have any predictions for who dies, who kills and who survives this killing game.

——

Dolly Wraith the Ultimate Goth Fashion Enthusiast

Beck Jonas the Ultimate McDonald’s Employee

Zizzie Twitch the Ultimate Monster Energy Can Collector

Ami Yogi the Ultimate Cryptid

Tia Maxxx the ultimate chalk eater

Ben Smith the Ultimate Protagonist

Blegh the ultimate zombie

Froggy the Ultimate YTP Creator

Mary Benoit the Ultimate Cursed Doll Collector

Ellie Benoit the ultimate stuffed Animal Collector

Greg Glacée the Ultimate Mint Ice Cream Defender

Bradley Charles the Ultimate Failing Student

Marion Jane the ultimate stoner

Sexystargurrl420_69 the Ultimate Fortnight Dancer

Viktor Chanel the Ultimate Bitch Face

Stephanie Crumbs the Ultimate Ditz

Noah 80085 the Ultimate Overwatch Skin Reviewer

Master - Chapter 47 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

- Lincoln -

"I want this moment to be remembered forever."

My eyelids drop and my body sags with dread as Wenquie bursts into the war room with a massive smile and glowing golden eyes.

I mumble a string of curses under my breath, a Proud Wenquie was never a good sign.

"I want a monument in my name. I want flowers thrown at my feet. You should know that it is now a legal requirement that you tell me how amazing I am every single day, until the day I die and you know what?" 

"What?" I ask dryly.

Wenquie points a finger at me as he briskly closes the distance between us.

"I want a fucking song," he demands seriously.

"A song written about my greatness so that all who live know just how fucking glorious I am."

Staring at Wenquie, I barely manage to blink, that movement now suddenly exhausting after all of that.

I don't try to mask my annoyance or indifference at everything he'd just said, in truth, I'd zoned out for most of it but clearly something had gotten Wenquie all worked up.

Still, I could admit that I was a little curious to know what on earth could have set his usually bearable dramatics to a nine on the Richter scale.

Incubi were naturally proud, confident creatures but rarely did I see Wenquie's love for himself reach such horrifying heights. 

When I did, I was never alone to deal with it as I was now.

Normally, there was at least Malcolm watching from nearby to act as a buffer between us so I didn't have to face Wenquie's antics on my own but today, I was on my own.

I was too focused on carving out every possible scenario so this war could be wrapped up as quickly as possible and as a result, I found myself barely sleeping these days.

I couldn't recall the last time I'd stopped moving in fact.

"And you deserve all this because?" I already regretted asking. 

"I deserve all of this because..." Wequie cuts himself short as his face crumples with sudden displeasure.

"I feel like this needs more buildup before I tell you."

"Wequie," I groan, my patience already withered to nothing more than a decaying corpse.

"What? I want to be appreciated," Wenquie demands as he tilts his head from side to side, searching.

"Where's Malcolm? He needs to be here for this and Arias too."

I open my mouth to argue but Wenquie was already running out the way he came, taking his excitement along with the rest of my energy.

The air drains from me as I mentally prepare myself for whatever nonsense was about to come.

Dealing with Wenquie and Malcolm was stressful on a normal day, dealing with both of them and 'the living hose' would be too much.

I rub aimlessly at my temples while I try to clear the small ache building there.

I was exhausted mentally where any other would be physically too, if not nearing their grave.

The only thing that saved me was the fact that I'd been built for this.

While my mind might be decaying, my carcass was carved for conflict and thrived now in the middle of it.

But I was still tired. 

Every day there was something new to deal with, plan for or prepare for and every day, I was the one who had to deal with it.

The clan grew and my responsibilities grew with it in ways I hadn't accounted for at the start.

It was challenging enough establishing an entire clan so quickly, adding the building war tensions to that only made it all more stressful.

Not that I regretted anything or could really complain, I didn't need to rest.

I was fine in the ways that matter.

But... even if my body could keep this up for centuries, I missed the days of quiet, my comfortable bed and my Kalem.

God, I missed Kalem.

My heart tightens with desperate longing and a sharp ache collects within my chest at the thought of my boy who I'd been spending less and less time with.

I didn't mean for us to be so distant but there was so much occurring, so much that kept us apart.

But it hurt, even more when I knew he was close by but still so painfully far away.

We hadn't shared a bed in many nights, hadn't found the time to water his plants either or explore a book together like how we used to.

It seemed like the only time we saw one another was in passing and that wasn't nearly enough.

It wasn't enough for me and I knew it wasn't enough for Kalem who was putting on his bravest face through all of this.

His understanding and resilience was the only thing that kept me from locking us away for a month and forgetting all our blasted troubles.

It was also the main reason why I pushed so hard even now as tired as I was.

The faster this came to an end, the sooner things could go back to the way they used to be.

I could hold Kalem freely in my arms and read him new books or I could show him this world and all it's secret beauties without worrying about his safety.

I could give him all I ever promised and I would, soon.

I just had to keep this up for a little longer and then, it would all be worth it.

"This better be good, I was about to give Arias a massage," I hear Malcolm's grumblings from down the hall along with approaching steps that make me roll my eyes.

I straighten my back, pocketing away my sadness and fatigue for when I'd be alone with them again.

The door bursts open and once again Wenquie comes striding through it as if he owned this world, only this time, Malcolm and his string-bean Elf came in behind him with mirrored expressions of annoyance and indifference.

The Elf trailed closely behind Malcolm, his hand resting on the small of Malcolm's back as he led him towards the open chairs to sit while Wenquie came bounding over to my side so he could be at the head of the table.

When Wenquie flickers a hand towards a chair with a look of disgust, I take the hint and fill the closest seat to me so he could hold the centre stage.

Looking at him expectantly, I trace the table with my fingers.

"The floor is yours."

Clasping his hands in front of him, Wenquie takes a deep breath as if he was about to put on a performance, I was sure he was, before he passing his eyes over us.

"My dear friends."

'Dear God.' 

"You are gathered here today because I have done something truly awe-inspiring," Wenquie says while he nods with a closed smile.

I rest my face in my hands, resigning myself to this cruellest faith.

"Some may have thought it impossible but you know what, I strive to achieve the impossible," he continues contemptuously.

"Like when all my peers thought there was no way I could satisfy seventeen sirens in that tiny lagoon, I said I fucking can and you know..."

"My friend," Arias cuts in with his voice sounding strained.

"Though I may enjoy your stories on any given day, today is not that day. I am tired and I do not wish to be here any longer than necessary, so please, just this once, get on with it."

For what I expected to be the only time in my life, I agreed with the Elf.

"You guys take the fun out of everything," Wenquie mumbles as his shoulders drop and he kicks the floor like an angry toddler.

"You're all so fucking old and boring."

"Wenquie," I beg, truly beg.

"Fine," he says with a pout.

"I just wanted to let you all know that I did the fucking impossible and have a contact with the Amaris Clan."

Whatever response I'd had ready for Wenquie dies on my tongue as his words register and I quickly straighten in my chair.

"The Amaris Clan," I repeat, my brain having a hard time computing his words.

"Yeah," Wenquie mumbles, trying to act beaten even as he kept glancing up at us with triumph in his eyes.

"Are you serious?" Malcolm asks, no longer slouching in his chair but nearly on the edge of it as his grey eyes locked onto Wenquie.

"You think I'd joke about this?" he scoffs as if offended.

"After all the work I've put into making this clan look better than just somewhat presentable? I'm deadly serious."

For a moment, we all just stare at him, sheer disbelief making it hard to reply or ask the questions I probably should be asking.

Like how in all the realms Wenquie had managed to contact the famously isolated clan who only made themselves seen or heard when they wished it.

That was one of the reasons we'd made converging with the Amaris Clan as a future goal, a very far in the future goal that I'd see to when this war was over and I controlled the majority of the species. 

They were supposed to be the last piece to the puzzle, the last step, not one we'd find while we were still midway through.

"I know," Wenquie says into the sudden quiet as he props a hand on his hip and fans himself.

"I'd be speechless too."

Annoying as he was, there was no denying all Wenquie had done since he stepped into took control of the clan's 'brand'. 

His implements had started as minuscule almost unnoticeable things like deciding that our clan colours would be black and a deep burgundy red.

The colours suited us so I didn't oppose it, I'd actually barely noticed it.

Then he started teaching every clan-mate how they should always exude strength and confidence whenever they stepped out of the castle.

Which again was a good thing but I thought it to be somewhat frivolous but before long, those little things began to come together.

It was impossible to ignore the way everyone fought with the confidence and aggression that Wenquie had hammered into them, making us all look like an in sync unit that made our opponents hesitant and make crucial mistakes.

Soon, our clan-mates only wore our colours and most were dressed in similar clothing that made it easier to distinguish them when were in battle.

The next thing I knew, they were banners around the castle and all our properties with the symbol of a bleeding rose that marked our clan's presence wherever it was. 

I could remember the power-point presentation Wenquie had made to the entire clan as he explained why a black, bleeding rose wasn't enough and how important the attached stem was that suggested our growth as a species.

The crest was nice.

It looked like special, ancient markings on it's own before someone showed you the rose petals, the stem and the blood but that was apparently the look Wenquie wanted so I didn't argue with it.

The only thing we were missing as a clan, was a name but that was because it was the one thing Wenquie couldn't decide on.

But that was such a minor detail when compared to all the things Wenquie had done over these last few months, especially when he now brought us an opportunity to join forces with the Amaris clan.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

shoujo manga | k. bakugo 

➳ tags ;; fluff, angst/injury, very midly nsfw towards the end, kisses (?), pro-hero!bakugo 

➳ wc ;; 1.5k

➳ plot ;; how bakugo kisses you differently. 

