#And then why don’t I faint on the road like a dumbass

[ask-the-colony-tree-siblings]

Hey, Hunter!

Aside from the chronic back pain, what other long lasting symptoms did you have from the Rot, if any?

((Okay! So my attempt to answer this somehow developed into a rant about Hunter’s characterization so… here you go lol.))

So I have to answer this on Hunter’s behalf, because part of his character is that he doesn’t like to admit any sort of weakness. Apart from chronic pain, I essentially just gave him the symptoms of low iron. He gets light headed and dizzy, and he is often tired or low energy. 

Hunter has this mindset that being weak, or showing weakness makes you useless. (I wonder what could have possibly made him develop that way of thinking. Surely nothing to do with the way he was raised and treated growing up.) Keep in mind, Hunter’s very logical logic only applies to him. He wouldn’t judge Survivor for not being strong, Hunter just has unhealthy expectations of himself that definitely aren’t realistic anymore with his post-rot symptoms, and were never actually that realistic to begin with.

He has a habit of ignoring his own symptoms, and pretending to be perfectly fine when he isn’t. He’d never admit it if his chronic pain is making it difficult for him to function properly. 

(His physical health is one thing, but don’t even get me started on how Hunter views his mental health lmao.)

Uhhh anyways bonus light headed/dizzy Hunter:

[angel-with-paper-wings]

Road Rage

This is a short fanfic piece for Day 3 of DGE POTO 2024, the Luciana-themed week hosted by @lapsusophobia!

Summary: A college-aged Luciana gets in a car accident with a mysterious stranger, and they cannot decide who is more at fault. Modern!AU

Rating/Warnings: rated T, brief swearing, first person POV

The car’s sudden jolt sent my face flying forward. I gasped as the seatbelt caught my momentum, holding me back just before my forehead collided with the steering wheel.

“Fuck!”

I slammed my foot on the brake and looked up, face-to-face with the hellish red of taillights searing through my windshield. Guilt immediately flooded my mind, but it was just as quickly swept away by a surge of angry bitterness. Whatever dumbass was driving that car had stopped suddenly, so suddenly that I couldn’t hit my brakes fast enough.

No, no no no. I grabbed the gear stick and angrily shoved my car into park. Adrenaline pumped hot and acrid beneath my skin, making my hands fumble as they opened the door handle. Stepping out into the late afternoon sun, I stared at the junction between my sad used Honda Accord and the jet-black retro spaceship in front of me. My heart dropped into my stomach when my eyes landed on the small dent in the vintage car’s polished finish, and I felt it hit my feet when I saw the matching crater in my busted front bumper.

I stamped my foot on the hot pavement like I was three again. “Goddammit!”

My curse acted as a summons. Inside the black car’s excessively tinted windows—is that even legal?—a shadow shifted, and the door popped open with a faint click. A long spidery leg left the car first, followed by a pitch-black suit that probably cost more than my college fund and moved through the air with the precision of a knife. Ebony-rimmed sunglasses and a black cloth face mask hid the shadow’s face from my view. Those sunglasses locked onto me, their mirrored surface hurling my reflection back with disdain.

What a dick.

After a moment of infuriating silence, the sunglasses slid off of my form and landed on the cars and their twin dents. The man beneath the mask heaved a loud sigh.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably, but I willed myself to stand firm. “Well, aren’t you gonna say something? 

The man stared at the cars for a few seconds more, before turning back to me. I couldn’t quite see through the tinting of the glasses, but I could sense his eyes looking me up and down. “Are you hurt?”

My heart stilled at his words. His voice…wow. I had never heard anything so smooth, especially not through a face mask. It was deep but not husky, young but not callow. It could have put Papa’s old Italian opera records to shame. But once the shock of his voice passed and his words settled in, I felt my brow furrow. “Is that it? No apology?”

The man tilted his head. “Apology?” he said, as if he had never heard the word before.

“Yes!” I groaned, exasperated.

A pale, long-fingered hand raised up to the rims of the sunglasses, peeling them away. Glowing golden eyes stared back at me, the black of his pupils narrowing in the sun like a cat’s. His gaze seemed almost stern as it traveled from me to the junction between our cars, and back to me again. “Why should I apologize for something that was your fault?”

The scoff I let out made me take a step back. “My fault? Are you stupid?”

“You rear-ended my car,” he stated simply.

“And you stopped too suddenly in the middle of the intersection!”

“There was traffic coming,” he said, as if he was explaining to a small child. “I wasn’t about to risk damaging my car in an accident worse than this one.”

Bitter anger rose in me again. I stepped forward, tilting my head to keep my eyes on his towering gaze. “I don’t care about your dumb car! It was your turn to go and you didn’t move, what do you expect to happen?” A part of me knew this grouching would get me nowhere, and perhaps in fact legitimized his petty treatment of me, but for the life of me I could not bring myself to back down and let this asshole win.

The man before me seethed in the face of my stubbornness. “Perhaps if you grew out of the habit of tailgating, then you would’ve—”

“Maybe if your windows weren’t tinted so fucking dark you’d be able to see the traffic coming in front of you!”

The gold of his eyes darkened to a smoky topaz, and heat radiated off of them like an open flame. He spoke again, the beauty of his voice muddled by a dangerous growl. “I’ve been driving far longer than you, I’m certain. You were at fault here, and a judge would agree with me in court.”

I would never show it, but his threat succeeded in frightening me. My mind flashed with images of a stern judge staring down at me, listing my sins and punishments, giving the order that would wash away all money and hope of finishing college and living a life beyond that. I clenched my fists and kept my face twisted in its spiteful glare, but my mouth remained shut.

He huffed and swept back to his car, the bottom of his suit jacket swishing behind him. He rummaged in the front seat for a minute before extracting a sleek notebook; he tore out a blank page and offered it to me, along with a fountain pen. “Write your name, phone number, and insurance policy number.”

“Insurance what?”

His eyes flickered incredulously, before he let out an annoyed sigh and waved the paper again. “Write what you know,” he grumbled.

I took the pen and paper from him and turned back to my car. On closer inspection, the page he had given me had lots of long horizontal lines running across it, and it took my brain a second to recognize it as blank sheet music. I scrawled out my name, contact information, and the name of my insurance agency (whatever “policy” he spoke of must be back at home, buried within the pile of bills and receipts and other boring adult stuff).

Turning back to him, I watched his spindly hand scribble something down on another page. He folded it up and handed it to me with an air of reluctance. I snatched the paper out of his hand and began to unfold it, but I stopped when his hand landed on mine. His skin was shockingly cold, even under the hot afternoon sun. “Get to where you need to go. Do not speak of this to anyone except the insurance company or a lawyer. Especially not the police.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his golden gaze. Even while unable to see the bottom half of his face, I could feel the gravity of his words. It was not a request; it was a command.

Without another word, he took my contact information and shuffled back to his car. He folded himself in half and crept into it like a spider; the engines gave a low purr, and the car zipped back onto the road and vanished into the distance.

I stared down at the messy scrawl of letters and numbers he had written on the otherwise blank sheet music. Above the phone number and nondescript email address was a name. Just one name, no surname or honorific.

Erik.

I contemplated the strange interaction that just occurred, until eventually I realized what time it was. I was already late to lecture, but being more late would not make me look any better to my unimpressed professor. I turned back to my car, and again my eyes landed on the fist-sized dent in its matte blue finish. My breathing felt tight for a moment, but I fought it off just enough to jump back into the car and hit the ignition.

As I drove, the shame of what had happened finally hit me in full force. I felt like a noose was tightening around my neck, my throat closing against its will. I tried to breathe through it, but an ugly sob left my mouth instead. The radio blasted too loud in my ears and amplified the rest of my shouting thoughts. As much as I wanted to blame that masked bastard, I knew he was right. It was my fault.

Papa…what will Papa think?

Tears boiled in my eyes, making the street in front of me blur into a smear of bright color. I somehow managed to keep my view just enough to pull over onto the side of the road and bury my face into my hands. I heard Papa’s voice in my head, scolding me like he had so many times before. This would only prove to him what he already believed; that I was a foolish, impatient, immature little girl that wasn’t even close to ready for a life all on her own. My breath felt tight in my chest, like a balloon blown too thin but unable to burst.

A familiar chime woke me from my living nightmare. I sobbed shakily and looked over at my purse, sitting innocently in the passenger seat. I grabbed it and dug around in the mess until I found my phone. A Venmo notification blinked back at me…from Erik.

How did he find my Venmo? Well, I reasoned with myself, it was just my name, and there were probably not too many other Lucianas that shared my last name. But this guy’s account only seemed to list that mysterious first name, besides his stupid username (what the hell is OG_666 supposed to mean anyway?)

When I saw the amount he had sent, my eyes widened as far as they could possibly go. I had no clue how much it would take to fix my car, but I did know that this amount was far more. What made it even stranger was the payment note he included with it:

Forget it happened. Do not call the insurance, just go straight to a mechanic. Tell no one.

The message sent a chill up my spine, just like the cold touch of his fingers. For half a second I hesitated, my brain fumbling with the decision to trust this ominous stranger or to handle this matter by myself. But the latter option meant I would have to come clean to my father about what happened and suffer his wrath, and the former option meant I could use the extra money to pay off my student loans. Once I realized that, the choice was simple.

I unfolded the slip of sheet music again and found his phone number, and with shaking fingers I typed it into my phone’s contacts and wrote out a text message.

thanks so much, you don’t know what this means to me.

My thumbs wiped at the tears that were starting to dry on my cheeks. In the long silent moments it took him to reply, I reread my own message. It still didn’t seem grateful enough, so I added another.

is there any way I can pay you back??

I leaned my head back against the seat and heaved a sigh, relief washing over my soul like a warm breeze. A few moments passed until my phone chimed again; my heart leapt as I looked down at his reply.

There is no need.

His short, solemn answers were probably meant to dissuade confusion, but if anything they just amplified it. The man’s enigmatic nature would not leave my head, infecting my mind like a catchy tune on the radio. I couldn’t just leave things at that…it didn’t feel right. I sighed and rubbed my phone’s flowery silicone case as I thought, until I worked up enough courage to type another text.

how about coffee? are you free wednesday morning?

Without thinking, I pressed send. A few seconds passed and I realized what I’d done and cringed. Thirty seconds, and the doubting thoughts began to cluster. What the hell are you thinking? You rear-end his car and then ask him out? Are you stupid? After a minute, I felt like throwing either my phone or myself into the oncoming traffic. But then, I glimpsed three little dots dancing in the gray bubble at the bottom of my screen.

I grinned.

[restapesta]

23. Don’t you get it? You’re the only one I can be honest with.

Mickey takes being alone with Ian for granted. He really does.

It's quite sad he only realizes that when he's not alone with his ginger life companion—specifically when he's stuck in a moving car with him and fucking Phillip, feeling like a pussy for not having the guts to just open the door and jump out.

Did Ian put child's lock on his door, what the fuck?

He can't do this. It's a fifteen-minute ride to the Gallagher house and Mickey won't be able to survive it. No fucking way. Why did Ian have to say yes to picking Lip up from work? Did he know what hell he would be putting his poor husband through, huh?

If college bitch says something about his shitty delivery job one more time, he swears to God—

"And you know what the best part about this shitty delivery job is?" No. Please, God, make him stop. "Bathroom? Doesn't even fucking exist,"

If Mickey had a gun, he'd stuff it in his mouth.

From the corner of his eye, Mickey sees Ian's gripping the wheel slightly tighter, his knuckles turning white, his tongue bitten between his slightly clenched teeth. Sadly, only Mickey can see him be so frustrated from the passenger seat. He wishes Lip would lean over from the back and see how fucking annoying he really is with his constant babbling.

Maybe it's good he didn't bring a gun with him—Ian looks like he'd wanna stuff it in his mouth, too.

Does he have child's lock on?

"Anyways," Lip breathes out and Mickey focuses on the buzzing of the AC so he wouldn't have to endure the brainwashing his brother-in-law's—why him?—voice is doing.

Ian seems to be thinking the same thing, his eyes rolling discreetly to the back of his head, staying there for a moment or two.

Mickey's torn between telling him to keep his eyes on the goddamn road or just letting him crash their new car into a pole. At least then they wouldn't have to listen to the yapping that's filling every nook and cranny of the fresh interior.

Their car had never seemed so small. Since when is Mickey so claustrophobic? There used to be so much room.

Oh right, Lip's ego is taking up most of it. How could Mickey forget?

"Oh, yeah," He says suddenly, and Ian and Mickey share a look. What now? Will he ever stop? "I meant to ask you about your meds, Ian. You told me you were visiting your doctor or some shit like that."

Mickey reclines back in his seat, lips pursing as he waits for Ian to fill Lip in on the new prescription and its side effects, and whatever other shit Mickey's already got written down in the notes on his phone from when Ian told him in detail about it.

He had been pretty down when he came home from seeing his doctors, listing off all of the shit he was worried about with the new therapy and adjusting to it. He even had a couple of sleepless nights that resulted in him seeking out different pharmacies to buy sleeping pills, which ultimately led to a night of sleepless vomiting because the cocktail of pills didn't really bode well for Ian's stomach.

Mickey doesn't mind reliving it. Doesn't mind listening to his husband talk about the things important to him and things that Mickey should know about.

And, truthfully, Mickey's already come face to face with the fact that he likes knowing about all of Ian's shit—they're already living, sleeping, and working together, so the prospect of knowing that new meds give Ian diarrhea if they're taken on an empty stomach doesn't really seem like a TMI-type of thing to know.

When Ian's related, nothing and everything is pretty much TMI.

"Oh," Ian responds after a moment of silence. His eyes aren't focused when Mickey turns to look at him. It seems as if he's racking his brain around for the proper words, yet can't seem to find them. Eventually, he just lets out, "Everything's the same. Nothing new."

Mickey knows that's not true.

"Didn't you say you were being put on some new shit?" Lip's confused. Mickey is too.

Ian was put on new shit. Shit that landed him with a week of goddamn exhaustion and a fucked-up stomach.

"No. It's the same."

"Oh," Lip mutters. "Okay then."

And he continues to go into another monologue about why being a delivery boy is such a shitty job to have with a mind of his.

Mickey stares at Ian's side profile for as long as it takes him to turn around and meet his eye. It takes him long—in fact, Mickey's pretty sure Ian won't be turning around any time soon.

Why would he lie? Why would he hide the fact he did change his meds when it's really not that big of a deal?

Mickey's even more confused by it because Ian had ranted about his doctor's appointment the day of it, nearly talking Mickey's ear off. He had been annoyed, relieved, and worried, all at the same time, and the entire Tuesday was just spent with them talking about bipolar like the mundane thing it was.

So, why wouldn't Ian just want to retell that shit again? It wasn't as if he didn't still have frustrations over it. Not like he wouldn't fucking jump on the chance to talk about his biggest concerns the second the opportunity presented itself.

Why then?

Lip's still talking and Ian's still not looking at him.

Mickey places a gentle hand on his thigh, trying to get his attention. In response to Mickey's thumb running over his husband's jeans, Ian just places a hand on top of his, picking it up and raising it to his mouth until the rough skin meets the smoothness of his lips. When he finally looks at him, there's a plead in his eye. An answer to Mickey's unasked question.

Later.

"Ugh, can you guys not do that here? Since when did you become that couple?"

They both ignore the dumbass in the backseat of their car. Ian turns to look ahead, and he pushes his foot down visibly on the gas pedal, and Mickey knows that the time until they're able to drop Lip off is cutting shorter.

"You guys are really annoying with that mind-reading shit, you know that?"

Mickey breathes in deeply.

Five more minutes. Just five more minutes and they'll be alone.

Ian's hand doesn't disentangle from his, but Mickey does move them so they're laying on top of his leg, palms pressed tightly together. He squeezes at it once.

Ian squeezes back.

There's a faint mumble from the back.

"I fucking hate being the third wheel."

Mickey barely stops himself from jumping into Ian's lap, just in spite.

Instead, with his free hand, he just flips him off.

---

They're driving to their place when Mickey finally asks the question. They've been alone for a couple of minutes now, after a prolonged—much to both their dismays—goodbye to Lip in front of the Gallagher house. As soon as it was appropriate to, Ian peeled out of the driveway, putting as much distance between him and his family—his annoying-ass brother—as he possibly could in a record time.

