#{whoops slight mask slip!}

[defender-of-jouvente]

Ya seem tired

Wanna have a drink

That's- Alcohol is a depressant? It would make me more tired???

Although...

[He seems to be deep in thought about something.]

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Midnight Bloom

Pairing: The Hermit! Seungmin x Dancer! Reader

Themes: Smut | Strangers to ? | Crime Syndicate AU

Wordcount: 5.8K

Playlist: 'Chimera' - HANA

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Mutual masturbation - Thigh riding - Use of pet names - Slight degradation - Slight Dom!Seungmin

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous chapter: Celestial Sin - The Lovers

The city was supposed to be your golden ticket, a place where dreams were spun into reality. You had arrived with a guitar strapped to your back, a suitcase filled with more hope than money, and the conviction that you would make it. But dreams, you learned, were expensive, and conviction didn’t pay the bills.

For months, you juggled odd jobs—barista, cashier, hostess at a seedy little diner—anything to keep you afloat while chasing auditions and open mic nights. But one by one, those gigs slipped through your fingers. The barista job went when a corporate chain opened next door. The cashier job cut your hours until you couldn’t afford to stay. And the diner? Well, that one ended last night, when your manager decided he could get handsy, and you decided to throw a pot of scalding coffee in his lap.

Your rent was overdue three weeks, and your landlord’s final notice lay on your tiny bedside table like a death sentence. Your phone buzzed beside it, a call from Mina lighting up the screen.

“Tell me you’re not still in bed.”

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “Mina, it’s barely noon.”

“Exactly. Which means you should be up looking for a job.”

“I am looking for a job,” you lied, staring at the ceiling. “Manifesting one right now.”

Mina snorted. “You manifest a job the way I manifest a boyfriend—poorly.” She hesitated, and you could hear the shift in her tone. “Listen, I might have something for you. It’s… unconventional.”

You sat up, wary. “If you’re about to suggest OnlyFans—”

“Oh, please. You’re too much of a control freak. No, I was thinking something a little different.”

You frowned. “Mina.”

She hesitated. “You know where I work.”

You did. Vaguely. Mina never flaunted it, never dragged you into conversations about it, but you knew she was comfortable, lived well, and never seemed to regret her choices. “The club?”

“The Garden,” she corrected. “And before you say no, just listen. It’s not some sleazy backroom joint. It’s exclusive. Private. Everyone wears masks, even the girls, and no one touches you without permission. The money is insane. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just dance.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhausted. “Mina, I don’t even know how to work a pole.”

“You don’t need to. You already dance. You already perform. You’ll pick it up fast.” There was a pause. “Look, I wouldn’t suggest this if I thought it was a bad idea. I know you. You have standards. This place does, too.”

Your stomach twisted. You had always prided yourself on finding another way. On holding onto your pride. But pride didn’t pay rent. Pride didn’t fill your fridge. And you were tired—tired of fighting, tired of struggling, tired of clawing your way through a city that didn’t seem to want you.

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, just meet with the manager. If you hate it, walk away. No pressure.”

Your bank account balance flashed in your mind—$34.76. Your landlord’s final notice wouldn’t manifest itself into rent money. You exhaled sharply.

“Fine. I’ll meet her.”

Mina whooped. “That’s my girl! I’ll text you the details. Wear something cute.”

The Garden wasn’t what you expected. Tucked away in the heart of the city, it looked more like a high-end lounge than a strip club. The entrance was discreet, a sleek black door with a brass plaque etched with the name The Garden in elegant cursive. Inside, the air smelled like vanilla and something darker—something decadent.

A woman met you at the bar. She was dressed in all black, her sharp features unreadable.

“Mina speaks highly of you,” she said, eyes assessing. “You have experience performing?”

You nodded. “I dance. I sing. I’ve done stage work.”

“Pole?”

You hesitated. “Not yet.”

The woman smiled slightly. “You’ll learn.” She motioned for you to follow her further into the club. “The rules are simple. No real names, no personal details. You’ll choose a nymph name—Persephone’s court. We protect our dancers, and you control your performances. You strip as much as you’re comfortable with. No one touches you unless you allow it. If you ever feel unsafe, you walk away.”

It sounded… surreal. You expected something grimier, something desperate. But this? This was control. This was money. This was a way out.

“What’s my name?” you asked, pulse thrumming as the manager handed you a purple mask.

The woman smiled. “Ianthe.”

And just like that, you became someone new.

The first official night was a blur of nerves and adrenaline. You weren’t the best, not yet, but you knew how to move, how to hold an audience’s attention. The pole was foreign, but the music was not. You kept your boundaries, stripping only as far as you were comfortable, and to your surprise, no one pushed. The customers were eager but controlled, appreciative rather than entitled. When the night ended, you had more money than you had seen in months.

It was supposed to be just one night.

But one night turned into another.

And another.

You never expected to enjoy it. But in a way, you did. The thrill of performance, the anonymity of the mask, the way the world blurred into a haze of music and movement. The money was good—more than good. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t drowning.

You fell into the rhythm of The Garden quicker than you had expected.

What had begun as a desperate solution had become something familiar, something steady. Your schedule was set, your performances fluid, your movements more confident with each passing night. You moved through its velvet-lined corridors like you belonged, like you had always belonged. The dancers—Callisto, Thalia, Eurydice—had welcomed you in their own ways, offering tips and knowing glances. Customers came and went—some lingering longer than others—but all of them knew the rules. The Garden wasn’t a place for sloppy, drunken hands or crude demands. It was a playground for the wealthy, a sanctuary for indulgence and restraint intertwined.

And they watched you.

Some were expected—the older men in tailored suits, businessmen looking for a distraction with wallets fat enough to demand attention, lonely men with too much time and not enough warmth, younger ones pretending to be older, and older ones pretending to be young.

But one customer stood out.

You noticed him the first time by accident. You had been performing, body swaying to the slow, sultry beat of the music, when you felt it—the weight of an unwavering gaze. It was nothing new; you were used to being observed, scrutinized even. But this was different. His stare wasn’t leering, nor was it detached like those who watched simply because you were there. His focus was precise, deliberate. It sent a shiver down your spine.

But when you finished and made your usual rounds through the club, he was nowhere to be found.

You lingered longer than necessary, greeting patrons, and taking your time with the regulars who had learned to appreciate your boundaries. There was the IT mogul, a silver-haired gentleman who tipped generously and never asked for more than conversation. Then there was the Parisian, a man in his fifties who liked to pretend he was much younger, always eager for a private dance but respectful enough never to push. You indulged them, letting their hands rest on yours, laughing at their harmless flirtations, all while keeping an eye out for the man who had been watching you.

But he was gone.

Mina caught on quickly. She always did.

“You’ve got yourself a mystery man,” Mina’s voice cut through your thoughts as you lounged backstage, sipping water between sets. She perched beside you, looking effortlessly radiant in her barely-there ensemble, her mask pushed up to rest on her forehead for a moment.

You rolled your eyes. “He’s just another customer.”

“Oh, please,” Mina smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “I’ve been here long enough to know the difference between a casual customer and whatever the hell he is.”

You rolled your eyes, but her words stuck with you.

She leaned in closer. “You know the manager knows him, right?”

That made you pause. “What?”

“They never talk much, but she acknowledges him. Which means he’s important. Rich, maybe. Maybe he owns the whole damn place.” Mina nudged you playfully. “Wouldn’t that be something? Our little Ianthe catching the eye of The Garden’s owner.”

You laughed softly at the idea, shaking your head. “You’ve been watching too many dramas.”

Mina winked before slipping off her stool and grinning. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Ianthe.”

The rhythm of the club became routine. Nights blurred together in a swirl of music, silk, and whispered propositions. The money flowed easily, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t have to worry about rent, food, surviving. You weren’t just keeping your head above water—you were swimming.

And then, one night, everything changed.

You had just finished a set, the heat of the stage lights still clinging to your skin, when the manager approached you. Her gaze was unreadable, her posture relaxed but firm.

“A guest has requested a private room,” she said. “He specifically asked for you.”

You barely blinked. You had been requested before—it was nothing new. Some men preferred to watch, others preferred more direct entertainment. It was part of the job.

Still, something prickled at your skin, a whisper of anticipation curling in your stomach. “Which guest?”

She didn’t answer; she just tilted her head toward the hallway that led to the private rooms.

You took a breath and followed.

As you made your way through the dimly lit hallway, the hush of the main floor faded behind you. The private rooms were different—smaller, more intimate. A single platform with a pole for dancers stood in the centre, plush seating arranged around it in a way that made it feel personal rather than transactional.

You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then, you saw him.

The stranger from the shadows, now sitting comfortably on one of the benches surrounding the lone pole at the center of the room. His suit was dark, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—those same intense eyes that had watched you for weeks—followed your every move.

You hesitated, just for a moment, before stepping forward, keeping your mask securely in place.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” you said lightly, letting your fingers skim along the length of your torso. “I was wondering if you’d ever request me.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watched you, his gaze never faltering. Then, finally—

“I wanted to see you up close.”

It was an expected answer, but something about the way he said it made your breath catch. Not crude. Not demanding. Just... certain. His voice was smooth, low but not imposing. A beat of silence stretched between you. He made no move to touch you, no move to beckon you closer, and yet his presence was magnetic. His aura wasn’t suffocating or lecherous like some of the others—it was controlled, powerful in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You stepped onto the platform, the cool metal of the pole grounding you. The music started, slow and rhythmic, and you let yourself move—not just to entice, but to feel. You had grown used to how men watched you, but this was different. He wasn’t just watching your body—he was watching you.

Between movements, you dared to meet his gaze. “What should I call you?”

His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. “I think the better question is—what should I call you?”

“Ianthe.” Even though you were used to it by now, uttering it out loud still felt foreign all the same—a persona that wasn’t quite you but close enough.

He nodded slowly. “Ianthe.”

Your pulse quickened. It was how he said your stage name, slowly, like he was savouring it, rolling it over his tongue to see how it felt. Your mask shielded you, but somehow, you felt exposed under his stare.

The dance continued, the space between you thick with something unspoken.

By the time the music slowed to a stop, you were breathless—not just from the performance, but from the weight of his attention. You met his gaze again, trying to decipher the quiet storm behind his eyes.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing more of you,” you mused as you stepped down from the platform.

His smirk deepened just slightly. “Perhaps.”

And just like that, you knew—this was only the beginning.

Something shifts after that first private performance.

The stranger still keeps his distance on the public floor. He remains in the shadows, watching you with that same quiet intensity, and he still disappears the moment your performances end. But now, he calls for you—again and again.

Private room. Your name. No substitutions.

At first, you try to ignore the way your stomach twists when the request comes in and try to treat him like any other customer. But he isn’t like the others. His attention is too sharp, too measured. He doesn’t gawk, doesn’t leer. He watches as if he’s learning something about you with every movement, every note in your voice.

And despite your best efforts, your walls begin to crack.

The first few private dances are much like the first. He stays seated, his posture always composed, his eyes always on you. He doesn’t touch, doesn’t speak unless you do first. But when he does, it’s with that low, steady voice that makes the air between you feel heavier than it should.

“You’re different when you dance.”

You circle the pole, dragging your fingers along the cool metal, letting the tension coil in your body as you sway. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” There’s no amusement in his voice, just curiosity, like he genuinely wants to know. “Are you pretending?”

You pause mid-turn, catching his gaze through your mask. “Aren’t we all?”

Something flickers in his expression, something you can’t quite name. You don’t wait for him to respond—you move again, rolling your hips to the slow beat, letting the music wrap around you.

But the more time you spend in these private rooms with him, the more you find yourself slipping. You reveal more—not just with your body when you finally bare your breasts to him, but with your words. He asks small, precise questions, and somehow, you answer them.

“How long have you been in the city?”

“Two years.”

“Why stay?”

“Because I have to.”

He never asks for more than you’re willing to give. But still, you give.

And then, one night, you finally learn his name.

There was something about the way he watched you, something that made you feel like you weren’t just another performer. Like he saw something more than just a body swaying to the music.

“What should I call you?” you asked one night, mid-performance, emboldened by how he had begun to lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

His lips quirked into a barely-there smile. “You tell me, Ianthe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled, a quiet amusement threading through his expression. “Seungmin.”

The name settles between you like a secret. You repeat it, soft but deliberate. “Seungmin.”

For the first time, his lips curve—just barely. But it’s there.

Mina notices the shift before you do.

She corners you in the dressing room one night, her arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.

“You’re different.”

You scoff, adjusting the ties on your lingerie. “I’m making good money. Maybe I’m just happier.”

“It’s not that.” Mina steps closer, her voice dropping. “It’s him.”

You roll your eyes. “Mina—”

“I’m serious.” She softens, reaching out to lace her fingers through yours. “I know you, babe. I know how you keep your distance. But you’re letting him in.”

You glance at her, searching for the right words. She isn’t wrong. You just don’t know what to do about it.

“I know what I’m doing,” you say finally, squeezing her hand before pulling away. “It’s just business.”

Mina doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t push. Not yet.

She does push a few nights later.

Mina is heading out of a private room when she passes by yours. You’re not inside yet; still due on stage in a few minutes. But the door is slightly ajar, and she hears voices.

She stops, just for a moment, and listens.

“…profits are steady.” The voice is female—your manager.

“Good. I want the reports by the end of the week.” Seungmin.

Mina’s brows furrow, but she stays still.

“Vendors have been settled, but the new shipment is delayed. It should arrive soon.” your manager continues. “Mostly thanks to certain… interventions from The Hermit.”

There’s a pause before Seungmin replies. “Good.”

Mina strains to hear more as she tenses, but the noise outside drowns out their conversation. Still, she’s heard enough. The Syndicate owns the Garden. She had always known this place was backed by powerful figures, but hearing it confirmed like this sent a shiver down her spine. Not only that, but now she knows that Seungmin isn’t just another customer. He’s connected somehow.

And she doesn’t like it.

She keeps this information to herself for the next few days, watching you closely from the shadows. You seem lighter, more at ease when Seungmin is around, but she sees the way he affects you, the way you hesitate when his name comes up, the way you search for him in the crowd. And she doesn’t like that either.

So when another request comes in—another private dance, another night in that secluded room—Mina pulls you into a darkened corner right before you can go in.

“Listen,” she whispers, urgency laced in her voice. “I need to tell you something.”

You sigh, adjusting your mask. “Mina, I—”

“It’s about him.” She grips your arm, eyes glancing at the door before forcing your gaze to meet hers. “He’s not just some guy, okay? I heard him talking to the manager a couple of days ago. He knows things—things about the club. About the business. About The Syndicate.”

You blink, thrown off by the seriousness in her tone. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know yet. But I don’t trust it.” She exhales sharply. “And I don’t think you should either.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the call comes—your name over the speakers, signalling your time is up.

You hesitate, just for a second. Then, you pull away from Mina’s grip and shake your head. “I have to go.”

She looks like she wants to stop you, to say more, but she doesn’t.

And so you go—to him.

To Seungmin.

But you should have known the shadows don't keep secrets for long.

The moment you step into the private room, your eyes land on him immediately.

Seungmin.

He greets you with nothing but a look—intense, unreadable, but something about it is different tonight. There’s a tension rolling over his shoulders, something tight coiled beneath his usual composed demeanour. To anyone else, he might look the same as always: relaxed, leaning into the plush seating, his posture giving nothing away. But you’ve learned to read him, to decipher the smallest changes. The slight shift of his fingers as they drum against the seat cushion. The way his jaw clenches, just briefly, before smoothing over again.

Something is off.

You try to ground yourself, to ignore the sudden weight pressing into your chest, the whisper of danger suddenly stifling the air.

The music starts, a slow, intoxicating melody that seeps into your skin, pulling you back to the performance. This is where you excel, where you thrive. The weight of the outside world, of unspoken words and lingering questions, fades as you let your body take over.

Seungmin watches you like he always does, but tonight, his gaze is heavier, sharper. It burns against your skin, branding you in ways that make your breath hitch. You twirl around the pole, your hands gliding along your own body, teasing both yourself and him.

“You’re distracted.” His voice cuts through the haze, the deep timbre curling around you.

You blink, not missing a beat in your movements, though for a fraction of a second, your balance wavers. “Am I?”

He tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes unwavering. “You are.”

You don’t know how he does it—how he always manages to read you so easily when you can barely read him at all. You force a soft smile, letting your fingers trail down your thighs as you move, shaking Mina’s words from your head. “I’m just tired.”

His lips curve just a little, but it isn’t in amusement. “You expect me to believe that?”

You meet his gaze then, something defiant sparking in your chest. “Does it matter?”

A quiet pause. Then, “No.” But the way he says it—low, almost thoughtful—tells you that’s a lie.

You exhale shakily as the moment stretches between you, thick and heavy. You let yourself sink into the music again, forcing everything else to the back of your mind. If Seungmin is tied to The Garden, if he is something more than just a customer, then what does it really matter? You don’t have answers yet and won’t ask for them either. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that Seungmin will only reveal what he wants to, when he wants to.

And right now, it seems he wants something else entirely.

As your fingers tease the clasp of your bra, letting the delicate fabric slip from your shoulders, you catch it. The hard bulge pressing against the front of his pants.

Heat floods through you.

You’re not naïve—You’ve always known he finds you attractive—he wouldn’t be here otherwise—but Seungmin is a man of control, a master at hiding his impulses. Yet tonight, something is different.

He isn’t hiding it.

Or maybe, he doesn’t want to.

Something in you shifts. The power you feel at this discovery is intoxicating. Your own desire has never been in question—you’ve left this room more than once with damp panties and restless frustration. But this? This feels different. It feels like an opportunity.

So you test it.

Your movements become slower, more deliberate. You let your hands ghost over your breasts, your fingers grazing your sensitive nipples as your hips roll with precision. You take your time, watching his every reaction, every flicker of his expression. And there it is again—the tightening of his jaw, the faintest twitch of his fingers resting on his thigh.

Not enough.

You want more.

And so, emboldened by your own rising desire, you do something you’ve never done before. Not for anyone.

Turning your back to him, you hook your thumbs under the thin straps of your panties and, with an agonizing slowness, you slide them down your legs. You bend, giving him an unobstructed view of your bare, glistening core, knowing precisely what he’s seeing.

The hitch in his breath is unrestrained. Uncontrolled.

Got him.

A slow, victorious smile curves your lips as you straighten, turning to face him. He’s still composed—just barely—but the shift is undeniable. His control is slipping. His hand has moved, no longer resting idly on his leg. Now, it’s in his lap, palming his hardened cock over his tailored slacks.

His eyes are darker, pupils blown wide, fixed on you like you’re something dangerous. Like you’re something he wants.

The space between you is charged, buzzing with an unspoken challenge. You step off the platform, moving towards him, completely bare now, feeling more powerful than ever before.

His fingers twitch as he squeezes again, and you almost expect him to stop you. But he doesn’t.

So you push further.

Straddling his lap, you settle yourself over him, close enough that you can feel the heat from his crotch against your bare skin.

You lean in, your lips close to his ear. “What do you want from me, Seungmin?”

His fingers grab hold of your hips in response. He doesn’t answer immediately, his breath warm against your naked shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower than before, rougher, laced with something dangerous and wanting all at once.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

The words send a thrill through you, igniting something deep in your core. There’s no doubt now—no second-guessing. Whatever has been building between you both has reached a point of no return.

Your breathless “Yes” barely leaves your lips before Seungmin is on you.

His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss so deep, so consuming, it knocks every lingering thought from your head. It’s bruising, raw, his lips parting yours with ease as his tongue sweeps against yours, pulling you deeper into him. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging in as he drags you closer, pressing your bare body against his fully clothed frame. The contrast is dizzying—the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric, the friction setting every inch of your skin ablaze.

You fist his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan from him, the sound vibrating against your lips. Your other hand clutches his shoulder, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his suit, the sheer power coiled beneath his perfect composure.

Your hips move instinctively, grinding against him, desperate for friction. You don’t even realize how lost you are in the moment until Seungmin suddenly shifts, adjusting your position with ease. A moment later, you’re no longer straddling his lap, but perched on just one of his thighs instead.

The new position sends a shock of heat through you, and you gasp against his lips at the sudden pressure of his tight muscle against your aching clit. Seungmin pulls back from the kiss slightly, his breath hot against your mouth as he murmurs, “Ride my thigh, doll.”

Your stomach tightens at the command, the heat pooling within your core. You swallow hard, but something keeps you still—a hesitation that isn’t like you. Seungmin notices immediately. Of course, he does.

His fingers flex against your waist, firm but coaxing. “Don’t make me repeat it.” There’s a teasing lilt in his tone, but beneath it, something darker—a threat.

Your breath hitches. Slowly, hesitantly, you start to move.

The first slow drag of your slick folds against his pants makes your breath catch in your throat. The friction against your clit is sharp, teasing, just enough to make you whimper softly. Seungmin exhales sharply, his grip tightening.

“That’s it, doll.” His voice is low, almost reverent. “Look at you. Already making a mess of me.”

You shudder, but you don’t stop.

Your movements become bolder, each grind more desperate, chasing the pleasure coiling tighter inside you. The fabric of his trousers beneath your pussy is damp now, soaked with your arousal, and when you roll your hips particularly hard, Seungmin lets out a quiet, satisfied hum.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands squeezing your hips as he watches you move. “So fucking wet, doll. You feel that?”

You nod, biting your lip. You feel everything—the heat of his thigh between your legs, the way his pants are now sticking to his skin from your slick, the way every grind makes your clit throb harder.

You’re unravelling. And the worst part is that he knows it.

His voice drops lower, rough and teasing. “You’re soaked. Desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

You let out a choked moan, your thighs clenching around him. Seungmin smirks, his fingers guiding your movements, making you grind down harder. But it’s not enough.

You slow your pace, meeting his gaze through heavy lashes. “Take it out. Please.”

His jaw flexes at your request, something dark flickering in his eyes, but then he moves. His hands leave your hips, undoing his belt, his fingers working with practised ease. The sound of his zipper lowering fills the thick silence before he finally reaches in, pulling himself free.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the view.

Seungmin’s cock is thick, flushed, the tip already glistening with the first drops of precum. He wraps his hand around himself and strokes once, twice, his breath growing uneven as his gaze stays locked on yours.

“Keep going,” he murmurs. “I want to see you come like this.”

You obey.

Rolling your hips, you find your rhythm again, your slick folds dragging against his thigh as he watches you with hooded eyes. The sight of him stroking himself, matching your movements, sends another rush of arousal through you. His hand tightens around his cock, and he groans low in his throat.

The pace builds. You move faster, rocking against him, gasping as pleasure sparks through every nerve. Seungmin grips your waist again with his free hand, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. “That’s it, doll. Fuck yourself on me.”

Your whimper is near desperate now. Every grind drags you closer, the pressure unbearable. And then, his voice, dark and commanding— “Touch yourself.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you obey again, slipping a hand between your legs. The second your fingers find your clit, you cry out, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave.

“Fuck—”

Seungmin’s groan is wrecked, his strokes turning rougher as he watches you fall apart. “That’s my girl.”

You’re spiralling now, grinding against him with reckless desperation, your fingers circling your clit, the pleasure cresting higher, higher—until finally, it snaps.

A strangled moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body trembles, thighs shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Seungmin watches every second of it, his gaze dark and hungry as you come apart on top of him.

Through the haze, you hear him curse, his grip on his cock tightening. His strokes turn erratic, his breathing ragged. Then, with a sharp inhale, his jaw clenches, and his body goes rigid.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head tipping back as his release spills over his fingers.

Your body is still humming, the remnants of pleasure leaving you heavy-limbed and breathless. Seungmin exhales deeply, his head tilted back against the couch, his fingers still curled loosely around his softening length, streaked with his own release. Then, with practised ease, he tucks himself back into his pants, the quiet sound of his zipper breaking the silence between you.

You blink slowly, reality creeping back in as you shift, your legs weak as you carefully move off his lap. His warmth leaves you too quickly, making you feel bare, vulnerable. You settle beside him on the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself, watching him as he adjusts his clothes.

Now. Now would be the time to ask.

You hesitate before speaking, your voice softer than you mean it to be. “Seungmin.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, straightening his cuffs, his expression unreadable. But you see it—the small flicker in his eyes that tells you he knows what’s coming.

You tread carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

This time, his gaze finally meets yours. It’s softer now, the sharpness from before mellowed, but there’s something distant in the way he looks at you. “You can ask.”

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again. “What do you do outside of this?” Your tone is light, casual, but intentional. “I don’t see you with the other dancers. You don’t act like other clients. You don’t even look at anyone but me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. “You’re not asking what I do,” he muses, voice low. “You’re asking who I am.”

A beat of silence. Then—“Maybe.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smirk, but it doesn’t quite happen. “And if I told you I’m just a man who enjoys watching you?”

You exhale, rolling your eyes slightly. “I’d say that’s bullshit.”

He chuckles, but it’s quiet, brief. “Would you?”

“Yes.” You shift slightly, watching him. “I know when someone is lying to me.”

Seungmin hums, tilting his head as he finally looks at you again. The air between you is charged, but not as it was before. There’s something unspoken hanging there, something he’s waiting for you to let go of.

You hesitate, then try again. “Mina told me something today.”

At that, his jaw tightens—so subtly you almost miss it.

Bingo.

“She’s worried about me,” you continue, watching him closely. “She thinks you might be someone I should be careful around.”

Seungmin doesn’t react at first. He breathes, slow and steady, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, finally, he straightens, standing from the couch.

The shift in his demeanour is subtle but noticeable. Where there was warmth, there is now a cool distance. Not cold—not regretful—but something else entirely. Something like a retreat.

You watch as he adjusts his jacket, his expression calm, unruffled. The same Seungmin you always see. The one who never gives away more than he wants to. The one you can never quite pin down. The enigma.

“You should listen to her,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “Mina is a good friend.”

Your stomach tightens. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’m giving.”

There it is. The wall. The carefully constructed barrier he’s so skilled at building between himself and the rest of the world.

You don’t push. You could—you could demand, press further, chase the truth he so obviously doesn’t want to give. But something tells you that if you do, he’ll disappear entirely.

So you let it go. For now.

Seungmin watches you for a moment longer before stepping closer. You don’t move as he leans in, his lips pressing softly against your forehead. It’s gentle, intimate in a way that somehow holds more weight than the heat you shared moments ago.

When he pulls back, his gaze is unreadable again, but his voice is warm. “I’ll see you again soon, doll.”

And just like that, he turns, heading for the door. You watch him leave, something twisting deep in your chest as the door clicks shut behind him.

The silence is deafening.

You exhale, running a hand through your hair as you finally move to your feet. The events of the last hour settle over you like a weight, leaving you dizzy, uncertain. You should be getting dressed, but your mind is elsewhere, your thoughts too tangled to focus.

Then—something catches your eye.

Something small, matte black, tucked into the crease of the couch where Seungmin had been sitting.

Frowning, you reach for it, fingers brushing against the sleek surface. When you turn it over, your breath catches.

A tarot card.

The gold lettering gleams under the dim lighting, the illustration strikingly familiar.

The Hermit.

Realization slams into you like a forceful wave, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You stare at the card, your heart pounding, your grip tightening around it as everything clicks into place.

Seungmin hadn’t dodged your questions.

He had answered them.