➳ a/n ;; might do this for other characters? idk.. katsuki brainrot haunts me everyday of my life.. 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

Bakugou speaks more than one language. 

Japanese, English, Spanish, and a little bit of Arabic and French. He’s fluent in the first three and conversational in the last - but the words still feel slick on his tongue. He’s the type of person that knows things well, when he can. He can curl around the syllables easily with enough patience - practice and time. A language is tool - or a love letter or a hopeless romantic. 

It’s something we never tire of listening too. 

For Bakugo Katsuki, the language he speaks to you in is kisses. It’s the one he feels best at, rolls of the tongue and mouth easiest. He’s well-versed in the foreign tongue of affection. It used to be.. choppy to say the least. But these days, Bakugo can tell you anything with nothing more than a few pressed lips and tongue-tied exchanges. 

It starts with a morning kiss. For it to be perfect, the sun has to hang just barely beneath the clouds. It can be any color out, blue, or orange, or grey - the sky just has to have light in it. He wakes up with a grunt, always before you - vermillion eyes peering open at your unconscious state. The verbs in his sentence are his hands, large palms that smooth down your hair. He nudges his nose against your jaw before his lips pucker against your cheek - travel down to your mouth until your eyes flutter open. 

“Wake up, brat,” with another kiss, this time on the corners of your lips. He waits for a while, sometimes letting you sleep for another ten minutes before his heart decides he’s running on empty time. Then he kisses you again, along your jaw like he’s tracing the lines of your art-work. 

“Oh? G’morning, Kat,” 

And he presses his cheek against your shoulder, kisses the edge with another grunt. These kisses always mean good morning, I’m happy we woke up together. In his language of love they mean, I like being here with you. 

Some kisses come after work - especially on those days where he’s working and you’re not. Bakugo dreads leaving you alone during the day, has to force himself out of bed and into his work clothes. It’s easier to be gone but always so hard to leave. When he comes home from work, he finds you in the living room with your legs propped up on the ottoman. Your laptop is on your lap and your head rests 

You can feel his presence before you see him. A warm hand, calloused and a hot, wraps around your throat and pulls you back to look upwards at him. He looks down at you with something unreadable in his expression - his thumb running against the column of your throat. He can feel your pulse under his fingers when he looks down on you - bows his head to kiss like an act of respect. This kiss is slow but deep - like a large wave crashing against the sand. His gravelly voice leaves you with a hum before he pulls away. 

This kiss means he’s missed you much more than you know. That’s why he stares at you for so long right after - why his fingers linger against your neck. 

“Whaddya want for dinner, huh?, is the only words he’ll say in the whole exchange but he looks like he’s gonna kiss you again. He wants to kiss you so many more times but he knows you’ve forgotten to eat so he just asks you what you want. He’ll make it for you. 

Other times, he kisses you in public. They’re not the kinds of kisses you can predict, you have to admit to yourself. It’s thee Dynamight afterall, and he rarely takes you anywhere the paparazzi can see. But you have to do normal things together sometimes - like grocery shopping. Even so, he always keeps his mask on up under his eyes, his sunglasses and army green hat and baggy clothes all covering him up.

But you mention it to him off-hand while you’re looking at salad dressing that you miss looking at his face when you’re out. A wistful, cheeky smiling on your lips as you tell him that you don’t mind if the world knows who you’re with. He scoffs, like always, and tells you to pick the spicy one for him. 

When he takes you outside, the sun falls over your skin like a halo. He’s sure there’s someone trailing him and watching from afar - some obsessed photographer examining his every move. Yet you look like gold, look like magic in the middle of this parking lot - packing groceries into the trunk of your car. 

He pulls his mask down just below his face, and takes his glasses off and pulls you toward him when the last of it’s over. Your hip bumps the shopping cart clumsily as his hands finds themselves under your jacket. His mouth melts against yours - this kind of kiss is searing against your lips Your hands are gripping the front of his shirt at first, but then they lay flat against his chest. It’s the kind of kiss where you let it happen, let it overwhelm your senses till your stomach turns. 

You leave it in a dazed and return to see him smirk, grin cocked like a pistol. He kisses you again, much softer as confusion dances along your face. 

“What? I thought you missed my face?” 

This kind of kiss is a reminder that your his and he’s yours. Nothing in the whole world could come between that, not even some shitty gossip column. When you laugh against him breathlessly, his expression melts into the most tender smile. You miss it - too busy laughing, but it might be better that way.  

Then, there are kisses that are desperate. Not sinful but somber. When you’re rushing to a hospital in the middle of September with a prayer clamped desperately between your tongue and teeth. You don’t really feel like you know yourself anymore, hands clasped around the steering wheel like religion. Your feet are the weight of crucifixion on the gas and it seems like you cannot go fast enough. 

You rush and rush and rush until the air in your lungs feels like it’s stomping at your chest. You wind up in a sterile white room, and he’s there. He’s alive and you know you should be grateful for that. Yet there’s a gash on his cheek and eyebrow, a wound in his side that makes everything in your knees feel weak. You don’t walk towards him, but stumble to where he’s sitting. 

“I fuckin’ hate hospital food,” 

He pushes the peas around the tray and you’re crying - shaking like a leaf in the wind as you cling to him. He lifts his arm and let’s you in. You sniffle against his shoulder and cry like a baby. You weep for the love you haven’t lost. You hear the plastic clink on the plate as he lifts his hand, brushes any stray hairs from your face. He tugs on your ear and makes him look at you, and kisses you. 

This kind of kiss is placating for certain. A warm mouth, not a hot one. His lips are so gentle, touch effervescent. When you hiccup a sob in his mouth, he nudges his forehead against yours and mumbles something incomprehensible.

You can hear his kiss before he speaks it.  

“I’m fine, dumbass,” but there’s no bite, no malice - just a hand wrapped in yours “I’m gonna be fine,” 

There are also times where he kisses you hotly. It’s the kind of kiss you wouldn’t want your children to see. When he comes home from a long day of training but the energy is still burning in his head. He’s sweaty, skin glistening and glazed. His teeth seem so sharp when he enters the threshold of the door. You can feel him pressed against your spine, the thick print in his basketball shorts. When his hands come up underneath your t-shirt and dance along your stomach. These times - he kisses you twice. Salacious and unrelenting. 

Once just like that in the kitchen. It’s all too much tongue and teeth that way - but god it feels so right. Makes you squirm, makes you hold the counter top to keep steady. You tremble before he even touches you. 

The second time is right in the middle of the fire, when he’s inside. Slow, sensual and needy - his tongue finding it’s way in your mouth like you’re a fountain. 

Both kisses speak the same words, the same desperation. It’s always the same with him, the inevitable scorching that bruises your lips and turns them red and swollen. 

“I want you. I want you. Give it to me, Give all of yourself to me” 

His kisses so harshly you can’t breathe, like even the breath in your lungs has to be his or he won’t stay still. These kinds of kisses always happen when you two touch. He can’t help but keep you all to himself. 

After all, in this language that only you two can speak, who else would he tell his secrets to?

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If Izuku had met the Young Torino?

I like the idea of Prime Torino being punched into present-day canon (punched by who? Toshinori, of course), and being the only one able to keep up with Deku as Deku scours Japan for AFO. Prime Torino just wants to get back home. He's too young to be a grandfather!

//

captions, and a starter beneath the 'keep reading' -

Gran Torino: What did you do to my cape?

Izuku: Ah.

Descriptive arrow pointing at the cape lists, 'bloodstained, tattered, singed,' and 'riddled with bullet holes.'

//

Not too long after Izuku cuts contact with All Might, he finds a cluster of masked people terrorizing a high-rise. Zero hints as to whether or not they’re aligned with All for One. But they’re extorting supplies from the people hiding within, and in any case, when Izuku hears the wail of a child, all bets are off.

Fighting comes easier to him now. Even if the holders disapprove of Izuku’s pace, they lend their expertise, smoothing out the wrinkles in his techniques.

He ducks under a wild swing, lashes out with the Fifth’s Quirk, yanks his opponent towards him and feels One for All flare within his veins as he preps for a punch. Standard. What is not so standard is the First’s urgent voice, saying, “Something’s wrong!”

Izuku has to drive the punch forward. There is nowhere else to redirect the energy.

One for All surges, unfamiliar and wild, and Izuku barely has time to process the foreign emotions: rage-loss-grief--a young voice that screams, “You’re awful! You’re not helping me, you’re just taking your anger out on the closest, most convenient target! I hate you!”

Something tears in the world. It’s different from a Warp Quirk, if only because it wrenches at Izuku’s gut, and also, because an extremely bright and heavy weight is flung into existence and into Midoriya Izuku. Izuku yelps, trying to slow his and the newcomer’s momentum.

They crash into a storefront on the opposite side of the street.

Amidst the shattered wooden boards (no glass? a lucky break, then) and under the stranger’s heavy form, Izuku coughs. His backpack digs uncomfortably against his spine. “Who is he,” he asks the empty air and prods wearily at the now-cheerful flames of One for All.

“Sorahiko,” says the Seventh, Shimura Nana. Her voice is soft, stunned, and terrified.

Izuku blinks. Presumably, Gran Torino stirs. His voice doesn’t sound like it did several months ago, like it’d been run through a blender and mixed with gravel, but the weariness is the same. He murmurs, “Shimura, help…”

“Help him, Ninth,” she snaps, and Izuku sees her spectral form manifest and circle their perimeter. She crouches by them, and as Izuku struggles out from beneath Gran Torino, he sees her fingers brush against the off-white suit. The Seventh twitches back as if stung.