At first, Mickey fiddled with the radio until he landed on some radio station that played pop-shit music, lowering the volume until the Taylor Swift song—he hates that he knows it—was just a hum filling the silence. Ian isn't speaking, but he doesn't seem tense.

He seems just as always, shoulders even further relaxed—slumped, actually, because he has the posture of a question mark—now that Lip is out of the car and in the hands of the others to deal with.

"So," Mickey starts casually when his weirdo of a partner starts singing lowly to Lover on the radio. It's a song they only listen to when they're feeling sappier than usual, but Ian tends to always be sappy, so none of this sweet singing shit was a surprise for Mickey. The lyrics coming out of Ian's mouth still make his chest swell pleasantly, despite him barely holding himself back from rolling his eyes. "What was that?"

"Hm?" Ian's eyes momentarily move to eye Mickey. They go back almost immediately. "What was what?"

"What was that thing with Lip?" The question isn't meant to be judgmental nor accusing. Mickey really is just curious.

It wasn't him whom Ian had lied to. But why did he lie in the first place?

Ian shrugs, lowering the volume with the switch on the wheel even further until they can barely hear the soft voice.

"I just didn't feel like telling him." Is the simple reply.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Ian."

"Mickey—"

"Come on, man, don't give me that bullshit."

"I'm not—I don't," He exhales roughly as if finally forcing himself to admit to something he doesn't want to admit to. "I don't like anybody knowing about it. It's nobody's business but my own."

Mickey makes a face, still confused as fuck. He gets the reasoning behind the words, but it's just not clicking in his brain. Maybe Lip really did brainwash it. "You say you don't like anybody knowing, but you told me."

Ian glances away from the road and sends Mickey the type of look that says he thinks what Mickey just said was the dumbest thing possible. It's incredulous.

"You're not anybody, Mick."

And that's sweet and all, but—

"Lip's not anybody either."

Ian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, dramatically exasperated. "Don't you get it, Mickey? You're the only one I can be honest with. Completely transparent."

Mickey doesn't know why he's still pushing, but fuck, there's no way. "You can be transparent with Lip. He'll hear you out, give you advice. Won't judge you." Why is he defending Lip again? "I'm not the only one who understands."

"Yeah, but you're the only one who isn't annoying about it. If I wanted Lip to know, I would've called him straight away. But instead, I talked to you. Mickey, you're a dumbass if you don't see that you're the only one I want to tell."

Well fuck.

Mickey blinks. He actually is a dumbass, but that's already been genetically proven. This is something else.

Mickey feels Ian's words deep in his chest. His heart jumps to his throat—it's one of the best things Ian could've said to him. It doesn't feel fucking real.

"Really?" He asks pathetically. It's not like Ian would lie; he's always had a knack for saying everything that's on his mind. Mickey loves that about him right now. It's just that—Mickey? He wants to tell Mickey about it and nobody else?

Ian smiles at him. "Really, babe," Mickey blushes as the nickname. "You know just how many questions to ask. When to listen and when to talk. When to give me advice and when to tell me to get out of my own head." Ian's eyebrows furrow. "Lip doesn't know how to do that. Not like you—"

No. Mickey will not cry. No. It's just eyeball sweat.

"—With you, I know that I can say whatever is on my mind and won't feel like shit about it. It's fucking liberating, having somebody like that."

Mickey breathes in deeply. Fuck Ian for using his words like this and making his heart squeeze impossibly. Why is he so fucking perfect all the fucking time?

How did Mickey get so fucking lucky?

"Yeah," He responds dumbly, out of breath—because it legit is logged up in his throat at the moment. He clears it. "I guess that's what best friends are for."

And the grin Ian sends him in response to the sheepishly-said sentence is enough to make butterflies explode inside Mickey's belly—ugh, no, he's supposed to be past that stage, for fuck's sake.

Ian's still grinning as Mickey's whole face probably turns the shade of Ian's favorite vegetable—maybe that's why Ian likes it when Mickey blushes—and he has to avert his gaze so he doesn't go even redder than Ian's hair.

"Best friends? I feel honored, Mick."

"Shut up."

"No, for real."

"Shut up."

Ian laughs and spares Mickey the embarrassment by raising the volume up on the radio, the song now booming loudly through the space.

Ian glances over at Mickey right as he starts singing it joyfully, a wide smile on his face. This is the Ian Mickey knows and loves—happy Ian.

Mickey's favorite Ian after the horny one.

Mickey's chest swells with pride. He ended up with Ian. The Ian who loves him unconditionally; who knows just the right to say and when to say it; who just told him Mickey's the only one he can be real with.

I can only be honest with you, too. He wants to tell him. I only am honest with you.

Instead of saying the words, he starts singing himself, and the screeching voices of two men stupidly in love are seeping out of the slightly opened windows, the wind whooshing them away.

I can only do this with you, Mickey thinks. I'm only this free with you.

Judging by the way Ian's smiling, Mickey guesses he's thinking the same thing, too.

"Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover."

[gashinabts]

hands-on learner| (m)

Word: 3.5k

Pairing: hentai voice actor!Seokjin x hentai voice actor!Reader

Genre: mature, smut, fluff

Summary: seokjin teaches you in unethical way on how to give your best hentai voice.

Warnings: hentai, public sex, DEGRADING, humiliation, dirty talk, rough sex, slut is used multiple times, fingering, overstimulation, choking, spitting, unprotected sex, ass & pussy slapping

a/n: just a quick one-shot for my babes. hope you enjoy this fic :) remember that your comments and support are what motivates me to write!

When you were little you always wanted to help people. The teacher would ask you what you want to be when you grow up, and you would reply to a doctor or a nurse somewhere in the lines of helping people. But when you came to the age of realizing that you live in a world where being the person you want to be came with a price such as starving yourself in order to pay for college classes you changed what you wanted to be. 

You are still helping people but not in a way that people would give a noble peace award for. As in right now you are reading a lewd script and fake orgasming. “ Y/N, reshoot. The words are off,” the director tells you. You look at the screen and watch as the hentai girl is getting pumped by an overload of semen, and you do a voiceover of a few high pitch moans and cries. “ Okay! Good,” the director gives you a thumbs up. 

You smile and gulp the water soothing your throat, you get out of the sound booth immediately bumping into Seokjin's chest. “ Watch and learn how a real pro does his work,” he tells you in a cocky tone. Seokjin is just wearing a hoodie and jeans yet he looks like a high class model, his light brown hair is pushed back and he looks hot but too bad he is an asshole.

Rolling your eyes you push his chest away, “ No thanks. All you have is a couple of weird cringey dialogue and a few grunts,” you hear him laugh as he enters the vocal booth. You sit down next to Yoongi who is part of the sound engineer making sure everything goes well. “ I hate him. He thinks he is all that, look at him,” you scoff.

“ Yeah, it also looks like you want to fuck him,” Yoongi lets out a chuckle. Okay, he is not wrong. You want to fuck Seokjin at least once to get all the sexual tension out of the way but somewhere in the back of the mind you think Seokjin likes to fuck in front of mirrors so he can watch himself the whole time. 

The director taps you on your shoulder and brings you outside in the hallway, “ The team and I were going through the comments from the previous work we have done…” Mr. Kim pulls out his ipad. Your eyes zoom in at some of the comments that make you see red.

@lolligirls- She sounds so fake

↳ @Y/N’sbitch- dumbass all of this is fake. no one is actually having sex in these hentai videos

@hentitties- Clearly this voice actor never had sex...lol

@hrny4animethighs- I couldn’t get past the five minutes, I had to go to a different video

@hentaiaddict- Seokjin is such a good voice actor, I nearly creamed my pants from him just saying hello

“ Thank you Y/N’sbitch, clearly this person knows how things work,” you roll your eyes. You give the ipad back not wanting to see it anymore, what do these people know about voice acting, you're the one getting paid and making them ejaculate in tissue in their gamer room. 

Mr. Kim clears his throat before speaking, “ There are more praises and positive comments for Seokjin’s voice so I asked him to give you some pointers. You guys will have to send me a voice memo of the script I’m going to send you tonight,” you make a sound a protest but he gives you a look, “ Or else you will just have a supporting role in the newest project.” He walks off to the other direction. The minute he’s out of earshot you kick the trash can which makes the trash fall out causing you to get more frustrated. You pick up the trash and toss it in the bin, muttering curse words to yourself. Now you have to see Seokjin’s cocky face all night giving you stupid tips that you don’t even need. 

You walk back inside the studio, Seokjin is out of the vocal booth and flirting with a woman, while Yoongi is going over the vocal track. “ I heard what happened, in all honesty you are my second favorite voice actor,” Yoongi tells you as you sit next to him.

You sigh, “ Who’s your first?” The chair makes a squeak as you adjust the seat height. Glancing over at Seokjin, he makes eye contact while giving you a smug smile then turning back to his conversation with the lady. Scoffing, you turn your attention to Yoongi as he fiddles with track volume.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyebags are dark “ Jimin,” he nonchalantly says. You aren’t even surprise, since they are fucking around. They are somewhere in the lines of friends to lovers but they are both too stubborn to admit they have deep feelings for eachother.

“ I would have never guessed...at least you are going to be here tonight,” you take a sip of the water down the ice coffee you bought earlier this morning. If Yoongi is here, you have nothing to worry about.

“ Actually it’s just going to be you and Seokjin. Told Mr. Kim I have an important date,” Yoongi’s ears turn red. At least someone is getting dick you think to yourself. “ Try not to kill each other,” he tells you. 

****

Everyone has left the studio and it’s just you and Seokjin. You are going through your lines, a corny script of a girl spending the night with her boyfriend’s best friend and they end up fucking, nothing out of the ordinary. “ Okay, I’m ready. I don’t want to be here all night,” you look at him casually scrolling on his phone. 

“ Aww, don’t be so mean. I know you are dying to be here with me,” Seokjin puts his phone away, coming closer to you after he presses the start button. He tosses his arm over your shoulder, “ Okay let’s get the show on the road princess,” Seokjin guides you to the vocal booth. Immediately you groan, pushing his arm away but your ears turn red at the pet name.

The script is placed right in front of you and you start to read it, going through the introduction of the characters. 

Seokjin looks at you more carefully when it gets to the saucy part, his finger on his chin as if he is really inspecting you. “ Mmm, it feels really good,” you whine at the end, making sure you sound as lewd as possible. 

Seokjin makes a sharp clap, making you halt from any other sound. “ It doesn’t sound like it feels good. You need to make it sound more real.” Seokjin shakes his head, there’s a small smirk. Your eye twitches wondering if he just wants to purposely get you irritated. “ Do it again, but this time make it sound like someone is actually fucking you,” he nods his head for you to continue. 

The last time you got fuck was a year ago, and it was a bad experience. You didn’t even orgasm and the guy came in less than five minutes. This time you repeat the line but with a whiny and sultry tone. Seokjin sighs, shaking his head in disappointment and you get frustrated. “ Well okay then teach me, because I think I sound fucking great,” you pull at the strand of your hair. 

“ No need to get mad, I can help you,” Seokjin laughs at your frustration. He comes closer to you and you can smell his faint masculine cologne, his body is close to you. “ I want you to imagine it as if I was fucking you,” he whispers darkly. 

You bite your cheek from cursing him off, but you should at least try it out. So you envision him fucking you from behind. The image of his manly hand wrapped around your head while the other is around your neck. He’s probably the type to fuck you like you don’t matter and you can’t help it that actually turns you on. “ Mmm, it feels really good,” you moan as if he is actually ramming his cock into you. You look at his approval and he nods, a small sense of victory comes over you. Until you feel his hand pushing your hair to the other side you leaving one side of your neck bare. He is closer to you, right behind you, his chest barely touching your body.

“ Is this okay?” He whispers into your ear. You whisper a yes and his plump lips kiss your neck leaving a trail of wet kisses that leaves your skin tingling. “ I’m barely touching you and you are so reactive,” he takes notice of your heavy breathing. He licks a small part of your neck, then blows on it watching you squirm at the sudden coldness. 

“ Someone can walk in,” you look at the door. You don’t remember locking it, and what if the janitor comes in. Maybe that makes it more tempting for you, being caught in Seokjin’s lust. “ Seokjin,” you whine as he bites on your earlobe. 

“ You would like that...to have someone see you getting fucked hard by me. Drooling because of my cock is hitting you in just the right spot,” his hand goes under your shirt just resting on bare waist. Then his fingers tracing up and down your stomach meeting the underside of your bra but then going back down. 

“ I-no,” you shake your head in defiance. He laughs and grabs your jaw forcing your neck to twist and look at him. His eyes are darker, and he gives you a pointed look making you change your answer. “ Yes, I’d like that,” you whimper, as his rough hand pats your cheek heavily as a reward.

“ See silly girl, lying won’t get you anywhere,” he taunts you. His body then pushes you forward so you now against the glass window, you place your hands on the cold glass. Seokjin takes his time taking off your clothes. You are the only one naked on the and the cold air from the ac makes your nipples hard and from the lustful stare Seokjin has. “ I should just leave you like this and call everyone here to look at you,” Seokjin has a sinister smile when you shake your head in fear. “ Why? You look like a perfect slut. I bet you are already wet from just me kissing your neck,” he pushes your chest so your back is now against the cold window. 

The degrading names are something new to you, and your thighs squeezed together try to relieve some pain. “ Then leave me here. I bet someone else can fuck me better than you,” you shrug your shoulders, hoping he’ll get mad. 

His jaw clenches, “ Spread your legs,” he forcefully helps you by slapping the inside of your thighs. “ Look at you so fucking wet,” he comments looking down at your drolling lips. His hand then comes to slap your cunt, you flinch but then feel the pain subside to pleasure. Your body coming forward falling into his chest but his hand pushes you back to the glass, “ Take it like a good slut,” he tsk at you shaking his head. The slaps come in intervals as he chuckles at your betweens of moaning and whimpering. A few slaps hitting your clit and you cry out his name to slap you more. By the time he is done your cunt feels numb and your legs shake, your hands fisting at his shirt. “ We just started and you are already giving up on me,” he massages your cunt soothingly, spreading your arousal and barely entering the tip of his finger in your entrance.

Shaking your head, you look up at him, “ Seokjin, please fuck me. I want to be your good slut,” you deliriously say in ecstasy. His lips lift up and his two fingers thrust quickly into you, with no warning. Your head falls forward onto his hard chest staring at his fingers thrusting deep and hard, the juices becoming more apparent on his hand. You have never been this wet in your whole life, is this what you have been missing? 

One of his hands pulls your hair back to you looking at him, “ Open wide,” you do as you are told and he spits in your mouth. The spit slides easy as you swallow it, opening your mouth for more as if it was fiji water. He spits again and purposely misses your mouth landing on your cheek, “ Oops,” he smirks then wiping his spit across your whole cheek. And you don’t care, just consumed in the pleasure of his fingers still fucking you open. Your eyes roll back when his fingers curl, your stomach feeling warm. “ Come on my fingers you dirty slut, make them smell like you,” he watches you unravel.

 One last thrust and you come all over his fingers, thighs shaking when he continues to thrust at fast pace not stopping when you try to pull away. He pushes you even more to the glass so you have no escape but to come again on his fingers, your body is confused to having back to back orgasms. Screaming his name in ecstasy, your cunt pulsates at the euphoric sensation. Body releasing everything you got, your chest is heavy and you finally feel him pull his fingers out, his fingers then shoving in your mouth. “ My fingers are dirty because of you,” he chastises you. Your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion of you tasting your own come for the first time, his intense gaze watches you suck the juices off his fingers. Moaning around his finger just like it was your favorite flavor lollipop. Sucking one last time, your lips smack as he pulls them out, “ Fuck me like you hate me,” your hand travel to his hard bulge lightly squeezing it. 