A/N: Soooooo, chapter 5 of The Syndicate is officially finished. What did y'all think of it? I tried to emulate Seungmin as The Hermit as well as I could, and hope some questions have been answered. 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

taglist: @hanjisungs-bitch66 - @smartie-pants - @inniesfanblog - @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 - @skzthelomlhehe - @tirena1 - @sp4ceboo - @hanniebunch

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[amorchai]

more hwang junho fics please. i love that man so much lol.

anyways I had an idea like a junho x reader like pre!relationship where the reader is in squid games to help her parents surgery or something. and junho sees her there.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

pairing(s): hwang junho x female!reader

words: 1015 – whoops!

warnings/tags: s1 junho, pre!relationship, r is in squid games, financial problems.

from the moment jun ho stepped into the guards suit and wore the dark mask, he was only focused on finding his brother with a slight edge of nerves, desperation, and loneliness.

he missed the first game, so he follows the crowd of guards onto the yard where all the players stood in line behind a shape awaiting on the second game closer to the jackpot of money. beneath the mask, jun ho’s eyes gaze over the crowd while tins containing dalgona are handed out to each person wearing green tracksuits.

he can see the older gentlemen which indirectly helped him get here upon him reporting it to jun ho’s station, he was holding the same card he found in his brother’s apartment. the gentleman takes a tin from the guard standing beyond the umbrella symbol before the next person joins.

when they turn, his heart stops. it’s you. also from the same station. he remembers walking towards the front of the station office, backpack loosely on his shoulder and tired eyes ready to retreat home. you were crying at the front, begging for the officers to find the person who injured your younger brother.

jun ho had lingered, listening in as you plead, saying there’s no money available for his surgery and that the attackers should be caught. the officers weren’t as sympathetic as jun ho would had liked and when he approached you were only crying harder than before.

with his arm appropriately around your shoulder he turns you around to guide you out the building and hopefully calm you down. he had assured you on the case, sat by you on the stairs while you tried to stop crying and brushed you off when you thanked him.

he would be lying if he said he didn’t think about you at least once a day since then, an underlying instinctive need to protect you being forced aside as he thought, you’re a stranger, why does he care this much?

but now you were here, rock bottom in the last resort to make money for your brother’s surgery and jun ho can’t help but keep his disguise up while watching you trail towards the line leading to the umbrella.

he was sure on the game, shapes with a small tin – he even saw them bulk baking dalgona in the kitchens the previous night so he glances at all four shapes before realising that you were very clearly steering towards the worst shape.

junho glances around, the guards all preoccupied by either handing out the tins in each line or observing the contestants, so with treading footsteps, his grip on his gun tightens as he walks towards the table displaying the tins containing the triangle dalgona and picks one from the edge and slips it effortlessly into his pocket.

it was risky, there were cameras everywhere but while junho’s heart pounded to his chest he still found himself walking towards the guard handing out the umbrella dalgona, you were next in line.

twisting his gun, junho knocks himself into the guard right as they extend their hand holding the tin towards your awaiting palm. the guard trips, the tin falling to the floor and junho is quick to bend down, grab the tin and swaps it with the one in his pocket.

the guard is regaining footing by the time junho is handing you the dalgona and you glance between both guards. by the time you take it, his expression remains unreadable beneath the mask—but his shoulders relax ever so slightly when you walk away, unaware of the fate you just avoided.

while the intercom announces the second game, a guard with his mask adorning a square walks towards the pair. “what are you doing?” they ask but before junho can reply with his excuse the same guard speaks harshly, “you’re not assigned to distribution, go observe the players. don’t let me catch you make a mistake like that again.”

junho nods before stepping away, glancing back as the higher-ranking guard says something to the guard he toppled over. he tries to not make it too obvious he’s rooting for your pass, standing a couple of players away and watching as your terror-filled eyes fall in confusion when your expected umbrella shape is in fact, a triangle.

your shaking fingers land on the small needle encased within the tin and you fearfully look up, eyes landing on junho’s frame. he wished he could somehow show he wasn’t a threat but you so clearly had no idea the policeman who consoled you that day upon the steps was behind the mask.

you take a few moments to start, deep breaths to try and calm your overbearing anxiety before a shaky hand begins to prod the sugar cookie gently and hesitantly. junho pretends to pace around, really circling around your area to keep a firm eye on you.

every-time a gunshot is heard your body jumps like most in the room, but his eyes are steadily following your every move until he is standing directly in front of you. you freeze upon the presence, glancing up briefly before turning back to the dalgona, you’re on the last side.

his heart bleeds at the sight, your tears are falling down your cheeks and junho thinks of how the system failed you into having to turn here to earn money to save your brother. clearly no other options available.

inho. he was here for his brother, not for helping someone win the games. but when he watches your expression change to relief as the final crack indicates your finish and your trembling fingers gently lift the perfect triangle-shaped dalgona and raise it to junho’s gaze.

he nods, the intercom announcing, “player 222, passed.” junho watches as you scramble to your feet to rush out the door leading back to the main room, a sense of pride filling his chest from you surpassing another round.

and while he is here for his brother, junho believes he can focus on that while ensuring you stay alive as long as possible.

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[yuri-is-online]

Hello a TDB fan here

I have been playing the game for a week and Rui is soo fine. If it's fine with you can you write something about MC and him kissing through sheer cloth. I had seen this scene in one of the chapters of freaking romance (webtoon) and that's all I can think about after knowing Rui's curse.

notes: they/them used for MC, extremely angsty and pining, heavily inspired by his Ephemeral Bouquet card (because you can't give a man who can't touch a skill called Envisioned Future and not expect me to play with it) More Tokyo Debunker content can be found on my masterlist here (x)

I altered the request slightly? As I was thinking about the specifics of Rui's curse and his bride card a bit too much and the concept of him longing to get married sort of took over, apologies (シ_ _)シ

There are small porous holes in tulle. It's meant to make the fabric breathable. See through. Ideal for a bridal veil, which is not what you are wearing but the thought has wormed it's way into his brain now. Rui can't unsee it.

The low light shines in the sages ring, a blonde hair falls out of place and your hand moves towards your own temple. You smile; he remembers what it feels like to touch someone. He thinks there was a weight to it, a shift. Was there warmth? There wasn't a taste, or has it been so long that he's forgotten?

"You may now seal this union with a kiss." His bare skin moves through the tulle, eyes closed as his smile grows with eagerness to feel- nothing. There was a person in his arms, but his eyes open to shimmering dust. All that is left of you in his grasp is sand, but the damned veil remains. He knows what he did to deserve this, but still-

"Rui?" The glass Rui's holding slips from his fingers as he laughs, sheepishly he tells himself. Just a little of his boyish whimsy and not aching relief at seeing you still alive. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" You don't move too close, just to the opposite side of the bar. Your costume has gloves too, white would be such a nice color on you but Romi put you in grey. The same color as his hair.

"Whoops, sorry 'bout that (name)!" He snatches up the broom before you can go for it and sweeps up the shards of glass. "I didn't scare you or anything did I?"

"No I'm ok." You draw yourself up a little taller. The veil makes it a bit hard to see him, but you think there's something just a bit off with Rui. More so than usual. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help? Professor Moby-"

"Nope~ I've got this on lock promise!" He sure does, the task is practically already complete but it's not really what you were asking about. "Sides you can't just let that guy push off all his work onto you! You're still a student just like everyone else there's got to be something you want to do at the fair." Rui's back to smiles and laughter. If you hadn't been paying attention you never would have noticed there was a slight dip in his mood.

Hook. "Maybe." You noticed though. Line. "I haven't gotten much of a chance to look around it just yet."