“Did you just--?” Izuku blurts out.

“No.”

He has his doubts, but the important thing is to roll Gran Torino over so he’s not breathing in dust and splinters. The yellow cape he wears is the brightest, sunniest thing Izuku’s seen all month, and presumably, Gran Torino as he is now is the darkest, meanest he’s ever been in his whole life. Izuku heaves the man face-up and tears his own hood off, in case Gran Torino feels like punching first and talking second.

“Gran Torino?” he tentatively calls.

The Fourth’s Quirk zings, and Izuku dodges the grasping hand just in time.

“Where am I,” snarls Gran Torino, surging to sit upright and immediately looking nauseous. His hand goes to his abdomen, gingerly pressing at some invisible wound.

“Roppongi,” says Izuku. He telegraphs his raised hands, and he bears the cursory, critical once-over with patience. Torino’s grimace softens to a frown; he instinctively lifts a hand to touch the collar of his own cape, as if to make sure it hasn’t been looted.

“Your name?”

“Deku.”

Torino registers the title without comment. Instead, he nods, and he says, conversationally, “Excuse me, but I’ve got to go kick my student’s ass. If the little shit thinks he can dump my body in the middle of Tokyo without suffering any consequences, he’s got another thing coming.”

He attempts to rise, and Izuku, struck by the horrifying thought that seeing a Gran Torino in his prime will really cut All Might’s life short, hurries to say, “What year is it?”

Torino pauses. His expression darkens.

“It’s 20XX,” says Izuku, terrified of the missing answer. “Did you--did you just start teaching…?”

“I’m going to kill that boy,” says Torino, apropos of nothing.

Eep! goes Izuku’s heart. He gets to his feet, unnerved, and watches Torino lever himself upright. Gran Torino in his prime is tall, taller than even Endeavor--he thinks the Seventh is only a tad shorter. Before Izuku can witness the sheer presence Gran Torino used to exude, the Fourth draws his attention to the high-rise.

“You’re not allowed to kill All Might,” Izuku declares, too distracted to watch his words. He pulls his hood back up and over his face. “Sorry, um, I have to--”

He bolts to deal with the villains. A loud curse follows his exit, and then Gran Torino chases after him. The fight would have been a minor nuisance for Izuku, but with the added help, it’s a breeze.

Gran Torino in his prime is a nightmare in close combat. Izuku is only done knocking out two when Torino impatiently connects the dots and one-two-three-four-five men and women collapse, knocked out cold. When Torino touches down, he watches Izuku handcuff each villain to the other like a daisy chain.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a pro-hero?”

“I’m licensed.”

“Hn.”

A little awkwardly, Izuku activates the Fifth’s Quirk and gathers the cluster of villains. He doesn’t know if the nearest police precinct can hold them; too many people have broken the law in the name of survival. The country is in perpetual triage.

“Sorry,” Izuku says again, “but I need to relocate these guys.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere else. I can call, um...” Endeavor? Is Endeavor qualified to handle a foulmouthed, time-traveling pro-hero who in his prime, could give Hawks a run for his money as the fastest hero on the registry? If Gran Torino wants to escape surveillance, then nothing can stop him.

“I’m going to follow you,” says Torino intently. “I have a feeling you’re the key to getting me back home.”

“I’m busy.”

“Too bad. I’ve been told I’m difficult to shake off.” Gran Torino pops his neck from side to side. “Thirty-some years in the future, and you know All Might. You know me. Get me up to speed, Deku, or I’ll go to U.A. and start from there.”

Izuku pales beneath his mask. If he sends Gran Torino like this to U.A., then All Might really will have a heart attack! And Izuku has no good news to tell Torino, not about the future in general, and definitely not about Torino’s own fate. “There’s a lot to cover?”

“Then let’s get to a private location.”

(A bit later…)

Gran Torino glances down at Izuku and says, “Is that a scarf?”

Izuku feels insulted on Gran Torino’s behalf. Certainly on Izuku, the cape’s ends are tattered and singed, bloodstained and pockmarked with Lady Nagant’s bullets. But on the old man, it had trailed on the ground, purposely dragging in the dust. “It’s yours. You gave it to me.”

“Well, what the hell did you do to it?”

“Ah… Funny story…”

Bound

Summary: With none other than General Grievous locked away in a cell aboard your cruiser, you enter his cell in an attempt to both pester and interrogate him, but it's hard to resist toying about with such a large prize, especially when he's bound and willingly on his knees for you.

Pairing: General Grievous x Female Jedi Reader

Word Count: 2588

Rating: NSFW

Tags: yes he has a cock, Cyborg/Human, sub!Grievous, dom!Reader, Humiliation, Degrading, Dirty talk, Handcuffs, Height difference, First time, Enemies with benefits, Power play.

Notes: I've never written Grievous before so sorry if it's off :^(  I also haven't really proof read this so pls holla if you see any mistakes. kthxloveubye xxx

Who would have guessed that you, a simple Jedi Knight, not yet to honour the rank of Master, has successfully captured none other than General Grievous himself. Yes, you, a Knight who has not long passed her training; it would be foolish of the Council not to give you the title of Master now, not when you have one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy onboard your ship, bound and locked away in a cell, guarded beyond belief. If only your own Master could see you now - proud is an understatement, and you can feel their radiant energy flowing through the force, expressing their fondness through ways that words cannot express. However, you can't let this victory get to your head. You have a long way back to Coruscant, no doubt with other battles along the way. But for now, the road is steady, or as steady as it can be in hyperspace. After a well earned nap and some food, you decide to play with your dessert, heading down to the ships cells to taunt the barely organic being. It's not wise of you to poke and prod at a beast that could snap you in two, but he's unable to when he's bound like this, on his knees in his cell, both sets of his arms in cuffs behind his back.

You order the guards to wait outside, leaving you and that monster alone in the echoing cell. You're here to 'interrogate' him, and the Commander laughs before leaving you to it, encouraging you to do your worst. General Grievous doesn't look up at first, but now that you're stood directly in front of him, he can't help but glare up and meet your gaze. "Ah," Grievous sighs. "The Jedi that brought me to my knees. Here to cause more damage?" he questions. His voice is a drone - a low hum that bounces around your chest, and you can only assume that he was intentionally made to sound so monotone. "Possibly," you blankly reply. There's a pause. Grievous looks over his shoulder, scouting around the room, and quickly becomes irritated when you make no move to attack him. "Well?" he questions, snapping his head back around and peering up at you. Despite being on his knees, Grievous almost meets your level, his eyes meeting your shoulders. "What are you waiting for?" he snaps. You've heard about how Grievous does possess the ability to be patient, but in a position such as this, it's no surprise that Grievous is on edge, awaiting his next attack, presumably from you. But rather than cause more damage to his already decaying body, you reach out and cup his chin. He feels exactly how you'd expect, cold and hard, sending a chill down your spine that is cut short as Grievous yanks his head away from your grasp. You reach out again, but this time run your fingers along his fin-like cheek panels, watching how they flutter in retaliation to your light movements. "What are you doing?" Grievous questions, and despite not being able to show much emotion, you know he's raising his brow in a questionable manner. "I'm just being curious," you explain as you continue to run your fingers along the thin metal plates. Grievous seems nervous, uncertain on where this is going, but he allows you to toy with him, both out of defeat and curiosity. "I didn't know you droids had the ability to feel," you state. "I'm not a droid," Grievous spits, pushing your hand away with his cheek. "My Master rebuilt me with a nervous system, giving me the ability to feel pain, and failure, if I come across it." "Like right now?" you question with a soft laugh, and begin grinning when Grievous looks away. He continues scowling, staring into the corner of the room as you run your fingers along his mask again. However, as your light touches move from his face, down his neck, Grievous begins to show more signs of nervousness, and something else. "It seems you can feel more than pain and failure," you state. Grievous retaliates, shuffling his body away from your grasp and letting out a low, frustrated, droning hum. "Don't touch me like that," he hisses, and refuses to make eye contact again. From what you've seen in battle, Grievous enjoys eye contact when he knows he's got the upper hand, earning a sadistic pleasure as he comes across victory. However, he's bound on a Jedi cruiser, returning to the council, with a Knight exploring him in ways that he hasn't yet felt in this armoured body. You rest your hands on your hips, staring down at the General. "You've never felt anything but pain before, have you?" you question. "I have, but not for a long time," Grievous willingly tells you, his molten gold eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. There's silence - the nervous, suspenseful kind that can make anybody tremble if dragged on for too long. Grievous continues looking out into nothingness, staying away from both your touch and gaze, but for some unknown reason, he follows your next order without question nor protest. "Stand up."  Grievous rises, towering over you, his hands still bound behind his back, lacking his cape. He finally looks down at you, and for once, Grievous straightens his back, puffing his chest out, as if to remind you of exactly who you're ordering about. There's a high chance that he could overpower you at any second, especially now that he's up on his feet, but Grievous noticed your lack of lightsaber when you entered the room, and it's hard to hold anybody hostage without a weapon pressed to their throat. For now, Grievous continues to have the losing hand, and curiosity has him hooked on where you're taking this. Again, you reach out, and this time you run your fingertips along his chest. You feel him hold his breath, causing him to lightly cough when he finally lets it out. He's nervous, isn't he? And you can also sense eagerness, although you're unsure if his eagerness is to get out of this situation, or dive deeper into it. You begin to wander, slowly pacing around his body, your fingers following as you walk. They move from his cold chest, running along his built shoulders and dipping down his arms, then begin their journey across his wide back. Grievous stands tall, proud, as if he's showcasing the prize that he is - the prize that you were lucky enough to capture. As you come back round to his front, you make eye contact with the cyborg; his eyes are piercing, dominating, with a tint of submission in them, seeing as you're clearly in charge here. He watches as you run your hands up his other arm, meeting his shoulder, and then dip back down his chest. This time, you continue trailing south, and the lower you go, the more Grievous slouches his back, his face eventually pressing on your shoulder. You run your fingertips over the brim of his codpiece, and Grievous hums in admiration, his eyes falling shut. For a cyborg, he's tense, and let's out a desperate whine when you hook your finger over the armour and lightly tug on it, teasing its removal. Grievous moves his head along your shoulder, burying it in the curve of your neck, the thin panel of his cheek pressing against yours. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his breaths long and deep, and you're almost certain that he's attempting to nuzzle you. You tug on his codpiece again, and Grievous speaks up. "Remove it," Grievous orders, humming directly into your ear, attempting to be dominant, but desperation clouds his tone. "I'm the one who gives the orders here, General." Grievous lets out a frustrated whine, and as punishment for his lack of patience, you take your time, running your fingertips around the brim of his codpiece for longer, often dipping your hands down to play with his thighs. Once you're satisfied with how long you've made Grievous wait, you begin unfastening his codpiece, uncertain on what you'll find. The metal armour is cast to the floor, hitting the ground with a clank, exposing something that you'd never expect to see. Grievous moves his head off your shoulder, straightening his back and tugging on his binds. You tut him whilst your eyes remain fixated on that. Grievous picks up on your confusion and questions why you've stopped. "I wasn't expecting that," you explain, reaching out to grasp a hold of Grievous's cock. He hums, and dips his head down to watch as you explore his length. He feels leathery, not quite droid-like, but far from organic, and from the way Grievous is reacting, you know he can feel everything that you're doing to him. "I have made my own personal adjustments to my form, adding things that my Master doesn't need to know about," Grievous explains. "And have you put them to use?" "Not yet."