You close your eyes and pucker your lips when he leans down, only for him to whisper into your ear, “ I don’t wanna see your face if I fuck you,” he twist your body so your breast are flat against the window, side of your face pressed down on it too. You take a deep breath partially because you're nervous yet excited about what is about to come. The sound of his buckle is being undone and his pants, there’s no preparation as he thrust his cock into. Yelping at the sudden force, one of his hands holds against your throat and the other tight on your waist. His thrust are fast and rough, fucking you to his own pleasure and you don’t mind. “ I’m surprise you're tight,” he thrust harder and you cry out in pleasure, “you’re not fucking anyone, right?” Your mind is blank, only focusing on the thickness of his cock stretching you out painfully good. His hand occasionally squeezes your throat, letting your life be at his hands. He slaps your ass hard, you cry at the stinging sensation. “ Answer me slut,” he spanks your ass again harder.

Shaking your head the best you could you answer. “ No. There’s nobody,” your body jolts at his thrusts. You try your best staying still, your hands holding against the window, not providing much stability. “ Fuck Seokjin, it’s too much,” you whine. Not sure what is too much. The feeling is overwhelming, you think. Never had been fucked this good. 

His hand leaving your throat slides down to your clit, “ Shut up, you can handle it,” he chuckles, slapping your clit, shooting more sparking sensation in your core. “ I can’t stand your fucking mouth. Always talking shit about me, stupid slut. I can hear what you say about me to Yoongi. The voice booth is two way,” he pinches your clit.

Your eyes widen and you mentally want to slap yourself, but who cares the amazing sex is the consequent of your big mouth. Seokjin jackhammers into you, constantly hitting the spot that makes your eyes go cross eyed. The stars are evident when he rubs your clit hard, clawing at the window trying to grab onto anything you moan his name so lewdly as you orgasm harder than the previous two, it sounds like it came for a high-budget porno. 

Your thighs tremble at the aftermath of your orgasm yet you want him to use you more. “ Are you gonna take my come like a good slut?” Seokjin asks. His hand moving from your clit to the back of your hair pulling your head back. 

“ Mmm, yes I want you to fill me up,” you moan at the thought of his come covering your walls. Three more hard thrust he unravels, grunting your name and coming deep into you, holding your body tight to his. 

There’s the feeling of his shirt sticking to your sweaty back but you ignore the uncomfortable feeling. Your body falling limply into his arms as he carries your weight. Breathing is loud from both parties, he kisses your head and rubs your arms in a soothing manner. “ I’m going to get tissues real quick, okay?” You nod, your throat feeling sore from all the screaming. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek before running outside the vocal booth to get a tissue and water. You slide your body on the floor muscles strained from the rough sex, he comes back with a concerned look.

He sits down beside you, but then puts you on his lap laying the back of your head against his chest. He gently spreads your legs, and wets the tissue then uses it to clean the mess he made. Your eyes close, not used to feeling this kind of emotion, like you want to be comforted and swaddled. “ Open your mouth for me, baby,” Seokjin presses the water lightly on your lips. Parting your lips the nice cold liquid travels down your throat, relieving a small part of pain. “ Good girl,” he whispers, one hand caressing your cheek. “ My beautiful baby did a good job today,” he kisses the side of your forehead. You hum in delight at the compliment loving the feeling. He continues praising you, hands caressing every inch of skin and kissing your cheeks.

When you finally have the energy to get dressed, the room is silent because for once you guys aren’t bantering. You look at him and he is scrolling on his phone like he didn’t just fuck you to oblivion. And it kind of hurts that he’s not looking at you despite him giving all that aftercare. Maybe it’s your after sex hormones making you emotional. “ Imma just go,” your voice is hoarse. He looks up quickly showing you his sparkly eyes, “ I can’t really work like this,” you point to your throat, there’s a slight burn as you speak. 

“ Wait, I ordered us food,” Seokjin stands up showing you the receipt order of kimchi jjigae on his phone. “ But if you want to leave, that's fine,” he rubs his neck. “ Let me at least order you a taxi,” he goes on his phone.

“ No!” You embarrassingly say loudly. His eyes widened at the sudden outburst. You blush like an idiot, “ I mean, no I would like to stay and eat kimchi jjigae with you.” Seokjin smiles and you smile back.

You and Seokjin waste no time eating the food, taking less than fifteen minutes to finish the food. “ I’m too tired to do the voice memo. I’ll just take the supporting role,” you lay your head back in defeat. 

Seokjin is cleaning the mess and he shakes his head, “ I’ll tell him that you did a good job and that we forgot to record it,” he throws the food cartons in the trash can. 

“ Yeah but those stupid comments,” you groan loudly. “ What if I do suck?” You ask yourself, thinking about @hrny4animethighs’ comment. 

“ Impossible. You are a talented voice actress, those comments are just trolls.” Seokjin sits down next to you. 

You face him, smiling at his nice comment. “ Really?” You get fuck by Seokjin once and now your head over heels for him. 

“ Yes.” Seokjin cutely rubs your head. “ But if you need any help, just imagine me fucking you,” he laughs as you groan pushing his hand away. “ You want to know I’m so good at hentai voice acting?” You nod at his question. “ Because I imagine you,” he likes the way your cheeks flush. 

He stares at your lips, “ Are you finally going to kiss me?” He doesn’t answer but kissing you softly something that you didn’t expect after the filthy sex you guys had earlier. His lips feel like soft pillows and you could feel yourself getting lost, your hands finally get to feel what his hair feels like. Soft and silky.

“ Go out with me,” he pulls a centimeter away. His breath hitting your lips.

The Kim Seokjin wants to go out with you? “ It’s only fair because you gave me some pointers,” you shrug. Seokjin chuckles and attacks you with kisses, wondering how he is falling quickly for you.

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

Do not repost, translate, or alternate my work in any way, onto any platform. I do not take plagiarism lightly.

[honeynutouran]

Me too (Kirishima x Reader)

Summary: You have had a crush on Kirishima since you started going to UA but you never said anything. Now third years you have a long weekend and you and your friends decide to go on a road trip.

Word count: 1.8k

Kirishima x GN reader

Y/N = your name

A/N: I haven't written in a hot minute so I wrote this up feeling the need to write. Sorry if its not the best I just wanted to post something for you guys. Also I suck at endings so I apologize.

Warnings: some cursing, one bed and fluff. (If there are any other warnings please reach out to me so I know)

UNEDITED

Being best friends with Bakugou Katsuki had its perks like he would help you study because “If you won’t leave me alone might as well keep up with me.” (His exact words) And you got to hang out with his other friends and his other best friend, Kirishima.

Bakugou has noticed that you have had a liking for Kirishima and would not drop it. “God, just say something to shitty hair already, I am sick of you staring at him all the time. I’m trying to teach you this new move listen dumbass.” He said to you when he caught you staring at Kirishima during training.

“I was admiring his form, shut up boom-boom boy.” You spat back, hitting him with your quirk.

“Yeah right, his form, and that didn’t even hurt.” He laughed brushing off where you had hit him.

“I wasn’t aiming to hurt you, dumbass.” You said this time aiming at his head as he tried to dodge your oncoming attack.

A few weeks had passed and you and the rest of your group were planning what you would all do on your next long weekend. Mina insisted you all go on a road trip stopping at her house one night since she had enough room for everyone as long as everyone was cool with sharing sleeping spaces. Everyone agreed it seemed like fun, well almost everyone.

“Why would I want to spend a long weekend with you extras?” Bakugou questioned.

“Bakugoubro, you’ll have a great time with us.” Kaminari smiled a toothy grin to Bakugou and Kirishima joined in.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t be very mainly to skip out on time with your friends," Kirishima added.

“Plus, if you don’t hang out with us, who else will put up with you?” Sero chimed in causing everyone but the boy in question to laugh.

“Fine, so you guys stop annoying me.” He gave in and you smiled to yourself thinking about a weekend with your friends and especially with Kirishima.

After getting permission from Aizawa to leave the dorms for the weekend and Sero borrowing his family’s minivan the plan all fell into place.

“We can take turns driving every couple of hours!” Mina exclaimed climbing into the passenger seat next to Sero in the driver’s seat. Behind them in the middle row were Bakugou and Kaminari. You and Kirishima were in the very back because Bakugou claimed he would get car sick in the back (a lie he came up with so you could sit next to Kirishima, unknown to you) and Kaminari claimed he would be best in the middle so he could charge everyone’s phones fairly.

“let me know if you need more room, it would be unmanly of me if I made you uncomfortable.” Kirishima smiled at you as you guys got situated in your seats.

“I’m okay, thanks, Kiri.” You smiled back at him.

After a few hours, you started to feel yourself get more and more tired despite it now being Mina's driving shift and she was not the most graceful driver.

“Hey, Y/N you look pretty tired,” Kirishima whispered.

“hmm.” You nodded in reply your eyelids becoming heavier. You tried to fight the tiredness, but you failed, finally letting the sleep take over.

Kirishima was frozen in place as your head plopped onto his shoulder, he knew that if he moved and woke you up it would be super unmanly. He would never let anyone wake up because of him, especially you. Mina looked in the mirror and smiled at the sight of you and whispered to the rest of the car to look. With that Kirishima blushed when the rest of the boys turned towards you two Kaminari giving him a thumbs up. Bakugou rolled his eyes at the sight but he was secretly happy for his best friends.

After some more time and everyone having driven, you had finally arrived at Mina’s house. “Welcome to my humble abode!” Mina smiled while gesturing toward the house. “It is a little cramped but, we have 2 spare rooms.” She explained.

“So two rooms and six of us?” Sero asked.

“Well three rooms including mine, so two per room. I’m assuming Y/N in my room then the rest of you can split up.” Mina suggested.

“No way am I sleeping in the same room as any of these loud idiots. I’ll be with you raccoon eyes.” Bakugou complained.

“I am not sure my parents will be okay with you in my room Bakugou.” Mina started.

“Parents love me-“ started but was cut off by your laughing.

“Bakugou my parents have known you since you were in diapers, and they cannot stand you sometimes.” You laughed even more.

“Shut up ditz, I don’t want to be stuck with you all night either. I’ll talk to raccoon eyes parents. Also, sparky you cannot room with Y/N last time you guys had a ‘sleepover’ you short-circuited and shocked Y/N and you both had to see recovery girl.” Bakugou reminded you before walking into the house to convince Mina’s parents of his sleeping arrangement.

“Hey, that was awesome, and we were fine.” Kaminari protested.

“It’s okay dude, we can room together, finish out the smash bros tournament we started in the van.” Sero offered, and Kaminari happily agreed.

“Looks like we are roomies.” Kirishima smiled at you pulling his stuff and yours out of the van.

“I can take that.” You said pointing to your bag but, Kirishima shook his head and insisted he got it. “Thanks, Kiri, you really don’t have to though.” You say feeling bad that he is taking your stuff.

“It’s okay Y/N you’re stuck rooming with me, it’s the least I can do.” He offered smiling, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“I am not stuck with you, Kiri you would have been my first choice.” You smile back your face starting to heat up. Kiri looks at you a little too long before he realizes he is holding both your stuff and his own.

“I should go bring these to the room then.” He coughed out walking into the house.

“Well, that damn blasty brat convinced my parents that he would be the best to sleep in my room, so I guess I will show the rest of you where you will be staying.” Mina sighed not looking forward to her sleeping arrangements.

“Hey, I am a delight.” Bakugou yelled from somewhere in the house.

“Yeah, can’t wait. Anyways Kaminari and Sero you guys can take my brother's old room since you won’t mind the smell. Kirishima and Y/N you guys can take the guest bedroom.” Mina said pointing to each room. Kirishima nodded and took your stuff into the guest room upon entering he turned to you his face matching his hair.

“Uh Y/N… there is only one bed. I can ask Mina if she has a spare futon or something if you want me to, it would be super unmanly to make you share the bed with me an-“ you cut off his rambling.

“Kiri, it is okay, the bed is pretty big anyways there is plenty of room I wouldn’t want you to be stuck on the floor. I promise it is okay.” You say hoping he does not realize your face is on fire from the idea of sharing a bed with the boy you have been in love with since your first year at UA.

“Well, if you are sure it is okay.” He says a little unsure himself.

“It is.” You reassure him.

When it was time to go to bed Kirishima was panicking when he was changing into his pajamas, what if he did something to make you uncomfortable or what if he does something stupid, but what he didn’t know is you were having the same worries as you changed in the bathroom. After you finished changing you knocked on the door to see if it was okay to come in.

“I’m changed, you can come in,” Kiri said, turning towards the door when you came in. “What side of the bed do you want?”

“Oh, uh I don’t care either is fine.” You said walking in and closing the door behind you.

“Okay, I will just take the side closer to me then.” He said getting into bed, practically on the edge.

“Kiri, you can move over some more, you don’t have to worry. I would be worried if you fell off the bed.” You laughed at his attempts to be as respectful as possible.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He explained once again.

“Kiri how many times must I tell you? You could never make me uncomfortable.” You said moving closer to him.

“Are you sure, because what if I like ended up cuddling you or something?” he blushed.

“I would be okay with that.” You admitted hiding your face under the sheets to avoid any further embarrassment. But your surprise Kirishima grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“This is okay?” he asked.

“It is more than okay.” You replied molding yourself into him.

“I’m glad.” He smiled into the back of your head making himself comfortable against your touch. You two quickly fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

At the moment you two were way too happy to be with one another you forgot about the four other members of your group. You were still in Kirishima’s embrace by morning, only have gotten more entangled with each other.

“Shitty hair, ditz get up!” Bakugou yelled as he opened your door. You both bolted up and backed away from each other only to have Bakugou scoff and close the door. “Don’t be late for breakfast.” He said from behind the door.

“We should probably get down there,” Kirishima said scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah but first I gotta do something.” You said scooting closer to Kirishima.

“Do what?” he asked as you got closer.

“This.” You smirked, closing the distance between you two by crashing your lips into his, he quickly caught on and deepened the kiss letting the feelings across that you two have shared for each other for years. “Been wanting to do that for a long time.” You smiled when you broke apart.

“Me too.” He smiled back in his crooked smile. “So does this mean we are dating?”

“I hope so.” You said grabbing his hand and pulling him out of bed.

“Then it does.” He replied as you walked hand in hand to breakfast.

“I CALLED IT!” Mina yelled when you two walked into the kitchen.

“Sero owes me five bucks.” Kaminari said smirking at you two.

“Technically no, because we do not know when this happened.” Sero said to Kaminari making him frown.

“Who cares, can we eat,” Bakugou complained but you could have sworn when no one was looking he smiled to himself. “Told you, you should have told him.” He said to you under his breath.

“Did you know this whole time Katsuki?” you asked.

“Tch, know what?" He replied taking a bite of his food and refusing to keep talking on the matter. Kirishima grabbed your hand once again giving it a small squeeze and smiling at you when you turned your head towards him.

“I’m glad we went on this trip.” He smiled.

“Me too.” You smiled back Kiri.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

Part 5:

When you wake up the next morning, your blankets are folded. They’re folded and piled neatly next to rearranged pillows, not even a crease left in your couch cushions from where he’d slept. It’s like he was never even there in the first place, but then you walk into your kitchen. There’s a muffin sitting on your counter, a note attached on top of it’s plastic container. 

Your couch is fucking shitty, but thanks I guess. I only bought you this so you don’t complain. I don’t owe you shit, leech.

It’s a strange sort of fondness that eclispes you then, so faint that you almost don’t even catch it. You never thought you’d have a soft spot for anything Bakugou did- but you figure leech isn’t so bad. Way better than witch or any of the other names he’d called you anyway.

You remove the note, popping open the plastic lid. The muffin’s long gone cold, but you figured that was about right; Bakugou did seem the type to be fussy about rising early. Still, you tear away the paper, smiling while you take a bite, chewing and-

Bran.

Bakugou bought you a bran muffin.

Suddenly, and you’re sure it must be brain damage, but you feel a little warmer than before. You spit out the disgusting muffin with an exasperated laugh, wondering just where the hell he even managed to buy such an abomination.

—//—

A few weeks later, you’re locking the back door behind you, once again stepping into the street. You see him the second you turn around, clad in costume and leaning against the wall. You can’t really see his face well in the low light, but no shadows could hide those red eyes you’d come to know.

There’s that weird sensation again, a subtle warmth settling in your chest at the sight of him. You’d been feeling it for weeks now, this strange pride overcoming you every time you’d seen him succeed. Whether it was on the news or on magazines, or even in commericials, you felt a strange peace at seeing his face. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the same happiness you feel at seeing anybody you healed- but it’s more than that.