Sinker. "Well that just won't do!" Rui always seems so... happy at the thought of spending time with you. It makes your heart ache. "Just give me a second to lock up the bar and I'll take you around! We can make it a date!"

~~~~

"Wow what a unique choice for prizes!" Rui says cheerfully as you politely examine the masks this Hotarubi student has displayed at her booth. He had been talking himself up just a second ago about how he could win you a nice stuffed animal but finding a booth with only a few people around it had proved difficult. "Did you make these yourself?"

"Thank you." The girl bows respectfully and gestures towards the targets behind her with a set of darts. "Care to test your skill?" Rui winks at you.

"Can we have two sets?" Might as well have some fun and help the poor girl's numbers out.

"Of course." She sets the darts down on the counter and settles back into her chair.

"Aww don't you have faith in me?" Rui smoulders just the bit, but you think he's having fun. "I'll have you know I'm pretty good at this."

"You'd better be Mr. Bar Tender." You wink and his facade breaks just the bit. "But I'm not that bad myself."

Rui barely hears the rest of what you say, something about a bet. Something about how if you win then he has to do anything you say. He probably shouldn't agree so quickly, but he wants to be normal. Wants to pretend that this is a normal date, that you would have noticed him if he had flirted with you. That he still would have had enough confidence not to wiff every shot. Not that he feels shame for losing to you, the sting comes from not being able to-

"Do you see a mask you like?" Your smug voice is so cute, he wishes the prizes were too.

"Ahaha not really?" Now that he's staring them down, it feels like he's being mocked. Doesnt he wear enough of these already? "You're the winner here! Shouldn't you pick out which one you think suits me best?"

"Then I wouldn't pick any of them." You snort, but pick one anyway. You twirl it around in your hands and hold it up against your face. "How about this one? Sort of looks like me don't you think?" He doesn't. The mask has none of your features, it is lifeless and hollow. You lift the mask up to his face and gently tap his lips. He closes his eyes to play into it because that's what this is right? A joke?

So why is there a face behind the mask?

Nakedness would be less intimate than this, there would be room for him to lie and bluster if he didn't have his clothes. You taste like clay, he can feel the push and pull of your lips against the barrier. Rui gasps against it, opens his mouth and presses himself closer. His hands grip the lapels of his jacket, you are so so warm and alive. Your gasp for air is muffled and Rui pauses out of instinct against the mask.

"Please." He doesn't know what he's asking for. He doesn't want you to stay, this was such a risky move he's almost angry at you for it. He wishes, he wants for something he cannot have. You feel Rui smile, his kiss is gentle against the mask and finally you think you get him to say something just closing in on being real. "I hope you live forever."

The polite cough of the girl running the stand interrupts whatever you had wanted to say in response.

[rosealie0e]

How to kill Satoru Gojo

part 4

Last chapter today.. I have no life lmao.

(Warning- smut, large age gap, slight detailed gore.)

Summary- In this gripping one sided enemies-to-lovers short story, the main character, a determined young woman is consumed by the desire for revenge against a man she believes is responsible for her father's death. Driven by grief and anger, she meticulously plans his murder in return, convinced that justice for her father's death can only be achieved through his demise. But how is that to work out for her, when the man she is accusing is the strongest sorcerer of the current day?

-

A cool breeze swept through the air, making Y/n shiver as she straightened, her body falling into a defensive stance. The staff in her hands felt steady and solid, and she shot a playful smile at Panda.

“Go, Y/n!” Maki’s voice rang out, full of energy, followed by a loud ‘whoop whoop’ that could only come from her. The cheer was enough to make anyone feel giddy, even if she wasn’t looking in Maki’s direction. She could feel the others, Inumaki and Gojo, standing by, all eyes on her.

Panda’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and challenging, but with an undercurrent of amusement. “Come on! Don’t be shy now!”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Fine then.”

She surged forward, her legs propelling her with purpose, aiming for Panda’s legs with precision. His body tensed in reaction, and just as she predicted, he shifted to guard the strike. With a swift movement, she pivoted, spinning the staff and vaulting over it. In one fluid motion, she leaped onto his shoulders, her legs locking around his neck as she pressed a mock knife firmly against his throat.

The crowd’s laughter and cheers filled the air, their excitement palpable. Maki was the loudest, her voice carrying the edge of triumph. “Finally!”

Panda grunted beneath her, trying to shift but unable to dislodge her. She untangled herself from his grip as she stood up, offering her hand for a shake with a chuckle.

“That was good… and embarrassingly quick,” he remarked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She smiled,“I wasn’t too heavy, was I?”

Panda scoffed, his tone playful. “Hardly.”

Maki stepped forward, her grin wide as she clapped a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “You’ve bested us all at least once now! Moving onto other students soon, huh?”

Her teasing was lighthearted, but the mention of other students made something twist in Y/n’s chest. Maki squeezed her cheek, causing her to roll her eyes. But the action helped distract from the heat creeping up her neck.

As if on cue, Gojo strolled over, hands casually tucked in his pockets. He flashed them a nod, but there was something in his gaze—something distant.

“Very good, I expected great things from you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. The words felt colder than they should have.

Y/n’s heart skipped, and she quickly glanced away, not wanting anyone to notice the flush creeping across her cheeks. She nodded stiffly in acknowledgement before turning her back, hoping the others wouldn’t see how the awkwardness between her and Gojo had grown in the past month.

She barely noticed when Inumaki appeared at her side, his quiet presence a comfort. He offered her a bottle of water, and she gratefully accepted, her fingers brushing his as she signed a quick “thank you.”

Inumaki lowered his mask just enough to give her a warm smile, and then—before she could even blink—he placed a brief kiss on her cheek.

Maki’s voice broke the moment, teasing with a playful tone. “Cheesy…” She practically beamed at them, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Panda only chuckled, clearly entertained by the spectacle. But Gojo, ever the enigma, began to turn away, his hands slipping back into his pockets.

“Training’s over. Back to class, everyone!” His voice rang out, but he didn’t bother to look back.

Y/n let out a soft, involuntary sigh. The tension she had been trying to ignore flared again, this time leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Y/n walked back to class, her head still buzzing from the sparring session. Her classmates surrounded her, showering her with praise, but it all felt distant, as if her thoughts were somewhere else entirely. She didn’t have the energy to truly engage with their excitement. The only thing that held her attention was the low, nagging tension inside her.

As they sat back down in their seats, Maki’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You learn to heal without using your hands yet?” Maki asked, her curiosity clear.

Y/n shook her head though She didn’t meet Maki’s gaze for long. Instead, she glanced up toward the front of the room, where Gojo stood. His mask hid his eyes, but Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at her—though she couldn’t tell if his attention was on her or Maki. It didn’t matter. The mere thought of him made her stomach twist.

She huffed into her hands, frustration bubbling up inside her, and shot him a glare. Her eyes locked onto him at the front of the room, though Gojo didn’t acknowledge her at all. He simply smiled awkwardly, almost like nothing had ever happened between them. He wasn’t even fazed.

Instead of meeting her glare, Gojo shifted, his smile never faltering as he turned back to the board and continued his lesson. Y/n’s glare lingered for just a moment longer before she reluctantly tore her gaze away, her chest tight with frustration. The air between them felt heavy.

The rest of the class continued, but Y/n couldn’t focus on anything.

Y/n scribbled mindlessly in her notebook, her pen scratching across the paper as she tried to focus on anything that wasn’t him—Gojo. Her eyes were blurred with frustration, and the shapes she doodled didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t get the thought of him out of her head. No matter how hard she tried, there he was—always in the back of her mind, a constant, unwanted presence.

Then, as if on cue, Inumaki strolled up to her desk. His usual quiet presence was a welcome distraction, but as his gaze dropped to her paper, she felt a strange unease settle in her stomach. It was subtle, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was betraying him—betraying something—even though they weren’t anything serious at all,,

Before she could overthink it, Inumaki took her hand in his, his touch warm and gentle. He tilted his head, an innocent expression on his face, like he hadn’t noticed the tension in the air.

Y/n stood, forcing a smile, hoping it didn’t come off as too strained.

“Hey,” she murmured, trying to push the nagging thoughts away.

Inumaki squeezed her hand, leading her out of the classroom without a word. Y/n didn’t even look back at Gojo, though she felt his presence heavy in the room, like a lingering shadow.

As they walked around the school grounds, it felt easy. The world around them faded as they talked about their days, what had been bothering them, how they were doing. Y/n found herself laughing at something Inumaki had signed, the weight in her chest lightening, if only for a moment. It was always easy with him. There was no pressure, no expectation. He didn’t ask her to make this more than what it was, and that was exactly what she needed.

Inumaki was gentle. Perfect, even.

But then, as they walked, a flash of another memory hit her—one that she wasn’t ready for. The image of herself on Gojo’s lap, crying out, the feel of his warmth against her. Her stomach twisted, and she barely suppressed a shudder as vile threatened to spill from her mouth.

She pushed the thought down, forcing herself to smile at Inumaki. “I’m just a little tired today, and not feeling too well..” she said, covering it with a casual shrug.

Inumaki seemed to accept that without question. He always did. Without a word, he walked her back to her dorm, ever the gentleman, his hand soft in hers. When they reached her door, he leaned in for a quick kiss—gentle, warm, and without the complications that seemed to follow her everywhere else.

“Rest well,” he signed, pulling away with a smile.

Y/n nodded, managing a smile in return before she stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. As soon as she was alone, the walls seemed to close in on her. She leaned against the door, letting her head fall back with a sigh.

There was a gnawing emptiness inside of her now. Inumaki was perfect in so many ways, but she couldn’t shake the cold part of her—the part that remembered why she was really here. She had a goal, a mission. One that didn’t involve any of this pointless romance and friendship.

She still had to kill Satoru Gojo.

She clenched her jaw, forcing the thought away. She couldn’t let that night, that moment with him, ruin everything. It was nothing. The anger, the frustration, the way she couldn’t tell if she was more infuriated by him—or herself. God this sucked.

Y/n rubbed her temples, trying to push away the headache creeping in. She moved to her desk, swallowing a couple of pills before heading to her bed. She changed into a hoodie and leggings, the simple comfort of it a welcome relief and stark contrast to the uniforms they were made to wear in this school.

Then, she collapsed onto the mattress, shoving her head under a pillow, trying to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts that threatened to pull her under.

She just needed to sleep. Just for a little while.

-

Knock knock.

Y/n groaned, lifting her head from the warmth of her mattress. Drool clung to her lip as she wiped it away, dragging herself out of bed, and toward her door, but when she swung it open, there he was.

Gojo.

He had an uncanny ability to pick the worst possible moments. His attire was more casual than before, but that damn eye-covering mask still sat perfectly on his face, like a constant reminder of who he was.

He gave her an awkward smile, his gaze flicking over her from head to toe — lingering a little too long on her lips, as he always did.

And for a second, just a second, she could’ve sworn she felt a weird buzz on her skin where his eyes had been. She quickly looked away, forcing her eyes down to the ground, trying to ignore the strange heat creeping into her face.

“Did you need something, Sensei?” she asked, her voice low and raspy from sleep, deliberately flat.

She caught the brief falter in his breath, like her words had thrown him off guard for a moment. But then, like always, Gojo smoothed it over with a teasing grin.

“We’ve got a missionnnn,” he said casually, shrugging as though it were the most normal thing. “Thought it’d be a good chance to test your fighting.” He motioned for her to follow, his smirk widening as he turned and started to walk away.

She let out a soft groan and grabbed a pair of boots, slipping them on quickly before running her hands through her hair. Her feet carried her out of the room, though the irritation in her chest burned hotter with every step.

When she finally reached the hallway, she noticed Gojo was already halfway down it. Of course.

She wasn’t about to chase him — he’d love that. So, instead, she just walked, her brow furrowed in annoyance, forcing herself to keep a calm stride as she followed him down the hall.

Her steps echoed in the hallway, each one feeling heavier than the last as she tried to keep pace with him. She could feel his presence lingering all too close— It was maddening.

Gojo didn’t speak, but she could tell he was aware of her frustration. He always was, always knew how to push her, how to provoke without even trying. But she wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her break.

As they rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of his smirk, that damned smile that always seemed so effortless, like he thought he knew her better than she knew herself.

“Still upset, then?” he asked suddenly, his tone light but with a bite that made her stomach tighten. He glanced over at her, his mask doing little to hide the smugness in his voice.

“I’m not upset,” she muttered, though even she could hear the lie.

Gojo chuckled softly, almost like he was humoring her. “You sure about that?” He stepped closer, so close that she could feel the heat of his body, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the cool air of the hall. “Because if you’re not upset, then you’re just… what? Annoyed?” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. “Or maybe you truly don’t care?”

Her jaw clenched, but she kept walking, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.

He knew how to get under her skin, knew how to make her react — but she wasn’t going to let him win.

But of course, Gojo didn’t let it go. He never did.

“Or maybe,” he said, stepping in front of her, blocking her path for a moment, “you just can’t forget it.” His voice was deliberately low, almost too casual. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore, staring instead ahead, like he was doing her a favor by engaging in this little game.

Her heart skipped a beat, a rush of heat flooding her chest. She stopped walking, glaring at him.

“Stop,” she spat, forcing her voice to stay steady, even as it threatened to crack under the weight of her anger.

Gojo paused, turning slightly to look at her, his smirk widening as though he’d won some invisible battle. “Is that what you really want?” He was still too damn close, and it was making her pulse race in a way she hated. “Prove it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Gojo turned away and resumed walking down the hall, his stride effortless, like he had no idea the war he’d just started.

She followed, clenching her fists by her sides, teeth grinding.

He had this way of making everything feel like a test, like he was always watching, always waiting for her to fail. It was infuriating. But worse than that, it made her want to prove him wrong.

When they reached the hotel after an hour or so of walking in silence. The building loomed ahead, ominous and uninviting in the dim light. Y/n’s mind was still buzzing from the last exchange with Gojo, but she forced herself to focus. The curses inside were strong — this was no simple mission. He always seemed to drag her on the worst ones.

He stopped outside the hotel’s entrance, turning to face her. His hands slipped into his pockets, the smug look still plastered on his face. “You ready?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was something in his eyes that made her blood run cold.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she took a deep breath and checked the cursed tools at her belt, her fingers lingering on the edges of the weapons.

“I guess,” she muttered, brushing past him to get inside.

Gojo followed closely, his presence looming behind her like a shadow. She could feel the heat of him at her back, even though he wasn’t touching her. She hated that feeling.

They moved through the hotel’s lobby, the stale air filled with the scent of mildew and dust. She could already sense the cursed energy emanating from upstairs. Strong. Dangerous. Terrifying..

As they reached the stairs, Gojo’s hand brushed her shoulder lightly, almost absentmindedly, as if he had no idea the effect it had on her. The touch was nothing — a simple gesture — but it set her nerves on fire. She didn’t flinch, didn’t show any reaction, but she could feel her pulse racing.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did. Either way, he didn’t let up.

“Keep up,” he said, his voice playful, as he climbed the stairs ahead of her.

She clenched her jaw, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of answering. Instead, she sped up her pace, matching his step for step, her muscles coiling with tension.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Gojo motioned to a room at the end of the hallway. “They’re in there.” His voice was lower yet still playful somehow.

She nodded, pulling her cursed weapon from her belt, and started to move forward. But as she passed him, Gojo’s hand shot out, his fingers brushing against her lower back just for a second — a light touch, but the sensation hit her like an electric shock. She stiffened, her eyes flashing with annoyance, but she didn’t stop.

Gojo’s lips quirked up into a grin as he followed her, not missing a beat. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he teased, the words dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker.

She forced herself not to respond.

They reached the room, and Gojo opened the door. Inside, the two curses were staring, almost as if they had been waiting. Massive, grotesque creatures with a thick aura of malevolent energy surrounding them. Truly disgusting.

She could feel the power rolling off them in waves. Her instincts screamed at her to be careful.

Gojo stepped forward, “you got it, right?” he asked, clearly teasing. He knew the answer before she could say it — he was testing her. Pushing her to prove herself in front of him.

Her eyes narrowed. “Yea,, I got it,” she said, her voice low but firm.

Gojo’s grin only widened, and for a brief moment, she felt a flicker of anger. She was tired of him thinking so little of her abilities.

Before she could move forward, though, Gojo’s hand shot out and lightly grazed her arm. She glanced at him, irritated, but he didn’t even look at her, his focus on the curses.

“Careful,” he said, the words laced with an annoying, almost condescending tone.

She bit back the retort that nearly slipped from her lips, forcing herself to stay calm. It wasn’t worth it.

Instead, she lunged forward, throwing herself into the fight. The first curse was fast, its movements like a blur. She blocked its attack with ease, spinning around to deliver a quick strike with her weapon.

But as she fought, Gojo’s eyes stayed on her, watching, assessing every move. And every time she landed a hit, she felt his gaze shift slightly, like he was silently judging her performance. The pressure was mounting —

The second curse moved in for an attack, and Gojo took a few steps forward, but not to help. Instead, his hand brushed lightly against her side, just enough to throw off her focus for a split second.

She stumbled, only slightly, but it was enough for the curse to catch her off guard. It swung a massive claw toward her, and she barely managed to dodge in time, feeling the rush of air against her skin.

Gojo chuckled. “I thought you were ready.” His voice was smooth, like he enjoyed watching her struggle.

She clenched her teeth, fighting the surge of anger that rose in her chest. She wasn’t going to let him see her falter again.

With a growl, she charged back into the fray, using everything she had to bring the curse down. Gojo stayed back, watching her with that same, infuriating grin, but she didn’t care anymore.

She wasn’t doing this for him.

The tension between them was suffocating, She could barely focus on the mission now, her body aching.

As she snarled at him, still seething, she could feel her control slipping, and the anger in her chest turned to raw fury. She couldn’t let him win.

“Stop fucking with me…” she growled, but the curse’s long, dirty claw sank deep into her side before she could finish the sentence. The pain hit her like a freight train, her scream echoing through the room, her voice breaking under the force of it. Gojo’s eyes widened just slightly, a flash of guilt or maybe hesitation flickering across his face. For a moment, she thought he might actually step in, but then that calculating look returned to his eyes, and he didn’t move.

The rage built up inside her like a firestorm. He was still playing his game.

She yanked herself back, blood dripping down her side, and in the same movement, her weapon was in her hand, gleaming with cursed energy. With a clean, swift slice, she severed the curse’s arm completely. The thing screeched, its clawed arm falling to the floor with a sickening thud, and it stumbled backward into the second curse.

They were too close now. And she knew this was her chance to finish them both off.

Without a second thought, she surged forward, imbued her weapon with as much cursed energy as she could muster, and struck. The heads of both curses dropped to the floor in one fluid motion, their bodies crumpling in unison as the life drained from them.

Her chest heaved, breath coming in ragged, shaky gasps. The adrenaline left her shaky, and despite herself, she allowed a small, shuddering breath to escape. She was done with this.

But the moment of triumph didn’t last. Her body was too weak, her energy spent.

Before she could fully compose herself, she found herself stumbling backwards, her vision blurring. Gojo’s hands were there to catch her, though his grip was far too gentle for what she expected. He held her with ease, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he sighed dramatically.

“Good job! You really are learning!” he said, his voice taunting, a smirk in his tone.

“Fuck you…” she mumbled, not bothering to look at him as he held her steady.

The weight of the moment settled in, and she yanked herself out of his arms, collapsing onto a dusty couch nearby. Exhaustion crept into her muscles like a creeping shadow, and all she wanted was to breathe, to forget this nightmare. To forget him.

She let her head fall back, eyes closed. And for a fleeting moment, she was so tired, so drained, she didn’t want to feel anything anymore. But the silence in the room stretched out, and the tension between them thickened. She could feel his eyes on her even without looking at him.

The silence grew unbearable. Her thoughts were so loud, so chaotic. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything she felt — hatred, anger, disgust, envy, need. Her emotions a mess of contradictions.

And Gojo? He just stood there, staring at her with that unreadable gaze. The mask still covering his eyes.

And then he moved forward, plopping down beside her and leaning back, as if he had been the one putting in work just now.

It was like he could read her, could sense the conflict swirling inside her. He was too damn confident, too damn sure of himself. And that made her want to hurt him more.

She could feel the rage bubble up again, but this time, it wasn’t just anger. It was something deeper. Something she hated even more.

Without thinking, she grabbed the edge of his mask and yanked it off, revealing his eyes. The moment their gazes locked, she froze. His expression was unreadable — a soft amusement dancing behind those eyes. His usual carefree, confident self, as though he was completely unfazed by everything.

She frowned, the feeling in her chest turning into something sharper, darker.

But instead of doing something — anything to hurt him — she found herself crawling into his lap. His laughter was quiet but breathy, like he already knew what was coming. His hands moved instinctively to her hips, pulling her closer, as he tilted his head up, capturing her mouth with his in a kiss that felt like a challenge.

The kiss was intense, nothing gentle about it. His lips pressed against hers in a forceful way, testing her limits, seeing how far she would go. His touch was both maddening and familiar.

She kissed him back, teeth gritted, fingers digging into his shoulders, every instinct telling her to pull away, but her body betraying her. The line between hate and something else blurred the longer they stayed locked together, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Gojo pulled back just slightly, smirking. “So desperate,” His voice was low, teasing. He was enjoying every second of it.

She wanted to rip him apart, to push him away, to scream at him. But instead, she stayed there, straddling him, her mind screaming in confusion.

Because, despite everything, there was something about him that she couldn’t escape. Something that called to her in the most twisted, dangerous way.

She pressed against him, desperate for his attention, her fingers gripping his chin to keep his mouth connected to hers. She could feel him smiling against her lips, the teasing warmth igniting a fire within her. “No talking…” she muttered breathlessly, her heart racing as she sensed the shift of his hips beneath her.

A soft whimper escaped her as she leaned into him, her hand tangling in his hair, tugging sharply. The action elicited a deep growl from him, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. “You make my life fucking miserable,” she growled against his mouth, frustration mingling with desire.

“I know…” he replied, his voice low and breathy, sending tremors of need coursing through her. The weight of his words shattered her resolve in an instant, leaving her teetering on the edge of a precipice. Every second felt charged with an unquenchable longing that only drew them closer.

As his hands roamed her sides, leading up her shirt, she felt a tension building inside her, a struggle between the urge to push him away and the irresistible desire to pull him even closer. The room felt like it was closing in, their breaths mingling in the space between them, each gasp echoing with the urgency of unspoken confessions. She needed him, wanted him, and as the warmth of his body enveloped her, she realized there was no going back.

She undid his pants with speed as he tore off her own, in quick motions he was inside her, no prepping, just pure want guiding their actions, no matter how wrong it felt. And god it felt terribly wrong. His hand went to roughly grip her breast from under her shirt, before he just stripped her from it completely, hurriedly.

The sounds of their cries filled the abandoned hotel, echoes reverberating off crumbling walls as she finally let him all the way into her, The air was thick with tension, a mix of desperation and desire. She cursed him the entire time, each syllable a venomous lash against his skin.

“Why do you do this to me?” she spat, her voice laced with frustration as she dug her nails into his back, hard enough to draw blood. He winced but couldn’t suppress a smile—a wicked, challenging grin that spoke of both pain and pleasure.

He moved inside of her quickly, groaning against her skin as he kept his eyes locked on hers.

With each thrust, she tore at his lip, the metallic tang of blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, dripping down both their chins in stark contrast against their heated skin. “You like it,” he taunted, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

“Shut up,” she shot back, her breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded harder up into her, the decaying hotel bearing witness to their fierce entanglement. “You need this, don’t you?”

His eyes sparkled with a dark glint. “You know I do. It's the fight that I just love with you,” he replied, his voice thick with lust, filled with an insatiable craving.

She felt her pulse quicken in response, the duality of their chaotic connection igniting something deep within her. It was raw and messy, a whirlwind of hate and need that left her craving more, even as she struggled against her better judgment.

“Just admit it,” he urged, his lips brushing against her skin as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You can’t get enough of me.”

“Maybe,” she admitted through gritted teeth, her heart racing as she reveled in the pain and pleasure, losing herself further in the storm they had created. In that moment, she was consumed by the push and pull of their dynamic.

As their cries mingled with the decay around them, they both knew they were teetering on the edge—not just of ecstasy but of something far darker. It was a game they played, one where love and hate intertwined in frantic desperation, and neither of them was willing to back down.

Their bodies writhed together in a chaotic dance, each thrust a violent reminder of their twisted connection. The echoes of their cries reverberating off the decaying walls of the abandoned hotel, caught in a frenzied mix of pleasure and torment.

She bit at his neck, leaving a dark mark, the metallic tang filled her mouth, mixing with the primal urgency that consumed them. In the heat of their entanglement, each thrust felt like a cruel reminder of the promise she made all those years ago. It was a wild, desperate need, one that made her heart pound and her pulse race, even as frustration bubbled up.

He grinned that maddening grin, a blend of triumph and challenge, relishing each gasp that escaped her lips. Darkness flickered in his gaze, teasing her senses and drawing her deeper into the chaos.

“Fucking hate you…” she groaned from on top of him, the weight of the moment pressing down hard. His fingers threaded soothingly through her hair, a contradictory gesture that deepened the feeling within her. “I know… I know,” he murmured, his voice a warm whisper against the skin of her neck, calm and maddeningly tender.

And then she became undone from him, with a shaky breath, he did the same. Pulling out and spilling onto her stomach.

When the chaos finally subsided, she collapsed against him, panting. As if the world had quieted around them, he continued to rub her back in slow circles—a gesture that, under different circumstances, might have seemed sweet. But here, in this messy aftermath, it only fueled her animosity. She hated him for it, hated the way he could easily slip into moments of false tenderness. Yet, against her better judgment, she let him continue, relishing the paradox of the comfort he provided as her fingers tangled in his wild white hair.

His lips brushed her forehead, a gesture meant to be gentle, but it made her heart race with conflicting emotions. Suddenly, she pushed herself up, fumbling for her clothes as reality rushed back in like a tidal wave. Her eyes flickered to the gruesome remnants of her battle—curses she had exercised mere feet away. The abandoned hotel was a disheveled ruin.

How utterly romantic.

“What the fuck am I doing…” she muttered, biting down hard on her lip, the lingering taste of Satoru still fresh on her mouth. Anger flared as she scowled at her own reflection in cracked glass beneath her feet, disgust washing over her. He regarded her silently, head tilted in what could only be described as amusement, a smirk dancing on his lips as he began pulling on his clothes.

He was infuriating, Without waiting for him to say anything else, she stormed out of the decrepit hotel, her emotions threatening to spill over as she fought back tears. Each step felt heavy, memories of what had transpired threatening to chain her, and she desperately wanted to escape.

She moved through the rain without a second glance back at the hotel, the sound of her footsteps soft against the wet pavement. The cool drizzle felt oddly soothing against her flushed skin, but it didn’t stop the chaos swirling inside her. She found her way to a secluded corner of the street, away from prying eyes, and fell to her knees. The weight of everything—the curses, the violence, Satoru—crushed her, and she could feel herself unraveling with every shaky breath she took.

She could still feel his touch, his presence lingering in the air like a poison. Her mind replayed everything—the brutal moments, the twisted satisfaction, and the way her body had betrayed her, even when every part of her screamed to hate him. It made her sick.

Her thoughts shifted to Inumaki, and for the briefest second, a pang of guilt tore through her chest. How pure he was, how kind, how different. And how she had sullied everything she’d touched. She hated herself for it. She hated what she’d allowed herself to become. Inumaki deserved so much more than the wreck of a person she had turned into.

But Satoru… Satoru Gojo was the one who had twisted everything, the one who made her feel like this. She needed him gone. She needed him dead. She couldn’t keep living with the memories of what he had done to her, what he had turned her into. Her fists clenched in the rain-soaked ground as the thought burned in her chest.

But there was no plan. No way to make him pay. No way to take back the feeling of powerlessness that gnawed at her. The anger, the hatred—nothing had prepared her for the way she felt now. All she had were thoughts spiraling, becoming louder with every passing moment.

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain, as she cursed him internally. Every part of her ached, but nothing was more painful than the reality that she was trapped. She couldn’t escape this. She couldn’t escape him. The tears came harder now, the weight of everything pushing her further down. She wanted out. Wanted it so badly.

But the world around her felt impossibly cold, and she was alone with nothing but the remnants of her own despair.

The rain fell harder now, washing over her, but it couldn’t cleanse the storm raging inside. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands pressing against her face as if trying to block out the weight of everything she had become. The pain in her chest was a constant throb, a reminder of the life she had been forced into—no choices, no control.

Her mother. The thought of her sent a new wave of bitterness crashing over her. She had been so focused on vengeance, on a future built on revenge, that she had never once stopped to think about what it would cost her. Her mother had pushed this so-called destiny onto her, shaping her life before she could even grasp what it meant to be her own person. Her father’s death had been a tragedy, but had she really needed to turn herself into a weapon, a tool for revenge?

It didn’t feel fair. It wasn’t fair. If it weren’t for her mother’s relentless drive, she could have had a normal childhood—one filled with laughter, friends who didn’t look at her with pity or fear, a sense of stability that had always eluded her. Instead, she had been molded into something else. Something hollow.

Her hands tightened against her face, fingers digging into her skin. The thoughts burned, sharp and unforgiving.

𓌜

Y/n opened her eyes, the sunlight streaming into her room, harsh against her already pounding head. She groaned, rubbing her face, before turning over, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t live with this feeling any longer. The weight of it pressed down on her chest suffocatingly. she had to do it. She had to kill him. Now.

The thought of him twisted something dark and sick in her stomach, and she fought back the nausea, a cold shiver running down her spine. The rain, the constant downpour, had left its mark on her, and now, as her body betrayed her yet again, she felt the bitter sting of the consequences. She was sick. Just great. All that effort, saving civilians from curses, only to end up with a body that felt as if it was failing her.

She threw on clothes quickly—black zip-up, nothing underneath, and a pair of shorts—and slipped on shoes, her movements sharp, desperate. Without another thought, she was out of the room, barely giving herself a moment to breathe.