Grievous continues to hum, but his tone begins to soften out, sounding more like a purr. He attempts to rest his head on your shoulder again, letting out a deep sigh as you stroke his length, and he's stopped as you raise your other hand and gently press it to his face. "On your knees," you order, making direct eye contact. Grievous lets out a frustrated, croaky groan as he allows himself to submit even more, surprisingly to Jedi scum such as yourself. His length slips from your grasp as he moves, and once he's settled on his knees, he peers his head up and watches you, awaiting your next order. "Now lie down." As Grievous moves into position, you reach beneath your tunic and begin taking off your pants, kicking your boots off first and discarding your lower half clothing in a messy pile. Despite Grievous being bound, with his hands trapped between the floor and his back, he's still intimidating. His size doesn't help, towering over you even when his back is arched, and he somehow feels even bigger as you straddle his hips, his cock pressed against your inner thigh. Needless to say, straddling Grievous is somewhat uncomfortable, with an array of rough and sharp edges poking and jabbing you; it takes a while to find a comfortable position, but once you've got it, you raise your hips and begin sliding down onto his length, using your spit to help slick yourself up. From the way Grievous fits, you assume he's designed his length to fit humans, which makes you wonder what he'd have planned if the tables were turned. Grievous lets out a deep, gravelly sigh, his chest slowly rising and falling as you slide down onto him, getting use to the feeling of something man-made inside you. Well, you're no stranger to sex toys, but this is taking things to the next level, isn't it? He's impatient, almost instantly bucking his hips up, urging you to move and knocking the wind from your lungs. Grievous chuckles at your sudden yelp, and you return the favour by slamming down onto him, making his piercing eyes go wide as he comments "bold move." You rest your hands on his chest, the cold metal beneath you sending a shiver down your spine, as if to remind you who and what you're fucking. Regardless, you begin rolling your hips, attempting to find a pace where you're not being jabbed by his cyborg figure. It takes some time, but you find rhythm, and Grievous seems happy too as he rolls his head back against the floor, breathing heavily. Normally, Grievous's breathing is loud, sharp, and metallic. However, this is different, similar to the purr he was doing earlier, but slightly human, as if this sensation is reminding him of his Kaleesh days. His eyes are scrunched shut, his crimson skin seeming brighter than usual, despite the cell being dimly lit. Molten gold eyes soon meet yours again, and you're certain that if he could, he'd be blushing right now. Grievous watches as you ride him, rolling your hips in a way that brushes his cock over your g-spot with every thrust, making your arms shake as you attempt to hold yourself up over his body. You can tell Grievous is enjoying watching you fall apart, slowly struggling to keep your pace up - it's not every day that you get to enjoy such pleasures, so your stamina is low. "Unfasten my binds," Grievous both suggests and orders, and grunts when you frown at him. "Why?" "So I can take over. I see that you're failing to keep a constant pace." "I'm not falling for that," you roll your eyes. Does he really think you're that stupid? "Ughh," Grievous grunts once more. He unexpectedly begins to move, shifting his legs so that his feet are flat on the floor, his knees slightly raised. You only get a brief moment to hold onto his chest again before Grievous begins bucking up into you, merciless and unforgiving, ensuring that your inner thighs are going to be bruised for days, leaving his mark on you. You're not surprised that Grievous has found his own way to take over. Neverless, this means less work and more pleasure for you, so why complain? "Better?" Grievous asks smugly, knowing exactly what your answer is going to be. "Y-yes," you attempt to reply, unable to talk from his quick pace, let alone breathe deeply. "I might keep you," you comment, your eyes peeking open to watch Grievous's reaction. He doesn't reply verbally, letting out a low groan as his eyes fall shut, both refusing to make eye contact with you, and engulfing himself in pleasure. "Would you enjoy that?" you question, prodding at him even more when he fails to reply. "I didn't think the mighty General Grievous would enjoy being degraded all the way down to a Jedi's pet." This time, Grievous does open his eyes, but remains silent, picking up his pace even more in an attempt to silence you. It works, minus your pants and groans; you hope that Clone guards outside can't overhear this, but then again, who are they to judge? You've come across them in more questionable situations than this. Grievous's pace is unbelievably quick; it seems he's not just a hardened war machine. He's wheezing slightly, no doubt from all the effort he's putting in, and it's more than enough to bring your orgasm closer and closer. You're almost screaming when you climax, instantly over-stimulated from his vibrating pace, falling limp against Grievous's cold, metal chest. To your surprise, he slows his pace, soon coming to a halt and chuckling at the state you've wound up in. "Too much?" Grievous complacently comments, making you pout as you raise your head to meet his piercing gaze. "Did you cum?" you question, uncertain if he even has the ability to imitate that. "Not yet." "Shame," you sarcastically shrug, and begin picking yourself up, sliding off Grievous and relying on your bruising, shaky legs to keep you upright. "What?!" Grievous yelps, growling as he watches you dress yourself, stumbling every so often from exhaustion. "You can't just discard me like that!" Grievous states. He continues glaring as you fasten his codpiece back on, forcing yourself to bite back a laugh from the whine Grievous makes when his still-hard cock is completely ignored, trapped behind his armour. "I can, and I will," you grin. "Besides, I can sense that we've reached our destination..."

Secret Admirer pt2

Continuation of Secret Admirer Synopsis: It’s time you and your gentleman caller take it a step further Warnings: NSFW; rough sex, creampie Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436301

The fact that until now, your brain hadn’t stopped and decided this was going too far, was more unsettling to you than the situation you found yourself in. The only thing separating you two was a thin sheet of glass and a wire screen. If he really wanted to put a rock through it, he could. You just stare at each other for a while though. Even this close, you can’t see the eyes behind the mask, but you can feel them boring into you. The initial shock of it all had caused you to let your hand fall slack at your side, but the crackling of a voice on the other end was calling you back.

“Hello?? Is everything okay?”

You clear your throat, eyes still locked on the plastic mask. It’s cheap looking, you can imagine exactly what it smells like.

“Yeah-... Yeah, sorry. I think it was an animal getting into the trash. I’m alright.”

The pause on the other end comes off as irritated. The superficially sweet tone that returns adds to this.

“Alright, honey. I’m gonna get some sleep, call me if you need anything else.”

“Goodnight,” you want this call to end just as badly as she does.

The line dies and you drop your phone on your bed. The figure hasn’t left. Or moved at all. You imagine he heard your conversation to some extent. A gloved hand gestures to his left.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

Yet you find yourself walking to the back door. Possessed by… who knows. A high sex drive you suppose.

The back door is wide open by the time you reach it, grounding you instantly. What the fuck were you thinking? You had the chance to call for help and you just threw it away.

Without thinking, you close the door, and immediately your attention is drawn down the hall again. A door slammed shut behind you. Unarmed, and apparently out of your mind, you take a few drawn-out steps down the hallway.

Correction. Your door had slammed shut. You could see it clearly now. You could hear your phone ringing from inside.

Well. He’d suggested taking things a step further. Though, at the time you’d assumed it was just dirty talk. The thought of him fucking you himself was just a way to help you get off.

The swirling mix of excitement and fear is enough to make you dizzy, and it’s the driving force that makes you twist the doorknob with an albeit shaky hand.

There isn’t a mask waiting for you on the other side, which is what you’d expected. There isn’t much of anything, except your still-buzzing phone sitting in the middle of your bed.

From where you’re standing, you can’t see the caller ID, and you allow yourself to take the bait. You made it all the way to the bed before the call stopped, and as you lean onto the bed, one knee up, the flash of a camera alerts you to his position. You whip around, eyes wide, only to be met with another blinding flash of light.