You’d come to realize you thought of Bakugou as more than just a patient. He was nearing more of a strange sort of friend. Albeit one that frequently made you want to tear your hair out.

He shifts, standing straighter while you look at him, and you’re not sure what you were expecting, but his costume looks intimidating. The only time you’d seen it before, that very first night you’d met him, he hadn’t had his gauntlets or his headpiece. Now he’s standing in front of you, arms entrapped by giants grenades and sharp spikes behind his ears. He looks larger than life- so loud and proud that you almost can’t match the tired and injured Bakugou you knew to the seemingly invincible Dynamite he was now.

“I got your gift.” You break the ice with a small smile, stepping away from the door.

“You did, huh? You like it?”

“Oh my god, wipe the smirk off your face. I can hear it, you asshole.” You roll your eyes at his tone. “I didn’t like it. It was disgusting! Where the hell did you even get it?”

“Bakery down the street. Not that it matters since you’re fuckin’ ungrateful. Apparently.”

“Bakugou- you invited yourself into my house, and then left me a war-crime for breakfast! You try being grateful when that happens- trust me, it’s hard.”

He just shrugs, falling into step with you as you continue down the alley.

“Oh, okay, so is this just, like, a thing you’re doing now? Stalking me home-“

“Walking.” He interrupts sternly, clearly not finding humor in your joke. “Stupid shit like this is my fuckin’ job, okay- so don’t go thinking you’re special.”

“Oh I don’t. Believe me, you’ve made it very clear that you don’t even like- oh my god, are you bleeding?”

When he finally steps into the light of the street lamps, you can see blood glisten something sickly as it drips from his nose. It hardly reaches his lip before Bakugou is grunting, smearing it away on the back of his hand. There’s a strange torpidity to his  movements, and it’s not until you meet his eyes that you realize it- he’s tired again, sleepless and ghostly just like every other time you’d ever seen him.

“What’s with the nose? I thought you said you didn’t get hurt often. What happened to that, huh?”

“You try fighting on less than 3 hours of sleep a night. Shit fuckin’ adds up. Makes you sloppy.” He defends, grumbling under his breath as he wipes away more blood. “I doubt you’d do any fuckin’ better.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I’m sure I wouldn’t.” You stop, staring him down until he spins to face you. “Can I see it? I think it’s broken.”

“No fuckin’ shit.”

“Bakugou, c’mon. I’m trying to help.” You roll your eyes at him. “Drop the attitude please.”

“Why the hell do you even care? Hah?”

“Because, contrary to your very disrespectful insults, I’m actually a pretty good nurse, alright? And that means I try my best to help injured people when I see them. Even when they’re rude to me.”

“Who the fuck said I’m rude?”

“Me. I’m saying it.” You insist, stepping closer to him. He smells like blood and smoke, still clad in his hero costume, but you approach anyway. “But, really, can I see? If it’s broken then it’s just going to keep bleeding unless you do something about it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, but seems to relent without much fight. He removes his mask, revealing the now familiar purpling under his eyes. You briefly wonder if he has a make-up artist- he never looked nearly that tired when he was doing interviews for the media. 

You shake off the musing, reaching for his face and gently running your thumbs along his nose. Bakugou sucks a breath, and when you meet his eyes they’re guarded. He looks nervous, almost unsure under your touch, but you try your best to reassure him with a confident smile. Over the bridge of his nose you can feel swelling and aged scarring, but there cartilage feels intact. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I think you might just be stuck with the swelling, but otherwise you’re good. Nothing’s broken.” You say easily, dropping your hands from his face as you take a step back. “Although, must’ve been some hit- you’ve already got a bit of bruising under your eyes.” 

“Wow, thanks for the report- of all the baseline shit I already fuckin’ knew.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired? You know, of being so mean all the time?” You level him with an unimpressed look, before digging in your purse for your pack of tissues. You fish a few out, pressing them into his hand. “Listen, you don’t deserve these, especially after that last remark, but take them anyways. And do me a favor and chill out, alright? I wasn’t trying to waste your time. I was just checking to see that the bleeding was from the impact and not anything else.”

“Yeah. Whatever, leech. I just don’t understand why you had to fuckin’ manhandle me to do it.”

“Please, I touched your nose, drama queen. And, even if I actually wanted to, I’m pretty sure you’d blow me up way before I even got that far.”

“Damn right.”

“Yep, and there he is.” You tease, turning down a side street. “Was hoping I’d get to experience another blatant display of your egotism sometime soon. Totally glad I don’t have to wait any longer.”

Bakugou scoffs, turning away, but you don’t miss it: his lip twitches. Just a bit, it hardly even counts, but you see it.

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.” You smile.

“Hell does that mean? Hah?”

“I mean, you need to stop running yourself ragged. You look terrible, and you’re getting yourself hurt. It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what’s fuckin’ healthy.”

“Well if thought you knew, I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

“Don’t act like you’re so fuckin’ smart. You’re not.”

“Hey- no insults. You agreed, remember?”

“Because you fuckin’ made me, you bitch.” He grumbles, pressing another tissue into his nose. “And it’s not an insult if it’s a fact.”

“Hey, genuine question- have you ever tried just, like, I don’t know, being nice to people? Just asking out of curiosity.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, that wasn’t a joke. I’m genuinely curious.” You say, your grin only growing wider at the sight of his grimace. “Like, if it was a life or death situation, and someone told you that you had to give a genuine compliment or be burned to death, you’d be an absolute crisp, right? Right?”

“Wrong. Fuckin’ idiot.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean I don’t believe you at all, but that’s okay.”

“Hell does that mean?”

“It means I don’t think you could do it.”

“I could.”

“You absolutely couldn’t.” 

“I fuckin’ could, you leech.”

“See now that just proves my point.” You smile easily. “Feel free to prove me wrong though.” 

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, but you see his pinched expression and that says enough. He knows he couldn’t do it just as much as you did.

From then on you walk in relative silence, and after a few more tissues from your purse, he finally stops bleeding all over the pavement. It’s a weird sort of stillness that ensuses but you find you don’t mind much.

“Aren’t you on patrol?” You ask.

“Obviously. What, the costume wasn’t enough to tell ya that? You seriously telling me your dumbass couldn’t figure that out?”

“You’re so difficult, I swear.” You roll your eyes. “What I meant, is don’t you have a job to get to? Instead of just walking me home.”

“What the hell do you think patrol is?”

“I don’t know, you tell me, hero.”

“It’s walking the streets. For fuckin’ hours and being bored as shit. That’s what it is.”

“Oh. Okay, so basically this, huh.” You sigh. “How do you always end up so hurt then?”

“I fuckin’ don’t. Or didn’t used to.” He grits, kicking at a rock in the road with his boot. “But there’s lots of fuckin’ idiots with surprise quirks. It’s absolute bullshit some of the powers people end up with.” 

“So you’re telling me even the great Dynamite loses sometimes?”

“No. Never.” 

“What about that first night then? When you landed on my balcony?” You ask quietly, pulling your keycard out as you begin to near your apartment complex. “You were unconscious.”

“It wasn’t- I didn’t lose, you fuckin’ idiot. That was different.”

There’s something in his voice- an unusual tension that’s only amplified by the way he clenches his jaw and shakes his head. Bakugou looks strange, his forehead split by a crease you’d never seen on him before. It hardly lasts a second though, and then he’s blinking it away, eyes hardening like it was never even there in the first place.

“Yeah?” You’re swiping your keycard, turning back to face him with your hand on the door handle. You try to keep your tone light. “Tell me how.”

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business.” 

“Is that your default answer for everything? C’mon, I’ve always been curious about it.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s not your problem.”

“Yeah, maybe not, but I’m sure if I wound up half-dead on your doorstep you’d be curious too. So, c’mon, indulge me.” 

“No.” He grits.

“Seriously?” You huff, trying to keep the slight frustration out of your voice. You just didn’t understand him. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“Bakugou, seriously, it’s just a question and I don’t understand why-” 

“Stop fuckin’ pushing!” He suddenly roars, spitting as he seethes. His palms are crackling, gauntlets glinting dangerously under the street lamps. “Jesus fucking christ, you never shut the hell up! Don’t you get it? We’re not fucking friends! Stop asking me shit and digging in my fuckin’ business like you’re special!”

You shrink back, a little taken aback by his tone. You hadn’t realized just how used to his normal grumbling you’d become, but the outright venom in his voice shocked you. His eyes were blazing, red and fiery and harsh against the black of his mask. It wasn’t like before. He wasn’t joking and it wasn’t an empty threat, he wanted to scare you off this time. 

You quickly realized you’d become way too comfortable. Somehow you’d forgotten just how much he truly didn’t like you. And how short his fuse was.

“Yeah. I- uh, I’m sorry.” You fumble over your words, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s not my business. Sorry.” 

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, just sneering before turning his back and stomping off. You think there’s blood rushing in your ears, but his heavy boots are louder, striking against the pavement like thunder. He’s off in a cacophony of metallic clanking and heavy breathing, leaving a strange vacuum of silence behind him. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of your uneasiness. He’d blown up and left so quickly you’d hardly even processed it. Left you standing in the street, blinking away the whiplash, and scrunching your nose at the smell of gunpowder and nitroglycerin.

With shaking hands, you pull open the door, head reeling as you step into the elevator. There’s guilt settling in your stomach by the time you reach your floor, practically suffocating you when you step into your apartment.

You shouldn’t have pried. You shouldn’t have, because he didn’t technically owe you anything, especially not if it was a bad memory for him- and you didn’t need your quirk to tell you that’s what it was for him. 

Bakugou was right. You weren’t friends. You hardly knew him; even if sometimes it felt like you saw vulnerable parts of him nobody else did.

Ridding yourself of the thought, you decide to settle in for a calm night. You’d originally planned to make a trip to the store for some food, but now you just weren’t feeling up to it. What you were feeling up to was some take-out, so you pulled out a menu and ordered your usual.

You showered, changing into pajamas and throwing your hair up before your food arrived, trying not to stew over your latest disastrous interaction with Bakugou. 

A part of you wondered what was up with him, especially because the longer you thought about it, the more his voice seemed to sound vulnerable. When he’d yelled it was like the sound was eating away at his throat, like it had been sitting there for a while and building. There was no emphasis to any of his words, all of them tumbling out with the same rage. Like the words were less important than the expression itself. You’d love to just throw the interaction away as nothing more than anger at your prying, but it didn’t read like that to you. You’d been reading secondhand emotions your entire life, you knew them like an entirely separate language, and something about Bakugou’s outburst felt layered to you- like his rage was something opportunistic that had just been searching for an outlet.

You wonder again about what happened all those months ago, wonder just what must happen in his day-to-day life to make him that angry. You’ve learned your lesson though- you won’t let yourself mistakenly feel comfortable enough to ask him again. 

Something about that thought makes you a little sad, as this wasn’t the first time you’d ran into this problem. You weren’t sure if it was a byproduct of your quirk or if it was just you, but you’d sort of always cared about people disproportionately. Somehow always came on too strong. Your heart was big enough to bleed for just about anybody. 

There’s a knock on your door, and you rise to get your food. It’s hot in your hands, the smell wafting deliciously, but you hardly even recognize it, caught off-guard by another knock. This one’s at your back door, and it’s softer. Tentative and light against the glass. You set your food down, spinning to face the noise. 

You can hardly hide your surprise, and he must see it too. He’s rolling his eyes then, knuckles rapping against the glass once more. He’s clad in sweats, devoid of his hero costume from earlier, and there’s a bag in his hands. He’s shuffling it impatiently as you near the door.

“Bakugou? I-” You start, sliding the door open for him to step in. 

“Save it. Apologies are wimp shit.” He growls, stepping past you with large strides. “We both know why I’m here so just shut the fuck up and get on with it already.” 

There’s a lot of things you want to ask him in that moment- why he’s showing up so late, how he even knew which balcony was yours, why there’s a bruise on his jaw that you’re sure wasn’t there before, but mostly, why he even came back at all. With how angry he was, you were sure you’d run him off for a while. 

“It’s- no. I have to apologize, I do.” You tell him, trying to catch his gaze. Bakugou doesn’t let you, but you continue trying anyway. “Really. Your business is your business and I shouldn’t have pried. I wasn’t trying to be rude, I really was just curious. Still though, if you don’t want to say you absolutely don’t have to, and I shouldn’t have pushed it.” 

“Why do you even care?”

“You asked me that earlier.” You note softly, taking a deep breath before talking again. “And I meant it, what I said, about being a nurse. But I’m also just me, and that means I care about everyone. Everyone and everything. All the time.” 

“That’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“I mean, for my mental health? Yeah. Absolutely.” You laugh sardonically, fiddling with a piece of your hair as you continue. “But I don’t regret it, and there’s pretty much nothing I can do to stop it. Caring about everyone is like, my biggest character trait-”

“Character flaw.”

“No. I think it’s a good thing. But I get how it could be uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of it. And that maybe, I sometimes come off as invasive when really I’m just concerned. Sorry if I got too comfortable with you. I’ll try not to let it happen again. “

“That’s not-” Bakugou curses under his breath, before whipping around to face you. He’s blushing slightly, fist clenching the paper bag he’s holding. “I was just mad. Not every goddamn thing is about you. So don’t be a fuckin’ idiot and go reading into it like that.” 

Truly, you’re not sure how to take his comment. You felt like you were definitely in the wrong, but Bakugou seemed serious. His eyes were full of a new sincerity you’d hardly seen in him before. 

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” You smile unsurely. Then you’re walking past him, returning back to your food in the kitchen. “So, you planning to sleep on my couch again?” 

“Fuckin’ obviously. Gonna eat first though.”

“Oh I’m sure. That’s what’s in the bag, right?” You ask, beginning to unpack your own food. At his nod, you begin speaking once more. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ve gotta be hungry after lugging those gauntlets around. Those are massive, you know?” 

“Yep. I know.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that signature smirk pulled across his face. You let the sarcasm seep thickly into your words. “If I didn’t know any better, that’d sound a lot like pride.”

“It might be.”

“Oh, so you’re proud of dragging those huge weapons around? You know, why doesn’t that surprise me? Of course you are.” 

Bakugou just shrugs, making himself a home of your kitchen table, grunting slightly as he tears the plastic lid off his container of food. Almost immediately something spicy and nearly choking permeates the air. You scrunch your nose up with a shiver.

“What the hell is that?” You ask him incredulously, picking at your food while standing at the counter. You’d briefly thought about joining him at the table, but the option looks absolutely unappealing now. “That smells lethal, Bakugou! Who needs something that spicy? Are you trying to kill yourself?” 

“Oi, chill the hell out, it’s not even bad. You’re just a fuckin’ wimp.”

“Hey, no insults, remember?” 

“God, you’re gonna kill me with that shit.” He grumbles, but he’s stabbing at his noodles with a tiny, barely-there tilt to his lips. “You should abandon that.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’d have way too much fun with it.” You smile, taking another bite. “And because it’d be like when I stitched you up all over again. You were so mean.”

“I was not. Fuckin’ baby.”

“You were. Do you not remember telling me to shut the fuck up? To my face? Like, minutes after I started fixing you up!” 

“Because you were being fucking annoying!” He challenges, that same hint of amusement in his eyes. “How in the hell is that my fault?”

“It’s your fault because everything seems to annoy you.”

“Yeah, well everything is fucking bullshit. Again, how is that my fault.” 

“God, you’re impossible.” You groan, setting your fork down. You open your fridge, hand grasping at a water bottle before you turn back to him. “You want a drink? Pretty much all I have is water, but you’re welcome to that.”

Bakugou nods, but then he’s tilting his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “You’re a shitty host. Only offering me a drink when I’m already half-way through my meal. That shit’s embarrassing as hell.” 

“Bakugou. Open your mouth again and I swear I’ll chuck this at you.” 

“Do it, leech.” 

“Is that a challenge?”

“Are you fucking braindead? Of course it is.” 

Then Bakugou’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes tracking you intensely. There’s that same life in them from the last time you saw him- that same look that’s all softly-licking flames and absolutely no inferno. It makes you smile.