Her footsteps echoed through the halls as she bolted down them, her mind laser-focused. She had to find her. Shoko. The one person who could give her the information she needed.

She burst into the healer’s quarters, not even pausing to catch her breath. Shoko was hunched over a curse, slicing into it with expert precision. The smell hit her first—disgusting. It made her stomach churn.

Shoko didn’t flinch. She simply looked up, her expression unreadable, before pulling down her mask. “Yes?” she asked, a calmness in her tone that only made Y/n’s impatience grow.

Y/n’s words came out almost as a whisper, a sense of urgency in her voice that couldn’t be hidden. “Where is he?”

And then, to her horror, Shoko smiled. An actual smile. Why? “He’s getting ready for a mission right now. Should be leaving the principal’s office,” she said, completely casual, as if this was just another normal day.

Y/n barely processed the words. Her mind was already running, already planning. She reached for a scalpel lying on the counter, her fingers trembling as she gripped it, the sharp edge cool against her skin. She didn’t think twice before she made her move.

Her feet pounded against the floor as she rushed through the halls, a storm of determination fueling every step. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t stop. Not until she saw him.

And there he was. Satoru Gojo—in all his arrogance and god-like presence. When he looked up, mouth slightly open in surprise, she didn’t wait for him to speak. Before he could say anything, she lunged.

His infinity wasn’t around him, not in that moment, not around her.. and that’s all she needed to see. He wasn’t prepared. She could end this. The thought shot through her veins like fire, and she drove the scalpel forward, but he caught her wrist midair.

They tumbled into an empty hallway, the sound of their struggle echoing against the walls. She fought with everything she had, desperate to end this, to stop the torment he’d caused her. Her hand shook, the blade nearly slipping in her grasp as she tried to stab him over and over.

But he was faster. He was always faster.

And then, she saw it—the expression on his face. It wasn’t amusement, wasn’t that mocking grin he usually wore. His eyes were wide, full of something else. Something she didn’t expect.

Worry.

He moved, catching her wrist, and in that moment, she saw the opening. With a quick swipe of the scalpel, it sliced through the air, and there was a sickening sound as the blade made contact. Flesh. The scalpel tore through his skin, and blood began to pour from his hands, pooling onto the floor in a shocking, steady stream.

Y/n froze. “I-“ she began.

She couldn’t finish her words. She couldn’t even speak. Her breath caught in her throat, her body suddenly weak. The sight of the blood, the realization of what she had just done, hit her immediately.

The blade clattered to the floor, forgotten.

Satoru stared at his hands, the blood dripping from his fingertips, staining his clothes. But there was no panic, no anger in his eyes.

And then he moved toward her.

Before she could react, before she could push him away, he pulled her into his chest, his warmth pressing against her as her body trembled in his embrace. Her hands clung to him, her fingers digging into his clothes as she fought to keep herself together. The blood from his wound soaked into her jacket, but neither of them cared. Not in that moment.

“Fuck…” His voice was low, barely audible, and she felt the sincerity in it—something raw, something she hadn’t expected. His hand stroked through her hair, gentle but shaky, as if he wasn’t sure how to hold her. How to fix this. His blood coating her hair in a way that only made her feel more guilt.

But it didn’t matter. It didn’t fix anything. She couldn’t fix anything.

She broke then, her body shaking violently as the tears came. The rage, the frustration, the guilt—it all collided in a flood of emotions that she couldn’t contain. She cried against him, her sobs muffled by his chest, and he didn’t push her away.

He just held her. And in the silence that followed, as her body shook with every breath, it felt like everything—everything—was falling apart.

But still, he held her.

And she let him.

Part 5 ⬇️

[princesskenny1998]

MHA | Bakugou Katsuki x f!confident!reader ~ Attention, PT. 4

It’s late when Bakugou’s phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with a notification. It’s another message from you, and even before he reads it, he knows it’s going to push him over the edge. You’d been teasing him for days now, messages and pictures that escalated from playful to straight-up provocative and pornographic. And for a guy with a short fuse and an even shorter tolerance for games, he was reaching his breaking point.

"Hey," the message read. "Just me here tonight. Place feels a little empty." Alongside the message was a picture of you, comfortably sprawled out on your bed but unmistakably flirty, the angle just right so he could see the top of your, very naked, breasts, to suggest more without showing too much. It’s enough to snap any last bit of patience he might have been clinging to.

He typed his response without hesitation: "On my way."

Stuffing his phone in his pocket, slipping in his shoes and stuffing the nix if condoms in his backpack, he strode down the hallway of the dorm, an air of purpose in his step that could only mean one thing. As he passed by the common room, he could feel the curious eyes of his classmates on him. Kirishima, lounging on the couch with Sero and Kaminari, looked up, immediately sensing something was up.

"Hey, Bakubro," Kirishima called out, a smirk forming as he leaned over the back of the couch. "Where are you heading off to this late?"

Bakugou glanced back, his glare half-hearted as he paused in the doorway. "Going to see someone. Got a problem with that?" His voice held its usual bite, but there was a flicker of something else—excitement, maybe, or anticipation.

The smirk on Kirishima’s face turned into a grin. "Ooooh, so you're actually going to meet her?"

Kaminari's eyebrows shot up, and he looked between Kirishima and Bakugou with dawning realization. "Wait, her? Like, the girl you were telling us about, Kiri? Damn, Bakugou, didn’t think you’d actually go for it!"

Sero, ever the instigator, joined in with a low whistle. "Well, well, look who’s got game after all."

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, but there was no hiding the slight flush to his cheeks. He rolled his eyes, muttering, "Shut it, losers," before turning and heading toward the door. Their laughter and whoops followed him out, only egging him on as he stepped into the cool night air, a single thought running through his mind: Finally.

Meanwhile, back at your place, you were starting to second-guess your own actions. When you’d sent that last message, you hadn’t actually expected Bakugou to take it so seriously. After all, you’d been flirting back and forth, sending playful messages and dropping hints for a while now, but it had all felt safe—just enough to keep him interested without crossing any lines.

But now, staring at his last response, a thrill of panic mixed with excitement shot through you. He was actually coming over.

“Oh god,” you muttered, pacing around your room. You hadn’t anticipated him taking the bait so quickly. The messages had been a game, a way to keep things interesting and test his patience, but now that he was on his way, reality was setting in.

Part of you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself for underestimating him. For all his tough-guy posturing, he was still a boy, and apparently, you’d finally managed to get under his skin enough to provoke him into action.

A knock at the door jolted you out of your thoughts. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and went to open it, coming face-to-face with Bakugou, who stood there with a look that was equal parts annoyance and anticipation.

"You gonna invite me in or what?" he asked, arms crossed as he stared down at you, his usual fiery gaze even more intense than usual.

You swallowed, letting a smirk spread across your face to mask your nervousness. "Didn't think you'd actually come," you teased, stepping back to let him in.

Bakugou walked in, eyes scanning your place briefly before landing back on you. "You kept pushing. What did you expect?" His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a heat behind it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Shrugging, you closed the door behind him, trying to maintain your composure. "Maybe I just wanted to see how long you'd hold out."

Bakugou scoffed, moving closer, his confidence taking over as he backed you up against the wall, dropping his backpack to the floor. "Guess you got your answer."

You bit your lip, heart pounding as he closed the distance between you. "Yeah… guess I did."

His hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. For a brief moment, the two of you locked eyes, and all the teasing and playful banter faded, replaced by something raw and electric. And then, with a low growl, Bakugou leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was heated and demanding, filled with all the pent-up tension that had been building between you.

You responded eagerly, fingers tangling in his shirt as you pulled him closer. The intensity of his touch was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but wonder why you’d ever thought he’d be anything less than completely in control when he finally made his move.

As his lips moved against yours, you could feel the weight of every unspoken word, every unsent message, in the way he kissed you—like he was making up for lost time. And in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything else.

After what felt like an eternity, Bakugou pulled back, his breath coming in short bursts as he looked down at you with a smirk. "So," he said, voice low and rough, "still think this was just a game?"

You laughed softly, feeling a rush of confidence as you leaned up to kiss him again. "I don't know, Katsuki," you whispered against his lips. "Are you up for the challenge?"

His eyes flashed with determination, and without another word, he pulled you back into a kiss, both of you fully aware that this was only the beginning.

[cassayeee]

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SCARY MOVIE?

warnings: yandere tendencies, mentions of death and murder, slight nsfw, mentions of knifeplay and carving

ghostface!eren who really, truly, never meant for you to find out about his other, more... sadistic persona, but just couldn't help himself. you just looked so weak and fragile and just begged to have him slip into your apartment and make sure that his other accomplice kept away and understood that you were utterly off limits to any violent excursions outside his bedroom. and how much easier that was when he could strip off the mask and lay himself bare to you, killer and all.

ghostface!eren who couldn't promise that he'd keep his murderous hands off your friends, he did have an itch that could only be satisfied with a tinge of red and those lovely melodic screams that had his eyes rolling into the back of his head. and how much sweeter the taste of death was when he could taste it off the tears running down your cheeks. but don't worry your pretty little head, he would never kill you. who else would he ever find in this eternally dull world that would give him as much excitement as snuffing out the light from someone's eyes? you were never leaving his side, and he would make damn sure of that. besides, he's obviously not above murdering someone if that meant you would always be his.

ghostface!eren who can't help but cut you out of that sultry little black dress when you made your way back to his apartment after a rather normal date at some fancy restaurant that he can't even remember the name of now. he'd been salivating for hours with no thoughts of that overpriced meal on his mind. all he could think about was getting you out of that damned dress and making you squirm beneath him with his knife pressed carefully against your throat. and the whimper that escaped his throat when you moaned his name and asked him to carve his initials into your upper thigh? irrevocably sinful, born from the unholiest desires. who was he to deny you such a request?

ghostface!eren who took the utmost pleasure in hacking up that stupid fucker who dared to touch you at some dumbass party you wanted to go to. that stupid fucker who thought your firm "no" and pleas to stop were nothing more than teases and invitations to pursue you further. that stupid fucker who really thought there'd be no consequences to his actions. good thing your personal angel of death was quick to take care of that stupid fucker for you.

ghostface!eren who was completely enraptured by you. there was no other being on the planet that had him quite so shaken as you did. when he first realized his obsession, he almost killed you to rid himself of the distraction. but, as he looked at you through the fluttering curtains of your living room windows, he'd soon understood that he would rather gut himself than be the one to see to your demise. everyone else? yeah. everyone else was fair game.

a/n: my ghostface phase has returned (for its regularly scheduled appearance every damn month) and what better way to handle it than force it upon the number one on my simp list?

(this also may just be an excuse to write yandere eren, whoops)

[typh0nas]

The Things He Does When He’s With You(Luxiem)

__________________________

Content Warning(s): none!

Character(s): GN!Reader(no pronouns mentioned), Vox Akuma, Ike Eveland, Mysta Rias, Shu Yamino, Luca Kaneshiro

Authors Notes: Hello everyone! I guess I wanted to dabble into the NijiEN fandom on Tumblr seeing as I’ve really been into that recently. Apologies if any of my writing is OOC because I don’t have much time to catch a lot of their streams but I do watch a lot of their clips, as well as taking a long time to complete this. I kinda hit writers block and lost some motivation but I’ve been slowly adding to it. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Man my luca bias kinda slipped out in this wHOOPS

__________________________

Vox Akuma {👹🧧}

The way he holds your hand gently, as presses chaste kisses against your skin. He was once the leader of a magnificent clan, but now, lost in time. He can't remember the last time, he was like this with someone but for now he'll enjoy the moment.

The way he smiles gently at you in adoration, his hand resting on your cheek. His hand stays there for a moment before dropping back to his side. Though his touch is fleeting, there's a slight warm that lingers. You wonder if it's because you're blushing, but regardless you can't help but want to cling onto his touch more.

The way his words flow out easily, flirtatious comments all directed at you. You deflect his advances with a blush and a slight scowl, but nothing can hide the longing glances the two of you give each other. When one is caught staring by the other, it's masked by a thinly veiled excuse.

The way that he’ll go out of his way to make your favorite meals. We all know that Vox is a phenomenal cook, I mean, have you seen his posts on Twitter? Even when you don’t have the right ingredients and you leave to go get what you need, when you come back, the food is miraculously on the table. Vox claims that he went to go buy it for you, but you always know the distinct taste of specifically his cooking. 

more under the cut!

Mysta Rias {🕵‍♂️🦊}

The way he’ll purposely do something dumb or silly just to make you feel better. Mysta’s awfully perceptive when it comes to you, so any mood change on your part, he’ll pick up on fairly quickly. If you’re happy then he’s happy, and if you’re sad, well, Mysta will try his best to try and make you happy again. 

The way he’ll vehemently try to deny that he’s clearly a fat simp for you. With a bright blush on his face and stuttering words, he’ll try to hide his flustered expression from you. His genmates will constantly tease him on stream, finding his reactions funny.

The way he’ll drop everything to help you with something you're struggling with. Though he may not seem like it, Mysta is more reliable than he comes off. He'll give you little reminders, like to drink water, or asks if you've had something to eat. All way that he shows just how much he loves you.

The way he'll drape his coat over your shoulders when you say you're cold. He'll say he's only doing it cause he'll feel like an ass if he doesn't but literally everyone else knows that he's doing it for other reasons. It's good for two reasons, the first being that it keeps you nice and warm, the second being that it's a firm declaration that you belong to Mysta.

Ike Eveland {🖋🔷️}

The way he'll extend his free hand out to you while his other hand is busy writing away at his notebook. His fingers are long and thin, wrapping around your hand quite easily. His thumb rubs small circles on your hand, a soft but subtle smile on his face.

The way he'll compose songs just for you when he's thinking about you. You give him bursts of creativity as he furiously works away. And once he finishes, he'll present the finished song to you, an air of pride about him.

The way he'll converse with you in Swedish, even if you don't understand. He finds it cute how you look at him in confusion, before asking him to translate it. He'll refuse for the first few times wanting to see if you can get it, but relents after seeing you pout up at him, unable to resist how adorable you are.

The way he'll gaze at you while he writes, creating all sorts of scenarios in his mind. One day, Ike knows he'll be able to work up the courage to ask you to be his, but fearful of ruining the relationship the two of you have, he'd prefer to stay silent. So for now, he'll keep on writing, hoping that one day you'll confess you feel the same as he does.

Shu Yamino {👟☯️}

The way he'll crack that familiar cheshire grin whenever he sees you. When you ask him what he's smiling about, he'll shake his head and says that he'll tell you at a different time.

The way he'll tease you if he catches you staring for a little bit too long. As that familiar laugh resounds in your ears, you look away, flustered. What you fail to see is the fond look he shoots your way, a faint hint of wistfulness in his gaze.

The way he’ll smoothly slip an arm around your waist or your shoulders when he sees that someone’s bothering you. It’s evident by the uncomfortable look on your face and the way you constantly keep glancing over at him, asking for his help in stepping in.

The way he hugs you tight, almost as if he's scared that you'll disappear on him. Being a sorcerer, Shu can summon things as he pleases, but materialistic items can only bring so much happiness to an individual, but is that happiness even real? The way he feels with you is true, a genuine kind of affection and he'll be damned if he lets that slip out of his fingertips.

Luca Kaneshiro {🦁💰}

The way he’ll immediately turn to you, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, wanting to hear you praise him. To hear you say something nice about what he did. And upon receiving your praise, he exclaims a loud, “Pog!” beaming at you. If Luca had dog ears and a tail I’m sure you would see his ears perked up and his tail wagging out of excitement.

The way he’ll pull you into his lap, dismissing his bodyguards so that it was just the two of you alone. You squirm in his lap, feeling your face grow warm because of how close in proximity the two of you are to each other. All of your senses are just filled Luca, not that you’re objecting to it.

The way he’ll buy you whatever he sees that catches your eye. Being a mafia boss, Luca has a lot of money and resources. It’s no trouble to him if you like it. You can try to deny the gift but as soon as he pulls it out, he’s not taking it back, it’s yours to keep. Luca treasures you a lot, and to him, he would give you anything if he could. If you asked for the moon, he would give it to you in a heartbeat.

The way he’ll come up to you, asking you about how your day was without fail. The bright smile on his face, he pulls you into his embrace, his voice echoing around his office. Depending on your response, if you said that it was a good day, he’ll grin and go, “that’s great!”. But if you had a not so good day, he’ll frown for a brief moment before brightening up and grabbing your hand, pulling you along. When you question him on where you’re going, he tells you that he’s taking you to your favorite restaurant or favorite place, and everything’s on him. 

Back to Navigation {☆}

[whitexwolfxx310]

Be My Valentine

Pairing: Bucky x female reader & Partial Bucky POV

Summary: Valentine's Day with Bucky

Warnings: Y/N, 18+, Cursing, Sexual content, Smut, Masturbation (F), Dominance kink, Teasing (F to M), Fluff, Angst.

Word Count: 2440

A/Ns:

-I know this Valentine's Day post is a little late...it was hard to think of an original idea without getting too over the top.

-I'd like to hear from the readers; Let me know what direction you would like this storyline to go. Life decisions, break up, kinks, family, etc.? There is no such thing as a bad idea!

-Last but not least, thank you for reading. It truly makes my day to interact with you all!

Previous Part

Master List

The one sided conversation has become indistinct as you keep glancing at your phone. It’s unlike Bucky to leave you on read, and on Valentine’s Day of all days. Your first one together at that. As soon as the phone screen goes dark on your desk, you instantly tap it to see if a notification has gone missed. It hasn’t.

“-I happen to have a date with leftover pizza. Maybe I’ll even treat myself to a pint of ice cream. What about you and Bucky?”

“Hm?” You answer, completely and obviously distracted. “Sorry…” Rubbing your face lightly to try and concentrate on the current moment. Sam sinks back in the couch of your office, laughing as he crosses his arms.

“You… Bucky… Valentine’s Day?” Sam says, trying to catch you up to the conversation with brief cliff notes.

“Oh! Um… no plans.” It’s hard to mask the slight disappointment. Sam’s eyebrow raises, intrigued.

“You mean to tell me… that he hasn’t planned anything?” He asks, slightly offended.

“Maybe it was different a 100 years ago.”

“Man…” Sam scoffs. “I’ll whoop that boys ass. Worst case, you’re always welcome to join me and the other singles in The Compound for pizza.”

You give Sam a polite smile as a ‘thank you’ for the invite. Hopefully you won’t have to take him up on it though. The thought is actually… unnerving.

“Same time next week, y/n?” Sam asks cordially as he stands up from the couch. You nod and smile.

“Enjoy your pizza.” You laugh, watching him walk out of your office.

Originally, ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ (so weird not calling him Bucky) was your initial patient and well… things developed, Tony thought it might be beneficial to do more sessions with Avengers that are veterans as well. Your newest clients are Sam, Rhodey, and even Steve.

As much as you try your best to suppress the emotions deep down inside, it's hard to ignore the feeling of disappointment. Maybe it slipped his mind? There are far more important things to worry about than an overpriced chocolate, expensive flowers that die within a day, strictly commercial, holiday.

And yet... What's wrong with a day to show a little extra love? This relationship is relatively new, maybe Bucky doesn't feel as though it's at that level just yet. Or, what if he thinks it wont ever reach that level at all? Your mind is racing as you hesitantly walk towards your shared apartment.

Standing at the front door, you're afraid to move. If you go inside and there is nothing, it's just another day, what does that mean? Is there even an 'us'? I understood what I was getting into. Maybe he isn't as emotionally available as you both thou-

The door suddenly opens. Bucky is now standing in the doorway, the dimmed lights of the apartment contrasting against his usual all black attire. The only hint of brightness being his pearly white smile.

"Hey..." You say, shyly. The anxiety is still buzzing around your skull like an aggravated beehive.

"Hey Sunshine." He replies, stepping forward and cupping your face with his warm right hand. "Happy Valentine's Day." He breathes, placing his forehead against yours, the smiling never disappearing from his face as he places the most gentle kiss on your lips.

He remembered.

Stepping back and to the side, Bucky places his arm across your lower back to delicately lead you inside. The sight at the end of the entrance way was something only a true romantic could have thought of. The entire apartment is illuminated with the warm glow of candles, too many to even count. On the floor was scattered red rose petals that even Alpine was enjoying swatting around. The delicate aroma of flowers surrounding you with each step that you take.

On the kitchen island where you two spend the majority of your time talking over his perfect pancakes and fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning, is an enormous bouquet of sunflowers accented with red roses.

I didn't even realize that they made flower arrangements so big.

One of the most rememberable moments from the beginning of your relationship popped into your head; 'Sunflowers for my sunshine'. You turn to look at Bucky, who is still smiling but with a hint of nervousness as he awaits your reaction. His hands rubbing one another to ease his nerves.

"I...hope you like it." He probes, his voice unsure of the gesture.

"Like it?" Your smile matches the bright one he opened the door with. "I love it..." Standing up on your toes to reach his height, you press your lips to his, trying to show your gratitude through the passionate kiss. Pulling back after a moment, you look into his eyes with a small amount of suppressed tears in them. "Thank you, Bucky. This is...amazing. You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. Besides, if I didn't Sam would have dug a six foot hole meant just for me." He laughs. If he only knew that Sam had basically said the same thing himself just a little while ago.

“Ok!” He claps his hands, which doesn’t have the typical sound you would expect; it’s more of a thud. “So…” Bucky excitedly strides over to the granite kitchen table top where the giant flower arrangement sits. He gestures towards two place settings that you had initially missed due to the vibrant bouquet that grabbed your attention. Each one has its own to-go coffee cup, and the plate in front of which you normally sit, has a giant cinnamon roll on it.

“I figured you might want some caffeine after work and well, you know how I feel about the coffee in this place.” Bucky let’s out a nervous laugh. “I asked the red head, at the café, Aly? I think that was her name… for your usual.”

He went out of his way to go back to the coffee shop where you each started opening up to one another. The same place where, unknowingly, you would let each other into the beginning of… this.

“You remembered?” You mumble. It wasn’t supposed to come out as a question, more of an audible astonishment.

“Of course I remember. Nothing has been the same since the day I first walked into your office, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

Is this real life? Is this what they describe in books and try to portray in movies? This… overwhelming feeling of your heart expanding to the point that it might explode? The wondering how you ever lived without this person? How is it possible that you two have lived in the same moment in time and not know that it was going to lead you both to right here? And you suddenly get it. This is it. This is what they mean when it is said that your world would stop spinning without this one. Your person. That instant shift where life as you once knew it was over and you were excited to see whatever was next.

You can feel the ridiculously cheesy smile pulling on your cheeks. The one that is so big, you imagine that you look like a horse. "Thank you. This is seriously the...nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." And it's true. It is apparent here that the feelings are mutual, what else could you possibly ask for?

"And!" Bucky exclaims, taking a few steps back and motioning to the stove, which already has multiple pots steaming from their lids. "I'm cooking you dinner." He smirks, he knows just how much you love anything that he puts out from the kitchen.

“OoOoOo!! Whatcha making?” You sit down at your designated seat, picking up your latte and taking a quick sip. Mmm

“Classic Italian sauce and meatballs over pasta. I think I finally got the right amount of spices, I think that you’re really going to like it.”

Picking a few pieces off of the infamous cinnamon roll, you smile again.

“I can’t wait.”

They always said a way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I don't know if I would necessarily agree. Sure, I'm old fashioned in the sense that I grew up with a stay at home mother and a hardworking father. But the satisfaction of nourishing someone you care about, taking into consideration of what they like and dislike, and the warmth it can bring to them both physically and emotionally? I'm all for it. Food, or in this case, coffee was the first interaction I've had with the real world that wasn't revolved around a mission or thinking of how I could try and get others to see that the Winter Soldier was a part of what I was made into, but not who I am.

It wasn't difficult to try and think of something to do on Valentine's Day for y/n. While she can be an overthinker, she is a simple woman that can find a bright side to almost anything. The light in any darkness. My Sunshine.

Finishing dinner, I cannot help but turn sideways in the chair, leaning against the counter listening to her talk about her day. It's adorable how animated she is, using her hands to emphasize every part like a typical New Yorker. Y/N has the faintest blush in her cheeks that hasn't left from the moment I opened our door. I know I should be paying more attention to what she is saying, but I can't help taking in all of her beauty. She is the most perfect, fascinating woman on this planet. I still don't understand how she has opened her life, and her heart, to me- Probably the least deserving man.

"Earth to Bucky?? You're doing the staring thing again." She says, giggling. It's my second favorite sound of hers.

"Sorry," I say, shaking my head. "Got distracted for a moment."

"Ya' know...that's not very super soldier of you." She's being playful.

"You're right. I'm sorry- How can I make it up to you?"

"Hmm..." Y/N looks around, pretending to be thinking intensely. "I could think of a few ways."

"In that case, there is one last thing for you in the bedroom."

Her eyes instantly widen with anticipation along with an excited smile.

"You don't say?" She keeps glancing over at the bedroom. I can't help but reflect the smile and shared enthusiasm.

"I'll give you a minute. But only one." I don't think that I even fully finished the sentence before she jumped out of her seat and scurried into the bedroom.

Never leaving a moment unwasted, I start to clean up the kitchen. Cleaning, always cleaning. It brings me some sort of...contentment. A routine that I have welcomed with open arms after so many years of chaotic inconsistency. The pathway of petals along the floor is making my eye twitch. Out of my peripheral view, I see Alpine’s white fur starting to become spotted as she rolls around in the red rose petals. Chuckling I shake my head,

“Don’t get too used to it, pretty girl. It will all be gone by the morning.” I lean down, giving her a quick pat on the head with my right hand.

Keeping it in place, she gets up and starts casually coasting to feel my touch along her back. Turning around once I’m at the tip of her tail, Alpine then motions towards my left hand. She presses her cheek into my fingers, purring gently. I know what it should feel like, but due to the arm from hell, I physically cannot feel anything in it's entirety. The only reminder that it is even real is the scar tissue built up around the metal that's always numb, like a hand that's asleep. But that cat has never judged me.

Speaking of the only human that has never judged me... I'm back on my feet, realizing it has been more than one minute since y/n left the room.

"Y/N?" I call, but no response. The trained assassin inside me automatically jumps to the conclusion that there is danger. Breathe. It's safe here. She's safe, with me.

While actively trying to pace myself, I still get into the bedroom faster than I'd like to admit. Only to be met with the most beautiful, perfect sight I have ever seen.

She found the short black satin gown I had laid out for her. Not only did she put it on, but was in the middle of the bed propped up on one elbow- legs wide while she used her free hand to touch herself. I’m frozen in place.

“You’re gawking, Bucky…” Her tone is soft, seductive. Biting softly on her bottom lip, looking dead straight into my eyes- actually my soul- as she inserts her middle finger into herself. The surrounding fingers work collectively together to spread her folds apart, for my viewing pleasure.

“I-“ What do I say? What can I say? I’m in the presence of a fucking goddess.

“Come here…” y/n beckons, her breathing starting to become labored. Like a siren in the sea, I am completely transfixed and willing to follow her into the unknown.

My brain hasn’t even fully registered what she had said before my legs were leading me to the bed. Scooting to the edge, her legs draping off of the side while still remaining completely open, inviting me in as I drop to my knees on the floor before her. Ready to give myself over and follow every command.

I can feel her hands running into my hair, nails gently guiding the motion as she pulls me in close. With a deviant look in her eyes, her tongue flicks once across my lips. Fuck… She knows exactly what she is doing.

The warmth of her hands running down my side obliques give me the chills. I'm excited, anxious even. In one quick, smooth motion, y/n's removed my shirt and straddled herself into my lap on the floor. Her hips grind down against me, leaving me in agony.

"I-"

A pointer finger is now assertively placed on my lips as she coos, "Shhh." My body is fighting it's hardest to not be so fidgety.

"Longing...."

What?

"Rusted...."

I-

"Seventeen...."

What is she-

"Daybreak...."

She knows this won't work

"Furnace..."

Do I stop-

"Nine..."

Should I-

"Benign...."

Do I even want to-

"Homecoming...."

Where is this going?

"One..."

Um-

"Freight car..."

She stops. Smirking as her finger traces along my collar bone.

"Soldier?" Her voice is alluring. It clicks. She wants to roleplay and I am more than happy to jump at that gratification.

"Ready to comply." I sit, smirking, waiting for my full instructions.

Tag List: @peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead

Next part

[frenzyjinx]

The Watcher (mono x reader)

Chapter 11

Y/N Pov

Plopping down and landing on a single book I waved my hand around a bit because of how dusty it was, mono landed besides me and laughed "can't handle some dust?" I rolled my eyes "well genius if I still had my mask like you have your bag I would be fine!"

He raised both hands in surrender "alright alright" I smirked and jumped down landing onto the floor gazing at all the books that were piled up, he jumped as well and we both started to walk forward

I heard a familiar clank of heels walking by and I groaned in annoyance "so that vase didn't knock her out? Man.." mono chuckled shaking his head "I guess not" I hummed in slight disappointment before stepping onto the carpet in front of me

"Psst hey over here" glancing up I saw mono waiting by a ladder that seemed like it could move 'well isn't that convenient' walking over to him I gestured for him to go "well go on ladies first" I smiled cheekily at him he huffed and grabbed my hand pulling me over towards him

I raised my eyebrows and started to climb up the ladder as he followed behind me, peeking down at him I laughed "enjoying the view?" He almost slipped off of the ladder so I stopped teasing him 'whoops'

Lifting myself up onto one of the shelfs I waited until mono appeared at my feet "you seem to be at my feet a lot lately hmm?" I spoke quietly with an edge of humor lacing my tone

Mono looked up at me and pulled himself up standing right in front of me "actually im looking down at you right now" I huffed "being taller doesn't count" he leaned over and ruffled my hair

This time he went first hopping down onto the lower bookcase I slipped down with him but as soon as we landed two random books fell off from our impact 'oh of course'

I started running behind mono gasping out in shock when the teacher yelled out and bursted her head out from a bookshelf, her neck stretching towards us in an endless pursuit

Mono pulled himself up and turned around grabbing my hand to pull me up as well, the teachers head snapped as she tried to catch me narrowly missing I started to run again sliding after mono into a tiny opening

The teacher gave up seeing that her head would not fit apparently, I leaned over and caught my breath as mono pulled me towards him and softly stroked my hair

I bit back my blush and focused regaining my stolen air and sighing "well lets go" I spoke slowly an itching desire to leave this stupid school

Emerging out of the safe spot we both spotted two large book pillars that were held together by some rope "that does not look sturdy" he spoke but slowly jumped onto it, I leaped over and latched onto it following his movement

But of course when we both jumped over to the next book pillar a couple of books came falling down making noise 'its not cloudy with a chance of meatballs its cloudy with a chance of books'

The sound of the teacher stretching her neck out from her shoulders was heard once more and I shivered 'maybe a random book will hit her' I silently prayed to the book gods but nothing happened