“Strip,” he says plainly, muffled by the mask.

You’re dumbfounded, but you don’t test his patience. First, you start to pull your shirt over your head.

“Slowly,” he hisses, but you’re already halfway out of the shirt.

You try to make more of a show out of taking off your pajama bottoms, having turned around to face the bed while you do it. Another flash.

“Stop there. Get on the bed.”

He seems a lot pushier this time around. Not that you mind. You crawl onto the bed, settling on your knees and resting your hands a little too politely in your lap. In all honesty, you’re not sure what to do with them. Or yourself for that matter.

“Spread ‘em.”

You part your knees, running your hands down either thigh.

Two flashes.

“Take those off, and-“

He cuts himself short as you turn around and promptly get into what you assume is his favorite position (face down into the mattress), making an agonizingly slow spectacle of pulling down your underwear.

The camera clicks a few times but when the room falls silent again, you turn to ask for further instructions.

A leather-clad hand pushes your face back down into the comforter. The other lightly grazes it’s fingertips over the bare skin of your lower back and over to your hip before gripping it roughly. You wince and squirm, and you’re almost certain you can hear a soft sigh.

Both of his shins pin down your calves.

“You’re already wet.”

There was a change in his tone. It was slight, like he was fighting hard not to let it show, but it was there. He was getting excited.

This is the exact image you’d been playing over in your head for a few weeks now, you could only imagine he’d been daydreaming about it too.

The sound of his zipper makes your heart start to pound in your chest. Just like he promised the first time you’d spoken over the phone, he presses his shaft flat against your ass. There isn’t much preparation beyond that though, he’s eager to press the head against your entrance, and even more so to completely sheath himself inside of you.

There’s a long grumblr in his chest, you can feel it as he leans down against you. It seems like it’s taking all his energy to take it as slowly as he is, which isn’t saying much.

He doesn’t offer you the courtesy of asking if you’re ready, once you’re totally filled up, he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back into you. His pace is relentless right from the rip. His palm moves from your face and yanks you back by your hair.

Now without a buffer, your moans cut through the previously still house. Every so often he tugs at your hair to get you to yelp, but you find yourself getting pushed a little closer every time.

Your scalp burned as he suddenly yanked you back against him, his hips slapping against your ass. The cold plastic of the mask startled you as it touched your neck.

“I want you to cum all over my cock,” he whispers, his grip on your hair making you cringe, but his voice made your cunt twitch.

Who were you to deny him that request? Only after a few more pumps the spark shot down through your body, causing you to tense up before shuddering and spitting out obscenities. The show you put on must have helped him reach that mental peak too, because before you’d even stopped spasming his hips jerked up against you one final time and he let out a guttural, shaky moan.

You could feel the cum dripping down your thighs already, his cock was still twitching inside of you. Finally he let go of your hair, and you collapse onto the bed in front of him. You couldn’t even find the energy left in you to raise any questions, not even about his decision to finish inside of you. He doesn't seem quite as drained, as he zips his pants back up and collects his camera.

“I’ll call you,” he assures you on his way out.

You can’t help but snort, but it’s probably safe to assume that he isn’t joking.

i still talk to you when i’m screaming at the sky

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Prompt: “I just wanted a happy ending.” “I’m drunk in love with you.” “If you quote a Taylor Swift or Fleetwood Mac song one more time I’ll slap you.”

Warnings: slightly drunk delia, angsty, mentions of ill mental health. happy ending

A/N: I don’t even know. I think I’m just projecting at this rate. I wrote this instead of doing another of my five history essays due for Friday so if my teacher kills me in my sleep you know why <3

and when you can’t sleep at night; you hear my stolen lullaby.

Madison Montgomery grunted in frustration. Then again when she was ignored the first time.

You kept your head in your book, knowing she was desperate for attention.

“Lord almighty,” Madison groaned dramatically, sitting against the arm of the couch and then throwing herself back over your lap. Visibly irritated by the fact that you still handed looked up from your book she almost shouted; “Oh, how I wish someone would acknowledge my presence.”

You met at her eyes for a split second and returned them promptly to the book.

“That’s it,” she muttered. Madison gripped the book from your hand and threw it across the room. You clenched your hands into fists, doing your best to maintain your calm composure. That’s who you were in the coven. The calm one. “Look at me when I’m goddamn talking to you!”

Your eyes darted up to meet Madison’s steel glare. “What the fuck is the matter with you, Y/N?” she exclaimed.

You genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

“Don’t yell at me, Montgomery,” you replied, biting your tongue hard.

Madison had no patience for playing games when she found something serious. Which although wasn’t often, it was almost always about something as superficial as a wrong glance at dinner. “You’ve been giving Cordy the cold shoulder for the past three months. I want to know what’s going on.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Madison threw her hands up at you. “Yeah, Y/N. I’m kidding I don’t actually care.”

“Typical,” you muttered. You gave a wave of your hand and your book came flying from the other side of the room. Madison turned around in one swift movement and punched the book square, sending in hurtling to the ground.

“I’m being sarcastic, you dumb fucking bitch!” She yelled. If you weren’t so pissed right now you would probably have been impressed with her reflexes.

“What do you fucking want, Madison? You’ve getting on my tits every fucking day for the entire week,” you started yelling unintentionally. “So, what is it? What exactly do you want me to fucking say? Do you want me to fucking tell you- yet again- that Cordelia has a fucking boyfriend? You want me to reiterate it to you that I can’t fucking look at her in any other way?”

Madison smirked, knowing she was getting you exactly where she wanted you. “It’s not my fault that you couldn’t keep your shit together after you broke up with her. The least you could do is grow a pair of balls and be happy for her.”

You felt your face go red with anger. “Are you fucking insane?! Do you actually hear yourself right now? Madison, I told you fucking everything! I told you it was a mutal decision. I told you that it was the last fucking decision that I fucking wanted to make!” You screamed. The anger had been building up for weeks, and sweet jesus did the release feel good.

It was late at night and you knew that if any girls weren’t asleep they would be hearing exactly what you had to say. Cordelia wasn’t in the building after all. You could say anything you liked.

“I fucking love her, Madison. Every time I see her smile at that knock-off Lindsey Buckingham I want to rip his fucking face off! I know you can’t see that because the boy you brought back from the dead chose your best friend over you and then strangled you to death!”

That’s where your words got Madison.

Within a second, you found your hand striking your face hard.

Composure was the last thing on your mind now as your fist went straight for Madison’s nose. A crack and screamed followed as the blonde launched herself at you.

A scrap insued, knocking each other into furniture, punching, kicking. You fell to the ground as Madison’s boot was launched into your stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. You pushed yourself off the floor and kneed her in the crotch, sending her down to the ground with you on top of her. Your fists had found a mind of their own as they gave blows to her face, chest and stomach.

Your body was thrown from Madison’s, pinned to the wall by some invisible force. Madison crawled from the floor and punched you hard in the stomach. Then the face. You could feel blood dripping from your nose and mouth when the force dropped you on the ground. Madison sulked off, seemingly satisfied as you curled yourself into a ball.

Tears fell slowly from your eyes for the first time in months. You’d finally released every pent up piece of energy that you had held in and there was nothing left in your walls to keep you together. Madison had taken a physcial and verbal fist to everything keeping you together.

It was true; the decision to break up was mutal. Although, it seemed slightly more mutual for Cordelia. You whined too much, you thought, for her to be happy as your friend. Now, months since, you found yourself in a false mask of calmness and serenity about the situation.

The tears were almost temporary as you lay facing the ceiling. Blood dried on your cheeks making your skin feel tight but you didn’t care to move. You almost fell asleep until the front door unlocked at some ungodly hour in the morning. You didn’t care who it was nor did you care to move at this rate.

You saw your reflection in the mirror. The lines of blood on your face struck nasty images from long ago of blood on your limbs. You had recovered now. You were strong and you knew in your heart of hearts that you would never allow yourself to ever feel worthless again. You weren’t disposable. You are not disposable. You were a beautiful soul in a soaring tide, although struggling to see that.

Familiar footsteps clacked down the hall into the parlour. 

"Jesus Christ, Y/N?" Cordelia's voice sent a pang of dread coursing through your body.

"Leave me alone, Delia," you groaned, your body still ached for Madison's assault.

Cordelia fell to her knees beside you. "Oh, sweetheart what happened?" There was a pleading in her voice as she lifted the top half of your body onto her lap. She dabbed your blood with her sleeve.

You could smell the alcohol off her.

"Can you stand up for me?" She asked, helping you to your feet. She brought you to the kitchen and began tending to the mess that was your face. "Please, Y/N. Tell me what happened."

You brushed her off and tried to leave to go to your bedroom. With a flick of her wrist, Cordelia brought furniture to block the entrance.

"You're not leaving here until you tell me exactly what happened, young lady."

You chuckled meanly. "You're fucking kidding me." You turned to face her. "Madison beat the shit out of me."

Cordelia's face dropped in disbelief. "Why?"

"I'm still trying to fucking figure that out!" You shouted. Cordelia's face flinched. 

There was a silence that you hadn't felt with her in a long time, shortly interupted by Zoe walking into the kitchen.

"Cordelia, go to bed," she said. She was going to bring the calm, apparently. "I'll take care of Y/N. I think I know what happened."

"Well, then could you please explain that to me?" Delia asked defensively. Zoe motioned for her to leave.

Zoe approached you slowly and took one look at your face. "Your nose is broken," she muttered. "I know a spell, it'll hurt like a bitch but it'll save the process."

You shrugged and let her do her thing, regretting it almost immeditely as your shrieked in pain.