“Actually, no, you know what? I absolutely will not be stooping to your aggressive level.” You near him, making a point to press the water bottle gently into his waiting hand. “Not tonight, you absolute madman.” 

“Boring.”

“No. Not boring. It’s responsible.”

“Those are fuckin’ synonyms, leech.” 

“Wow, I didn’t think you even knew what synonyms were.” 

“You think I’m stupid? Fat fuckin’ chance.” He sneers, shoveling another forkful of noodles into his mouth. “Or did you just forget when I figured out how your shitty quirk worked before you did?” 

"No. I didn’t forget. And I’m still mad at you for that so let’s not bring it up, please.”

“Hell are you mad for, woman? Did you a fuckin’ favor.” 

“Hm, maybe because you figured it out within like, basically moments of meeting me?” You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted and the look on his face tells you Bakugou knows it is too. “Oh, and how, maybe I’ve always kind of had these weird symptoms my entire life, and you figured them out before I did?”

“Who cares who figured it out? Just fix your shit now and stop fuckin’ complaining.” 

“Fix my shit? Fix my shit? Bakugou!” You throw your fork down, sighing in frustration. “My shit is literally not being able to touch anybody without getting drained! My shit is basically not being able to function properly in every day life!”

“Yeah? So? Just quit being a bitch and figure out how to build up your stamina then.” He shrugs, sliding his empty container away as he sips at his water. “Easy fuckin’ solution.” 

“It’s not that easy. I can’t control it, it just happens.” 

“Really? You sure you’re not trying anything with it?”

“No?”

Bakugou just squints at you funny, something confused flitting across his features for a moment. “Really? Fuckin’ sure? Nothing at all?”

“No? Why’re you- what are you asking?” 

“When you brought me back, the first time, you were like, in my fuckin’ brain or something.” He grumbles, looking away. “It’s not gonna make sense, but I didn’t know it was you until you said shit. But then you opened your mouth and I could tell it was you pushing all the bad shit away.”

“Was it green?”

“Hah?”

“Green.” You worry at your hands, trying to gather your thoughts in a way that made sense. “My whole life, people have told me that it’s green when I help them. Not like, a color they can see, but that it’s just something they know. That somehow I’m green. In their head, I mean.”

“Yeah. Actually.” He mumbles, clearing his throat. “Freaked me the hell out.”

“Sorry. It’s- I normally try to warn people about that before I do it, you know? But obviously that wasn’t an option for you.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, then Bakugou is zoning out, leg bouncing under the table. He blinks, suddenly whipping his head around to you. “You ever try doing it till you pass out?”

“No? Well- I mean, no, not like, formally. Sometimes it just happens though. Why?”

“Because you need a fuckin’ threshold, idiot. A limit. How the hell else are you supposed to know if you’re getting stronger?” 

“I don’t- I don’t think my quirk is really a thing you can strengthen. Not like that at least.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Not your quirk, dumbass. You. You need to get stronger. Learn to work around your quirk.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He turns away another moment, and the silence he leaves behind him baffles you. Bakugou’s got his eyebrows drawn inward, hand in his palm as he idly rubs at the bruise on his chin. You gather up his empty container from him, throwing it in the garbage with your own, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. Whatever he was thinking about, almost seemed to hold him captive. 

“Oi- Leech.” He says calmly, red eyes sliding over to yours lazily. “Touch a shit-load of people and fight though it. That’s how you do it.” 

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” 

When you look at him, Bakugou’s mouth is set in a straight line, determined and steady as he crosses his arms over his chest. He really isn’t kidding.

“That’s not gonna work, I’ve been doing that practically my whole life and look where I am.”

“No, you’re not fucking listening, you moron.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes again. “I said just touch them. Not use your fuckin’ quirk. That’ll wipe you way too quick. You just have to touch a bunch of people all in a row, and suck it the hell up. Keep pushing. Eventually you’ll be able to touch way more people in the test setting than you’ll ever have to in a normal day. Problem fuckin’ solved.” 

“That’s-” You breathe out, beginning to wrap your head around it. “I’ve never done that. On purpose I mean. I wonder- I mean, I think that could work. Maybe.” 

“Of course it’ll fuckin’ work.” 

“Yeah, hypothetically, maybe. But where am I gonna get that many people? And for days in a row?” 

“Fuck should I know? That’s not my problem.”

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” He shrugs, standing up as he stretches his arms over his head. He yawns widely into his hand, regarding you with tired eyes. “You figure that one out. I already did all the other fuckin’ work.” 

“You thought of one solution.”

“One solution your dumbass didn’t fuckin’ think up.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Thank you very much.” You mutter in mock-offense, following behind him as he walks out into your living room. “You ready to sleep?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ hate listening to you run your mouth.”

You feel something hot and irritated rise in your throat. Then you’re looking over at him, at his smile and the way it crinkles his eyes. There’s no malice to his insult, and if anything he only seems thrilled when you rise to the challenge.

“And I hate having to clean up your blood pretty much every time I see you. Guess we’re both miserable.” You joke, curling your lips into a sneer to match his own. “And I won’t forget, asshole, you owe me a new packet of tissues.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just put me to sleep already.” 

Then he’s collapsing onto your couch, settling into the pillows and grabbing the blanket off the back in one fell-swoop. There’s a fluidness to his movements that has you rolling your eyes, hardly even able to believe it was only the second time he’d been there.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, do whatever you want. Make yourself totally at home, Bakugou! My living room is obviously for you and you only.”

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“And? I’ll decide to take it however the hell I want.”

“You’re really irritating, you know that?” You half-laugh, pulling one of your gloves from your fingers. “Now, c’mon gimme your hand- wait, actually, I’ve got something else to say first.” 

“Jesus christ, what?” 

“I want you to come around more often.” 

He just shrinks back into the cushions, mouth twisting up comically. “What the hell? That a joke or some shit?”

“No. I’m serious. If you being tired is why you’re always getting hurt, then you need to come around more often. I promise I won’t give you shit for it.” You reassure him. “I’d just- I’d much rather see you here than in the hospital, you know?” 

He seems to just balk even more at your words, tilting his head to the side. “Why the fuck would ya go and volunteer for that?”

“Because, I care about everybody and everything. All the time, remember?”

Something must click for him then, because then he’s nodding, extending a hand towards yours. He won’t meet your eyes, but there’s something a little different about his expression. It’s softer, the tension in his eyebrows almost seeming to melt away entirely.

You grasp his hand, veins once again filling with subtle fire. You wonder suddenly, if using your quirk would afford him sleep for longer, but when you look down at him, you decide against asking. Bakugou’s already got his eyes closed, hand slipping out of yours as he goes completely lax against the cushions. It takes hardly minutes, but then his breath is slowing, and his eyelids are fluttering, but suddenly he jolts. His eyes are half-lidded and his voice sleep-drunk when he speaks.

“Your shitty quirk’s good at fuckin’ puttin’ people to sleep.” He grumbles suddenly, pressing his face further into the pillow. “There. ‘s a compliment. ‘m not burnin’ today. Eat shit, leech.” 

You can hardly hold in your giggle, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugou is snoring almost the second he finishes his thought, limbs stilling almost entirely except for subtle twitches. 

When you turn the lights out, walking back to your room, you feel it again. 

A faint fondness. A slow-burning warmth just barely settling in your chest. 

-//-

pls bc i havent edited this at all i was just excited to post lmaooo

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9

[stressedoutcanary]

Hold On - Jason Todd x Batgirl!Reader [PART 3]

What this includes: Violence, a combo of angst and fluff, and just to be on the safe side I’d say language.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N😋: I am so glad it’s finally finished, now it won’t be sitting in my drafts staring at me all day. Also forgive me for any mistakes, half of it is written at 3 AM

Part 1 , Part 2

•°•°•°•°

“This is it”, you breathed out, stopping your bike near a bush making sure that place was obscure enough. You placed the helmet on the handle and hopped off the bike. After taking a few steps forward and scouting the area, you clicked your comms back on.

“O care to give me the layout of what I am getting myself into, ‘cause we all know the last time didn’t go so well”

“Nightwing said you might call me for backup and now I owe him 20 uggh! Anyways onto the problem at hand, I’m picking up a few heat signatures from the basement area and the schematics of the building indicate a vent on the other side which might help you get in.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

There was no reply on the other end and you assumed she was looking into it. To your bad luck, it was far from it. You heard an all too familiar grunt and mentally cursed yourself for forgetting that it was an open line.

“(Y/N), I thought I made myself clear”, Bruce’s modulated voice came through which low-key made you want to strangle him with your bare hands.

“Oh come on B! Didn’t Alfred teach you that listening in on other people’s conversations is bad manners”

“We are 10 minutes out you will not be going in till we get there”

‘Like Hell I won’t’

“Hello? B? Your voice is breaking up. I can’t hear you! there is some interference in the signal. Batman?”

“Don’t- ” you clicked the comms off before he could finish his sentence and breathed a sigh of relief. ”Note to self after what you just did, avoid showing your face to anyone in the fam for at least a week.”

Snooping around, you came across the vent Babs told you about and you smirked to yourself, “Bless those idiots who decided to make an excess amount of vents throughout Gotham, plus no dumbass to shoot open the lock on any door, huh I’d say it’s going pretty good for me.”

After going through a very, very dusty vent, you silently dropped down to floor behind a goon and cleared your throat to draw his attention. As soon as he turned around, his jaw was met with your right hook, making him plummet to the ground. Grabbing him by the collar you inched closer to his face, which was yet again fully covered by a white mask.

“Alright no-face, tell me where Pyg is right now”, you made use of your deep modulated voice, making the man dart his eyes towards the far right corner of the room. You knew what that meant and without wasting any more time, you knocked him out and scurried over, finding a heavy door at the end. Somehow managing to push open the door, you were faced with a circular stairwell leading down.

“Well Oracle did say she got heat signatures down in the basement.”, you sighed and started taking calculated steps, making sure to check for any traps. ‘Why keep only one person to guard your supersecret creep-house? Either Lazlo is way too overconfident or way too crazy... Probably both.’, you thought, wheels turning in your head, hoping to make sense of the situation. As you went down, you could catch a faint sound of music. ‘Is that Opera?! Well at least it fits his M.O.’

The end of the stairwell opened into a large room. You hid behind one of wooden crates as your mind swiftly accessed the grim ambience; Pyg was sharpening his knife swaying along with opera music playing in the background but Jason was nowhere to be found. Your breath hitched and your blood ran cold, it felt as if the world around you was spinning.

‘What if... what if it’s too late’  Crouching down on the ground with your back to the crate your took in several deep breaths to calm your racing heart. You couldn’t think like that, not when you’re so close. You wiped the stray tear which escaped the tightness of your cowl and had trailed down your cheek. You tried to focus instead of jumping to conclusions.

You frowned upon noticing something odd on the wall in front of you, placing your palms on it, you gave it a slight push. To your surprise it paved way for an attached corridor which clearly didn’t come up in the schematics Oracle told you about. You slipped into the corridor, making sure that nobody saw you. Your feet froze for a slight second on the sight you were met with; cages like prison cells lined up in a row with people inside of them.

“The people who went missing”, you whispered to yourself, still reeling in the shock of it all. Upon hearing a familiar groan you sprinted across the pathway to the source, eyes scanning every inch of the person you found, the person you were here to rescue. You fumbled with the lock for a while, muttering curses under your breath until it clicked open. You dashed to his side and took a batarang out to cut the binds he was in.

“Jay if you die on me again, I swear I will kill you.”

“Been there, done that princess and honestly not a fan of it”, Jason croaked out, his reply came out weaker and voice barely above a whisper. It made your heart clench in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. You lifted your head up, you gave him a soft smile, gently brushing off the matted hair on his forehead, 

“Jason I..”

‘Just tell him you love him you coward, It’s really not that hard’

“Jason I’m glad you’re okay”, you blurted out in way which was far from normal but he seemed way too tired to noticed. 

‘COWARD’

“How did you get free?”, he inquired, thankfully interrupting your internal yelling.

“I didn’t? I literally just walked in here to get you out.”

“But I thought-”, Jason looked utterly confused as he rubbed his wrists to ease the pain caused by the rope.

“Well long story short. You got captured. I was saved by Harley and Ivy, had a nice chat with them, and then I might have been responsible for Batman’s high blood pressure, and then I emotionally blackmailed Nightwing into giving me your location and then here I am”

“Wha...Yeah I will just pretend I totally understand whatever the hell you just said.”, Jason sighed, he tried to stand up but his feet wobbled and if it wasn’t for you catching him on time h would’ve staggered to the ground.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mmhmm”, he hummed lightly leaning his weight on you. “Just a little dizzy, probably from the dehydration, It could also be because of the blood loss from the stab wound I got”

“The WHAT?!”, you looked at him like he was crazy.  

“Oh yeah I think I kinda forgot to tell you that the creepy dude tried to cut me open but my armor got in the way so he stabbed me instead and went away saying he had to sharpen his knife or something like that”, he started to slur and you knew you had to get him back to the cave as quickly as possible. You helped him get up on his feet, slinging one of his arms over your shoulders and wrapping one of your arms around his waist.

“Oh my God! Jay, you don’t just bring this sort of thing up in casual conversation!”, you shook your head and started taking small steps with him towards the way you came from. Suddenly a loud crash was heard followed by a couple of screams making the both of you share a nervous glance.

“What was that?”

“Only one way to find out”, you said as you walked through the door back into the large room. 

It was pure chaos, more like a free-for-all. Nightwing jogged up to you. 

“We did say we were 10 minutes out didn’t we?”, he gave you a bright smile and swung Jason’s free arm over his shoulder to help you support him better.

“Good, now since you are here, hold him”, you shifted Jason’s weight towards Dick.

“Hey-”

“Don’t even”, he glared daggers at his elder brother, “What are you even doing? I feel like a baby being passed around”

You ignored Jason’s whining in the background and fixed your gaze on the one person in the room who would soon face your wrath. The rest had already cleared up the goons and Pyg was the only one left. You narrowed your eyes and cracked your knuckles, making your way over to him.

By the time you reached Pyg he was already backing away from Batman and one murderous looking Robin, turning around he tried to make a run for it but was ultimately met with your fist, a sickening crack was heard and no one was quite sure whether it was from his mask, his jaw or both. Pyg was out cold and you shrugged at the duo in front of you while Dick and Jason made their way over.

“Remind me never to get on her bad side ever again.”, Jason whispered as both the boys looked completely terrified of you. You walked over to Bruce and held out your hand. He didn’t seem to catch the drift, for being the world’s greatest detective, he was quite dumb sometimes.

“The keys to the batmobile, unless you want Mr. surprise-I-got-stabbed over here to bleed out.”

After placing Jason into the passenger seat you hopped into the driving one. 

“Also there are people in the back, you know, the missing ones, so good luck with the clean up I guess.”, you called out before before closing the hood of the batmobile. 

You were on the road heading straight for the cave when you realized Jason wasn’t answering your questions anymore.

“Jason?”, you stole a glance at him and he was as pale as a ghost, “Shit!”, you yelled as you jammed your foot on the accelerator. 

•°•°

Jason woke up to the dull beeping of multiple monitors and by the looks of the place, he concluded he was in fact in the batcave. As he regained some control over his senses, he saw you sitting on a chair beside his bed. You were sound asleep but he could see worry etched on your face even in your slumber. Looking at you, Jason wished he had the courage to say what his heart felt instead he just went ahead taking your hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. You stirred awake at that.

“Hey! You’re up!”, you stood up abruptly and hugged him tightly. To him it felt as if you were actually afraid of what might happen if you let go of him.

“I told you I don’t do dying anymore. It sucks.”

You finally pulled away from him, a smile tugging at your lips. Jason glanced at your hand, taking it in his once again, he ran his thumb over your bruised knuckles.

“I knew you had a mean right hook, guess I just forgot how mean”, Jason said smirking at you. You didn’t pull away from him as he had expected in his head instead you just scoffed at the statement. 