I shifted over hiding from her view while she searched for us, we continued to sneakily stay out of her sight when her head came around the corner just barely peeking over at us

I held my breath and stayed still my heartbeat slowed when she finally left, I let out a breath and quickly watched as her heels clanked when she walked over opening a door she left

I jumped onto the ledge and rubbed my eyes, feeling a hand snake around my shoulders and tug me over "yes mono?" I said sarcastically He pretended to be offended "wow princess that wasn't very nice!"

"Im far from a princess" I spoke raising one eyebrow at him watching, he lifted up his hands and pulled his bag up just enough so that I could see his lips my eyes widened in shock blushing pink

His lips formed into a smirk "maybe not.. but you're my princess" huffing I pulled his bag back over his face not liking the feelings that started to sprout when I saw his lips

He leaned towards me "can't handle seeing my lips? Wait till you see my face" I smacked his head with a book "shut up!" I ran away from him and started to pull a bin full of books towards the door that the teacher had entered to keep myself busy from my rather unholy thoughts

Mono finally started to help and we both stood onto the bin, I jumped up and pulled the door handle opening it successfully, walking through the doorway I looked around

I started to walk more comfortably when I couldn't hear any suspicious noises around, mono appeared beside me and wrapped his hand around mine so that we were walking together

The room gradually got bigger until we both saw a huge staircase that led two ways and well of course more random books, I slowly let go of his hand and started to explore

I found myself once again wishing that I had any sort of notebook to write down all of my findings, I frowned when I saw a door that had a keylock on it

Walking back to mono "We need a key" he hummed and nodded "lets search upstairs now" I thought for a second before grabbing onto his hand again and running up the stairs he stumbled a bit before going fast as well

I laughed when he almost tripped "yeah see im faster than you obviously" I chose to go right and he had no choice but to come with me

I tilted my head to the side and walked slower when I noticed a chess looking piece and a missing top, mono grabbed onto the top that he found at his feet and placed it onto its head making it whole again "here we go"

[hyogonokitsune]

blush -- suna rintarou x reader

here’s some soft suna smut, go fetch!

edit: here’s pt 2 and pt 3

virginity loss, slight praise kink, oral (f receiving), whoops! rintarou has feelings

4700 words

--

You were not quite sure how you all ended up on this topic, but it didn’t surprise you one bit that Atsumu was the one to bring it up.

“So how old were ya when ya lost it?” he asked with a grin on his face.

Suna glanced up at the sky as he thought about his answer. “Fourteen, I guess.”  

“Ugh, man! You beat me!” Atsumu groaned in annoyance. “I was fifteen.” It was slight, but you caught Suna giving him a self-satisfied smirk. Atsumu turned to his brother next. “What about you, ‘Samu? I don’t think I ever asked.”

“Pfft, like hell I’d ever tell you,” was the only response he gave.

The four of you were walking through Inarizaki’s dark campus together after the team’s evening practice. It was early autumn, and although the days were still warm, the temperature at night was beginning to dip lower and lower. You shivered as a crisp breeze blew past, digging your hands further into your jacket pockets.

“What about you, y/n?” Atsumu asked, peering down at you. “How old were ya?”

You had hoped he’d forgotten about you, but now that he had directly asked you could feel your cheeks reddening slightly. “I, uh, I haven’t done it yet,” you answered sheepishly.

“What, seriously?! You’re a virgin?” Atsumu’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly squinched shut when Osamu smacked him on the back of the head.

“Yell it a bit louder, why don’t ya? I don’t think everyone on campus heard you, dumbass.”

“Ouch, sorry,” Atsumu muttered in apology, but your blush had already deepened. “I’m just a little shocked to learn that our precious manager is a virgin.”

“It’s not really that big of a deal, honestly,” Suna said, his voice low. It was a little unusual to hear him defend anyone, but you were grateful for it all the same.

“Ya know, y/n, if ya ever wanna lose your virginity, I’d be happy to help out,” Atsumu said, giving you a salacious smirk. You rolled your eyes at his offer, a small laugh escaping from your lips as you flicked him on the side of his head.

The path split then, and Suna turned left to continue on by himself to the campus dorms. He waved goodnight to the three of you, and you noticed that his eyes lingered on you for half a second too long before he turned away.

 --

 Click, click, click

Your thumb pressed repeatedly on the end of your pen as you stared hard at the words in front of you.

“Hey, knock it off.” You looked up at the sound of Suna’s voice, his irritation plain on his face. “It’s annoying.”

The two of you were sitting on the floor of his room, Suna propped up against his bed and you leaning against the opposite wall. Loose sheets of paper and an open textbook were on the floor between you as you both studied for an exam the next day.

“Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you muttered, turning your attention back to Suna’s notebook on your lap. You were reading through it, checking that there wasn’t anything he had written down that you had missed in class. In truth, you were finding it hard to concentrate on the notes, as something else was nagging at your thoughts. You hadn’t been able to shake the conversation you’d had the other night, and despite Atsumu’s suggestion, he wasn’t the one you had been thinking about since then.

You had heard rumors around campus, and stories from some of the girls in your classes. At first it had made you a little uncomfortable to know such personal details about someone you had to see every day, especially since he wasn’t aware that you knew, but over time you gradually got used to it, and you were beginning to wonder about what it might be like to experience that firsthand. You were sure that it wouldn’t get out. After all, those rumors that you had heard had come from the girls themselves, never him; if you didn’t tell anyone, no one would ever have to know about it. Besides, after two and a half years spent on the same team, you two had grown rather close. There were few people that you could trust more than him, and, in your opinion at least, that was the most important factor influencing your decision.

You just had to think of a way to tell him.

Suna’s low voice cut through the silence in the room. “Maaan, I’m beat. What time is it?” he asked, stretching his arms over his head.

You glanced at your watch, sighing a bit when you saw how late it was. “Half past ten.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I think we’ve crammed as much as we possibly can for tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you replied as you stood up. The two of you started tidying up his room, and you gathered your books and pens into your bag.

“You want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

“No, I’ll be alright.”

“’Kay.”

You had your hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, but you found yourself unable to turn it.

“Suna?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, and when he turned to look at you, you felt an unexpected surge of confidence well up inside. If you didn’t tell him now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to.

Dropping your hand from the doorknob, you angled your shoulders to face him head on, willing yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you to take my virginity.”

There was a slight widening of his eyes, almost imperceptible, but you caught it before his face fell back into its usual indifferent mask. There was a moment or two of silence, and you tried to keep yourself from panicking; maybe he was just trying to gauge how serious you were.

Eventually he spoke, the corner of his lip quirking up into a cheeky grin. “You sure you don’t want Atsumu to be the one?”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling. “I think I’d rather die, if I’m being honest.”

Suna laughed then, short but genuine, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. “I’ll do it, if that’s really what you want.”

You gave him a quick nod, hand reaching towards the door again.

“Come back here tomorrow.”

 --

 You knocked twice on Suna’s door and it opened almost immediately. He must have just recently gotten out of the shower because his hair was still damp, a droplet of water clinging to a lock of hair next to his cheek as he stared down at you.

“I was half-expecting you not to show up,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked as you squeezed past him to step into the room; he offered no response.

You dropped your bag and blazer onto his desk chair, and when you turned around Suna had moved into the center of the room, within arm’s reach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” There was an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice that made your heart melt.

You gave a slight nod, a small smile on your face. “I’m sure.”

Those two words were all he needed.

Suna closed the gap between you in one step. His left hand came to rest on your waist, his right moving up to cup your cheek as he leaned down to place his lips on yours. His kiss was unexpectedly soft, and you couldn’t stop a tiny gasp from escaping you in surprise. This wasn’t a Suna that you were familiar with; this was a Suna that was unbelievably tender with his touch, but you could feel a more passionate side simmering just beneath the surface by the way that his fingers ever so slowly applied pressure to your waist.

Unconsciously, your hands moved first to his shoulders, then to the back of his head, where your fingers buried themselves in his damp hair. Your touch encouraged him to draw you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist to press you against his body. His kisses were becoming firmer now, deeper, more urgent, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours.

A feeling of warmth was in your chest now, spreading down throughout your body, and with it came a sudden feeling of uncertainty. Suna broke away from you and stepped back to sit on the edge of his bed, and the sight of him there suddenly stole away all the confidence you had felt earlier.

“Come here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of it made your legs feel weak, but you forced yourself to step towards him. His hands moved to your hips, intending to pull you closer, but you put your palms on his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Wait a minute,” you said, a little breathless.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” Your voice trailed off and you swallowed hard. “I’m just a little nervous.”

You were embarrassed to admit it, but to your surprise Suna smiled, and the gentleness on his face was reassuring. “Yeah, I think it’s normal to be a little nervous.” One of his hands left your hip to move to your elbow. His fingers dragged lightly down your forearm and wrapped around your wrist, so that he could lift your hand and press it against his chest. “I’m a little nervous, too.” You could feel his heart against your palm, beating a little faster and harder than normal. The proof of his own anxiety made all of your apprehensions disappear, and you leaned down to kiss him. Before he could deepen it, you broke away again.

“Suna?”

“Hmm?”

“Could we turn the light off?”

“Of course,” he grinned, leaning over to switch off the lamp on his bedside table.

The room became dark, but the sun had only recently dipped below the horizon and your eyes quickly adjusted to the cold blue light coming in through the window. Suna’s body was outlined against the bed, his features hazy in the dim lighting, but his eyes were clear as he gazed up at you, imploring you to come closer.

He guided you down onto his lap, one of his hands on each of your thighs to place them at his sides. His kisses were needier now, almost hungry in the way that his mouth moved against yours. His hands slid up to rest on your hips once more, and when he slowly tugged them closer, dragging you over his hardening cock, you couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up from your chest. You could feel him grinning against your lips, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed, not when the feeling of his body under your hands was causing that heat to grow in your core.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Suna asked, his voice breathy and low. A blush crept up your face at his words, the tone of them so much more intimate than anything you’d heard before. You grinded against him again, causing him to moan lightly into your mouth.

Your hands slid down to press against his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He paused kissing you just long enough to take his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor before grabbing your waist and drawing you in even closer. Tentatively, you brought your hands back to his chest. The heat of his skin, the pounding of his heart, his heavy breaths emboldened you, prompting you to explore more of his body. Your fingers traveled lightly over his chest, across his collarbones, onto his shoulders, across the back of his neck, down to his shoulder blades; every place you touched gave way to growing desire.

Suna’s hands wandered up your stomach and over your breasts to undo the buttons of your blouse, but he couldn’t undo them fast enough for you; you suddenly couldn’t stand another moment with the fabric between you, you needed to feel your skin pressed up against his now. Your fingers moved to the bottom of your blouse and quickly worked their way upwards, meeting his in the middle before tearing the shirt from your body.

His eyes roamed over you and he whispered something that you couldn’t quite hear. Before you could say anything, his head moved to your neck, pressing hot kisses into your skin, down the column of your throat and over your collarbones. The top of his head tickled under your chin, making you giggle; his lips left your shoulder with a wet sound as he turned his face up to look at you, but you dug your nails into his arms and whimpered at the loss of his touch.

“Please don’t stop,” you breathed.

Suna gripped you tightly around your waist to lift you off of him and shift you so you were lying down on the bed, his body leaning over you. Pulling one of your legs up so that he could position himself between them, he resumed kissing your neck, his warm breath tickling your ear. His hands worked their way down your sides, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake, to come to rest at the waistband of your skirt. He lifted his head to kiss you on the lips briefly before carefully tugging your skirt down over your hips and off your legs. His eyes lingered on your purple lace panties, moved up to your matching bra, and finally to meet your own gaze.

“These are cute,” he said with a smirk, one finger lifting up the band of your panties and letting it snap against your skin.

“Shut up,” you groaned, covering your blushing face with your arm.

“Did you match these just for me?” he teased.

“I said shut up, Rintarou!”

You heard a sharp intake of breath, and lowered your arm to see that the look on his face had shifted into completely unconstrained desire. He kissed you then, tongue forcing its way into your mouth, greedily swallowing your moans. You could feel yourself getting wetter as he pressed his cock in-between your legs; the sensation was becoming almost too much to bear.

Suna pulled away suddenly, and a thin strand of saliva briefly connected your mouths, glinting in the low light. “Hey, do you want me to wear a condom?” he asked, rubbing his thumb slowly over your bottom lip.

“Oh!” You were lying in his bed half naked, and his tongue had just been in your mouth, but for some reason that question made you feel shy all of a sudden. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I’m, uh… I’m on the pill,” you told him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. He only nodded once before leaning in to kiss you again.

One of his hands slowly slid up your side to your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple through the fabric of your bra. When he broke the kiss to move his lips to your neck, you leaned forward slightly to unhook your bra, tossing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes. Suna sucked in a breath at the sight of you, gazing at you almost reverently before placing his lips back on your throat, letting his hand blindly fondle your breast. Moving slowly, he made his way down your throat and over your collarbones, planting sloppy kisses every few inches, until his tongue was swirling small circles around your nipple, feeling it grow harder at his touch. At the same time, his other hand was pressing into your hip, fingers digging insistently into the soft flesh. That hand now started moving down over the outside of your thigh, pausing almost at the knee before running back up along the inside.

You gasped when he touched your clothed pussy for the first time, his fingers brushing against your clit through the fabric. You would have felt embarrassed at the wetness you felt seeping through your panties, but the feeling of having him touch you in so many places was too good for you to care. He was rubbing circles around your clit, causing a knot to form deep in your stomach. You reached with both hands into his hair, gripping the back of his head tightly as a pitiful whimper escaped you.

“Oh, Rintarou…”

“What is it, baby?” He leaned forward to plant a kiss on your cheek, his hand still working slowly between your legs. “What do you need?”

Another pitiful sound left your mouth and your nails dug into his shoulders. He sat up straight, his free hand coming to rest on your leg as his other continued to draw soft moans out of you.

A new feeling had settled in your chest, a need that you had never experienced before. It wasn’t enough to have him simply touch you; you needed to feel him inside of you.

“Rin, please,” you practically begged him, reaching towards the waistband of his sweatpants.

He gently pushed your hands away, a low chuckle rising in his throat. “You’re not ready yet, baby,” he told you in a soft voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Groaning, you fell back into the pillow, your breath coming out harder as he started kissing the inside of your thigh, slowly, painfully slowly, moving closer to where the heat was pooling between your legs. Both of his hands now hooked under your thighs to rest on top of your hip bones, pinning you in place. He kept his eyes on your face as his tongue ran almost lazily over your panties.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head tilting back and eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He was still licking you agonizingly slowly, relishing the way you squirmed around him. “Do you want me to taste you, baby?”

“Mm hmm,” you answered, a little too quickly in your eagerness to have him touch more of you. He moved one of his hands to hook a finger under your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glistening pussy.

His mouth was on your bare clit now, and the sensation was overwhelming. It was different from all the times you had pleasured yourself; this was warm and wet and achingly soft, and it was causing the coil in your stomach to rapidly tighten. He hummed lightly, the vibrations running over your clit and causing you to practically scream. When he lifted his face away from you, you nearly cried. He slid your panties down your legs and tossed them on the floor, leaving you completely bare before him.

Suna leaned back down, tongue running up and down your folds, swirling around your clit, kissing all over your pussy. Every single contact made your back arch, made your hands grip the sheets a little more tightly. He traced a finger along the edge of your pussy, gathering up the wetness before slowly pressing it into you. You clenched around him as his finger curled up to press into the soft spot within you, the spot that made your breath catch in your throat. You opened your eyes to look down at him; his mouth and finger were still at work on your pussy, but his gaze was trained on your face, sage-colored eyes glinting in the dark.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped, your orgasm falling over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your toes curled, legs tensed up around his head, hands reached down to wind into his soft hair.

“Rin-Rintarou!”

Suna kept his face pressed into your pussy, sucking gently on your clit as you came around his finger. The overstimulation was becoming too much, and your breath was coming out in labored sobs.

“Rin, p-please, stop!”

Immediately, he pulled away, crawling over your body to kiss you hard on the mouth. “I like the way you taste, cutie,” he sighed into your ear, nuzzling at your neck. “And I love the way you moan for me.”

You were panting, still coming down from your high. Suna’s hand came up to caress your face, thumb rubbing gently over your cheekbones. He waited for your breathing to even out before sitting up to remove his pants. You couldn’t help but stare at the way his cock looked; you had no reference point, but you were pretty sure he was above average.

He lazily stroked his cock with one hand as he shifted your legs with the other, positioning himself close to your entrance. He dragged the head over your pussy, coating it with the wetness there.

Suna was looking straight at you again. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Yes,” you told him. He leaned down to plant one more kiss on your lips, before slowly pressing his cock into you.

All the time he spent pleasuring you already ensured that you were relaxed enough to take him, but even so, he went slow. He sank in a few inches before pausing, allowing you to adjust to his size as he peppered your face with kisses, before giving you some more. It took a full minute before he completely joined his hips to yours, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft.

“Yeah.” You gave him a small smile, hands running up the backs of his arms to rest on his shoulder blades. It felt so incredibly good to finally have him inside you, to fill you up completely. There had been a slight pressure when he first entered you, but that was subsiding now, and you could fully enjoy the way his cock stretched you out.

Suna pulled his hips away from you, his cock dragging slowly along your sensitive walls. The loss of him drew a soft whimper out of you, turning into a moan when he pushed back in. His pace was unhurried at first, but with each breathy sigh you made he increased his speed, pulling out a little further each time.

“Rin, oh, oh…”

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he moaned, lips capturing yours in a wet kiss. “You feel so good, baby.”

He bent down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make your spine arch, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly to let him know that you wanted more.

“Rin, I-I… oh god-”

He straightened back up so he could look into your face, his thumb and forefinger continuing to play with your nipple. “Does that feel good?” he asked in a low voice. You nodded, eyes squeezed tight against the pleasure, and another soft whimper left your throat. “You’re taking my cock so well, baby,” he murmured; you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten at his praise. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, please, please…”

He quickened his pace even more, hips snapping into yours hard enough now to apply deliciously pleasant friction to your clit. You couldn’t have stopped the sounds leaving your mouth even if you wanted to; every thrust of his cock made you come undone a little more. The pleasure radiated throughout your entire body, making you feel slightly lightheaded.

Suna placed both hands on the backs of your knees and lifted them, pressing your legs towards your chest. The new angle of your hips allowed his cock to press into that spot inside you that made your breath burn in your lungs. The feeling was unbelievable; you had never felt pleasure like this before.

Your eyes snapped open. Suna was staring down, watching his cock sink repeatedly into your dripping wet pussy. When your hand gave his shoulder a small squeeze he looked up, eyes locking with yours. His face was etched with determination, all of his efforts going towards making you feel good. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his eyes contained something that you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice was husky, gaze burning with desire.

“Yes, Rin, please don’t stop,” you breathed out between gasps.

He kept his pace consistent, hitting that sweet spot over and over and over again. Your nails were digging into his back, leaving tiny crescent-shaped indentations in his skin. The knot in your stomach was tightening, tightening, tightening—

“Rintarou!” you cried out as the second orgasm overtook you, breath catching in your chest. Your legs trembled under Suna’s hands as he kept fucking you through it, groaning as your pussy clenched around him.

He could feel himself getting closer. He slowed his pace, leaning over to press hard kisses into your neck as you came down from your high. When your breathing started to even out, his lips moved up over your jaw and to your mouth. You kissed him greedily, hands moving to entwine themselves in his hair.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse. He was still moving against you, cock pumping slowly in and out of your pussy.

“Ah… oh,” was all you could manage to squeak out.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled his nose against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “Where, baby?”

“Inside… I want you to cum inside me,” you whispered.

With a groan, Suna started thrusting into you harder again. The wetness between your legs was audible with each stroke of his cock, and the sound of it only made him come closer to the edge. The sensation against your clit was pushing you into overstimulation, tears springing up in the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure. You reached down with one hand to grasp at his thigh, nails digging into the muscles working to join him to you, desperately trying to pull him closer, closer.

“God, I’m so close…” he murmured, face held so near to yours that your noses bumped each time he pounded into you.

“Oh, you feel so good,” you moaned.

“Can you say my name, baby?” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

“Rin,” you sighed, and his hips snapped into you almost urgently. “Please cum, Rin, I want you to cum for me…”

He buried his face in your neck, groaning deeply as he came. “Fuck.” You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, hot cum spurting deep into your pussy.

He was still for a moment, breathing hard against your skin, before slowly pulling out and rolling over to lie beside you. You felt some of his cum drip out of you, blushing at the sensation. The two of you were silent for a while, your panting breaths the only sounds in the room.

“How was that?” Suna asked eventually, turning onto his side to face you. You suddenly found yourself unable to look at him, pressing your face instead into the crook of his neck and humming contentedly. He chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” he asked, an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice.

“Not at all,” you told him. “I liked it.”

You fell silent again. With your body pressed up against his, you could feel the beat of his heart, slowly steadying from its rapid pace. His skin was so warm, and you didn’t even mind the slight sheen of sweat covering both your bodies. You took a breath, inhaling his scent; you couldn’t describe what he smelled like, you just knew that he smelled good.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you must have been lying there for at least a quarter hour. You lifted your head to look at him and saw that his eyes were closed. Did he fall asleep?

“Rin?” you asked tentatively.

“Hmm?” His response was a low rumble in his chest; you could feel the vibrations against your palm. His eyes were still closed.

“Why were you nervous before?” You wriggled in his arms a bit, trying to get a better view of his face. “I mean, it wasn’t your first time.”

He opened his eyes, only to glance at you briefly before turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “It was my first time with you,” he mumbled, so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

With your hand still on his chest you could feel when his heart started beating faster. Peering at his face in the dark, you could have sworn you saw Suna Rintarou blush.

--

➣ masterlist

[aggressivelyclueless]

ouija board

in which it gets out of hand. . . but only a little

warnings: v spooky

(heads up this one’s kinda long, whoops lol)

(@qoinq-qhost u were looking for more danny being a lil shit? vvvv)

Sam was just about ready to get the seance rolling.  Thundery and weeping outside, candlelight inside - it seemed like a good night for it.  This time around, there were four of them: her, of course; Felicity, from third-hour, had brought the board; her bestie Star (who Sam had almost uninvited, as she hadn't been deemed goth enough, but she owed Felicity a favour and letting this slip was it); and Star's boyfriend-of-the-week, Jake (also not goth, and very much on thin ice).

They sat clustered together on the full-moon rug in Sam's room, a jumbo bag of Chex Mix forgotten on the floor by Jake's backpack.  Only the little brown bits were left.  "You're host," Felicity was saying, scooting up into a proper cross-legged sitting position and centering the board on the carpet between them.  She produced the most important piece - the polished wooden planchet - and dropped it into Sam's waiting palm.  "You start."

Star opened her mouth, almost thought better of it, and then asked, "Are we going to get a demon?"

"That's not how this works," said Felicity, shooting Sam a look to keep her quiet.  Felicity had the tolerance for questions like those, and the patience not to be cross.  "We're not summoning demons.  We're communing with the dead.  There's a difference."

"Is it still going to be scary?"

Sam bit her tongue.  With luck, it would be, and she wouldn't have to deal with Star's antics next time, whether they were at her house or not.

"I don't know," said Felicity, "Maybe.  We've never done one at this house before.  We might not get a ghost at all."

Sam shrugged, setting the puck down in the center of the board and keeping her first two fingers on it.  The others scooted closer, getting comfortable, and followed suit.  The candleflames throughout the room were perfectly still.

"Is there anyone here with us tonight?"

For a moment: nothing.  She glanced up into the empty air, as if she could spot a slinking shadow on the wall or a flickering shape hovering by the ceiling.  She couldn't, even though she wanted to.

Then the slight pull of the token under their collective fingers, and the drawn scraping sound as it crawled slowly across the board: YES.

So they weren't going to come up empty tonight.  She glanced over at Star, wondering how intense things would get before she'd bail.  Sam was certain that, at some point, she would, or maybe she was getting her hopes up.  Star didn't exactly look like goth material.  All things considered, this was probably the wrong scene for her.

But she had owed Felicity that favour.

"Why are you here, spirit?" Felicity asked, shifting a little in place.  Right to the point.

The planchet under their fingers was still.  Sam knew the rules better than anyone: if the ghost chose to answer, it would have to tell the truth.

The ghost chose not to.

Star's eyes darted to Felicity, but there was a hesitation before she spoke.  When she did, the words were wrung-out and barely there.  "Ask him if he's friendly."

"You ask him," said Jake, nudging her with an elbow.  Between the four of them, he was the least invested in the endeavor, seeming more bored than anything.  He shrugged, trying to scoot his letter jacket a little higher on his shoulders without having to take his fingers off the puck.  The jacket refused.

"Okay."  Star took a deep breath, turning her eyes back to the board.  The planchet, for the time being, rested on YES.  "Ghost," she said, somewhat uncomfortable at directly addressing the dead, "Do you mean us harm?"

Immediately, she could feel the wooden puck go cold under her touch.  It slid off YES, veered partway across the board, and went still again.  The chill at her fingertips vanished.

"Don't like the looks of that," muttered Felicity.  "Sam, you think we should call this one off?"

Sam gave it a moment of consideration.  "I don't know.  Maybe, but not yet.  Let me try once."  She cleared her throat.  "Spirit - will you tell us your name?"

The planchet didn't have to think about it this time.  Star could feel the cold tingling in her fingers again as it moved, slowly but deliberately, and spelled out: JAMES.  She frowned.

"What's your purpose here, James?" Felicity ventured, but the ghost revealed nothing.  The silence stretched on; finally, she sighed.  "Doesn't like me much, does he?"

"I don't know," said Star, which she thought sounded better than a flat-out no.  It didn't do any good; Felicity was already looking a little put-out, and Star reached up with her free hand and patted her on the shoulder.  "Don't feel bad.  We still like you plenty, even if that silly ghost doesn't."

Sam fought back a groan of distaste.  Whatever Felicity saw in Star, Sam was seeing none of it.  She wanted to tune Star out, didn't want to see her so distracted as if communing with the dead was a mere game.

If things started to hit the fan, Sam was sure she'd never want to come again.  In fact, she was starting to count on it.

But would provoking the ghost be worth it?  "James," she said, still contemplating it, "Why are you here?  What is it you're seeking?"

The puck meandered for a moment, as if conflicted.  It rested on the empty part of the board between F and S, turned around, and aimed mostly toward H.

That was when Star jerked her hand back, as if the planchet had burned her.  All of a sudden she seemed to be paying attention; Sam wondered if she had finally realized what, exactly, they were dealing with.  Whether she did or not, it was too late.  She'd disrupted the connection.

Sam had never seen it, but she'd heard the stories of what happened at sessions when someone did that.

Every single candle around the room went out at once.

"Star, what the hell," said Felicity, "Remember how earlier I said you couldn't do that - "

Star's already-high-pitched voice was pinched.  "Sorry, sorry!  It's just it got cold all of a sudden, I thought he wanted me to - "

Sam scowled in the dark.  "What are you talking about, no it didn't - "

"It did so!  Just now!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I knew we shouldn't have invited you - "

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

The flash of lightning through the window made the ghost into a spindly and angular silhouette, floating in the air by the glass and jolting Star and Sam both out of their argument.  The planchet on the board, still under six fingers but by now forgotten, shot out from under them and flew across the room, bouncing off the side of the desk and skittering somewhere under the bed.

Oh, it was hitting the fan now, all right.  "This is your fault," Sam hissed through her teeth, glowering in Star's direction, but already her mind was racing to find a way to appease the disturbed spirit.  She'd held plenty of seances before, but generally found audience with lesser or fragmented dead.  Only twice had she been forced to close a session early.

Never had she met such an angry spirit before - and not only was it angry, it was in her room.

"Ideas," Felicity snapped, in an effort to keep Sam from boiling over, and in the same effort to keep Star from tears, "What do we do?"

"Run, maybe?" said Jake, but the sharp and thunderous BANG from the walls around them cut him off.  His eyes darted to the door, but it slammed itself shut before he could get up to his feet and make his escape.

"Hold on a sec, guys," said Sam, "Jake, sit down, we're not done yet - hang on, I said!  I got a flashlight."  She groped for her backpack, brushed over one of eight plushy spider feet, and yanked it unceremoniously into her lap.  Half-unzipping it, she produced the promised flashlight and clicked it once, twice, a handful of times in quick succession as nothing happened.  "Shit.  Shit shit shit - "

"There," Star whispered, her eyes fixed on the shadowy side of the room behind the bed.  She pointed with one manicured finger, making the rest of them turn to look.

The ghost was only there for an instant, hanging in the air as a smoky and ill-defined shadow against the hazy grey light from the window, but flickered away an instant later.  The pounding rain outside almost masked the haunt's staticky and echoing laughter.

Felicity put a hand over Sam's and tried not to squeeze it too hard.  Her fingernails dug in a little anyhow.  "Do you think we can still close this out?"  She didn't sound too hopeful.

"No," said Star, with a sudden and bone-chilling certainty.  "He's staying."

Sam looked over at her, agape.  How can you know that? she wanted to say, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't force it to move.  Star's eyes were on her; just for a moment, Sam swore there was a glint of something behind their usual blue-grey, but it was there and gone before she could be sure.