"Cordelia still loves you, Y/N. I don't know how you haven't seen that yet," she told you, pressing a wet towel to your nose.

"She sure as hell has a weird way of showing it," you replied. All the talk about Cordelia for the first time in months was hitting you like a truck. You dealt with things by ignoring it and although it probably wasn't efficient. It still worked.

Zoe glared at you. "She broke up with Sylvester. I can sense it," she told you. "She misses you more than anything in the world."

Tears threatened to make themselves known once more. "I can't keep doing this, Zoe. I can't keep thinking there's another chance when there's just not."

Zoe tugged you into a warm hug. "Please talk to her, Y/N. Maybe it'll do more good than not."

You nodded in agreement and heaved yourself up the stairs. Cordelia's bedroom door faced you as you mustered up the courage to knock. You could almost hear the echos of memories you shared in her room.

"Police Officer knock," the girls often joked that you had. The door opened itself and you walked in.

"Cordelia?" You spoke, glancing around her room. You could see her outline laying across the bed, a glass of scotch in hand.

Cordelia poked her head up as you walked to the bed. She had clearly been crying.

"I'm sorry I yelled, Delia," you said softly. Her reached under yours and the pain hit you hard.

"It's okay, Y/N. But can you please just be honest with me? What on Earth happened down there?" 

Tears ran down both of your faces as you explained everything. Every word of your altercation with Madison, everything that happened, everything that you had felt over the past few months. Cordelia pressed her forehead against yours and you cried harder. How could her lips be so close yet so far away?

"Why have you been drinking lately? You barely touched it before?" You asked innocently. Cordelia pursed her lips.

"I missed that warmth," she choked. "I missed that warmth that I only ever felt when I was with you."

Her words shot daggers of guilt through you.

"No matter what I tried, no drink could ever match the feeling of being drunk in love with you," she sighed. "Time was taking its sweet time erasing you, so I thought I could do it myself. The drinks. The power. The men. Nothing got close to you."

You placed your hand over hers and squeezed it. "This is so, so stupid, Delia."

The Supreme nodded. "I know. All I ever wanted was a happy ending. I wanted to grow old with you. I wanted to marry you and adopt a child. I don't even know why I'm saying that I did want that. I do want that."

You dropped your head back. "Cordelia, I would give anything to call myself yours again but I cannot go through the heartbreak of losing you again."

Cordelia paused, you saw the reflection of your hurt in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I knew you didn't want it. I didn't want it. I just thought I was doing the best for you."

"This entire time I've felt like an open wound, Delia."

There was another silence.

"Y/N, what would I need to prove to you for another chance? One more shot to make this work. I want that chance to grow old with you," she said. The Supreme was begging for you at this point.

"Cordelia, I want you to understand that if it doesn't work out this time then I'm done."

Cordelia nodded solemly, her whiskey brown eyes darted to your lips. "Can I?"

You pressed your lips to hers before she could finish speaking, your soul ravaging for that piece of Cordelia that you had hungered for.

You found it in her lips. Finding yourselves giggling. Tears of relief, joy, happiness fell onto each other's skin like drops of nectar from the Gods. All was right when you were with her.

Warm lips, warm skin. Your hands weren't cold when you were with her. 

Your lips danced together in rings of bliss as she enloped into you, it was like a battle of nature.

Cordelia broke away, her body shifting slightly under yours as her eyes sobered.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you ask. Even placing your cheek on her hand gave you relief.

"I don't want to wait anymore," she whispered. She breathed in sharply as she motioned for you to get off her. You complied and sat on the bed, watch as she walked over to the dresser and pull something out of a box at the bottom of a pile of paperwork.

You grinned, tears flowing down as she presented you with what she'd dug out.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice hopeful. You clasped your hand to your mouth and nodded hard.

The next morning at breakfast, you couldn't bring yourself to talk to Madison. 

Not after what she did.

At least, not until you noticed her smirking in victory at the sight of the engagment ring on your finger.

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry​ @thesapphictimelady​

Ctrl-Y-Makuta

The Toa were not on Mata Nui long ere they heard about the Makuta. Onua heard of him before the six of them ever gathered, in a whispered voice from Midak as he climbed from the beach after his arrival, the Pakari-clad Onu-Matoran chattering as if afraid he might be heard, though they were alone on the surf. Perhaps Midak should have feared the hulking, hunched figure of Onua, but he did not. Whether this was some primal knowledge of the Toa beyond erased memory, or if it was that Onua was an enlarged version of himself, Midak did not fear him. But he did fear something.

“Have you come to fight the Makuta?” he asked.

“I have come…” Onua’s voicebox wheezed, trying to form words for other ears for the first time since his manufacture. “I have come to defend.” His voice was more confident. “What is… the Makuta?”

“Shadow. Darkness. Evil,” Midak’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He lives in the ground. The others… they think Onu-Koro safe, but it is not.”

~*~*~*~

In time, Onua would learn more, as would all his brethren. For as long as the Matoran had dwelt on Mata Nui, the Makuta had lurked beneath. The Turaga, ever trying to evade mention of the fallen city beneath and their own exile from it, did not, of course, speak of the Makuta’s role in the fall of Metru Nui, but even if Vakama had spoken long and exhaustively of the Cataclysm, neither he nor any of the Turaga could have explained the origin of the dark spirit that had guided the Matoran Empire to its destruction, for he was older than their civilization. Beings of energy, the Makuta had descended into the mechanical ecosystem of the Matoran in its earliest days, at the invitation of the Great Beings that had begun its construction. Legends, ancient already by the time Dume transformed from a Toa and took up the rule of Metru Nui, said the Makuta were kin to the Great Beings and this lore descended eventually to the Turaga of Mata Nui, who called him Mata Nui’s brother.

In the early years of the Matoran Empire, the Makuta were revered as living demigods, the noblest of the Empire’s aristocracy, and whole islands were yielded to them to rule as fiefs within the Matoran realm, but the Makuta began to see themselves as the proper rulers of all the Matoran, and many even of the Toa sided with them, and there was civil war in the empire. The loyalist Matoran retained control of the production and duplication of their own people, and an army was produced, many of whom were remade into Toa, and the Makuta, who were finite and few, were driven back. They sued at last for peace, and the mercy of the Matoran gave them a single island, Karda Nui, for even the greatest Toa warriors knew not how to destroy a Makuta, though they could unhouse them from their mechanical forms.

Teridax, who had been the Makuta of Metru Nui itself, plotted his revenge over many long years, while the Matoran Empire waxed and even explored the stars. In his place, the leader of the Toa that had defeated him had stepped: Dume Ta-Toa. Though he called himself Turaga of Metru-Nui, a source of counsel and wisdom, a mere steward in place of whoever might wear by right the Golden Masks, he ruled with an iron fist to rival any Makuta, and even the farthest-flung islands, full of warlords and rogues, sent tribute to Metru Nui, and Teridax had to wait with unrivalled patience to bring about his defeat. It was only the treachery of a Toa, one of Metru Nui’s own Toa Mangai, that gave him entrance to the city and, in time, allowed him to capture Dume and impersonate him.

His victory, though sweet, was not complete with the Cataclysm, for the Toa Metru, despite inexperience and ignorance, had managed to save a remnant of the Matoran and some of the most powerful artefacts of the city, and the sinking of the entire empire, destroying it as a force from which he might conquer the heavens, was more than Teridax had desired. With Metru Nui no longer worthy of his interest, and somewhat fearful of returning there, he lurked in the passages between it and the outer world, just below the new island of Mata Nui. The Turaga and Matoran were little threat to him, without any Toa, but he continued to watch them and, at times, to harass them. The Matoran, having forgot all in their escape of the Cataclysm, listened to the Turaga who believed him to be vengeful and implacable in a search for their destruction. In truth, he cared little if the Matoran lived, so long as they did not resist him, but he watched and he waited.

fire • dincember: day 4

or

the five times you catch him staring;

the one you do something about it

pairing: the mandalorian x reader

summary: the five times you catch him staring and the one time you do something about it ( 3/6 )

warnings: none

word count: 1k

notes: ayyYe look who finally got off her ass to write this!!! sorry for the long hiatus, this is what happens when u don’t outline your fics!! also shit’s been wild with the pandemic and school work. this is day 4 of dincember - fire. enjoy!

part one part two

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking

you know you should probably be keeping track of the trail the mandalorian is so intent on sticking to

in case you need to make a quick exit

sure, he’s made it clear that he has no immediate plans on killing you

but still, call it a force of habit

it’s always good to have a plan B!

though, instead of plotting your escape path, you find yourself glaring at the back of his head

the setting sun rays bounce off the reflective surface and into your eyes

you wince once again, reminding yourself to pay attention for maker’s sake

you’re painfully aware of the biting cold

the trees don’t serve to be of much help either, the leaves have all fallen and the non-existent tree canopy does nothing to keep in any semblance of heat

your hands raise to tighten the scarf around your neck you grumble in annoyance behind your helmet

“please explain to me again why you needed me to track your bounty with you?”

he remains silent, weaving through the tree trunks with the same vigour as when you started your journey

you already know the answer, but if he’s going to drag you into a freezing woodland for god knows how many hours on end, you may as well get some entertainment

for some reason, the mandalorian doesn’t trust you

shocker

you haven’t given him much reason to do so, but he would argue that you haven’t done anything to persuade him otherwise

that one time where you slipped out of his line of sight to get something or other definitely did not help your case

“Suffering together just seems counter-productive, you know? I could be doing much more back on our ship, in the warm, might I add!”

he scoffs at that, “you’re crazier than I thought if you think I’d leave you alone on my ship.”

you take great offense

“what, like I’m going to steal it?” 

he stops in his tracks

you can feel the deadpan as his visor tilts towards you

you shove him back into pace with a roll of your eyes, “fine.”

he only lets up twice throughout the journey, allowing you to catch your breath and for him to scope out your surroundings (it’s bleak— dead trees for as far as the eye can see, and then some)

you collapse onto a nearby log and the feeling of the frosted surface bleeding into your trousers makes you wince

yeah, you’re a bounty hunter— what about it?