“The next time you forget that, allow me to give you a reminder by demonstration Bird-Brain”, you called him by the name you often used back then. At first it was to annoy your very annoying best friend but then it stuck around but hadn’t used that nickname ever since he came back. You both realized that. A silence fell over the once playful conversation, his eyes found the celling and yours found your lap. After a while you cleared you throat to get his attention and he looked at you, his expressions were borderline unreadable.

“Jason I-I should go now, but don't worry I’ll get Alfred back here”, You got up and moved towards the door of the med-bay, scrunching your eyes shut you released a shaky breath.

‘It’s now or never (Y/N)’ 

“Jason when you get better, there is this place I have been meaning to take you to, with me of course.”

“Sure I’ll go”

“So tomorrow sounds good?”

“Tomorrow sounds good”, he repeated after you breaking into a grin. Your cheeks flushed and you had to take a sharp turn to hide the blush on your face. You mentally smacked yourself for behaving like a teen asking her crush out on a date for the first time. 

•°•°

The next night Jason met you on the roof of the Wayne tower.

“Please tell me this isn’t the place you wanted to see with me”, he chuckled behind you and you turned around to give him a quick hug.

“It’s not that bad of a place, plus I can throw you off here too if you get on my nerves”, you laughed at his faux scandalised face.

“You wound me”

“In case you forgot you are already wounded, drama queen, plus its your lucky day, this is not where we will be spending our evening. Just follow me and don’t get lost on the way”, you winked and jumped off the edge, him following the suit.

When you both reached the place you had in mind, the place Jason cherished when he was Robin, the expression on his face was priceless. It was like a mixture of awe and surprise with a hint of sadness.

“How did you find out about this?”, Jason inquired after a while of reminiscing. 

“Gee how indeed, ‘cause it cannot be the fact that I am detective who’s life is influenced by at least a dozen detectives and it’s most definitely not the fact that for me, you aren’t that difficult to figure out”

“Touché”

Jason chuckled at your usual playful sarcasm, his eyes were twinkling with something which felt more than just momental adoration and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile of your own. You made your way over to him, looking at the visible skyline for a brief moment, Jason watched as you sat down on the ledge with your legs dangling off, patting the space beside you gestured him to join you. 

“I have a feeling we’re gonna be here for a while, so might as well sit down and get comfortable”, you shrugged as he nodded and sat down beside you, placing his elbow on his bent knee. You both enjoyed the few minutes of comfortable silence, watching cars pass by below and the moon lit starry sky above.

“I am starting to see why you liked it here”

“Yeah...”

“Alfred told me”

“Huh?”, Jason looked at you dumbfounded, trying to process your words.

“After you...were gone, Alfred told me, he told me that this was your happy place, though I still can’t believe you had a favorite gargoyle”, stifling a laugh you somehow managed to continue, “Anyway so as I saying, ever since I found out about it, I used to come here every night when I got free from patrol, come to think of it I still do, sometimes”

You could feel his heavy gaze boring into you making you immediately regret bringing up this conversation. 

“Why?”, he finally inquired. You didn’t know whether to feel relived or be tense, but it was now or never, releasing a shallow breath you glanced at him, words flowing out on their own accord. 

“Even back then I knew everyone dies at some point and all we can do is try and find some meaning in it, in the memories they leave behind and I guess me wanting to be here, it was a part of me trying to do that and it made me feel somewhat connected to you so I kept doing it; Coming here, spending any time I could spare and leaving before the crack of dawn and before I knew it, it had become a habit.”

“So you did miss me”, he gave you a sad smile and wrapped his hand around your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze. 

“Of course I did you dumbass, I was best friend.”, you gave him a nudge and leaned your cheek on his chest, sighing deeply.

“The reason I avoided you after you came back was because I was scared”, you whispered, hoping it would sound less real that way. Jason pulled back a bit to take in your features and you could hear the strain in his voice, a hint of sadness in it.

“Scared of me?”

“Jason I wasn’t scared of you, I can never be, I was scared for you. I was afraid of losing you again. Every time you come back I lose you all over again and I am honestly tired of it and I thought that maybe if I kept my distance I--”

“Won’t get hurt again?”

“Yeah, something like that”

A moment passed where no one spoke anything, both of you running the scenarios of what might happen next in your brains. An idea clicked in your head and you abruptly got to your feet startling Jason in the process. Offering him your hand and a sheepish smile, you got him to his feet.

“I am tired of being scared Jason. I want this. I want us and for that I am willing to take a chance, are you?”, he stepped closer to you, his scent invading your senses.  

“For you (Y/N), anything. You should know that by now, plus I feel the same way, I have for a while now”, Jason breathed out as he pulled you in for a deep kiss leaving you dizzy for a while after you pulled away for air. Placing your foreheads together, you found yourselves grinning like idiots yet again in the two successive nights. Jason’s stomach growled, sending you into a fit of laughter.

“Hungry?”

“You really gotta ask?”, raising an eyebrow, he tried to look offended but ultimately melted against you as you pressed your lips on his for a brief moment.

“I know a place”, you murmured, lips brushing against his and before he could register what was happening you already had a grapnel gun in your hands, smirking as you jumped off the ledge.

“Last one there is a rotten egg hoodie!!”

“Hey! But I don’t even know where it is!”

“Not my fault Bird-Brain!”

Jason jumped on after you, smiling to himself. Both of you were thinking the same thing ‘maybe this was finally the start of a new chapter; something new, something scary and something beautiful altogether’

°•°•°•°•

Tags: @ladyperceval

[cosmicoceanfic]

2.2k, available on AO3

Dean and Cas jog down the stairs of the Bunker, duffle bags in hand. Sam notices that they seem a little looser in the way they walk, which is a relief. Both Dean and Cas have been holed up in their respective rooms for the past few weeks. It’s good that their trip to bury God’s book for Jack worked out for them.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, guys.” Sam smiles, closing his book and standing. “How was your trip?”

“Went alright.” Dean dumps his duffle bag on a chair. “Cas and I got married. Taught him how to change a tire.”

Sam drops the book. It lands on the ground with a heavy thud. “You what?��

“Taught him how to change a tire,” Dean says, a little slower this time.

“No, not that one, the other- you got married?”

“Yeah.”

“The tire changing exercise was helpful.” Cas drops his duffle bag as well. “Especially since I will be continuing to use my truck.”

Sam can’t tell if they’re actually, legitimately fucking with him or not. “You weren’t even a couple when you left!”

“Then we were,” Cas says. “And then we were married.”

“How long was it between getting together and getting married?”

“Bout, hm.” Dean turns to Cas. “Three days?”

“It was on the third day, yes.”

Sam gapes at them.

“Why?” he manages.

Dean shrugs.

“Mostly we thought it’d be funny,” he says.

Sam doesn’t even have an answer to that.

“Aw, buck up, Sammy,” Dean tells him. “It’s almost like you’re not happy for us.”

There’s a slight apprehensive edge to his tone that snaps Sam out of his reverie. “Of course I’m-“ he moves around the table and hugs Dean, who allows it, and then Cas, who brightly returns it. “Congratulations, guys. Long time coming, I guess.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean claps his hands together, which Sam sees now has a faint glint of gold to it. “I’m hungry. Cas, you hungry?”

“I am almost always hungry.”

“Part and parcel of being human, buddy.” Dean gives him a clap on the shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll make us sandwiches.”

Sam watches, still feeling somewhat bewildered, happiness for them somewhere rolling around in that haze, as the two head out of the room, linking hands as they turn towards the hallway.

This isn’t the whole truth, naturally.

This is the reality:

For three weeks, Cas and Dean had hardly spoken, too uncomfortable, too awkward, until Jack had asked them for help, and if there was anything they could not ignore, it was their son coming to him when he needed them.

The trip to bury the book in a remote corner of the country had changed things, softened them, slowly but surely, until after five days, Dean plucked up his courage.

“Cas?” Dean had said as they walked into their motel room for the evening. Cas had looked at him, blinking sleepy eyes, patient.

“I love you,” he’d told him, steeling himself for whatever it was that came next.

“I know,” Cas had answered.

Dean had stared before he could get out “did you just Han Solo me?”

A soft, almost bashful expression crept across Cas’s face, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean gaped.

“Son of a bitch,” he’d said, and lunged in for a kiss.

Three days later, after slow and less slow kisses, linked hands as they drove on back roads, curling up in the same bed, exhausted from the road, Dean left to go get coffee for him and Cas when he stumbled across a pawnshop.

It was a gut decision. The sort you make without thinking through the implications, because it just feels right in the moment, and how could it be anything else later?

It caused more low level panic, however, after the two cheap gold rings had been purchased. He looked down at them in the little plastic baggy they’d given him at the pawnshop.

It’s a lot, he’d thought. It’s a lot, really fast. And he could already picture the look on Sam’s face when they came home, contorted in that specific expression he got when he’s pissy about being confused, the you left for one week and you came back-

Dean closed his fist around the bag before he shoved it in his pocket, stopping by the little donut shop and picking up two coffees and a couple crullers. When he got back to the motel, Cas was in one of his last clean tee shirts and toweling off his hair.

“Got these,” Dean said, putting them on the little piece of furniture the TV rested on. This was a bad idea. He was already acutely aware of what a bad fucking idea this was. His stomach wouldn’t stop clenching. “Little sign in the window says it’s one of the best restaurant in the area according to the newspaper. Course, it could be a really shit newspaper, so-“

“Why are you nervous?” Cas squinted at him as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Is there something supernatural in town that requires our attention?”

“No.” Dean had spent his whole goddamn life successfully bluffing his way out of situations and Cas could see he’s nervous at the drop of a pin. “How can you tell I’m nervous?”

He looked almost exasperated. “I know you. I know when you’re nervous.”

He did, didn’t he?

Hell, even if it wasn’t too late to back out now, he wouldn’t want to.

“Don’t freak out,” he said.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Okay, well.” He sat down on the ground. Kneeling would be… too far. Too much. He was going to have to do this in a way that made sense or he was gonna panic. “Don’t… start freaking out.”

Cas leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he’d said clearly. “And I will not start freaking out.”

Dean got distracted just looking at his face for a few seconds, which had to be in the top ten dumbass Dean Winchester moments, but when Cas’s eyebrows went even further up his forehead he cleared his throat and started fumbling in his pockets.

“Do, uh.” He held out the bag to Cas, who took them with a vaguely baffled expression. “Do you want to wear these?”

Cas stared down at them, bewildered.

“Are these what I’m assuming they are?” he asked slowly.

“Um. I mean, I can’t read your mind, Cas, but-“ Cas gave him a very particular look. “Yes. Yes, those are… what you think they are.”

Cas turned them over in his hands. “Oh.”

“We don’t need to do the whole… shebang. We could just wear them. Unless you wanted to do the whole shebang.”

“I don’t know about ‘shebang’.” Cas did finger quotes while still holding onto the rings and Dean kind of wanted a do over where he did this better just looking at him make them. “It feels like it’s very fast and a long time coming, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, well.” Dean looked down at his hands. “Look, I’m not good at this. You had this whole speech and it was… really good and I’m not. I’m not good at making those speeches. But it’s just… been you, man, it’s been you for a really long time. And it’s the kind of thing where your gut is to say it was always gonna be you, but it wasn’t, right? It wasn’t always gonna be us, Chuck said as much, so that makes it… better, doesn’t it? It makes it better cause we did it ourselves. Even when we didn’t know we were working at it together, we were working at it together. And I’m so glad it was you. Of course I’m so glad it was you. And I want to be doing this with you for as much forever as we get, so. It just… made sense, even though it kinda makes… no sense. I want to do all this with you anyway. The rings, they’re just… they’re just giving it a clearer name than it had before. And if you don’t want that, then it’s fine, because I’ll be here with or without them.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Dean stared with a little determination at his hands, waiting.

“It was a nice speech,” Cas said, sounding a little choked.

“S’okay.”

“No. It was nice.” Dean finally looked up to see Cas looking a little amused, eyes wet. “Take the compliment, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay.”

Cas gently turned the bag over in his hand, pulling it up and lightly tipping them out into his palm. He held it out to Dean, who slowly took one of them. They sat there, both holding onto their rings.

“Last chance to take it back,” Cas whispered.

Dean coughed out a bark of laughter. “You first.”

Cas made a similar noise. He quietly slid his ring on at the same time Dean slid on his. He stared at his hand, tilting it this way and that. The gold glinted a little.

“Hey,” he mumbled, unable to keep the slightly giddy grin off his face. “Look at that.”

“Yeah.” A hand slipped into his field of vision as Cas linked theirs together. Dean stares at them, gold against gold. “Look at that.” Cas squeezed it. “Did you ever think someday you’d…”

“No.” Dean swallowed, looking up at him, still grinning. “No, I figured I’d be dead by now.”

Even a joke about his death didn’t seem to be enough to tamp down Cas’s grin. “I’m very glad you’re not.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Not just for this. Dean had a lot of reasons to be grateful to be alive these days, more than he’d ever expected. But this? This was number one right now.

“We can do the shebang if you want.” Cas couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off their joined hands, either. “I don’t… know much of what’s required for such things. But we can do it, if you want.”

“Can we just… see how it goes?” He winced. “I mean, see how it goes like, see how we feel about that, not like, see how this goes, I’m, I’m really clear on how solid I am about-“

“Yes. I know.” Cas stood and pulled Dean up with him. He was about to groan about how fast he pulled him up when Cas lightly tugged him forwards and kissed him, which is about the only thing that would have made Dean let go of his hand. “It’s only wise to take at least some part of this slow.”

He wouldn’t always, he thought. He kinda liked the idea of a big party with all their friends and maybe Sam officiating, even though he’d never stop hearing about it. But everything that had happened had happened in the space of a few days and he just needed… more than that few days to process it.

“Did you want my last name?” Dean had asked.

“Of course I want your last name. I don’t have a last name.” Cas looked thoughtful. “I think we should tell Sam we did it because it was funny.”

Dean kissed him again. “I’m so glad I married you.” It did funny things to his stomach just to say it.

“You didn’t marry me.” Dean rarely got to see Cas’s face like this, split open with a grin so wide his nose scrunches up. “You threw a ring at me.”

“Handed you. I handed you a ring.”

“It felt like throwing.”

“Give it back, you son of a bitch, I’ll do it again-“

“No-“ Cas laughed. “No, don’t you dare. I liked it how it was.”

“What are you giving me shit for, then?”

“You have found,” he said, still smiling wide. “A way for me to say I will give you shit forever.”

Dean swallowed.

“Awesome,” he manages.

“Your coffee’s getting cold and it’s presumably good coffee. Let’s reheat it and get on the road.”

Dean had taken his hand, then, linking their fingers up.

This is back to the present:

Dean and Cas are sitting in the kitchen at the little table. Cas is reading the newspaper while Dean eats his sandwich. Nobody eats faster than Cas, he thinks, not a person in the world, and the thought makes him suddenly, irrationally fond.

“You’re looking at me,” Cas says without looking up from the newspaper.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just am, I guess.” He gives him what he knows has to be a slightly dopey grin. Cas looks amused and returns his attention to the paper. Dean keeps watching him for another few moments.

“Husband,” he says finally.

“Hm?”

“Husband. That’s you. You’re my husband.”

Cas does look up then with a soft smile. “You’re my husband,” he replies, and kisses him gently. “Would you like to go find a movie to watch?”

“Sure.”

The two of them stand and walk out, hands linked, a quiet joy permeating the air between them, a high key contentment radiating off of them for all to see.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Moonberry Wishes (Ruthari Week 2021 #2)

Pairing: Ruthari

Rating: T

Tags: post-coin Runaan, Runaan pulls an Eljaal, belated reunion, angry Ethari, all the feels, angst, fluff, i missed you, toppy Ethari, Runaan is never gonna be ready to hear about Rayllum

Prompt: Leaving/Returning

Moonberry Wishes

The clang of sword on shield snapped Runaan out of his morning meditation. His eyes opened on the now-familiar view of the rocky slopes of eastern Duren, their golden stone bleached with early morning sunlight. Squinting against the light, Runaan tracked the sound of battle, snatched up his bowblade, and hurled himself off the high stone ledge where he’d made secure camp the night before. The descent to the narrow pass a few hundred meters below wasn’t difficult for one with his skills, and he leaped easily from boulder to boulder as he descended past the timber line toward the old trade road.