"We're staying," she said again, and this time Sam heard the echo in it, and this time the glint of green in her eyes lingered.  The ghost had her, appearing as a dark and swaying wisp in the air behind her, hands on her shoulders, keeping her still and calm.  Her eyes - the ghost's seyes - were on Sam, and a sudden, absurd thought struck her:

Isn't James his middle name?

The knot of rising terror in Sam's gut broke, and cold tingling relief poured over her.  For a moment she let it, willing the adrenaline to fade and the pounding heartbeat in her ears to settle, and then shifted gears.

That sonofabitch, I'll kill him for this one.

"No, you're not."

Star's head and the shadow's head cocked to one side in unison.  "No?"

Sam was locked on the spirit but her voice was directed at Felicity (and Jake, but to a lesser extent).  "Come here."

Felicity hesitated.  "What, are you serious - ?"

"Come here," Sam snapped, setting her first two fingers on the center of the board, ignoring the fact that the planchet was still misplaced somewhere under the bed.

"I don't like this," Felicity whispered, but followed Sam's lead regardless.

Star's fingers came out and rested gingerly on top, and Sam was certain that, underneath the veneer of shadows, the ghost was smiling.

"You listen to me, James," Sam commanded, with a seriousness that made Felicity and Jake both flinch, "You'd better get out of here."

Star's mouth turned up in a smile.  "And why's that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll banish you into next week."

"Sam," Felicity breathed, "I don't think that's such a good idea - "

"I'll do it," Sam reiterated, cutting Felicity off.

The smils on Star's face widened.  "Promise?"

Then the fingers on the board were moving, overcome by a pins-and-needles sensation that turned the board to static beneath them, and came to rest solidly over GOOD-BYE.

"See you then. . . "

Sam looked over and Star looked back at her with those big blue eyes.  She didn't seem distraught but Sam had to wonder how much of what had happened she'd remember.  She'd heard on several occasions that those puppeteered by the dead didn't tend to recall the influence, and Star wasn't horribly upset.

Still - she felt that ghost had crossed a line somewhere.  Crashing a seance, fine.  Overshadowing at said seance, even if he'd picked the least-favourite attendee?

That didn't sit right.

"You okay, Star?"

Star blinked once, twice, then cocked her head to one side and smiled.  "Of course I'm okay," she said, as if she hadn't been overshadowed at all, but the next thing out of her mouth, spoken with the utmost certainty, sent a chill down Sam's spine.

"He wasn't really going to hurt me, you know.  He let you win."

- - - -

Sam shut the door as the others left and then rounded on the ghost.  "I know you're still here.  There's no way you'd dip after a stunt like that."

(Damn right I wouldn't) said the shadowy thing under the bed, hauling himself out of the darkness a moment later.  In the light from the ceiling fixture overhead, the shadows fell apart, relenting to his more human texture and shape, and he shook the dustbunnies off once he got up to his feet.  In his hand was the forgotten token that went with Felicity's board, and he held it out to her.  "This is yours?"

Sam grabbed it from him, and only then did he get the impression that she wasn't entirely happy with him.  "You could have given me a heads-up, y'know."

"Hey, I was in the area, thought you could use a hand.  For goth cool points, or whatever."  Danny shrugged, leaning back and half-sitting on the side of the bed.  "I mean they do think you can scare off a real ghost now."

"And what the hell was with you overshadowing Star?" Sam went on, and at last the dopish grin at the corner of Danny's mouth vanished.  "So, okay, maybe I didn't want her to come.  But that doesn't mean you get to - "

"Wait, wait, hold on," Danny put a hand up in concession, "I didn't - well, I mean I did, but.  Listen for a sec, okay?  You don't like her, fine.  But I think something's up."

"Something's up," said Sam, nonplussed.  She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly in the desk chair and making it creak.  "You overshadowing people as a joke is what.  And whatever you were telling her in there, guess what  She remembers it now."

"That's what's up," said Danny impatiently, "I didn't tell her anything."

That made Sam pause.  "What?"

"You heard me.  But that's not it, let me say something else too.  I swear I'm not making this up: she saw me the second I drifted in the window.  I'm invisible and she's looking right at me.  The whole time.  It was like she was watching me."

"Bullshit," said Sam, wanting to believe it was.

Danny shook his head.  "You heard what she said.  After you banished me into next week."

"That you let me win," Sam recalled slowly.  In the moment, it had struck her as dumb-chills naivety on Star's part, but the way that Danny talked made it sound like she was serious.  Perhaps she'd just wanted to think that Star was that stupid.

"She knew it, and I didn't tell her.  I'm dead serious, Sam, she practically invited me to overshadow her.  I didn't even have to go all the way in her.  You saw it."

Sam had most definitely seen it.  "And what does this mean for the rest of us?  Or for you?  You're gonna tell me - what, she's going to miraculously guess you're half-ghost too?"

"I don't know - but you saw her the same as I did.  She wasn't scared of me.  Hell, I gave you guys a name and she was the one that didn't call me by it.  Like she knew it wasn't quite right."

"I get it," said Sam, thinking that maybe she would have been just as well off not calling him that either, "But what are we supposed to do about it?  Are you saying we should invite her onto the team?  Or what?"

Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair and letting it come to rest on the back of his neck.  He shrugged helplessly, his gaze picking out dustbunnies and imperfections in the floorboards at his feet.  "I don't know yet.  Keep an eye on her, maybe.  See if she starts saying things.  She's not as stupid as she looks, Sam.  Low bar, I know, but the last thing I need right now is somebody else to have to watch out for.  I know you don't like her.  I'm not asking you to."

He met her eyes then,  and the earnestness in them struck her.

"Just, don't let that put her in the way, okay?"

[kellanved-ammanas]

No Need to Worry

Medic was jerked back into consciousness by the world lurching, bouncing up and landing hard. Gunshots came from somewhere nearby and then a bit further away, punctured by the familiar crack of a sniper rifle. If a gun fight was going on why was he lying here instead of helping?

With a surprising amount of effort, he forced open his eyes. Seems he was lying on his side, his head resting on something soft, in the back of Engie’s truck as it sped recklessly down a bumpy road. All he could see was the truck bed’s wall, the gunshots were coming from behind him. He tried to sit up to turn and look but… couldn’t.

“You’re awake!”

Turns out the soft thing his head was resting on was Pyro’s lap who continued in an urgent, worried tone. Unfortunately, his mask rendered his exact words indecipherable over the rumble of the road and continued firefight going on behind them.

Medic took a breath to ask him to speak slower and explain what was going on here but before he could even complete it, he coughed, bringing the coppery taste of blood that had been lingering in the back of his throat to the front. Right, yeah, he’d been shot. Turns out his enemies could find him even all the way out here in the middle of a barren American desert. How many times had he been hit though? He couldn’t recall much beyond the first shot taking him by surprise.

Pyro said something more, his hand giving Medic’s shoulder a slight squeeze. But again, his mask betrayed him, making him impossible to understand.

Regardless, if Medic was coughing up blood that meant he’d been hit in the lung by at least one bullet. He should check for exit wounds as well as determine exactly how many times he’d been shot. Pyro had already lain him on his side and no doubt knew enough to have bandaged him up too. A good start. When they got back to base and his lab he could… could… Darkness ate at the edges of his vision, threatening to pull him back under and making it hard to think.

A bad sign but nothing he couldn’t handle; he was one of the greatest doctors who’d ever lived. Dealing with one to… however many gunshot wounds to the chest was no biggie, he dealt with that kind of thing often. … Except his hands were cold to the point of being numb, his attempts to flex his fingers failing. How could he perform surgery like that? He should ask Pyro to warm them up for him. That would be nice actually. He always liked holding Pyro’s hand.

Somewhere nearby the sniper rifle went off again followed by Scout letting out a loud celebratory whoop, pulling Medic back towards proper consciousness a little. “Wow Snipes, you got their driver with that one, way to go! His fucking head exploded! That’ll teach those bastards to mess with us!”

Sniper responded with something, his voice low and fading as Medic started slipping under again despite his best efforts to fight it. Scout said something else and Pyro responded to him but was impossible to understand as was often the case when his emotions were running high.

Medic wanted to assure him that it would be fine, there was no need to worry; getting shot in the lung wasn’t a good place to be shot but it was far from the worst. But again, any attempt at taking anything more than the shallowest of breaths brought a fit of painful coughing instead, bringing more frothy blood up into his mouth.

***

Just when Pyro’s hopes had been raised by Medic waking up they were dashed again as he went limp, his weak coughing fit quickly petering out. Pyro had done everything he could but it didn’t seem to be helping. Blood had already soaked all the way through the bandages on both sides of Medic’s body and through Pyro’s attempt to further bind the worst of the wounds with Medic’s coat. And it was hard to tell with how fast Engie was driving, making the ride bumpy and uneven, but his breaths seemed to be getting shallower and shallower with each one. They’d been loud and ragged when Pyro had first got him in the truck but now, even while leaning in as close as he could from this position, they were no longer audible. And... Medic seemed awfully limp and still.

Already glove-less, Pyro moved his hand, slick with blood, to Medic’s neck. He held it there, firm and steady as he could but… no pulse. He held it there a while longer. The ride was awful bumpy though, so much so that checking for a pulse was most likely a waste of time. And thus Pyro knew nothing new about Medic’s condition.

But… even if Medic was still alive, it couldn’t be for much longer. His entire torso was soaked through with red, his back too to only a somewhat lesser degree, not every bullet having an exit wound. Pyro may have gained some medical knowledge through all his years hanging out and often helping Medic in his lab but he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t stop Medic from bleeding out even if the circumstances were ideal for him to try, which this most certainly wasn’t. In fact, he probably hadn’t even delayed it for long. If Medic wasn’t dead already he would be soon and there wasn’t…

“Pyro!” Scout’s voice was sharp, indicating he’d been trying to get Pyro’s attention for some time now.

At some point Pyro had begun rocking back and forth as he held Medic’s limp body to himself. He stopped now as he looked over at Scout and Sniper to find they’d both turned to face him as they held their guns in their laps.

“Is Medic… you know?” Scout made a gesture that even despite its vagueness, he could only be asking one thing, right?

Pyro resumed rocking. He wanted to scream, ‘no’, deny it, deny everything. But despite often being mistaken as such, he was neither naive nor stupid. Losing this much blood wasn’t something many people survived. Medic could bring someone back from the brink like this, in fact, he’d down so and more in the past, but obviously, he couldn’t this time. So… “I think so.”

“That was a ‘no’, right pal?” Scout said. “You’re kinda hard to understand when you’re, uh… when you’re not speaking clear and stuff so…”

Switching to only holding Medic’s body with one arm, Pyro lifted a hand to unclasp his mask and throw it to the side. Both Scout and Sniper gasped at that but Pyro didn’t care anymore. How could he possibly care about anything else when Medic was dead? “He’s gone. I’m pretty sure.” He hadn’t brought up any more blood in labored attempts at breath for far too long now and hadn’t even so much as twitched either. Pyro could try check his pulse again or demand they stop so he could do so more accurately now that Sniper had taken out their pursuers but… what good could it really do? He could also flip him onto his back and try CPR but could it actually be helpful when Medic’s chest was full of so many holes they had no way to stopper?

“Fuck,” Sniper swore under his breath. “That’s uh… fuck.”

“Maybe, it’s not too late yet,” Scout said, “I mean, you died that one time and… or uh, it was Medic who brought you back, huh? And well, he can’t bring himself back so… never mind. Sorry.”

He was right. Medic had brought Pyro back from the dead a couple years ago so that was a possibility. Of course, Medic was the only one they knew who could perform such a feat but if he could do it so could someone else, theoretically. Especially since he’d written about it and how he’d done it in a notebook whichPyro knew the location of.He’d even gone over it a couple times. It was far too complex for him to be able to even understand but using it, another particularly intelligent and skilled medical professional might be able to pull off the same feat. So maybe, just maybe, hope was indeed not quite lost yet.

Gingerly, Pyro placed Medic’s body to the side, allowing him to lean forward and snatch the headset off Scout’s head. He made a noise of surprised protest but Pyro ignored him as he put it on. It should already be tuned to connect to the radio up in the front of the truck where Engie was driving so… “Engie! It’s me Pyro. Take us to the BLU base.”

“Uh… come again? Pyro? Your voice sounds awful clear, you’re not wearing your mask?”

“I took it off. It doesn’t matter. Take us to the BLU base.”

“Why? Shouldn’t we be hurrying back to our base to help Medic?”

“No. BLU base. We’re going to kidnap their doctor.”

There was a short silence as everyone processed that before Engie replied. “Well, all righty then. BLU base it is.”

~

Part of Pyro regretted not accepting Scout's offer to go with him, Spy, and Sniper to hunt down the assholes who'd tried to kill Medic to make sure any of them who'd survived the crash didn't survive much longer. He wanted to be here when things were declared one way or the other, of course, but the waiting was so hard.

He paused in his pacing to look over at the operating table in the center of the lab. Medic lay still on it, dead. Horribly, horribly dead. Bled out in Pyro’s arms as everything he’d done hadn’t been enough. What if the BLU doctor’s efforts also weren’t enough? He was smart sure but not as talented as Medic.

Could he even be trusted? Yeah, sure, upon being given Medic’s notes he’d shown interest at the thought of attempting to bring Medic back from the dead solely for the sake of it and thus would likely do his best to make it work, right? But he was still the enemy. It’s not like they had any other options though so… Pyro resumed pacing. Pretending to guard the room lest the rest of BLU try to get their doctor back and somehow made it through the rest of the team standing by for them or anyone else who might try to take advantage of Medic being down and the turmoil that caused to attack the base. But really, he was just too worried about Medic to leave the room and too filled with anxious energy to stay still.

~

“Spy wanted us to capture one alive,” Scout spoke softly as he reported to Pyro to avoid disturbing the BLU doctor’s work, “you know, to figure out who they are and why they were so gung-ho about wanting Medic dead. But then we kinda got a bit carried away. Or I did actually and Sniper too kinda. But they tried to kill Medic… or did kill Medic, so how were we supposed to resist the urge to explode all their heads, huh?”

Pyro nodded. He understood and would’ve done the same. The why didn’t matter as far as he was concerned as long as the bastards were all dead he didn’t care.

“So how are things looking here? You think the BLU doc can bring ours back?”

Pyro could only shrug.

~

Heavy had brought food. It had even looked and smelled like it would probably taste good. But Pyro hadn’t been able to bring himself to do anything more than pick at it. It was cold now, sitting on the counter by the door where Heavy had left it however long ago that had been. Pyro picked up the fork and poked at it some more. He should eat. If Medic were here he’d insist Pyro eat and then probably rest but… how could he possibly do either right now?

With a sigh, he dropped the fork, letting it clatter to the plate as he turned to look towards the operating table again. The BLU doctor was still working on Medic, thankfully intrigued enough to be diligent about it. Pyro had gone over to ask him for updates several times, always getting terse impatient replies that basically boiled down to ‘go away’. But as long as he didn’t declare failure, there was hope.

How long had it been though? Too long for it to be possible to bring Medic back? Because it had been a long while now… or at least it felt like it had. Pyro had never been the best at internally keeping track of time. So maybe it hadn’t been too terribly long at all and thus it was still too soon to tell if...

“Ah-ha! I did it!” the BLU doctor shouted, triumphant. “I brought him back to life! He’s breathing again!”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Pyro started over, almost sprinting. He skidded to a halt on the other side of the table from the BLU doctor, ignoring him as he leaned to examine Medic. Still scarily pale but indeed breathing again and steady too. His hand was warm as Pyro took it in both of his. It may have been wishful thinking or imagination but it felt as if his hand may have twitched ever so slightly at the contact.

“Of course,” the BLU doctor continued, “there’s still a chance he won’t wake up and might just pass away again or be in a coma for the rest of his life. But he’s technically alive again so that’s really all I care about here.”

Pyro was too relieved to feel much annoyance at the nonchalant tone and insinuation that Medic recovering and waking up didn’t matter much. Especially since him being alive again meant he was likely to wake up too… hopefully. “Stay near in case we need you again.”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to see how well it worked anyway. But for now, I’m gonna go find an empty bed to take a nap in.”

Letting him walk away probably wasn’t a smart move. Pyro should make him stay while he called for backup to make sure someone kept an eye on him as he was not only still their captive but also part of the enemy team. But… Pyro couldn’t quite bring himself to care enough to go to so much trouble, he was too focused on the gentle rise and fall of Medic’s chest and the way some colour had returned to his face, even if it wasn’t much yet. The pattern of stitches on his chest wasn’t the same as the scarring on Pyro’s from the same procedure but it had some similarities. There was more too of course as the damage had been more spread out. His scarring was going to be bad, worse than Pyro’s, but that was okay.

What if he didn’t wake up though? Just because Pyro had woken up after being brought back from the dead didn’t mean it was guaranteed to happen here too. Especially since a different doctor had performed the procedure. So this could easily…

“I assume it worked.”

Flinching and grabbing for a weapon he didn’t have on him, Pyro snapped around. Spy stood a few feet away, holding an unlit cigarette between his index and middle finger; he’d learned not to stand directly behind people even if he somehow hadn’t yet learned not to sneak up on them in general.

“He’s alive again?” he continued, unfazed by Pyro’s reaction.

Letting himself relax, Pyro nodded. He didn’t have to, he could’ve used words as he hadn’t bothered to put his mask back on yet – he’d been too distracted by Medic’s condition to grab it out of the truck bed when getting out – meaning he could be understood even when not up to speaking loudly. But he still preferred not to.

“That’s good to hear. I will inform the others. But first, where did the BLU doctor go?”

Pyro shrugged. “Left to take a nap.”

Spy let out a disappointed sigh. “You know what direction he went in then?”

The only thing he could reply with was another shrug before turning back to face Medic again. The BLU doctor hadn’t bothered to do the post-surgery cleanup. So before the worry about Medic possibly not ever waking up could sink its claws into him again, he set to it. He’d assisted Medic with such enough times by now that he knew how to do it even by himself.

When he was done, he looked back over at Spy who was just about to exit through the lab’s main door. “Help me move him to a more comfortable bed?”

Spy paused, turning to look back at him “You know how to do so safely?”

Pyro nodded. He was pretty sure at least. Moving patients – or in some cases, people Medic was performing medical experiments on and thus didn’t really count as proper patients according to him – around safely was something he’d been helping with for a while now. Of course he’d never had to do it without Medic being in charge of the whole operation so maybe he shouldn’t try it here with just Spy’s help.

“Very well. I will get Heavy to assist you with that.” With that, Spy exited, letting the door swing shut behind him.

He was probably right about Heavy being best to help with that kind of thing. Unfortunately that left Pyro alone with his thoughts and worries again. Nothing he could do about it but wait and hope for the best though.

***

It had been a long while since Medic had last woken up in one of the hospital rooms. Pyro has long since prodded him into having a better sleep cycle – or at least sort of and most of the time – resulting in him not often being the lab late enough to be too tired to want slog to the other side of the base to his real room, resulting in him napping in one of the recovery beds instead. And yet here he was, staring up at that ceiling and feeling like shit.

Had he got drunk last night for some reason? … No. Last thing he remembered was being surprised by an unfortunately familiar face and then getting shot in the chest. That would explain why he felt like shit. It wasn’t a result of his own hubris this time at least. Not that that was much of a consolation.

Well, even if he could’ve gladly gone back to sleep, he wanted to know what happened. Clearly if he’d survived it was all fine now and couldn’t have been too bad. Someone else might’ve been seriously injured though and in trouble so with a sigh, he sat up. The thin blanket fell away from him, bringing to his attention the fact that his chest was bare. He looked down at it, expecting to see a bandage over one or two bullet wounds but instead saw far more stitches than anyone else on the team would’ve been able to do on their own. Indicating quite a bit more had happened past where his memory ended than he’d thought.

Gingerly, he moved his legs over so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t stand up yet though because a portable cot had been set up a foot or so away from the bed. Pyro lay on it, asleep and curled up in a loose ball, facing Medic. His mask and gloves were nowhere to seen and his boots had been slipped off on the floor by foot of the cot. Other than that though he still wore his suit. Which was something he almost never did except when too exhausted to take it off before essentially passing out. Which meant he was likely very much in need of uninterrupted rest but also, he undoubtedly knew what happened and had obviously been quite concerned and thus would probably appreciate and update sooner rather than later so…

Medic stood, holding back a groan at how stiff and achy his whole body. Trying to stretch it out didn’t do much good and actually hurt a little. He had to pause to collect the sheet as whatever had happened ended with him not having any clothing for some reason. Once it was about a secure as he could be bothered to make it, he stepped closer to the cot, intending to wake Pyro with a kiss to the forehead and caress on the cheek as was how he usually woke him when such was needed. But not only did he not feel up to bending that far but also, waking an exhausted and thus no doubt frazzled mercenary by touch was rarely a good idea. “Pyro, wake up,” he said instead

No response.

“Py, dear, I need you to wake up for me. Just for a little bit.”

This time, at the louder tone, Pyro twitched and groaned before his eyes fluttered open. He looked blearily up at Medic for a second or two and then shot upright. Scrambling out of the cot and half falling off it in his rush to stand. For a moment he looked as if he were going to pull Medic up into a tight hug but refrained himself. “You’re awake,” was what he said instead, his voice breathy with relief. “You’re awake.”

Before Medic could respond, Pyro took his hand in one of his and lifted it to kiss his knuckles. “I love you. I’m glad you’re okay.” He gave Medic’s hand one more kiss before letting it go free.

“It was that bad, huh?” Seemingly far worse than Medic had thought.

Pyro nodded, his stance shifting uneasily.

As much as Medic wanted to comfort him, he needed to know what happened first so… “What happened?”

Pyro was silent for a few seconds, long enough that it seemed almost like he wasn’t going to reply before he finally spoke. “You’re not going to like it. But I had no choice. It was the only option so we had to try and it worked so it was worth it. It’s okay if you’re still mad though. I’m sorry.”

This was looking worse and worse with every new thing. Medic refrained from interrupting though even as Pyro hesitated for a few seconds as he seemed to gather his thoughts before bursting out with it at last.

“You died. So we kidnapped the BLU team’s doctor and gave him the notes you made form when you brought me back to life and had him do it to you.”

Medic’s first instinct was to be mad. He didn’t share his scientific discoveries with just anyone. Those were his accomplishments, he didn’t like to give others the chance to steal them and take credit before he could publish them himself; he’d learned that lesson so long ago it was even before he’d lost his medical license. But as he opened his mouth to express that anger, he stopped himself, biting back on it. If Pyro hadn’t done that he would be dead… still. Even with being the one who’d discovered it was possible to sometimes bring someone back from the dead, that was still an uncomfortable realization. He’d been dead! …

Well at least his method had gotten another successful test – he’d tried a few more times himself but never had he had a corpse fresh enough for it to work. But still the BLU doctor, really? Why’d it have to be him? … Because Tuefort’s shoddy hospital hosted only barely competent doctors and nurses so there hadn’t been any real choice in the matter.

“I’m sorry,” Pyro said again.

“There is no need to be sorry. I’m grateful.” Being not dead was more important than the other stuff.

Pyro shuffled a bit closer before finally embracing Medic. He was far gentler than he usually was, even exaggerating it a bit, as if afraid of hurting Medic. Which was actually appreciated with how awful Medic still felt. As always it was a bit awkward to hug him while he was wearing his suit but it didn’t matter.

Now, Medic still needed the full story. The one part he did remember was hazy and he still needed to know if anyone else had been hurt and what had become of his killers – if they knew they were still alive themselves and knew that they’d ultimately failed, they’d be back. But anything urgent would’ve already been taken care of so it could wait until they were both more comfortable and well rested. First… “Let’s go to bed,” he said as he pulled back.

With obvious reluctance Pyro pulled back too, nodding. Surprise faded, he looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t eaten lately either. Another something Medic would have to address later, proper sleep in a proper bed came first for both of them.

Medic glanced around, looking for Pyro’s mask. He rarely went places others might see him without it. But… it didn’t seem to be here and there wasn’t exactly anywhere it could hide. He turned to look at Pyro again who’d moved to wait by the door, seemingly unconcerned about its absence. “Where yours mask?”

“I left in Engie’s truck. I took it off so I could talk better. It was hard to care about all that when you were… dead.” Well, whether that counted as progress toward getting less scared about having his face exposed around everyone was hard to say but it didn’t really matter.

“You want to go get it before we head to bed?” Medic didn’t want to slog all the way to the garage but he’d do it for Pyro and only Pyro.

He thought about it for a couple seconds before shaking his head. “I’m tired.”

Medic could only agree with that so, letting Pyro hold the door open for him, he led the way out. As Pyro fell in step with him, he took hold on Medic’s hand, giving it firm squeeze that was just a bit too tight not entirely unwelcome though. Medic squeezed back, just as tight, offering whatever comfort that was worth. They’d talk more about it and everything else in the morning or whenever they woke up. For now it was just good to be alive and holding Pyro’s hand.

[joonie-beanie]

Present | Diluc x Reader

Word Count: 6,692

Pairing: Diluc x GN Reader (Traveler)

Preview: After realizing that Diluc never gives himself a chance to relax and enjoy the many festivals of Mondstadt, you and Kaeya come up with a plan to create a festival specifically for Diluc. One that he won't have a choice but to enjoy.

"I want this all to work, because more than anything, I want to see the look on that bastard’s face when he realizes we’ve created an event so perfect that he’ll have no reason not to relax. He’ll be pissed.”

In which Kaeya is a little shit, Diluc doesn't know what's coming, and you're a bit of a (love-stricken) fool.

Mondstadt, as the city of freedom, has no shortage of festivals.

Each year, there’s at least half a dozen festivals—well, official ones, at least. Sometimes Good Hunter or Angel’s Share just happen to be doing a special of sorts—you know, a new wine tasting, a limited-time seasonal recipe, and all of the sudden the entirety of Mondstadt is out enjoying themselves and creating a festival of their own.

During the first leg of your journey, when you’d crusaded with the Knights in order to stop Dvalin, you’d experienced your fair share of the city’s festivities. On a handful of occasions, you’d ended up nursing a glass of Dandelion wine—watching as Mondstadt’s residents mingled in the bars, and seeped out into the music filled streets.

Venti had a habit of putting on a show, his cheeks flushed pink as his melody entranced his audience. Jean tended to immerse herself in her work, but Lisa and Amber always managed to drag her away—the trio getting a bite to eat, and a bottle to share. And Kaeya…well, Kaeya could typically be found in Cat’s Tail—flirting his way through the evening with no shortage of confidence. And if he ever felt like being a bit more mischievous, he’d head over to Angel’s Share and see if he could rile Diluc’s feathers.

Speaking of…the red-headed winery owner never quite seemed to enjoy the liveliness of Mondstadt. No matter how much his workers tried to relieve him of his place behind the bar, he never opted to indulge himself. On occasion, he would leave Charles to run things by himself—quietly slipping out the back door and returning no more than 15 minutes later, not a hair out of place.

It wasn’t until after you’d figured out exactly who the Darknight Hero was that you realized what exactly it was he was doing in those short reprieves of his.

“You know,” you say, the evening of your last festival in Mondstadt. Diluc is making his way back in from the side gate—the masks of defeated Hilichurls left in the grass behind him. “You deserve a break.”

“The Knights use the city’s festivities as an excuse to get drunk and shirk their duties,” he responds, crimson gaze turning to you. “If I don’t keep an eye out, Mondstadt will be left undefended.”

“But that’s not fair to you!” Paimon argues over your shoulder, peeved on his behalf. “Even Master Diluc deserves some downtime!”

“I feel better when I’m doing something—slacking off doesn’t suit me.”

“It’s not slacking off it's relaxing,” you argue, scooting from your spot atop the short concrete wall and following after him once he makes his way up the stairs. “Everyone deserves to relax, especially you, Diluc.”

He sighs at your persistence, B-lining for the back door to the bar.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Y/N.”

“I don’t need to, but I am.”

He pauses in his stride, turning to look at you. Confusion creases his brow, as if he’s not used to anyone outside of his staff genuinely worrying for his well being.

He stares at you for a few seconds, his gaze flitting to the slight pout of your lips. Unfortunately, a little pout isn’t enough to break him.

“Please don’t worry, I promise I’m fine,” he says, his features softening. He doesn’t smile, but the look in his eye is enough to have your heart skipping a beat. Luckily, if your cheeks flush, it can easily be passed off as a side effect of the glass of alcohol you’d already downed.

Without waiting for a response, Diluc then strides forward and returns to the bar. You’re left alone in the street, staring after him--at least, until someone else saddles up beside you.

“I came looking for our dear old friend Diluc since I noticed he was gone, and here I find him out here with you,” Kaeya’s teasing voice reaches your ear. You glance over your shoulder at him, rolling your eyes when he cocks an insinuating brow.

“15 minutes is long enough for a quickie, no?”

“Oh hush,” you say, slapping the front of your hand against his chest. He chuckles.

“Hey, don’t tell me you would be opposed.”

You decide not to respond to that, opting to change the topic, and while Kaeya certainly notices, he chooses not to push it.

“You know,” you start. “Diluc never participates in these festivals because he knows the Knight’s are out enjoying themselves.”

“Ah, and by that you mean “Diluc hates the fact that the Knights are taking a break, and is busy masquerading as the Darknight Hero to protect the city instead, since he thinks we’re incompetent”.”

You wince at his wording. “Well…I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“But he would,” Kaeya scoffs. He eyes the drink in his hand, swirling the contents at the bottom of the glass. Silence stretches for a moment.

“You’re worried about him.”

“I think he just deserves to…I don’t know…enjoy himself??”

A grin stretches at Kaeya’s lips. “Well, if you show up in his bedroom wearing a cute little lingerie set I’m sure he’d—”

“Paimon, look! There’s Venti!” you hurriedly interrupt him, pointing at the intoxicated bard that has come into view just up the road. “Didn’t you say he owes you a meal at Good Hunter?!”

Luckily, the distraction works. Paimon gasps, realizing you’re right, and floats away from your side.

“Hey! Good for nothing bard! Time to pay up!”

You breathe a sigh of relief before turning a narrowed gaze on Kaeya. He holds his hands up innocently.

“Whoops~”

“You have no self-control,” you tell him with a huff, attempting to brush past him and head back into the bar. The cryo-user catches your wrist, however, before you can get too far. With little trouble, he tugs you backwards—your bottom bumping into a wooden table set out behind you, and you reach back to steady yourself. Kaeya places his hands on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

He smiles cheekily.

“If I had no self-control, you’d be flung over my shoulder as I carried you back to your lodgings.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Then what’s stopping you?”

The question isn’t teasing, but curious. This is far from the first time Kaeya has entered your personal space, or made naughty insinuations while around you. In fact, once before he had thrown you over his shoulder and attempted to escape, only to be stopped by Jean along the way.

This time, however, despite his bold words, he’s not moving to follow-through.

You hold his gaze, waiting for an answer, and he sighs.

Hanging his head, his soft hair brushes against the skin of your neck as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“Because…I think you’re right.”

“…what?”

“I think you’re right,” he repeats, finally taking a step back and giving you some space. There’s a disgruntled yet bashful look on his face.

“I think…maybe…Diluc should relax for a day. Even just an evening, really. I mean, after all, if he doesn’t relax every now and then he’ll age horribly.”

You breathe a laugh at that.

Pushing yourself up, you eye the Knight considerately.

“…you really do care about him, don’t you?”

Kaeya shoots you a look—one that obviously screams “don’t you dare say a word more”—and luckily for him, you don’t. At least, not about his secret concern for Diluc.

“So, if we want to get him to relax for once, how do we do it?”

Kaeya pauses, considering how exactly the two of you can take on this nearly-impossible task. It will be no easy feat to get Diluc to relax, even if only for a few hours. He doesn’t trust a majority of the Knights of Favonius, if any, so even if Kaeya recruited other Knights to guard the city during the next festival, he doubts Diluc would simply accept the increased defense in Mondstadt and relax.