Mando returns and tells you that the log you’re sitting on will be where you sleep tonight

yes sir!!!!! no arguments there!!!

Mando breathes a sign of relief when you settle back with no qualms

finally

peace

you expect him to sit— rest, perhaps, but no

he just stands in front of you expectantly

you crane your neck to meet his visor with your own

um hi?? he’s invading your bubble

“firewood.”

for the love of-

you sigh, suppressing a groan and stand, quite cooperatively

someone has to take the first step

it takes hours, all your remaining energy and patience to fill your arms with enough bark that isn’t soggy from the snow

the mandalorian takes mercy when you return to the site and takes it upon himself to start the fire

not long later you sit beside the flickering flames as you toss the kid slivers of meat from the pack Mando handed you

the kid is curled up on your lap, his face buried beneath his robes

his green nose has taken on a red tint and you tap it with a chuckle

the kid snatches up the remaining meat in your grasp and waddles closer towards the fire

ouch

“You know, Mando,” you sigh, regarding the mandalorian across the fire

he doesn’t seem to notice the cold

that beskar must really be cost-effective

“if we’re going to work together, we have to trust each other.”

his helmet tilts and the man shifts his weight

someone’s antsy

you know he’s hesitating 

the gears spinning in his head are loud

“For the kid?” You murmur, lowering your gaze to the bundle sat at your feet

Mando’s line of sight follows and his stony resolve cracks

“Okay,” he says, so soft you barely hear it over the crackle of the fire

success

you’re rather satisfied with yourself

your gloves come up to remove your helmet

it’s been a long day

when the mask comes off, you blink to adjust to seeing without the barrier

wow was it stuffY in there

you immediately notice Mando has averted his eyes

his helmet is tilted all the way away from you

then you realise that even on the Crest, he’s never come across you without your helmet on

the smile that reaches your face isn’t snarky, for once

it’s gentle and something flares in your chest

honour, maybe? though you don’t have much experience with thaT

“It’s okay,” you say, “you can look.”

he hesitates once more, but eventually he does

stars, you’re pretty

you don’t look at all like any of the bounty hunters he’s come across

not sure whether that’s a good thing or not

even your puck had been a holo of your helmet

you definitely don’t look how he had pictured

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” you state quite plainly, “this thing does nothing more than hide my face and give me a headache.”

he stays unmoving, visor trained intently on your now-exposed eyes

ah, a man of so many words

“is,,,, is there something on my face?” your eyes widen a smidge, fingers brushing across your cheeks

then, Mando clears his throat and shakes his head

“No. No, you’re good.”

your face falls and with a shrug, you go back to eating

meanwhile your heart’s going eeeEEEEeeeeEEEE

you doze off soon after you finish your portion

when you stir, you notice the fire’s gone out

that’s why it’s fucking freezing

you defeatedly pull your parka tighter around your shoulders and nuzzle your face deeper into the woolen scarf

heat eludes you

in your bleary state, you barely notice Mando shifting around the charred logs and settling beside you

your eyelids flutter

sleep does not elude you

the cold from his beskar makes you recoil

then, the last thing you register before you go under once more is something draping across your front

the next morning, you wake to thawed snow and a heavy cape tucked under your chin

well, shit

you’re not cold anymore

I know you don't have rules for that already but can I ask for relationship hc's for Chuuya and Dazai with a fem or gender neutral s/o?😳❤

A/N: Am I foaming from the mouth for my first BSD request? Maybe. I hope this is good though. I added in a short part on how they asked you out cause I wanted this to be different and unique from most dating HCs.

Pairing(s): Dazai Osamu, Chuuya Nakahara x GN!Reader

Warnings: Slight mention of suicide in Dazai's, cursing

Form: Headcanon

Also: These ran super duper long I'm so sorry

You managed to cuff the suicidal maniac, huh?

Well done, my friend, well done

It took him so long to ask you out, and even when he did it wasn't planned. In all honesty, he never planned to tell you about his feelings. The excruciating part for him is that he did fall pretty fast, and realized he was falling even faster.

He didn't deny them, that wouldn't make it go away. He knew that. He sat and let it festered, hoping it would just disappear at some point.

Had the mindset of anything he loved he'd lose, y'know? Sad but so.

The way I'd imagine it happening is that you both are either working late at the ADA (with just the two of you there) or just at his place hanging out into all hours of the night.

Both of you are laughing at some dumb joke Dazai made and as the laughter dies out he feels.. Bittersweet. You make him feel genuinely happy, like there's no need to put on any mask or facade. That was not a feeling he had with anyone else.

Once silence fully overtakes you both it slips out of his mouth, purely on accident.

"I love you"

"More than suicide?"

"Y/n I'm serious!"

From that night forward you had the pleasure of being the partner of Dazai Osamu, with his feelings being released in an extremely cliche coming-of-age-movie way.

Okay, onto actually dating Dazai

Still goofy as all hell. Honestly the only thing that has really changed is the he lets you in a lot less hesitantly on small things. Its easier to put cracks in his walls, per se

Unbothered by PDA and will probably make out with you in public and not see why that isn't a thing that should be done or why you wouldn't like it.

(Just tell him if you don't, he'll get over it eventually)

Will kiss you everywhere, doesn't exactly have a favorite place, but where he does end up kissing you the most is your forehead for convenience. He'll kiss your wrist if he's holding your hand, too.

Clingy as all hell, always wants to be touching you in some way and becomes the biggest dramatic bitch when he can't be around you.

Kunikida will actually punt him if he says he'll die if he's away from you for another second. For the tenth time

No more suicide attempts once you two are dating, and doesn't ask for a double suicide with you because he knows it'll upset you quite a bit

He flirts with you like he's trying to get you to date him lmao he will never ease up, especially if it gets you bashful.

Dazai would NOT be dating you if he did not trust you a whole lot, so thats something that is pretty vital to the relationship.

That being said, please be understanding of the pieces of Dazai he keeps locked away to never see the light of day again and trust him just as much as he trust you. Its important especially if you don't want the relationship to be one-sided

Also with the high amount of trust he places in you, he doesn't get jealous easily. I mean he may get pissy that you're not giving him any attention but jealous is never the right word to use

Mf finally washes his fucking clothes once he starts dating you. Doesn't smell like the bottom of the ocean on a regular basis anymore.

Dates are always chill and rarely super extravagant. Park dates are often but Dazai's truly preferred date is snuggling inside, watching a few movies and slipping in and out of naps.

Belladonna is his go-to petname for you, of course, but he may bounce around with other petnames for kicks.

He will start calling you weird shit if you ignore him for to long.

Never raises his voice at you unless its in some joking manner. On the rare occurrence that you two have an argument he would need to get extremely riled up before he resorts to raising his voice. He tries to have patience and usually succeeds.

Dazai gets SO soft and SO loving sometimes, and it can be out of no where or something minuscule could have sparked it. All I know is that its nice and cute 🥰

He's usually pretty vulnerable himself when he gets like that so match his energy, alright? If you don't he might end up a little sour for some short amount of time and be more hesitant to get like that

10/10 Lover. This is by no means an effortless relationship, its a constant battle of figuring out boundaries, running into walls and respecting them. Dating Dazai isn't toxic if you treat him right and when you do? It definitely pays off.

(This got so long. I've had so much pent-up Dazai love and all around BSD love and I finally had an outlet to completely let it out)

HUSBAND. THE LOML

Okay, sorry. But this man is the love of my life, and he will be yours as well.

Took him a while to really figure out his feelings for you, or to better put it, it took him a while to label the feeling he had towards you "love"

But ONCE HE DID mans was practically whipped before you officially started dating omg.

You could notice the shift in attitude when he figured out his feelings. He got nervous, went stiff and blushy all against his will. Maybe a tad bit more snappy.

He'd try to keep his cool and then just eat shit and become a babbling angry mess.

After every encounter and interaction with you he'd end up overthinking all of it and when he catches himself doing that he gets so upset with himself. It's really when he realized that he won't be able to keep his feelings a secret forever.

Definitely started avoiding you when planning on the 🌈perfect🌈 way to ask you out and blamed work if you asked him why he was avoiding you.

Anyway, the way he asks you out was almost as calculated as a proposal.

He asks you to meet him at the port and dress comfortably towards the end of the day

When you get there, Chuuya has a nice place set up for you both. A blanket and a bottle of expensive wine because we all know he's lowkey an alcoholic along with a very nice view of the ocean/port.

Chuuya made sure it didn't radiate too much romantic energy to give his plans away; also, he wasn't that nervous. Once he gets truly determined to do something, he doesn't let something like anxiety get in the way of it. The idea of being rejected was essentially an afterthough

Made an effort to make sure he didn't drink too much and neither did you. He didn't want to take advantage of the possibility of you being drunk by the time he asks you out and he knows he himself has a low tolerance

Once the sun began to set is when he asks. Stutters a little bit towards the beginning but smooths it out.

"Y/n, I uh.. I brought you to tell you that I love you."

"Have you drank too much already, Chuuya?"

"No! I'm completely sober!"