The faint flicker of a small cooking fire at the edge of the road caught his eye as he targeted a cluster of figures at the far edge of the road. Someone had camped there in the night, and he hadn’t heard a thing! The assassin tossed his confusion aside and leaped down, skidding dramatically through a cloud of fine pale dust shot through with angled sunbeams, expecting the attackers to turn and run, or possibly turn and stare. To acknowledge his arrival, at the very least--he was a Moonshadow elf, and making himself known on purpose was a rare treat.

But no one did. Not even the traveler he’d rushed in to rescue. The man stood still, his back to Runaan, the hood of his cloak pulled up.

Runaan blinked mid-skid and reassessed, fingers tense on his bowstring.

Half a dozen bandits had clearly attempted to besiege this man. Yet three of them lay sprawled in the dust already, and one hung by his belt from a broken tree limb three meters off the ground. As Runaan skidded in, another bandit got shoved backward through the air and plopped into a muddy patch in the woods with a squelch.

Runaan sought the last bandit as he battled his surprise. He seemed to have found the one human who could hold his own as well as an assassin against half a dozen attackers. He finally spotted the greasy man when his head rose up over the traveler’s hood, caught in the would-be victim’s grip as he was bodily lifted into Runaan’s line of sight by the front of his shirt. The traveler’s other arm dropped to his side, revealing a small round silvery shield strapped to his forearm.

Runaan reassessed again, casting his gaze around the small campsite, seeking clues as to who this strange paradox of a person was.

The traveler had camped in the most foolish location, right where any passing rogue could find him. Yet he’d somehow managed to set up his camp silently in the night. He carried no sword, but he’d bested half a dozen desperate humans with a small shield. His campfire was expertly laid, but the aroma that rose from it was one of stewing fruits.

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. He suddenly doubted that this stranger had ever needed his help at all.

“I have a question for you,” the traveler huffed to his captive, catching his breath from their quick scuffle. “And if you answer me truthfully, you can be on your way.” His voice was soft velvet over cold steel, and its gentle brogue stabbed Runaan in the gut with an icicle made of all the frozen feelings he’d tried to ignore for nearly a year.

The world telescoped around him, streaking past his vision with dizzying speed. His freedom from the coin, his shame and uncertainty over failing half his mission, the strange sense of mourning he felt over feeling his blood oath breaking with his supposed death, his decision to wander in search of new purpose instead of returning home and learning he’d been ghosted. His honor had always been vital to his identity, and he hadn’t been ready to face the risk of having it stripped away despite his best and most dutiful intentions. Three seasons had passed since he’d turned his boots toward the west, and not one step had landed on Xadian soil.

But apparently Xadia had grown tired of waiting for him. This stranger was no human. This stranger didn’t sound like a stranger, either.

Runaan’s breath burst from his mouth in a single disbelieving gasp. “Ethari?”

The traveler dropped his bandit like a discarded cloak and spun to face Runaan. His silvery shield thudded to the dirt unheeded. Warm brown eyes blazed out at the errant assassin from beneath a dark blue hood edged with locks of long black hair, and his dark skin was unmarked by blue Moonshadow paint. He also sported five fingers on each hand.

Runaan let out a soft grunt of pain. This man wasn’t his--

The traveler’s mouth fell open in surprise at the sight of the Moonshadow before him. A quick hand flicked back his hood, and a pale shimmering spell rippled across his body.

Runaan’s eyes widened even further.

The Moon spell danced around the traveler’s hidden features, revealing elf horns, cheek markings, shoulder swirls. His black hair became shaggy and white, and his eyes warmed to a soft sunset, just as wide as Runaan’s were.

The elves stared at each other in shock. To the side, the discarded bandit scrambled to his feet and hesitantly edged away, his gaze darting between the safety of the forest and the big elf who had flicked him aside.

“Never mind,” Ethari told him in a faint voice, eyes locked onto Runaan. “I found him.”

The bandit nodded eagerly as if he’d actually been of help. He gathered up his foolhardy compatriots, and together the humans bolted without a backward glance.

Runaan tracked him with a tense stare until he was out of sight before he let himself drink in the sight of his precious craftsman from head to toe. Tension he’d been holding for nearly a year began to ease from his shoulders. “Ethari.” His voice was a tentative prayer.

“Runaan.” Ethari’s voice was faint, too.

The assassin’s eyes dropped to the shield. Its edge was rimmed with all the phases of the Moon. Runaan wondered briefly how many enchantments Ethari had crammed into its swirlies. “You’re fighting?” he murmured.

“I’m on a mission,” Ethari corrected breathlessly. His chest was still heaving, but Runaan suspected it was for a different reason now.

Runaan felt the first hints of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t smiled since the Silvergrove, but Ethari always had a way of--

Ethari’s brows lowered sharply. “To find Xadia’s biggest dumbass.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. “What?”

With a growl, Ethari charged at him. Runaan managed to drop his bowblade safely into a nearby fern before Ethari seized him by the front of his shirt and backed him up against a nearby tree trunk. Runaan gripped his husband’s wrists and braced for impact, wincing as his horn tip clattered against the rough bark. His toes slipped on an angled root and dangled in the air as Ethari pinned him easily in place. Runaan’s eyes danced from his husband’s furious eyes to his bulging deltoids to his aggressive stance to his fingers knotting in Runaan’s shirt to the way those two soft locks of hair always fluttered right in the middle of his forehead, and finally managed to focus on his mouth, which had been pouring an angry stream of words past his ears for several seconds.

“--where the fuck have you been? Why didn’t you come home? I thought you were dead! Or lost! Or hurt! Or captured again! I was worried sick! Did you ever think about that? Did you?”

Runaan opened his mouth to stammer a reply.

Ethari’s question was apparently rhetorical. He bulled onward: “I gave Rayla your lotus in a jar of water from the pool, and she said she’d bring you back to me. And she started to promise me, and do you know what I did, Runaan? Do you? I stopped her. I couldn’t take another broken promise from an assassin standing beside my ritual pool. I couldn’t take it. So I sent her off without it, and I started to hope again. And the full Moon came, and went, and I couldn’t sleep a wink, for days and days. I waited! I waited for you, you shadowsaken idiot!”

Runaan couldn’t look away. The full force of Ethari’s rage and sorrow poured into his eyes and slammed against his chest, leaving him breathless. “I…”

Ethari wasn’t nearly done, though. “And then Rayla returned to the Silvergrove, with Lain and Tiadrin and Callum and Ezran and the Queen of the Sunfire Elves and her human girlfriend--”

“Her what?” Runaan blurted.

“--and she had to tell me to my face that you’d run away,” Ethari continued. “Left in the night. Bolted. Scarpered. Fled, like some kind of coward. She had to say those words to me, and she had to watch me crumple to the floor and fall apart, again!” He checked Runaan against the tree a second time. “Again, Runaan!” Another shove. “I fell apart again!” And another. “How many times am I going to let you destroy my heart before I’ve had enough?” Furious tears spilled down Ethari’s cheeks and lost themselves in his markings.

“N-No…” Runaan’s whispered denial shivered into a sudden sob. Ethari’s angry slams barely registered compared to the pain of seeing his tears. His fingers fluttered toward Ethari’s cheeks, aching to wipe away the sorrow he’d caused. “I’m so sor--”

Ethari pulled him away from the tree and slammed him back against it with more force, interrupting Runaan’s gesture. “I’m not finished!” he roared. “Don’t you dare be soft with me before I’ve gotten this off my chest! I’ve been carrying it alone for ten months and I’ll be bloodcursed if I let you stop me from unloading every last word now that I’ve found you, do you hear me?”

Half terrified, half dazzled at the raw power in Ethari’s voice, Runaan could only nod mutely and cling to his husband’s wrists for dear life.

“Good!” Ethari yelled. He panted heavily for a few breaths, staring Runaan in the eye with a baleful glare, before asking in a slightly less aggressive tone, “Alright, now where was I?”

A distant light dawned in Runaan’s heart, and his brows lifted softly. “You were asking me how many times you were going to let me destroy your heart before you’ve had enough,” he supplied gently.

Ethari’s fists tightened in Runaan’s shirt. He slowed his breathing and swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was merely resentful. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

Runaan felt one of his own tears escape over the edge of his cheek. His heart was absolutely thrumming with Ethari’s presence. His warmth, his strength, the smell of his breath, the shivering rumble of his voice--Runaan was nearly delirious with so much enchanting proof of his husband’s existence right there in front of him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing in Ethari’s grip. When he opened them again, they lingered on Ethari’s hands for a long moment, and he gave his husband’s wrists a long, fervent squeeze. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

“No, don’t you do that, don’t you be soft and handsome when I’m angry at you,” Ethari protested grumpily. He set Runaan on his feet and checked him lightly against the tree with a quick press of his fingertips.

Runaan let out a soft grunt as his back connected with the bark again. “I keep asking you to tell me how to stop doing that, but you never have.”

Ethari glared balefully at him, and his lip curled once again. But then his bottom lip shivered, and his face crumpled into longing. He cupped Runaan’s head in his hands, bringing their foreheads together with a soft bump and pressing hard. One hand wound into Runaan’s hair, and the other encircled his shoulders, pulling him tightly against Ethari’s chest until their noses brushed tips. “You utter idiot. I missed you,” Ethari breathed, so softly Runaan almost didn’t catch it.

Uncertain but needy, Runaan slipped his hands inside Ethari’s cloak and gripped the back of his broad belt, pulling their bodies flush. He waited, silent, soaking up every heartbeat of this soft, precious, long-awaited contact with his beloved.

“I stayed, for a while.” Ethari’s words rode just above a whisper, and their warmth brushed Runaan’s lips. “For Lain and Tiadrin, and for Rayla. But they knew. They knew. They knew before I did.”

Runaan’s fingers squeezed tighter, clinging, needing to hear the rest but fearing the truth of the pain his absence had caused.

“I didn’t know where to begin, but Rayla helped me. And so did King Ezran, and Prince Callum, and Queen Aanya, and Lujanne, too. I started wandering, following stories of a shadowy hero who always saved people from danger and vanished into the night. No one ever admitted to getting a good look at him, no one remembered his words. They just knew they owed him their lives.”

Runaan huffed in wry amusement. He’d thought he was changing his life entirely, and yet his husband had known him in an instant, merely from stories of his minor exploits. “I can’t ever hide from you, can I?”

“I could recognize you by touch alone,” Ethari breathed, “by smell. I would know you blind, by the way your breaths came and your feet struck the earth. I would know you in death, at the end of the world.”

A wry smile lifted one corner of Runaan’s mouth. “I think we’ve been.”

Ethari cupped Runaan’s cheeks softly and gave him a steady look. “You made me a promise, Runaan, to return my heart to me.”

“I did.”

“But I had to go looking for it myself.”

Runaan’s gaze dropped. “You did.”

Ethari gently lifted his chin with a finger until their eyes met again. “Well? I’m here now.”

Runaan’s brows twitched down. “But… I failed you. I destroyed it, with my carelessness and my pride. You just asked me--”

Ethari pressed his finger against Runaan’s lips. “I asked you how many times. I know. Because it’s happened more than once. I know that, too. Yes, I’m angry with you. But I didn’t hike all over Garlath’s green earth just to tell you to stuff it, you great stupid moonberry.”

“What did you hike all over Garlath’s green earth to tell me, then?” Runaan asked, half afraid of the answer.

“I’m a Master Craftsman, Runaan. You should remember well how many weapons I’ve repaired for you over the years, because it’s been a lot. And I’ve repaired other things for you, too. Your feelings. Your body. Your own heart.”

Runaan went still under Ethari’s touch as a frenetic parade of memories streaked past his mind’s eye. Ethari’s soft words, soft touch, soft kisses, ten thousand times over. Overcome, he pressed his cheek into his husband’s hand and nodded, feeling hot tears slipping past his lashes.

“I’m not a Master Craftsman for nothing. I can repair anything I choose to. Anything at all,” Ethari continued softly. He leaned his forehead against Runaan’s again. “And I choose to repair my own heart when you break it. I choose. To re-pair my heart. With yours.”

Runaan laughed through a sob at his husband’s pun and slid gentle arms around his husband, reassuring himself of his husband’s warm, solid strength.

Ethari sighed in relief at Runaan’s gesture. “I hiked all over Garlath’s green earth to choose you, again. But I need to know, Runaan… What do you choose?”

Runaan sought his husband’s warm sunset eyes and found them brimming with emotion. His own lip trembled at the sight of the pain he’d caused his most beloved. A thousand years of tradition flashed through his mind, its insistence foggy and distant without the pull of his lost oath. Without that urgency pounding through his own blood, there was only one thing he longed to be: with Ethari. With this elf whom he’d hurt, with this elf whom he was very sure he didn’t deserve.

He cupped his husband’s face and bared his heart for whatever fate awaited him. “You,” he said, through an ecstatic sob. “I choose you. Take this heart of yours back, Ethari, if you truly still want it. I did my best to keep it safe, but it deserved so much more care than I could give it… I did you wrong, my heart, so wrong, and I dare not make you any promises, but...” Runaan’s words faded to desperate puffs of breath that ghosted across Ethari’s lips as he leaned closer, drawn by the dizzyingly warm, solid presence of his precious husband. “My heart… I missed you, too...”

Ethari met him halfway, and he tasted as if they’d never been apart. They pulled each other close, full of eager hands and soft whimpers. Runaan’s head spun with the blessed ecstasy of his husband’s kisses, and he clung to Ethari’s sturdy shoulders for balance even as he pressed himself closer against him.

All those months apart suddenly seemed to be happening all at once, endless yet instantaneous. Runaan felt eight kinds of fool for letting his blasted honor get in the way of the love this glorious elf was determined to shower him with. With a soft cry, he buried his face against Ethari’s neck and threw his arms around his shoulders. Ethari wrapped him in a tight hug and rocked him slowly, humming into his hair.

“What do I do now?” Runaan murmured brokenly into Ethari’s purple scarf.

“Come home,” Ethari said promptly. He caressed Runaan’s cheek and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Come home.”

Runaan raised his head, accepting Ethari’s easy words as proof that he hadn’t been ghosted back in the Silvergrove. But in that quiet moment there in his husband’s arms, high in the mountains of Duren, he realized that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t care what the Silvergrove thought of him. Only Ethari’s regard mattered now. “You’re my home. And you’re right in front of me.”

His husband’s eyes lit with eager warmth, and a teasing lilt accompanied his sassy grin. “Then you’d better come here.”

Runaan bit his lip at his husband’s suggestive pun. “My camp’s just up the slope.”

Ethari took Runaan’s face in his hands, backed him gently against the tree again, and kissed him passionately. When he finally let Runaan up for air, he gasped, “What in Garlath’s green earth makes you think I can wait that long?”

Some while later, the husbands ambled along the mountain road, hand in hand, with nowhere in particular to go. Ethari talked as lightly as he could of the things he had seen, and Runaan listened with a full heart and trod with a quiet and grateful step. His hand never left Ethari’s, needing constant reassurance that he was truly there beside him after so long, that he had truly come looking for his long-lost husband. That Runaan was worth searching for, despite all he had done.

If Ethari noticed the occasional tear of humble gratitude slipping over Runaan’s cheeks, he was kind enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, he easily shifted topics to give Runaan time to adjust, telling sweet anecdotes and dramatic retellings and recounting his brushes with powerful figures that Runaan already knew, and some he didn’t. He hopped and twirled and bowed in time with his stories, never once letting go of his wayward husband’s hand, spinning close for the occasional kiss as he always had.

“...and then the Tidebound ambassador arrived and caused quite a splash,” Ethari said as they crested a hill. A warm breeze wafted up from the valley below, ruffling Runaan’s side tails and Ethari’s scarf. “Literally, the elf shot himself out of the well! I could hear the humans yelping all the way back at the blacksmith’s shop. If it hadn’t been for Callum’s quick thinking, that first contact would’ve been quite the wet blanket! But he had everything sorted in minutes. Rayla’s truly chosen well, my heart.”

Runaan’s feet slowed. “Chosen well…?”

Ethari paused, wide-eyed. “Surely they told you when they freed you.”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. “They mysteriously neglected to mention.”