No…of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“The city is too big,” Kaeya says, making his thoughts known. “Even if the Knights didn’t take a break during the next festival, and chose to patrol instead, I don’t think Diluc would see them as competent enough to actually prevent an attack. He’d assume they’re pouting about being on guard while the rest of the city is having fun, which…wouldn’t exactly be wrong, I’m afraid to admit.”

“Then…why not have a festival in a smaller area?” you suggest. “Maybe the area around the cathedral, or—”

“The winery…”

There’s a look of surprise on Kaeya’s face, like he’s taken aback by his own brilliant idea. But, the more you think about it, the winery would be a perfect place. The area to survey isn’t nearly as large as the entire city, and the winery is already bustling with staff that could help out with the preparations.

“That…yeah, that would definitely work,” you agree, feeling excited that this plan might actually be successful. But…then you remember your sibling, and the fact that you’re leaving for Liyue in the upcoming days, and your cheery demeanor quickly melts away. Kaeya, even while buzzed, is quick to notice.

“Leave all the preparation to me,” he says. “I can ask Jean, and Venti…maybe even Amber to help out too. I want this all to work, because more than anything, I want to see the look on that bastard’s face when he realizes we’ve created an event so perfect that he’ll have no reason not to relax. He’ll be pissed.”

You laugh at that. “Okay, I feel bad leaving you to do everything, but…I trust you, if only because I know your need to see him pissed off is genuine.”

“Perfect,” he says. “You just need to meet me at the Winery at noon exactly 30 days from now.”

“30 days from now?” you blink, head tilting to the side. “Why--?”

“April 30th,” he responds, not bothering to explain when you don’t register the significance of the date. “You’ll see. Just be there.”

“Got it,” you nod. “April 30th.”

Kaeya hums, pleased that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and then leans in. Before you can register the movement—too busy thinking about your and Kaeya’s newly formed scheme—you feel a pair of lips press against your cheek.

Kaeya smiles as he inches back.

“Now, be safe in Liyue, alright?”

As annoying and flirtatious as Kaeya can be at times, you sense a sincerity in his words and his actions.

“I will,” you promise softly, and with that, Kaeya turns and disappears back into the city. Two days later you leave Mondstadt behind as you make your way to Liyue, and never once do you forget to count down the days each time the sun sets.

Exactly 30 days after your conversation with Kaeya, you wake up in a bed at the Wanshu Inn. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, and you feel the most rested you’ve felt in the last month of traversing all over Liyue. You assume it’s thanks to being able to sleep in a real bed—not a sleeping bag, in a tent, with one eye open in case any monsters come your way.

No, after accepting a commission for the Inn, they’d offered you mora as a reward, and immediately you’d turned around and given it right back.

“Can I…have a room for the night, instead?”

Thankfully, they’d been more than happy to oblige.

“Today’s the day!” Paimon exclaims as the two of you make your way out of Wanshu, and up the road to the North. “We get to see all our friends from Mondstadt! Aren’t you excited??”

“Of course I am!” you respond with a quiet laugh, eyes trailed on the path ahead. It will be a few hours walk to make it to the winery, but you should make it there by noon no problem.

“I’m just…a little worried. I hope Kaeya’s planning went alright…”

“Oh, don’t start worrying about silly stuff!” Paimon scolds you. “We’ll be there soon, so don’t start thinking bad things! Just trust Kaeya, okay?”

You look at her curiously.

“…do you trust Kaeya?”

Paimon stares blankly. Then, she speeds up the path, arm outstretched.

“Okay! Let’s get a move on!”

You make it through the mountain pass between Mondstadt and Liyue just as the sun hits its highest point in the warm spring sky. Across the lake, you can spot the Dawn Winery and a smile tugs at your lips.

While you’re learning to love Liyue, Mondstadt and its people had been the first to come into your life. For that reason, the familiar sights and sounds have you feeling just a bit more at ease.

“Look! There’s Kaeya!”

Paimon points up the path, and you spot Kaeya’s blue hair in the distance. There are other figures bustling around him, and judging by their outfits, you can only assume they’re employees of Dawn Winery.

Seems like Kaeya did manage to get Diluc’s people in on the surprise.

“Kaeyaaaaa~” Paimon cries as she floats on ahead, catching the Knights’ attention. He smiles charmingly at spotting you both.

“My favorite mysterious traveler and Paimon! Welcome back to Mondstadt.”

“Good to be back,” you respond with a smile as you make your way up the small set of steps. Your gaze sweeps across the winery, and you note the tables that have been set out on one end of the patio. On the other is a small wooden stage, and on either side of the entrance are long banquet tables.

“I see you actually planned something. I’m impressed.”

Kaeya looks seriously offended at the comment.

“What? You thought I would forget? Do you really think that little of me?” he sighs dramatically, but smiles when you roll your eyes and smack his arm.

“Well, you did good, Captain Kaeya, I have to admit.”

“Thank you,” he responds, turning to survey the progress of the winery workers. It’d taken up a chunk of his free time—getting this all planned—but hopefully the look of disbelief on Diluc’s face will make it all worthwhile.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “What is the plan?”

“Well,” Kaeya starts. He crosses his arms, looking up to the sun in the sky. “Master Diluc is away on a trip to Starfell Lake to meet with a potential vendor for the winery. He should be back at…eh…I’d say 3, normally, but my guess is he’ll make some pit stops on the road home to take care of some rouge slimes and hilichurls, so let’s go with 4.”

You breathe a laugh, realizing he’s right. “Okay, fair. So until then it’s just preparation here, I’m guessing. What are we doing about defending the city?”

“Jean asked Lisa to lead a training exercise with the rest of the Knights. An all-night patrol of both the outside and inside of the city walls—a “test” of their will-power.”

“So…trying not to fall asleep on the job?”

Kaeya smiles. “Maybe.”

“Well, so long as the city is being protected, I can’t say anything. Hopefully that will be enough to reassure Diluc.”

“If it’s not, we can just force-feed him a few glasses of wine.”

Speaking of, you watch as two of the winery workers roll out a HUGE barrel of wine. Apparently, there are no holds barred when it comes to throwing an event for their master…

“We’re also using protection for the winery,” Kaeya pipes up, turning to stare to the North. “Amber managed to talk to that wolf boy, Razor, and he agreed to keep an eye out across Wolvendom. Amber volunteered herself to keep tabs on the area between here and Springville, so I don’t think the Abyss Order will get away with trying anything tonight.”

You nod, surprised at the lengths Kaeya had gone to make this a perfect chance for Diluc to relax.

“…god he’s gonna hate us for this,” you sigh, holding your face in your hands. You care about Diluc so much it’s insane, and the only thing you want for him is to take a little break, but man he is gonna be pissed.

“There there,” Kaeya says, patting your back. “No sense worrying now—everything is already in motion. For now, why don’t you see if you can help the preparations in some way? Everything needs to be perfect for Master Diluc, after all.”

You shoot him a disgruntled look. “Ugh, it’s so weird when you call him that. Stop it.”

“I think he gets off on it,” Kaeya responds, an amused glint in his eyes. “Maybe you should try calling him that when the two of you are alone—see if it makes him blush.”

“I’ll hurt you,” you deadpan.

“Maybe I get off on that.”

Wow, he doesn’t miss a beat.

Snorting a laugh, you turn away from him and move to help the winery staff. In just a few hours, you’ll see Diluc for the first time in too long (although you won’t admit that to anyone), and you want to do what you can to make this evening great for him.

Everything goes swimmingly until Jean arrives just before 4pm—jogging up to you and Kaeya with a perplexed look on her face.

“I know how important it is for there to be guards in order to get Master Diluc to relax, but a large number of slimes were spotted near Windrise, and with the Knights of Favonius doing their training exercise tonight in the city, I had no one available to send except Amber,” she explains with a sigh, rubbing her fingers against her forehead.

Worry knots in your throat, eyes scanning the crowd of people that have already gathered. Many of the guests are employees of the winery and patrons of Angel Share that Diluc gets along with. Only a handful of the people present have Visions, but asking any of them to give up being a part of the fun to go and stand watch in the nearby hills sounds like a terrible thing to do.

“Well--,” Kaeya interrupts your thoughts, rolling one of his shoulders. “Guess I’ll have to take over. My dear friend doesn’t seem to enjoy seeing my face around here anyway, so I might as well—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ll play guard.”

Both Kaeya and Jean pause.

“Y/N…,” Jean starts, looking torn. “You traveled all this way. Out of anyone here, you should get to stay and enjoy the festivities…”

“No, it’s okay—Diluc doesn’t even know I’m here, right? I can watch for enemies. You both stay here and enjoy yourselves.”

Paimon looks heartbroken. “Well…if you insist, but won’t you miss seeing Master Diluc?”

You smile at her, attempting to be reassuring. The idea of coming all this way and not getting to mingle with your friends certainly does make your heart ache, but the entire point of this event is to let Diluc relax, and have fun. So, long as he does, you’ll be happy.

“He’ll be here soon,” you respond. Jean and Kaeya notice how you avoid answering the question—instead taking a step back and looking towards the northeast. “I should get going.”

You run off without waiting for the others to comment. Paimon scurries after you, shouting something about how she’ll keep you company instead.

“Idiot,” Kaeya sighs as Jean shakes her head.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late!” Venti says, coming up behind them. He’s got a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and a bright smile on his face. His eyes scan the nearby area, and when he spots that someone is missing, he frowns.

“Wasn’t Y/N supposed to be here?”

You’ve just arrived at the Statue of The Seven when you hear a chorus of cheers from the Winery. Turning, you watch over the treetops as the intimately sized crowd raises their glasses—sharing a toast before the merry music begins—rolling over the hills.

“I guess Diluc just arrived,” Paimon surmises, face drawn into a pout. You can tell that she wants to be down there, joining in on all the fun, and you can’t say you don’t share the sentiment.

“Looks like he took the long way around,” you say, turning away from the winery, and seating yourself at the base of the statue. “Otherwise, we would have passed him on the way here.”

Paimon frowns at you, floating down to look you in the eyes.

“Why does it seem like you’re trying to avoid Master Diluc?”

“I’m not,” you respond with a huff. “It’s just easier this way.”

Paimon doesn’t buy it.

“You know, Kaeya offered to keep guard. I’m sure Master Diluc would prefer to have you at the festival, rather than him.”

“Even if they act like brats towards one another, they’re still…frienemies,” you say, for lack of a better term. Silently, you attempt to block out the jovial noises behind you. You don’t want to be focused on something that you’re missing out on.

Paimon pouts even harder at your argument, looking like she’ll start stomping her foot midair, but she keeps her mouth shut for now. Even if you won’t say it, she knows you’re sacrificing your own wants at the moment, and bickering with you won’t do anything to help.

So, instead she flies down and sits herself snuggly in your lap—determined to make you feel better.

“I feel like any Hilichurls in Mondstadt already know not to mess with you,” she says, changing the subject. “Do you think any will show up?”

You breathe a laugh.

“I hope not. But they are quite dumb.”

Diluc has to admit…he was not expecting to come back to the winery to find that a makeshift festival had been staged at his very own home.

And on his birthday, no less.

“Surprise!”

“Welcome home!”

“Happy birthday!”

An array of familiar faces greet him as he steps into view—caught on the path between the rows of grapes. Understandably, he’s speechless. He typically is aware of the happenings of his staff, and if an event had planned in Mondstadt, surely he’d have gotten word, but…here he is, and here they are, and at the front of the pack is a certain Cryo-wielding Knight, grinning ear to ear.

Of course he had something to do with this.

“To Diluc!” Kaeya cheers, holding up his mug.

“To Diluc!” the rest of the guests’ chorus, and as if on cue, the music starts.

Diluc, perplexed, remains where he is. At least, until Jean and Venti make their way to him.

“I hope you don’t hate the surprise,” Jean speaks, offering him a glass of wine. “We just…wanted you to be able to relax for once. We know how busy you always are, and I also wanted to thank you for your help with Dvalin.”

“We?” Diluc echoes, taking the glass from her. He stares at it for a moment, hesitating, but then he remembers that Kaeya is here, and he takes a long swig.

“Yep! Me, Jean, Kaeya, Y/N--,” Venti doesn’t notice the way Diluc’s eyes light up with interest at the sound of your name. “—and even the people who frequent Angel’s Share, or work at Dawn Winery! We all thought it would be nice to hold something like this for you! And hey—no better time than your birthday.”

Diluc is silent for a moment, his scarlet eyes scanning over the crowd.

“Well,” he finally responds, apparently not having found what he’d been looking for. “If anything, I’m surprised. I should have suspected something was happening when I noticed the Knights patrolling the city in full force on my way back…”

Jean laughs—reaching out and giving his arm a friendly pat.

“Just try to enjoy yourself, alright? For one night.”

Diluc sighs heavily, but he can’t ignore the efforts everyone had put into throwing this mini-festival for him. Doing so would make him just as bad as anyone in the Abyss Order.

“Fine.”

Venti beams a smile, reaching out and snagging his wrist. Diluc’s eyes widen in shock.

“Good! Now let’s get you some food, and some more alcohol!”

For what it’s worth, Kaeya really does try to lay off the teasing. It’s Diluc’s birthday, after all. He can manage to be civil for a few hours, right? Right.

So, the cavalry captain keeps his distance—enjoys his alcohol and female companions at least 20ft away from Diluc. He dances along with the music, cracks jokes with the crowd, and flirts his way into more than a few women’s hearts. (And maybe even a man or two).

However, even while doing so, Kaeya quietly keeps tabs on the birthday boy. He is far from blind to the way Diluc’s gaze searches the grounds every so often, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone he’s sure not to find.

And yet, that doesn’t stop him from doing so time after time. Poor bastard.

Sighing, Kaeya stares past the winery, into the northeastern hills. He can see the light from the Anemo Statue beaming into the sky. A silent beacon of where to find you.

“You know,” Kaeya says, saddling up next to Diluc. He has decided to break his imaginary 20ft rule for the first time tonight—leaning back against the winery wall. Diluc is standing in front of him, eating a skewer, and blatantly avoiding making eye contact.

“It was Y/N’s idea—all of this. They wanted you to be able to relax for once.”

The redhead pauses for a millisecond at the mention of your name, before he quickly resumes chewing. Kaeya takes the opportunity to continue talking.

“I decided to help out, considering they were leaving for Liyue. Oh, and also because I wanted to see the look on your face.”

At that, Diluc shoots him a glare.

“Are you pleased with yourself?”

“Very,” Kaeya grins, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’re on your third drink, you’ve had two plates of food, and I’ve seen you smile nearly half a dozen times—which I’m pretty sure is a daily record.”

Diluc glares harder. Kaeya smiles wider.

“You’re enjoying yourself and hate me for it. This is the perfect outcome.”

Rolling his eyes, Diluc tosses the empty wooden skewer into a nearby trash bin and turns away. Kaeya is less than a step behind him—following Diluc as he makes his way to the edge of the crowd. As the two distance themselves from the heart of the festivities, Kaeya can spot the serenity swirling in the winery master’s colorful orbs. However, beneath it all, he sees a twinge of disappointment.

Once again, he finds his attention turning to nearby Anemo Statue.

Silence stretches. Then—

“I got you a present.”

Diluc cocks an eyebrow.

“I hope it’s not another vase.”

“No, that beauty is one of a kind,” Kaeya responds with a snort. “The issue is, my present…is playing hard to get. If you want to be able to unwrap it, you need to go to the Statue of The Seven.”

Now, Diluc just looks confused.

“You…left your present at the statue?”

“Actually, I think it’s hiding there.”

Worry etches into Diluc’s handsome face. Kaeya rolls his eyes.

“Why not go and see, Master Diluc? No harm in a little walk to get some fresh air, right?”

Diluc doesn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he stares at the blue-haired Knight with genuine concern. At least, until a small figure floats down the hillside and into view.

“Is that--?”

“Paimon!” Kaeya greets, not showing the least bit of surprise. “Wh—”

“Can’t talk! Gotta find a bathroom!” she yells, floating right past the two and towards the front door of the manner. Diluc stares after her, wondering if his eyes are playing tricks on him. However, when his gaze shifts to Kaeya, and he finds the Knight sipping on his wine, all while shooting him a teasing side-eye, Diluc knows what’s waiting for him at the statue.

“How long were you planning to hide from me up here?”

The sound of Diluc’s voice sends a shiver straight up your spine. Your entire body freezes, head stiffly turning to look at the man who now stands only a few feet behind you.

“I…I wasn’t hiding,” you say, jumping to your feet. You attempt to avoid his gaze, but his crimson orbs pull you in—refusing to let you look away.

Heat rises on your cheeks.

“I just…Amber was supposed to guard this area, but something came up, and I decided that since you didn’t know I was back, it wouldn’t be a loss, you know?”

Diluc’s brows furrow at your comment, but he says nothing. You cough, hoping to ease some of the tension.

“…how did you know I was up here, anyway?”

“Paimon floated down the hill from this direction,” he responds. He finally breaks eye contact, glancing up at the stars overhead. “Also, Kaeya told me that he’d left me a birthday present by the statue.”

For a moment, the cogs in your brain grind to a halt. A…what?

“It’s your birthday?!”

Diluc’s eyes widen innocently at your outburst. He looks confused, but judging by the way you’re quickly flushing red and looking bewildered, he can only assume you truly had no idea that today was his birthday.

“…you planned this event and didn’t even know the significance of the day?”

“Kaeya picked the day!” you respond, groaning into your hands. If you had known it was his birthday, you at least would have gotten a present for him! Something nice from Liyue! “I just wanted to have a festival where you could actually relax, and not be playing the hero to make up for the Knights slack! Ahhhh~”

You crouch down, holding your head between your hands. Dammit, if only you had known!

“I’m so sorry,” you finally say after a moment. “I didn’t know. I don’t have a present for you.”

If you weren’t freaking out, maybe you would have noticed the breath of laughter behind you, or the sound of footsteps making their way towards you through the thick grass. It’s not until Diluc crouches down in front of you and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear that you notice just how close he’s gotten.

“You’re present enough,” he says quietly, sincerely. His eyes are fond, his lips turned up into a soft smile, and for the first time in 30 days, you feel your heart skip a beat.

His fingers skim behind your ear—lingering longer than they need to—and you lift your hand—placing it atop his own and trapping it there.

“I missed you,” you admit, unable to look at him. “I didn’t want to hide myself away up here, but I thought it would be the best thing to do. I just wanted you to have a good time.”

“I am,” he reassures you, his gloved fingers curling around your own, and giving them a squeeze. He presses back to his full height, tugging you to your feet along with him. And when he releases your hand, you immediately find yourself missing his warmth.

“It just would have been nice to know that you were here. I could have snuck away sooner to come and visit.”

“Your friends are all down there.”

“But you’re here,” he immediately reminds you, the tips of his ears turning red. “And you also matter.”

The “to me” is left unspoken, but is certainly implied.

You chew the inside of your cheek. His admission—while it certainly causes your heart to race—has you feeling a bit worried.

“…are you drunk?”

The glare Diluc sends your way is telling enough, and you quickly try to backpedal.

“It—It’s just!” you spring forward, placing yourself in front of him just as he turns to leave. Your palms reach forward to press against his hard chest, effectively keeping him from going another step.

“I’m not used to…feelings…from you,” you admit, your thoughts coming out in a jumble. You don’t want him to go anywhere. He can’t just say something like that and then walk away. Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to your poor little heart??

“Of course, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy you opening up to me. I definitely do. I want you to be able to talk to me, and trust me. It was just…unexpected, okay?”

Your fingers curl into his black coat. Your eyes trace the checked pattern of his shirt.

“I…I like that I matter to you.”

You finally find the courage to look up at him, and damn, he’s so beautiful. You’re not even sure when it was that you fell for him. Perhaps it was when he faced the Abyss Order head-on at Mondstadt’s gate without anyone knowing, or when he followed you into Dvalin’s layer and fought alongside you for the first time. Really, you have no idea, but the fact of the matter is: you have feelings for him—feelings that you’ve been attempting to ignore.

“I…like you,” you admit, no more than a whisper.

On a quest for your lost sibling, you shouldn’t have time for inklings of love. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself. It feels selfish—falling for Diluc, of all people, because charming as he is, he’s also stubborn, and closed-off.

You know this, and yet, you can’t stop yourself from yearning.

Unfortunately, you’re not sure he feels the same wa—

“Mmph—"

Diluc’s lips on yours is what manages to stop your worrying.

He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close as his free hand cups your cheek. While at first you go stiff with shock, you quickly melt into him. He tastes like sweet wine, and smells like firewood, and gosh, he’s oh-so-warm.

“Mm,” you can’t help the appreciative groan, pressing yourself closer to him in a bid to soak up all the heat you can. Since the sun had set, the chilling air had soaked into your skin, and while you hadn’t realized it before, you certainly notice it now.

As your lips connect—once, twice, and again—a part of Diluc’s brain acknowledges that he should grace you with a response. That he should tell you how he feels. But…he’s not exactly good at that, and actions speak louder than words, right?

So, he tilts your head up—deepens the kiss. His brows furrow as he soaks up any sounds that escape you, internally conflicted by his actions. He’s not used to doing this--feeling this way. He never intended to feel anything for you—to feel sad when you left, and excited when you returned, but…here he is, and Barbatos be damned if he was going to let you slip away now.

“Diluc,” you pant, cheeks flushed as you manage to nudge the man away. As much as you enjoy his kisses, you need air.

“Sorry…,” he says, looking bashful. His cheeks are rosy, and his eyes nervous. He had acted on pure desire, without considering your feelings, or how his actions might be perceived.

“This isn’t like me,” he continues after a moment with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc attempts to take a step back, but your grip on his jacket holds him steady.

“No, don’t be sorry,” you say. You give him a gentle tug—drawing him into you once again. Your eyes fall to his lips. “Just…shut up, and kiss me again.”

Diluc can see the desire in your eyes, and he’s not used to such an emotion being directed his way. Sure, he’s aware that a few select citizen’s perhaps have affections for him, but this is the first time anything has felt…mutual.

It’s terrifying.

Leaning in, he captures your lips once more—not hesitating to slot your mouths together and deepen the kiss. And when you make a contented sound, your fingers tracing up his chest and moving to wrap around his neck, Diluc immediately forgets about his inner conflict.

Right now, he refuses to waste the time he has with you. He can overthink his emotions later.

Wanting to be closer—to feel more of you—Diluc briefly breaks the kiss. He leans down, wrapping his arms beneath your thighs, and hefts you upwards. You make a sound of surprise, more heat rising on your face as you feel your back rest against the Anemo statue.

“This really isn’t like you,” you say, your palms moving to cup his face. Your thumbs brush over his cheeks, and you silently carve this version of him into your mind. His hair tousled and cheeks red—his body flush against yours. This is a Diluc you never want to forget.

“Shall I stop?” he asks, voice quiet. You immediately shake your head, drawing him into another kiss.

“No…it’s just a side of you I’m discovering for the first time. I don’t dislike it at all.”

You feel him smile against your lips.

“Good.”

Things begin to blur after that. The two of you forget about the festival being held in Diluc’s honor just a short way down the hill. You don’t consider that people are likely looking for the master of the winery—wondering exactly where he’d gone off to. No, the only thing the two of you think about is the feel of each other’s bodies pressed together, and the heated kisses you exchange.

Quiet gasps and moans begin to fill the area around the statue—your hands wandering against Diluc’s torso, and his lips moving to trail kisses against the sensitive skin of your throat. It’s very possible that things would have continued to get even more intimate…had someone not interrupted.

“I see you like my present.”

You can almost tangibly feel Diluc’s annoyance.

“I’ll kill you.”

Kaeya chooses to ignore that.

“It’s been over half an hour. People are starting to get worried about the birthday boy.”

“Let them worry.”

“No, hey, c’mon,” you say, brushing his hair away from his eyes and catching his attention. You smile sweetly, nodding your head towards his residence. “You should get back. This whole event is for you, after all.”

With a sigh, he loosens his grip on you—his hands moving to hold your waist as your feet touch the ground for the first time in minutes.

“Fine, but only if you come too.”

You frown. “But…the whole point of me being out here is to keep guard so you can rela—”

“I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out here,” he argues, and the look on his face tells you he won’t be taking “no” for an answer.

“Okay, okay, fine—guess I have no choice,” Kaeya breaks the tension, sighing somewhat dramatically. For the first time, you note that there’s a bottle of dandelion wine tucked under his arm.

“You two lovebirds go enjoy the festivities. I’ll play guard until the night winds down. I’ve already had my share in the fun anyway.”

“Perfect,” Diluc says, grabbing your wrist and tugging you away. Helplessly being dragged toward the winery by its master, you at least manage to turn and mouth a “thank you” to Kaeya. Because despite your determination to guard over the area, you really are looking forward to being able to spend some time at the party with Diluc and your friends.

Kaeya flashes you a smile in response, his lips innocently parting as he mouths back some words of his own.

“Use protection.”

Sometimes, you really hate him. Tonight though…

You glance to the redhead in front of you, moving your hand so your fingers slot through his own. He slows his stride—allowing you to catch up—and then gives your hand a squeeze.

You can’t help but smile.

Tonight, you can’t find it in yourself to be mad. Not when Diluc looks so happy.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Cheryl//maple syrup

Request: Can you do the secret and sins when Veronica comments on the Cheryl’s twincest and the reader defends Cheryl even though the reader kinda diss likes Cheryl.

hey! how is everyone? i hope you’re all well and good! i may have slightly cheated a bit and copy and pasted a previously written out bit from another request where they’re playing secrets and sins. but that’s only because i didn’t see the point in writing the same dialogue again. anywayyyy enjoy! 

It seems that whenever Cheryl Blossom arrives at a party, the party atmosphere disappears. Maybe it’s her grating personality or overbearing need to be liked, whatever it is, within ten minutes of her and Chuck gate crashing Jughead’s unwanted birthday party, there’s already tension. 

Which is not made any better by the suggestion of secrets & sins. Your friends are gathered in a circle in the living room, while you sit off to the side. You want to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets, not to your best friends and definitely not to Cheryl. 

It’s clear everyone that’s been roped into this stupid game doesn’t want to be there. Betty shifts in her seat uncomfortably and stares at you with pleading eyes. You shoot her an unsure smile back before taking a sip of your drink and she drops your gaze, glancing at Archie before staring down at the floor. 

Cheryl is the only one that looks like she’s enjoying herself, but you’re not surprised. Chaos and the chance to get dirt on everyone so she can control them even more than she already does is what Cheryl lives for.

You glare at the red-head, who’s smiling brightly as she looks around at her victims and when her eyes land on you, her eyes narrow and the smile is replaced by a smirk. 

“What’s wrong Y/n? Did nobody pick you to be on their team?” She asks, her bright red lips forming a perfect pout and you can’t help but stare at them for a few seconds longer than you should. You feel your face heat up and look away, blaming the alcohol for the affects you’re feeling and refusing to believe that you’ve just thought of Cheryl Blossom as attractive. 

A shiver runs up your spine at the thought and you lips pull into a pout as you stare down at the now empty cup in your hands. You scratch at the plastic and listen to the mumbles and whispers of the teenagers stood and sat around you. 

Whoever isn’t partaking in Secrets and Sins, have gathered around to watch and judge, and you can’t help but lean in a little closer, they may be some of your closest friends, but you can’t help wanting to know what they’ve been hiding from one another...you’re only human and at least you’re not as bad as Cheryl. 

Cheryl lives of rumours. Like Gretchen Wieners with smaller and redder hair. 

“What the hell is Secrets and Sins?” Jughead asks, all eyes on Cheryl as she moves around in a circle, eyeing everyone suspiciously as she starts to explain the rules. 

“Its a variation on Truth or Dare…in which we own our truths by telling it like it is. I’ll start the game with…Veronica Lodge.” She smirks and you roll your eyes at her. 

“Naturally.” Veronica sighs and you pat her shoulder. 

“Let’s begin with the day you and your mob wife of a mother came to town for a so-called fresh start.” She says, her eyes filled with accusations and anger before she’s even gotten to her question. 

You really don’t know why so many people like her, well you do, it’s because she’s rich and she bullies people into being her friend because she’s unable to make them any other way. 

She’s snobby, spoilt and just plain mean, but that doesn’t stop you from sometimes staring at her for longer than you want to and definitely should. 

“Tell us Veronica, what’s so fresh about defiling Archie Andrews in a closet?”

“That was your doing.” She replies confused, her arms crossed defensively against her chest.

“Moving on to dear Daddy Lodge…” She interrupts, getting more and more angry by the second. “Isn’t it true that your father, from prison, illegally purchased the drive-in land? Which makes me wonder, what else is he doing behind bars?” She continues and you glance to your side at Joaquin, who shares a very suspicious look with FP

“Well, I can’t speak for my father…but I can think of someone with a very dirty secret. Specifically, Cheryl killing her very own brother.” The tension in the room shifts and your eyes widen. 

As much as you dislike Cheryl, you know how close her and Jason were and you knew how much it hurt and how she’s still hurting now because of his death. You’ve seen her crying underneath the bleachers after school, you see how her eyes are a little more dull than they used to be. They don’t sparkle as much when she talks and when she’s not spreading hate, she’s just not saying anything at all. 

She smiles less when with her friends, and sometimes you think the only reason she’s horrible to people is so she can feel something. But that doesn’t excuse it and so you shake your head and earn a few confused looks as you try to stop yourself from defending Cheryl Majorie Blossom. 

“Everyone knows how much I loved my brother.” Cheryl defends herself.

“Exactly.” Veronica replies. “But did you love him, maybe in ways that a sister shouldn’t love a brother?” She continues and you watch as Cheryl becomes more and more upset. “And as you got older, Jason started to think it was strange, unnatural. So he chose Polly over you. So you shot him between the eyes with one of your father’s many hunting rifles.”

Her shoulders slump a little and her bottom lip quivers as she looks around the room helplessly. The confident look she usually has, has slipped off like a mask, revealing a very sad girl underneath and suddenly you find yourself standing up. 

“That’s enough Veronica.” You say, surprising everyone, including Cheryl. “Just leave her alone, it’s not worth it.” You add quietly and slowly sit back down again. 

Veronica hold her hands up in defence and you force a smile before going back to picking at the plastic of your cup. 

“I don’t need you to defend me.” Cheryl seethes, her eyes full of hatred as she looks at you, and for some reason it stings. You’re used to her not liking you, but her hating you, hurts you for some unknown reason and you have to take a few deep breaths in order to stop the ache in your chest. 

“This game is sick.” Dilton adds and Cheryl uses the distraction to wipe away the tears on her cheek. “I wanna go next.” He adds making everyone look at him.

“Thats the spirit, Doiley. What secrets do you have to reveal to us?” Chuck grins. 

“I saw Ms. Grundy’s car by Sweetwater River the day Jason went missing.” He says and everyone gasps. People mumble and whisper around you and Cheryl stares straight at Dilton, her eyes narrow. “I told Betty and Jughead, and then Ms. Grundy quit her job and left Riverdale, like, two days later. And let’s not forget that Archie was also at Sweetwater River that morning.”

“Oh, my God.” Cheryl whips her head round to look at Archie. “Colour me shocked. Archie Andrews, is that why you became a mediocre musician overnight? Because you and Ms. Four-Eyes were pulling a Mary Kay Letourneau?”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t get in the gutter with them.” Veronica mutters while glaring at Cheryl. 

“Wait, what? Andrews was banging a teacher?” Chuck asks, his tone a mix of surprise and impressed and you roll your eyes at him. “I wish I would’ve known. I would have added you and Ms. Grundy to the book of conquests.”

“Classy, Chuck, as always.”

“Wait a second.” Cheryl interrupts. “That also explains why Archie can’t seem to keep a girlfriend to save his life. He’s got serious mommy issues. Anything to say for yourself Arch? Were you a victim or a perpetrator?”

“Dilton Doiley plays with guns.” Betty tries to change the subject but she’s immediately shut down.

“Big whoop, Betty. So Doiley’s a psychopath. Everyone knows that.”  

“Well, I guess it’s my turn now. Boy, do I have a twisted secret to reveal, starring Betty Cooper.”

“Leave her the hell alone, Chuck.” Archie threatens.

“Shut up, Andrews.” He replies. “Look, you may get a free peep show every night, but you do not know her. Hell, Betty doesn’t even know herself. Everybody knows why I got suspended, but what you don’t know...she dressed up like a hooker, in a God-awful black wig, drugged me, handcuffed me in the Jacuzzi, and well, I almost drowned until she got me to say what she wanted to hear. And then she really lost it. She actually thought she was Polly. But, hey, you knew all about this right, Jughead?” He asks. For a second, the question hangs in the air, everyone trying to figure out what to say next and how to process what they’ve just been told. 

But then Jughead leaps forward at punches Chuck in face causing all hell to break loose. Everyone stands and FP shoves races forward to grab Chuck and throw him outside. 