It was overall super cute and unforgettable, just as he planned.

Honestly, being in a relationship with this boy is just 🥰

Spoils you so much. You'll deadass be dripped out head to toe purely in stuff Chuuya has bought you.

Dw, he has an alright sense of fashion

Don't try to discourage him, that'll only get him to buy more stuff.

Chuuya's short and the concept of a size difference doesn't bother him at all, he'll find a way to kiss you regardless lol

On the topic of kissing, his favorite places are your lips and hands

He takes of his gloves whenever he's with you and let me tell you his hands are the softest things ever. Albeit his knuckles are a little calloused sometimes.

If you're anything like me, you'd want his soft hands on you 24/7 and y'know what? Chu would happily oblige.

He isn't like the biggest fan of PDA but certainly isn't against it. He'd rather keep things behind doors as much as he can. Holding hands and small kisses on the cheek are very fine by him.

He isn't like the biggest jealous type? He doesn't become overly irate or anything but certainly doesn't take any pleasure in watching you talk to other guys.

Chuuya does have some form of self restraint when it comes to that. Him getting a lil jealous is one of the only things that'll have him completely make-out with you in public or smth

Chuuya is very snuggly and touchy behind closed doors. He practically becomes Dazai but a lot less goofy

Oh yeah he definitely rants about how much he fucking hates Dazai now n again

Isn't huge on petnames but definitely calls you them every now and again.

Princess, babe and baby are his top few.

Chuuya definitely has a morning voice where it drops 2 octaves and its just 🥰

Never yells at you, its pretty shocking. The only times he's ever raised his voice with you is when its very obvious that he's not genuinely upset with you. Almost for comedic affect because it is angry short boy Chuuya

One may think arguments are often with Chuuya, but they're sort of not. He may be a pretty stubborn individual but he never argues to argue unless its Dazai-

He always works towards and agreement to end the argument as soon as possible. He keeps his cool and will never raise his voice. You can barely call them arguments because of how much he tries to keep his cool.

When he's stressed or had a bad day he gets extremely quiet because he doesn't even want the opportunity to open his mouth and take it out on you. The only words he'll say to you while he's in that state is that he's stress and you didn't do anything wrong just to make sure you're not worried over it.

All and all? Chuuya is the best and there's no way around it. He has his faults but always tries to improve and be his best self for you :)

(I had even more pent-up love for Chuuya and it got even longer, whoops-)

Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone  - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done. 

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me. 

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight. 

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it. 

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket. 

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six. 

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins. 

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.” 

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?” 

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words. 

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down. 

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense. 

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room. 

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do. 

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him. 

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!” 

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN. 

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another. 

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.  

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.” 

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap. 

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now. 

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?” 

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.” 

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls. 

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.” 

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her. 

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother. 

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet. 

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears. 

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.  

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is. 

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep. 

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile. 

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm. 

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests. 

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms. 

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? 

“Are we all done, doctor?” 

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence. 

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively. 

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks. 

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.  

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.” 

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece. 

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.  

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file. 

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality. 

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit. 

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.” 

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays. 

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy. 

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat. 

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth. 

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits. 

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them. 

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”  

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat. 

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury. 

She opens the door fully and glares at him.  

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses. 

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy. 

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits. 

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut. 

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely. 

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone. 

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.  

What. The. Fuck. 

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen. 

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him. 

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides. 

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family? 

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have. 

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

stealing!!!

(haaaaaaahahaha I haven't been avoiding writing prompt asks for months bc I lost confidence in myself, what nooooo anyway thanks for waiting, I wanted it to be a good one <3 )

At first, it was just the little things. Inconsequential items taken on a whim. Annoying, maybe a bit petty at times, but generally innocent.

A cigarette or two, swiped with sticky fingers in passing. Upon discovery of the theft, his lighter went missing in retaliation. Her secret stashed bottle of wine, the next kidnapping victim. The most obvious and common needs on the ship, smokes and booze, always seemed to run in short supply, and they traded pockets like clockwork.

As time went on, it became like clockwork.

And then it became a game.

After a point, what is there to take in space? The last of the fresh coffee, sure, or the first warm water in the metaphorical morning so the other had to wait several hours to have anything above room temperature. Even going so far as to siphon the fuel from one ship to another, if one was feeling especially slighted. A little vindictive, some might even say aggressive, but that's just how they were.

Another box of cigarettes, disappearing into memory. The game continued.

Some time along, the game leaned dangerously close to dulling. Someone, we won't say who, had even begun to like it, and she didn't particularly want it to end. Someone had to do something drastic.

Faye took his shirt. Just another play in the game, she'd never consider any of her moves drastic. Just a shirt, snatched off the line while they were in atmosphere. She paraded through the common room in it and near nothing else, just to see what he would do.

Jet, already exhausted from their weekly antics, withdrew to relative safety and seclusion amongst his non-speaking living things, where he preferred to waste his waiting time. Watching from her perch on the stairs, Ed cackled with delight, of course; she'd been observing the game for some time. She could appreciate this supposed check, or even checkmate if Faye was the better player. The purpose of the game, she couldn't be too sure, but it was silly and she liked it.

And Spike?

Well.

All he did was eye here up and down, cold and quiet as steel. Through a mask of smoke he took her in, his brow furrowed. Faye couldn't tell whether it was from annoyance or concentration he stared for so long, but she couldn't take his eyes for long. When he didn't speak, she huffed and flounced off to bask in her victory, refusing to consider it a retreat.

Just... something about his eyes unsettled her. That look was... a challenge.

Hungry, almost.

He tied her jacket to the Swordfish's nose.

She dolled up Ed in his suit (had to roll up the sleeves far too many times).

He dolled up Ein in her dress, sash and lipstick and everything.

This shift perplexed Jet to no end, as he firmly kept himself out of it. Wasn't the game supposed to be take and take back? What happened to stealing??

In a way they were stealing, sure, but it went from simple pleasures to daily necessities now; the very clothes off their backs, for fuck's sake. If they weren't careful, it could escalate to their dignity, their safety, his sanity---

It might have, if not for one night, when they were out of gas, out of options, and fresh out of Jet's patience. He'd dumped them 'accidentally' on a seedy little crater, for a lead on some bounty (same old, same old). The Swordfish was trashed, the Redtail little better. Spike's initial plan was to grumble in his cockpit until Jet took pity on them and came to pick them up, until Faye shmoozed her way into a motel room for the night.

Better to grumble in a heated room than a cold-ass parking lot.

And this at least was a fresh new play in the game. He hadn't tried this before; what better revenge of being stranded than to take half the bed?

Of course it couldn't end there. Faye was furious, but too exhausted and annoyed to kick him out; she merely curled facing away and threatened to dismember him if he tried anything. The smug look on his face did earn a snatch of the covers when he went to take a piss in the middle of the night.

Spike glared down at the thieved pile of covers, Faye bundled inside.

Now, this wouldn't do.

He tried tugging on a corner; a gentle warning, for more gentle than he had the patience or energy for.

No response.

He tried again, harder and with obvious purpose. Faye clung tighter to the blankets, grinning to herself with her eyes closed.

She was a lot more stubborn than he gave her credit for.

But, so was he.

And desperate times in a childish game call for desperate measures. But what could he possibly take now, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night?

Well.

There's always the empty space between them.

Spike climbed across the bed and wrapped his arms around the blanket pile, hugging it and Faye close to escape the chill. Faye yelped against the intrusion, immediately beginning to squirm in protest. The arms around her just gripped tighter.

She made this bed and he'd be damned if she wasn't going to stay lying in it.

After much bitter hissing and attempts at clawing her way out (unsuccessful), Faye stilled and relinquished a corner, enough for Spike to snatch and tug over his shoulders. He shifted over, satisfied to finally return to his side of the bed.

For the moment.

It was cold in this motel room.

And they've been taking more than either anticipated.

That's the thing about this game. Neither anticipated it. Neither could have ever put a name to it. But they've been taking each others' time, and quietly, in the odd hours except for this one, they might even have been enjoying it.

Stealing time, just by existing.

And now, they're stealing on accident.

Stealing space as Faye rolls over in the dark, shivering with a bitten lip. She's always run cold; the unfamiliarity of this room only adds to the chill. Without presence of mind she curls against Spike's side, just seeking the cloud of warmth beyond her consciousness.

He lets her, though he's not sure why.

It's cold in this motel room. And he's thoughtful.

What was it? This game that they've been playing?

The stealing game. That's right.

He realizes he doesn't want anything else from her; the game has dulled in this quiet, cold room. But maybe there's one last theft he can make.

A moment. An afterthought, or a feeling. A fantasy, or magic, or something.

What was that child's story?

Spike wants to take not something from Faye, but something for himself. A fragment of a thought, a curiosity he'd thought of, barely.

Wendy's thimble.

It only took the slightest of adjustments to sneak an arm over her shoulders; she was still shivering a little, after all. He held her for a couple of gentle moments, feeling breath against his skin he suddenly and painfully enjoyed.

It took nothing at all to tilt his chin down and enact his final play in their game, sneaking a kiss to her hair.

If Faye felt it, she never admitted it.

If she sat up, half-awake and a bit startled, Spike never mentioned it.

If, after a quiet moment of sleepy staring, she slowly returned the favor to his lips, neither one remembered it.

If they shared the favor a couple more times, the shadows around them concealed it.

And if they lay, side by side, staring at the ceiling in shock and discomfort and buzzing curiosity for hours afterwards, they'd never tell you why.

But they stopped taking from each other after whatever happened in that cold motel room.

... For now.