While everyone else follows them outside, eagerly awaiting a fight, you stay back and watch as Cheryl disappears upstairs, quietly sniffling as she goes. You look at the front door and then at the stairs and sigh, knowing that this is not gonna end well. She’s gonna insult you and tell you to leave her alone, but at least you can say you tried to help and then you won’t feel bad. 

So you glance at the door one more time and pray that at least one person is filming whatever is happening out there, before wandering up the stairs in search for Cheryl. 

The slight scent of maple syrup and the sound of faint cries coming from the bathroom lets you know where she’s hiding and you quietly creep along the slightly creaky floorboards, trying to remember which ones to avoid after years of practice when sneaking into Archie’s room in order to break him out. 

You stop outside of the bathroom, light coming out of the cracks of the door and your hand hovers over the handle. 

“Whoever is out there, go away.” She sniffles and you roll your eyes. 

Turning on your heel, you start to walk away, but then you hear her sob and it makes you freeze. 

You let out a quiet groan and curse the side of you that can’t leave people that are crying alone, before making your way back to the bathroom and slowly opening the door. 

The first thing you see as you duck your hear around the door is Cheryl sat on the side of the bath. Her hands gripping the edges so hard that her knuckles have turned white. He hair has fallen in front of her face and you watch as she her shoulder shake and tears drip onto the bath mat. 

“Cheryl?” You whisper and she looks up, her eyes wide as she quickly scrambles to wipe away the tears that have ruined her makeup. “Are you okay?” You ask and walk into the room. You close the door behind you and lean against it and her expression hardens. 

“I’m having the best time.” She deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God is she stubborn. 

“Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends. Most of the time, I don’t really like to be around you-” 

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?” She asks and you shrug. 

“But you know that if you need someone to talk to that won’t judge you or really know anything about you, you can. I’ll just sit and listen and you can cry or rant or I dunno. Just, know you’re not alone. You may not get along with everyone in this town, but we will all be here for you if you need us, all you have to do is ask.” You say honestly but anxiously while playing with your fingers. 

She looks at you surprised, her lips part as if she’s going to say something and you’re sure she’s going to tell you to shut up and leave her alone, but instead she says thank you and you feel yourself relax a little. 

“It’s okay.” You nod. “And for the record, what Veronica said was out of line. Everyone knows how much Jason meant to you and for her to say that is just wrong. We all know you loved your brother...a normal amount.” You add the last bit quietly and she stares at you for a few seconds before a smile twitches at her lips. “Would you like me to leave you alone now?” You ask and she shakes her head. You look around the small bathroom, trying to figure out the best place to sit and she moves along a little so you can sit beside her. “Would you like me to sit with you until you feel better?” You ask and she nods slowly, her lip wobbling again. 

You sit beside her, place a gentle hand over hers and the two of you fall into a slightly awkward but not as bad as you thought it would be, silence. 

After ten minutes, Cheryl stands and makes her way over to the mirror. She swipes her fingers under her eyes to try and get rid of her ruined mascara before messing with her hair to try and get it back to looking like normal. 

“Do I look okay?” She turns to you and stands with her arms by her side. Your breath hitches when you look at her and you wonder how she looks so pretty even in the most unflattering light that is Archie Andrews’ bathroom. 

You stand in front of her and slowly tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and you watch as she takes a shaky breath. 

“Can I?” You ask, your fingers centimetres away from her cheek and she nods slowly, her eyes locked with yours and you feel yourself growing warm from the intensity. “There.” You smile once you’ve wiped a bit of mascara away from her cheek. 

She grabs her bag and pulls her lipstick from it, but when she goes to apply it, her hands shake and you take it from her gently. 

Your lips darts out between your tongue as you concentrate on keeping the lipstick in the lines, and you can feel her warm breath on your cheek. 

“There!” You smile proudly once your finished, but she grabs your arm before you can pull away properly as her lips connect with yours in an almost frantic kiss.

You gasp a little and then relax and kiss back just as frantically, but she pulls away after a few seconds and the two of you stare at each other wide-eyed and breathless. 

“Your lipstick’s ruined.” You whisper and her lips curl into a smile. 

“Worth it.” She replies before pulling you close to her and kissing you again. 

support my writing! if you want! 

[spvce-cowboy]

a strange beauty

chapter 1 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

next-ch.2: “gentle things”

rating: Explicit

5.8k words

summary: The Mandalorian crashes on an unknown planet. Severely injured, he follows the sound of singing until he, literally, lands in your lap. A trained medic, you begrudgingly decide to help the bounty hunter in order to continue evading a dark past.

warnings: Violence, descriptions of gore, masturbation (m), brief panic attack description, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, suggested sexual assault, canon divergent (post-season 1), slow burn, eventual smut

a/n: i wrote this after reading the Rough Day series by @no-droids​  as well as @cptnbvcks​ ‘s fics. i continue to be inspired by their work so i must give credit where it is due ! my first reader insert/mando thing so let's see how this goes !! thank you for reading <3

**

What he hears first is song.

It’s nearly night on the unfamiliar planet. At first he thinks the sound is some kind of bizarre hum of wind. He’s crash landed and between the hole in his chest and the blood in his eyes, he can barely stagger forward, let alone think things through, as he stumbles out of the smoldering Crest.

It stuns him, for a moment. On the verge of it all ending, the pain vibrating through his body, and he literally falls into some kind of melody so haunting he can’t help but think he’s already in some cruel kind of afterlife. Underworld would be equally fitting, he deserves that more.

He tries to pull in a breath. The sound that leaves him could only be described as a gurgle. It’s followed by a cough. Something hot and metallic tasting comes up with it, coating the inside of his mouth and dribbling over his chin.

Maker, he’s screwed.

He hadn’t realized how much worse it was going to get until he was finally safe in the Crest. In a daze, he opened the med-kit only to find the last Bacta treatment in a shattered mess. In the fresher, he tried to stuff some remaining gauze into the gaping hole on his right pectoral. He really tried not to pass out. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the knife wound, but every breath exited in a fluttering wheeze he was barely able to push through. It must have punctured a lung. Fucker was able to get right up under the armor.

Delirious with blood loss, he could barely register the one-handed climb into the cockpit and typing in whatever coordinates first come to mind before he blacked out again. It was in and out from there. He thought he entered Naboo, somewhere safe and familiar and not teaming with others who’d like to do much more and worse than he had already weathered, but a glance at the red-orange slicked control panel told him he was quickly approaching an uncharted planet. His hands were uncontrollably shaking, covered in his own blood and who knows who else’s. He had no idea if the Crest has the ability to dampen the landing but it was too late to start asking favors of some higher power now. 

“Sorry, kid.” It’s all Mando could think to say, voice barely registering over the modulator.

The child was fast asleep already. He had to mend Mando’s spine in order for Mando to drag himself back to the Crest once the smoke of the battlefield had settled. 

Mando’s entire body was still vibrating from the energy of it, probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. He was barely conscious long enough to slide the shields shut on the child’s cradle before impact.

It had been a long day.

He woke, miraculously still breathing—if the futile gasps trying to be made around a collapsed lung could be called something like that. He swung his heavy head around, blindly grasping the child’s cradle and pulling it behind him. The child was still asleep—unharmed save for a dent on the side of his crib that sputtered with an occasional spark. It took Mando a moment to register the alarms blaring, the flashing lights and acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the Crest. Just that now he is in a field of some sort, staggering forward with the kid’s cradle following close behind.

It is only then that he hears the song.

An idyllic hillside stretches before him, tall grass dotted with small, yellow wildflowers reach to meet a light fog. In the distance there’s the shadowed suggestion of mountains. If he didn’t know any better, he would really think this was Naboo. Mando can’t even begin to comprehend how his brain is able to process any of it. Really? You’re about to take your last handful of breaths and you’re taking in the flowers of all things? Though maybe he isn’t, if he is able to. His head begins to fill with a kind of static where nothing makes any sense.

He can hear, at least. Very well. Well enough to recognize that there is some kind of singing, some kind of song, reverberating through the sensors of his helmet loud enough to bring him back to reality.

 A song isn’t necessarily the right word for it—there are no words, or, at least, no words Mando could distinguish. Sound, more like. Melodious sound. Long, whooping notes of crisp sound. A siren’s call. So he follows the singing.

Mando doesn’t know how long it takes to reach its origin—between his quickly blackening vision or the equally disorienting fog, it is hard to navigate the expanse of green before him, let alone determine the time it takes to see the slight silhouette in the distance. Once he does, it’s a stumbling, panting race to reach it before his legs give out. Mando falls once, then pushes himself up. He doesn’t have the ability to call out around the useless, deflated bag of tissue leaning against the right side of his ribcage, so he keeps pushing forward. And it’s like he’s running in a dream, the pace as which he lurches forward, trailing blood and gore behind him. And he’s trying to move but he keeps almost falling and the figure is getting closer but it isn’t moving and he’s half certain he’s hallucinated it all and this is it. It’s over. All this for almost nothing and what about the kid. What about this kid if it’s over and. It’s over and. And.

And it’s you. Standing there. A long dress lifting slightly with the breeze. Your back is to him, hair swept over and through itself in an intricate braid. When you turn, your face is already contorted in shock.

And still, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees, colliding with the ground before he can even process losing feeling in the lower half of his body.

**

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

In it, he is Din again. For the first time in a long time. He knows this in the way one just knows things, in dreams.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

He is kneeling before it, in defeat or prayer he does not know. It is one in the same, either way.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

It touches his face gently. When it does, he vomits ticks or leeches, depends on the day. They spill into his hands and he is left there. Staring at them. Writhing, they slip through the fingers of his cupped palms. He always wakes before they reach the ground.

**

On waking, the first thing he notices is that the grass is trying to reclaim the house.

He knows that he is in a house because of the soft mattress beneath him, pressing up and into his body as if in some kind of forgiveness. It’s a single room cabin, a dirt floor, a single bed, a kitchen to the far wall. Incredibly bright with three windows of varied size above the sink. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are sparse but tall green stalks brushing the leg of a sturdy looking olbio-wood table, a messy collection of bloodied bandages, glass bottles, and bowls resting atop its surface. A flower dots the top of only one of the stalks, its petals no bigger than the nail of his thumb. He hears two soft voices, speaking from somewhere above him. Darkness clouds his vision as soon as he realizes he is awake.

When his eyes open again he is already in the process of sitting up, holding his shoulder with a grunt. He fully gains consciousness in the middle of the action, in time to barely recognize a cry of surprise as something clatters to the floor. He swings his head around, right hand automatically going to his holster despite the burning pain the motion conjures. Empty.

He turns sharply and it’s you. It’s you, again, looking all the more surprised at his sudden waking than you had when he was dragging his half-dead body towards you.

Your hands are pressed against your stomach, the wooden bowl of some sludge-like salve at your booted feet. Your eyes are wide, frozen as if he had a weapon to draw. The skin beneath them is puffy and discolored with exhaustion. Your dress is now smeared with what he can only assume is his own rust-brown blood. The dress presses tightly against your chest with your heavy breathing. Mando’s gaze catches there, for a moment, in spite of himself, before traveling again to your face. Wide eyes, plush lips slightly parted--your hair is in a loose bun that has barely managed to contain itself, escaped pieces gently framing your face. You’re one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen. His resolve hardens immediately because of it.

You press your lips together firmly in annoyance, almost in tandem with Mando clenching his own jaw. You stoop low to snatch the bowl and pestle from where they lay at your feet, irritation radiating off of you in waves.

“You’re taking my bed, Mandalorian.” Your voice is steady for the most part, but falters slightly with his name. It betrays the fear in your eyes, nearly masked by the tightness in your tone. Regardless, you persist. Straitening with the bowl pressed between your hip and forearm, you  gesture with your free hand towards where he is still reaching for a non-existent weapon. “It is unbecoming to start our acquaintance with threats.”

“I was here with a… a companion,” his voice sounds absolutely ragged over the vocoder. Mando whips his head back around to scan the room, heart pounding. His shoulder feels like it is on fire. He begins to struggle to his feet. He fails.

“The little one is fine, resting.” You blow an offending strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated, upward huff. “You’ve been out for days. We’ve been up every night trying to keep you breathing. Frankly, I could care less if you choked on your own tongue.” Your voice gets less biting when you’re facing him directly, as if the courage for your snark is dependent on not being able to see him. You continue, “Am’ile, however, is an old friend of an acquaintance of yours. You’d care to show her a little more respect.”

With another huff, you’re turning away and pushing through the piece of fabric that functions as a door. He watches you as you reappear through the wide window stationed just above the kitchen sink. Mando sags against the bed’s simple headrest.

There are little pieces of stained glass that have been strung from the tops of the windows, dripping down like raindrops. He watches them for a moment, clattering into one another. Mando swallows, shaking his head. He tries to take a few deep breaths before attempting to stand once again. He isn’t successful.

“I wouldn’t test that one, Mandalorian.” This voice is much older, slightly raspy in a way that automatically demands a lowered head or a knee pressed into the earth. A long-fingered hand pushes past the fabric still swaying from your exit. An elderly Bardottan woman enters, regarding him a moment. The child coos in the arm she cradles him with, his hands reaching out towards Mando. The Bardottan smiles, wobbling over to the bed and laying the child at his side. “She doesn’t like it when kindness is taken for granted.”

She turns, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with a sigh. He can tell her age by the halting way she walks, one four-fingered hand resting against her lower back, her leathered yellow-green skin’s pale stripes dulled by time. “Am’ile Dovalien of Naboo. I am an old friend of Caraynthia Dune, from her Republic days,” she takes her time with her words, and then even more to regard him. “You’re looking rough for wear, Mandalorian. I’d ease up on that shoulder before you put all the girl’s work to waste.”

An old friend of Cara’s. He doesn’t know why it’s surprising by any means. Cara’s discussed her time before the war enough, and it is not like she is… inhibited, he guesses, is the right word…by the Way. So of course she would have “old friends.” Good friends. Maybe it’s surprising because he feels like there are similarities between the two of them that he has not shared with anyone else, odd to think she is able to having something that he does not.

“Who is she? The girl?” The words leave his mouth abruptly, before he can think them through. They hang there for a moment before Am’ile answers.

The Bardottan says your full name, he’s noticed she has a habit of doing so. Between that and her syrupy accent, it lends anyone she mentions in the conversation a kind of regal stature that he can’t help but admire. “She is my student. I hope she didn’t… frighten you too much. It’s rare we get visitors from outside the local village. You’re the first of her kind she’s encountered in almost six years now.”

The child chirps, clambering onto Mando’s chest. The pain is sharp and immediate. The man makes a sound he can’t control, using his good arm to pull the kid off and tuck him into his side. “Thank you, for all of this.” He’s ashamed he didn’t manage to get it out sooner, his lips pressed together firmly under the beskar. “I… I had to retreat before I could complete the job. I don’t have many credits on me but—"

“Do not, Mandalorian,” Am’ile shakes her head. “I would be insulted if you do.” She stands with a struggle, using the edge of the table to help herself up and waddling to his bedside, extending both boney arms for the child. Mando does what he can to help prop him back into the crook of Am’ile’s elbow. “Keep resting, if today’s treatments take well, you can start repairing your ship by tomorrow morning. The locals are a secluded people, they do not like strangers staying for very long.”

“Thank you,” he says. She hums something low in her throat in affirmation, flicking her hand in Mando’s direction with her back already turned. The fabric of the door only stills after a few minutes of swaying.

**

After your first—well, technically second—encounter, you don’t really make conversation when you come in to check on Mando’s healing and clean up the medical station Am’ile and you had established on the kitchen table. It’s all matter-of-fact, from the tilt of your shoulders to the set of your jaw. When you do directly address him, he notices that you stare at the space just above his helmet, never into the t-shaped visor. Never right at him.

He deserves it, he supposes. Never one for talking unless necessary, he’s fine with the complete silence interspersed with: “Okay breathe in, breathe out,” as you check if his stitches can hold, or “try and stand up, walk around the table” hovering a few inches away in case he falls. It seems like Am’ile is the one who takes over the more internal matters, coming in to check on his lung capacity, if his ribs were healing in the proper place.

Apparently the child had to mend the worst of it, now all that was left over was a grinding, bone-deep soreness that comes with being put together from the inside out, as well as some particularly nasty scrapes, the surface remnants of the near-fatal stab wounds. The child had tried to heal those, too, later that morning, but Mando pushed his tiny hand aside, just as he had done the first time.

“No need to waste your energy, womp rat. Save that up for someone else,” he pats the kid’s head as he say this, placing him on the ground with a wince to toddle around the room in search of trouble.

You have your back to the both of them, washing a bowl once filled with Mando’s dirty bandages. You pause as he says this, head tilted slightly over your left shoulder as if contemplating turning around. After a beat, you seem to reevaluate and continue washing the blood out of the bowl, scrubbing at it with a brush heavy with soap. You’re wearing a different dress now, looser, cinched at the waist with a green-brown apron. You dry the bowl with the corner of your apron and start on the next object, a gleaming pair of surgical scissors.

It seems as if you’ve just come from a bath, hair wet and tucked behind your ears as you work. When you first entered, he thinks he heard you mention something about it, now that his condition had stabled. It was mumbled so quietly he almost believes he’s imagined it.

He wants to ask you where the glass hanging from the window is from, how you managed to string it up so perfectly that when the suns get to a certain place, as they were in that moment, it sent a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. A kaleidoscope of colors that dapple your face in such a beautiful pattern he half expects he’s in the middle of some torturous spice-dream.

When you turn to leave again, Mando turns his head to stare forward, feigning sleep.

**

When Am’ile confirms that the treatments have taken well, pointing out all the signs to you as you stand back with your arms crossed and nod intermittently, a diligent student. A part of him is okay with being a living anatomy model as long as it means you actually looking at him.

Once given the clear, he spends the next two days working on the Crest. It was, thankfully, in much better shape than he thought. A bit difficult to go about making the repairs the first day with one of his arms in a sling, but breathing is easier and the deep pain has been replaced with a dull ache that is less difficult to push aside for the time being.

You bring him meals and check his stitches at the crash site—you seem to continuously clarify that you’re only doing this because Am’ile’s hips cannot take the inclines of the hills anymore. Every time you hike up the grassy slope towards him you seem to get a little bit braver, looking him evenly in the eyes for short periods each time.

He’s grateful to see you each time. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten anything that wasn’t from a cantina or a freeze-dried bar. Even though he eats quickly, pushing his helm just below the tip of his nose to do so, he savors it all the same. You turn your back to him as he eats for privacy, playing with the child.

His third morning working on the ship, he gets up at dawn. He’s restless and wants to finish the build as soon as possible, get out of here before Greef Karga starts getting antsy with his absence. A very small, very weak part of himself also knows the longer he stays, the more he becomes a threat to a place like this. It’s too warm. Too gentle. He doesn’t belong here. Something about his presence is disruptive. He just knows this.

Mando still can’t bear the weight of the beskar against his bad shoulder. He pulls on the button-down tunic Am’ile had asked him to wear in order to get better access to his stitches with a wince. It’s a dark green kind of fabric, loose enough to fit both him and the bulk of his bandages comfortably. He’s still a bit light headed on his way to the Crest, but once settled beneath the hull he’s fine.

You come up with breakfast at around the same time as the previous day, setting it on the ground a few feet away from him as if he were some kind of cornered animal you were trying to lull into some sense of false security.

The child babbles something unintelligible from your arms as you turn your back and sit down in the grass. The child had been spending nights with you and Am’ile in the neighboring cabin, since Mando had taken the cabin you’d been sleeping in previously. Am’ile told Mando it was so he could get the rest he needs, without having to worry about the little one. One glance at the way you act around the kid makes it plainly clear that you’re absolutely smitten. It’s hard not to be.

Mando eats quickly, lowering his helmet and turning to give you the clear. You don’t respond, too consumed with attempting to thwart the child’s attempts to catch a hopping bug the size of your palm. You’re wearing a tank top and long, brown cargo pants, seated with your legs crossed and leaning forward every so often to plop the kid back into your lap every time he toddles too far.

There’s a moment where he allows his eyes to trace the elegant curve of your shoulders. Something in his throat tightens. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pushes himself to his feet and resumes the task at hand. Leaning down to pick up a replacement panel, he straightens with a grunt.

“What are you doing?” Your voice surprises him enough to drop the paneling. It barely misses his booted foot. Small hands wrap around both his biceps, pulling him back. “Stars, stop that you’re gonna—”

And suddenly you’re in front of him, a whole head shorter yet already fussing over him like some family pet. You keep talking to yourself as you do so, maneuvering him to sit with his back leaning against the Crest, kneeling beside him as you pop the buttons of his shirt open. It’s like you started in a moment of complete vindication, and how have to keep up the act despite a deflating confidence. “I feel like the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could maybe use some common sense after getting fresh stitches, just a thought but you obviously could care less…”

You keep talking, he knows that because he sees your mouth moving, but after that last word your hands are against his chest, unwrapping the bandages to check the punctured skin underneath. Your bare hands, on his bare chest. Any possible thought he could have formed after the fact left his head instantly.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him, especially like this. Before, when you and Am’ile started patching him up, he was out cold. When you checked on his healing wounds the day before, you had politely asked him to remove his shirt and bandages with an undeniable warble in your voice, standing with your hands clasped behind your back and only glancing at his chest before instructing him to refresh his gauze.

They are soft and a bit colder than he’d expected. So soft. One hand is wrapped around his right trapezius, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone, and the other cupping his left ribs as if he was trying to get away somehow. Something in him instantly stills. You keep your hands like that as you observe the wound. You give another huff,

“Don’t move.” You turn away, scooping up the kid and walking back down the hill.

He’s not sure if it’s in obedience to you or pure shock, but by the time you return, mumbling something about Am’ile taking over babysitting, he hasn’t moved a muscle. You dab on another layer of ointment, rewrapping his bandages. Satisfied with your work, you sniff, placing your hands on your hips to look back up at him. “What do you need lifted?”

Mando blinks, pausing long enough that you narrow your eyes, chin raised. “Well?”

After a beat, he gestures to the panel he dropped earlier. You both work together, in complete silence, for the rest of the day. 

When both suns sit low and heavy in the horizon, you raise your hand to your to your forehead and squint at the place where they are held by the two ragged lines of distant mountains. “It’s a strange kind of beauty, isn’t it.”

He looks at you, looking at the suns. When he doesn’t say anything, you wipe at the sweat and grease smeared across your forehead with the back of your forearm. Wordlessly, you brush your hands off on your pants twice before turning back down the hill.

Mando continues soldering wires. He only pauses an hour or so later, when he hears the song again. He puts down his tools and sits in the grass with his back to the Crest, staring out and into the mountain range before him, the two rocky faces cupping two entangled suns, one indistinguishable from the other. The song is as sweeping and ethereal as when he first heard it, heard you. He takes off his gloves, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through the grass. He curls them into fists.

**

Later that night, he has to stumble out of the house and into one of the fields in order to keep the thoughts silent. He has the dream again, it is always impossible to keep sleeping after. He’d been up for hours at that point, trying to breathe through bursts of absolute, vision-blurring panic.

Usually he rests in hour-long bursts, whenever the time allows. He’s gone days without it, to the point that it’s more comfortable to refuse it than give in. It always gets worse when he allows himself to sleep at night. Whatever it is, it always gets worse.

But there’s nothing to fucking do here but think.

It’s the bed. There’s something maddening about your mattress. He hadn’t been touched by another, skin to skin, in so long--the trails of fire your gentle hands left made something in his lower abdomen squirm, restlessly. Hopelessly. Without thinking, he lifts his cock from the waistband of his pants.

Nothing in him can keep the images out. The curve of your knuckles brushing his collarbone. His hand rises in a hard stroke. The low hum you gave once you pushed aside his tunic, unraveling the bandages. Eyes searching for damage. Another stroke, this one even more forceful than the last. The light from the glass against your skin, against the elegant curve of your throat. His thumb comes up to catch the head, already seeping with pre-come. Your gentle palm, dwarfed by the bicep it was pressed against yet steady and determined all the same. He’s so hard it’s excruciating and—

That first morning. The way your chest pressed and swelled against the tight fabric of your bodice, your breasts nearly pushing themselves up and over the gentle ivory neckline with each inhale.  

“F-fuck. Fucking sick,” he chokes out in horror as he finishes, his cock pulsing in his hand, his releases onto the damp ground before him. Shame settles itself in place of the writhing desire in his stomach. It is a much deeper feeling, he realizes, as he lowers himself with barely enough energy to tuck himself back into his pants, wiping his hand on the grass already wet with dew.

The girl is just trying to piece you back together and this is all you can think? But he really can’t remember the last time he was touched. With such kindness. Your hands were the softest thing to grace his body for as long as he could possibly remember. He already knows that this, whatever it is, will be devastating. Absolutely devastating. For this reason, something in him will cling to it for as long as he can.

The cold ground welcomes him, it’s the only measure he is given to realize his skin has quickly grown feverish. He almost falls asleep, right there on the ground. But there’s a gentle cry, from the neighboring house, just across the field from his—er, your—cabin. A gentle cry that quickly turns into an all too familiar hiccuping wail. From where he is curled on the ground, he can see right through one of the house’s windows as a lantern flicks on.

It’s just your silhouette, backlit by a warm orange light. You pace in small circles, bouncing the child on your hip, occasionally leaning your head down in what he could only think is to whisper something, just for you and the child. To press a kiss to the dip of his wrinkled forehead. He calms quickly afterwards, but you keep walking anyway. It’s a strange beauty, being able to watch your two forms, the way they bend and lean into the other, rendered indistinguishable by the lantern’s low light. Mando stays there for a long time.

**

“What is that sound?”

It’s almost nightfall again, the next day. Both Am’ile and Mando are seated at the table in your cabin. The Bardottan woman is playing a card game across from him that he’s been silently observing as they wait for one of his final treatments to sink back in. No bacta, here. Am’ile informed him on his first day. Too isolated of a planet. Her remedies are equally good if not better treatment, just needing some patience.

The singing has started again. It’s the only hint of your presence he’s gotten since the morning, when you unceremoniously plopped a plate of food at the food of his bed and told him you had informed everyone to steer clear of the cabin so he could take his time eating without “that thing on your head.” It was the best meal he’d had in a long while, sugared bread with a fruit jam and a piece of meat that tasted like some kind of mutton.

You start singing right as the healing muscles in his right shoulder have started to go warm and tingly with the salve Am’ile applied. When she doesn’t remove her gaze from her cards, he asks her again.

“What is that sound?”

Am’ile glances up, regarding him for a moment. She says your name, softly, turning her horse-like head towards the window to stare out into the gently moving grass, the empty orange of sunset turning the cut faces of the mountains a dull purple. “It’s a traditional song, from her home planet. It’s how they would call in the seasons, pray for the weather they needed to survive—the people here ask her to sing at nightfall. They say she summons a calm night. When she first arrived it… took some negotiating to allow her to stay.” Am’ile has the gentle, warbling voice of an old grandmother. There is another note from outside, long and slow and beautiful, ending in a sharp, high whoop that reverberates against the sides of the hills. “We look after their children when they go for hunts, it’s how we pay for our place here. This planet has been untouched for centuries, but the beasts are fierce. Would put any Endorian boar-wolf to shame.”

“And why is she here, with you?”

Am’ile is quiet for a moment. Her gaze remains fixed out the window. “She is escaping from a new kind of debt, Mandalorian.” The phrasing hangs in the air, static with its own weight. “The, ah… ex-Imperial officials who turned into warlords after the Civil War...” She looks like she does not want to continue any further. Mando waits in silence. She caves, they always tend to.

“The girl was a nursemaid, by label. They have drugs now, that tell your body you are with child. Lactation, pain of the body so deep it keeps you complacent. It’s a fetish for them, functional for their wives with babies they want nothing to do with. Miserable existence. Caraynthia Dune and I did much work trying to free as many girls as possible years ago, when she was still a soldier. I’d given up the fight, started this farm—began working as a healer for the locals, a peaceful people. The girl found me herself. I still have no idea how. She’s a fighter. Stronger than most any I’ve come across.”

Am’ile’s eyes grow sharp in a way Mando never expected they could. He’s taken aback momentarily, she can’t see his hands flex from under the table. “I have trained her to the best of my abilities, she’d be accepted as a distinguished medic at any Republic facility without a bat of the eye.” She doesn’t have to see Mando’s face to know that he’s in the process of rolling his eyes. “The girl is in danger staying here—they don’t care about what they’d consider to be former cattle as long as they don’t mock the warlords by staying sedentary. She may not be an engineer, but she’s professional--one of the best medics I’ve trained. Kindest, too. You’ll need someone to look after that lung,” Am’ile leans forward, resting a boney elbow against the table and extending a long forefinger to circle the space in front of Mando’s chest. She continues, “Amazing with children. Can hold her own well enough in a fight. Please don’t ever tell her I’ve told you this, but she has asked me to ah… propose this to you. Since the first night of your arrival she has asked to help on board. I know you’ve been looking for a… a… caretaker. The girl is it, Mandalorian. I know you’re an honorable man. I know you would treat her fairly, with kindness. It’s what she deserves. She’s all you could possibly ask for.”

The words hang in the air for a long time. Mando leans both forearms against the table, looking down at his loosely clasped hands. He takes five breaths, then looks back up at Am’ile. “One of the best medics you’ve trained?”

“The best,” Am’ile smiles to herself. It appears as if she already knows his answer. “Without hesitation, the best.”

“With that bedside manner?”

There is a beat of complete silence. Then Bardottan woman bursts into gleeful laughter, nodding her head as she does. The joy of it is enough to fill the entire room.

Mando looks down at his hands and allows himself a small, private smile. It was the closest thing to: yes. Absolutely, yes, that he’s brave enough to voice.

**

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. In it, he is Din, again. For the first time in a long time.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. He is kneeling in prayer.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. She touches his face gently. He reaches out to her.