"But why would she-?" To Runaan’s surprise, Ethari suddenly burst into snorting laughter. “Ah. Clever girl.”

“What?” Runaan asked, suspicious.

“I should’ve known what that wicked twinkle in her eye was about when I told her I’d come searching for you. She’s letting me do the mentioning for her, right now. She knows us too well, love.”

Runaan blinked. Rayla and the human prince? Together? The scheming young couple had left Ethari to search for his husband, and to unwittingly break the news of their courtship to him, knowing that Runaan would take such disturbing news best from the elf he loved most.

That didn’t mean he’d take it well.

“I’ll be right back.” Runaan spun on his heel, stalking directly toward Katolis.

Ethari planted his feet and towed Runaan right back around in front of him, though. He pulled the wayward assassin into his arms and kissed him right on his frown. “Welcome back! I missed you. Again.” His dark brows bent softly.

Runaan’s tense expression broke, and his eyebrows drifted high in dismay at what he’d just tried to do. He clung to Ethari’s muscled arms and pressed his forehead against his husband’s. “Moon help me, I am a great stupid moonberry.”

“Yes, you are. And I love you anyway.” Ethari’s embrace was gentle and warm.

Runaan pressed a soft kiss of apology against his husband’s lips and let it linger, soaking up Ethari’s patience. “Walk with me again, then, and…”

“And?”

Runaan took a deep breath and slid his fingers between his husband’s. “And... tell me of Callum. Apparently, I have quite a bit of catching up to do.”

Ethari grinned and nudged Runaan’s shoulder with his own. “As my moonberry wishes.”

[silkylious]

Tsunami (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Bakugo x fem reader

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: Ahhhh this is my first post on tumblr, i hope you like some bittersweet  goodness w angry boi. constructive criticism is much appreciated!

Love.

Such a complex, convoluted emotion that many people find themselves falling helplessly victim to. Of course, there are the cheesy scenes in romantic movies that exaggerate and almost drain all meaning from the prickly feeling; sharing a sweet kiss while basking in the cool caresses of dewdrops, or having a dim-lit home dinner -scenes which drove his gag reflex reeling, he simply couldn’t understand the appeal of mushing faces with someone when he had better things to do, to achieve. He was going to be the number one, dammit, he didn’t have time to waste on cuddling and doing “couple-y shit” with some extra. That’s not to say he’d never had a crush, or found some girls attractive, hot even, but he kept in mind all his “crushes” (he loathes that word with a burning passion) were merely fueled by his hormonal mind, driven by pure sexual attraction. Nothing more, nothing less. So, he never sought out relationships.

And that was enough for him to keep his peace, unhindered and undisturbed on his desolate little boat, one that he was rowing tirelessly towards his end goal, with no waves and no turbulences daring to stand in his way of firmly grasping that number one spot.  

Until a tsunami came crashing in, pummeling him off his safe cruise.

That tsunami was you.

He really should have seen the signs -no that’s not right, he definitely noticed the red flags raising in his peripherals, he should have acknowledged them. It started out as small, barely existent ripples, something to break the monotony of his journey and rock his boat gently. You’d always greet him with that stupidly bright smile, the one that made him feel uncomfortable, skittish (though he hadn’t realized why yet), the one that surely made the sun writhe in boiling jealousy. No matter what time of the day it was, how early in the morning or how deep into the night, you always seemed to make it a point to address him with that unhinged, cheeky grin. He’d reply with a curt nod, or a faint grunt if you caught him on a good day, wanting desperately to ignore the brewing sensation inside him.

“Hey, Bakugo! Did ya sleep well?”

He never replied to the tedious question, refusing to give into the one-sided small talk. That didn’t stop you from resuming your daily routine of pestering him about his training progress or babbling about some movie he couldn’t care less about. He didn’t pay an inkling of attention to the stream of word vomit pouring out of your mouth, no, he much rather zoned in on the way your lips move languidly, still upholding that infuriating smile, the way stray follicles fell over your neck, having escaped from the usual updo you were sporting. His concentration faded in and out of the single-sided conversation, managing to scrap together bits and pieces of whatever you were droning on about. Though he never made any effort in reciprocating your enthusiasm, he never shut you down either (like he would most people), and that was incentive enough for you to keep coming back. To keep talking his ear off with a cluelessly precious smile.

Looking back, he probably should have stopped it there, but he didn’t, he couldn’t help but revel unconsciously in your optimism, though he’d be buried six feet underground before he admitted that. It looked all too peaceful, he didn’t mind the soft stir in his boat, and he was more than content to leave it at that. But then you had to go and push your luck.

You were infinitely aware that he treated you… differently, to say the least, your classmates were also painfully conscious of his strangely tamed and, dare I say, docile way he acted around you, everyone with eyes could see it, except him apparently. Even if he was agonizingly oblivious to his own feelings, yours too, your heart couldn’t help but accelerate whenever he displayed a rare act of kindness towards you. One time in particular, he scolded you for overworking yourself while tending to your wounds, his words lacking the usual bite, none the wiser to the chest palpitations he was effortlessly causing. You couldn’t take it, you had to test your luck. You desired to be closer to him, for him to view as more than a nuisance, you wanted to be more than just acquaintances. With caution thrown to the wind, you embarked on a mission to befriend the Bakugo Katsuki.

That’s when the small ripples that would gingerly sway him turned more rigorous; they evolved into waves, ones he needed to smoothly ride if he didn’t want to fall victim to their ferocity.

He became much more aware of your stature in his lifestyle, how could he not? You’d made it a goal to sit with him during lunch, to share with him your bento box, to talk to him at any given moment. And it was then that he discovered a new part of you, one that was hidden behind your tactful persona. It became a common spectacle during lunch, you two hurling remarks at each other, yours more calculated and sarcastic while his were loud and fiery (in true Bakugo fashion), though the competitive grin stretching his lips, wrinkling the corners of his ruby hues gave away his enjoyment. Bakugo could never get over your quick wit, the speed at which you replied to him with your own quips almost gave him whiplash every time, if he didn’t know better he’d think you were regurgitating pre-written comebacks. It took a bit of coaxing at first, but eventually he gave into your petty bickering (all you had to do was mention Deku this and half-n-half bastard that), and then before he knew it, it was part of his routine, but can you blame him? He was presented with a challenge, of course he’d step up to the plate!

Your waves threatened his quaint, little sail, he had to learn to surf them if he didn’t want to topple over. And so, he did, after all, Bakugo Katsuki never backed down from a challenge.

Your comradery only strengthened from there. You trained together, him pushing your limits with his abysmal power and sheer instinct, you pushing his with precise movements and surprising agility. You strangely complemented each other, both in fighting styles and general attitude. He (aggressively) helped you with your academic shortcomings, and though his methods of teaching were very questionable, they proved to be fruitful as your grades had spiked significantly from his (torturous) aid. You’d grown impossibly closer, spending every waking moment together or thinking about each other. Katsuki didn’t know when it became a habit to anticipate your “goodnight” text, or when just the sight of your face made his anger practically dissipate into thin air.

“So, do you wanna come over to study, I’m kinda struggling with algebra,” You sighed sheepishly, scratching at the back of your head.

“No.” came the blunt response.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be such a meanie!” You jutted your bottom lip out much like how a kid throwing a tantrum would, his eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to the childish pout, when suddenly it turned into a poorly constrained grin. You had an idea. “Well, whatever, I was gonna order takeout from a new place down the road, I heard they have pretty spicy ramen there, but I guess I’ll order for one,”

You watched with mild amusement and well-concealed affection as his fiery eyes seemed to light up at the mention of spicy food. “Fine, dumbass, but I’m only doing this ‘cuz your sorry ass would fail without me,”

“Mhmm, sure thing, Bakugo,” You practically sang, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Bakugo.

That didn’t sound right at this point. Words left him before his brain could even process what he said, what he was insinuating.

“Katsuki.” He mumbled firmly. Your eyes widened a fraction, giving away your surprise.

“W-What?”

“Call me Katsuki,” It came out more assuredly this time, his glare directed forward as you both walked to your destination, missing the soft smile adorning your lips and the affection oozing out of your gaze.

“Sure thing, Katsuki.” His own lips curled into a faint smile, a tiny tug at the corners of his lips.

A push-and-pull rhythm was created between you; your waves pulling him in, only for his skillful hands and sails to conquer them. It was an endless tug of war, neither of you seemed to mind it, it blanketed you both in a sheen of serenity.

The calm before the storm.

It was merely an innocent question, a teasing inquiry at most, directed at him by his electric blonde friend. “So, man, when are you gonna ask (last name) out? Y’know if you don’t ask her soon, someone else will,”

Katsuki could have sworn he switched quirks with the dunce faced idiot, because at that moment his mind fully short-circuited. Him? And (name)? What would even give him that idea? Sure, she was cute and all -wait, cute?? What the actual fuck? His lack of response and the pinkish tint that spread from his cheekbones to the bridge of his nose seemed to get a rise out of Kaminari, because within seconds his head was thrown back, his laughter catching the attention of their red-haired friend. “Yo, man, what’re you laughing at?”

With that, Bakugo seemed to snap out of his trance, sharp eyes snapping between his self-proclaimed friends. His mouth opened, ready to deliver a curt response, something along the lines of “Fucking nothing!” or “Mind your own business, Shitty Hair!” but the other blonde beat him to the punch, loudly bellowing out,

“Bakugo has a crush on (last name)!”

Bakugo wasn’t pleased to say the least, his hand darting out, flexing a lethal explosion that Kaminari barely dodged. Bakugo’s eyes were wide with unadulterated rage, though he really couldn’t tell at who, nor did he care, he was seeing red at that moment and that’s all he could focus on. Before he can aim another strike towards his cowering friend, Kirishima looped his arms around Bakugo’s shoulders, activating his quirk to prepare for the barrage of oncoming explosions that were sure to come his way. “Dude, stop! You’re being super unmanly right now!”

Realizing there’s no point struggling against his friends hold, Bakugo’s figure suddenly slackened, Kirishima very cautiously relinquishing his grip on his friend. Burning rage, confusion, uncertainty and self-deprecation began to settle in Bakugo’s mind all at once, a million questions stampeding his thoughts. He didn’t like that, he hated not being in control, he hated not knowing what was wrong, especially with himself. With a furious shout of “FUCK OFF!” to dispel some of the anger bristling within him, the ash blonde stomped out of the nearly empty classroom, leaving his two friends to share looks of bewilderment.

And that’s when a tidal wave, a tsunami of emotions quaked his lonely ship, flipping it and hurling him off the deck into the freezing cold, wave riddled ocean, leaving him to sink deeper and flail around in a futile attempt at staying afloat.

The coming days, one thing haunted Katsuki like the plague, despite trying his hardest to avoid overthinking, you just seemed to carve your way into his subconscious. Everything reminded him of you, and he absolutely despised it. When had he gotten so distracted? When had his schedule morphed to make room for your presence in his life? When had he began to await seeing you, hearing your obnoxiously sweet voice? When had he gotten so weak? He didn’t need anyone, no one but himself, that’s all he needed to reach the top. If that was true, then why were his days getting more and more bleak as he actively shunned you out, avoided looking you in the eyes and subsequently being blissfully unaware of the look of hurt in your eyes. He knew he wasn’t being fair to you, but he couldn’t help it, he had to put some distance between you.

And so, he kept struggling against the currents, which only made him sink deeper, and deeper. Even so, he kept wrestling with the tides, hoping he’d make it out alive and free.

His absence in your life made you fidgety, but you brushed it off as him having a less than pleasant day, he’d surely go back to normal, right? Wrong. Things continued as they are, you wanted to give him space and all, but it didn’t help that it seemed he was only circumventing you. You wanted to be patient for him, and you were. But even the most patient of people, the most peaceful of saints, had their tipping points.

“I don’t understand you, Katsuki, we were good not even a week ago and now you’re completely avoiding me!”

“So what if I was, huh?! Are you saying that I need you or some shit?! Are you looking down on me, thinking you’re all high and mighty, that you could be the one to befriend the “pitiful lonely guy”?! Are you saying I’m weak, is that it, huh?! I’m not fucking weak, (name), I don’t need you or anyone for that matter, stop tryna coddle me, I don’t need your shitty friendship!”

Ouch, that hurt. He knew he was spouting so much bullshit straight through his teeth, it didn’t even make sense but that was how his self-defense mechanism works. When in doubt, push people you love away in fear of vulnerability. He knew he was being a major asshole, but nothing would’ve prepared him for the look of unbridled hurt and betrayal in your eyes, tears silently carving valleys on your flushed cheeks. Your quivering lip suppressed a wretched sob, before opening to utter a few heartbroken words.

“I see. Sorry I was such a nuisance for you, Bakugo,”

Bakugo, double ouch. That one stung. Hard. He’d never heard your voice so broken, so raw and meek. He walked home alone that day, already regretting everything he said, already missing your bubbly self.

A drift shook both of you away from each other. Your concerned classmates could only watch in silenced misery as you both hurdled yourselves into hero work and training, doing anything it takes to stay distracted. Bakugo thought that at least there would be one upside to arise from this situation, he could focus more on his dreams, he had more time than ever, he can totally utilize this to his advantage. Or so he thought. You infiltrated every crevice in his mind, all he could think about, day in and day out, was you. He’s always prided himself in being self-disciplined and focused, but right now he was anything but. You weren’t fairing any better. Your optimism was missed in the classroom, you forced a smile to reassure your friends, but that was about all you could muster. It seemed there was no end to the spiral the pair of you were sucked into until something happened. Something big happened.

He was kidnapped. Bakugo was kidnapped.

It seemed like a wake-up call to both of you. You could have lost him; he could have lost you. Bakugo realized, strapped to that chair, with the grey-haired, handy man holding a picture of you from the sports festival while babbling some vague threats, that he wanted to protect you, protect what he loved. He loved you. And he had to be better for you. He also realized that he wanted to go back to you. Dammit, he still didn’t apologize for what he said! He needed to return.

He no longer fought against the tide, he didn’t want to, and he wasn’t going to. And with his fruitless squirming against the current coming to an end, he began to rise to the surface, the gradually heating waters holding him afloat.

His return was a giant relief, you wanted to jump into his arms the moment he was saved, but you knew better. He needed time to think, to sort out his thoughts. Though you didn’t expect that he would sort out his thoughts with his fists. With Midoriya. Actually, scratch that, it was a very Bakugo thing to do.

That night you couldn’t sleep, sitting on the U.A. dorms Alliance stairs with a steaming mug of tea between your clutches. Your eyes, which had been transfixed on the constellations lining the night sky, blinked downward when you heard two pairs of footfalls approaching. You instantly recognized the two boys, beaten and battered.

“(name)...?”

His abnormally scratchy voice greeted you, you didn’t have to strain your ears to conclude that he’d been crying. Your stares were riddled with unspoken words, unvoiced feelings, leaving a pregnant tension in the air. A haggard throat-clearing cut through the quiet.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” And with that, the one-for-all user excused himself into the dormitory.

Katsuki shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. He knew what he needed to say he just couldn’t find the will to swallow the lump in his throat and say it.

“Hey, umm-”

Before he can get another syllable out, a force collided with him, shaky arms circling his broad shoulders, mindful of the bruises that littered his porcelain skin. Eyes blown wide; he couldn’t fathom the words that were uttered into his chest.

“I love you, Katsuki. I love you.” A sniff followed the heartfelt words, he felt some tears brimming his own lids.

Carefully bringing his arms around you, wrapping them securely around your waist. Katsuki drifted and swayed on your waves, surfing them skillfully, fully abandoning his past ways, no longer would he scuffle with the ebb and flow of the waters that only hoped of propelling him forward towards his goal. His red gems drifted to the sky, mapping out the stars much like a lost sailor would in search of guidance, though he was anything but lost in that very moment.

His lids dropped, thoroughly fatigued from the day’s events, before his head followed suit, descending and placing feather-like kiss on your head, his strong arms keeping you nestled as close as possible against his chest, a quiet murmur with powerful words left his lips,

“I love you, too. I’m sorry.”

[ghosttotheparty]

late night peculiarity

“Tro-o-oy!” Jeff calls from the backseat. “I have... a birthday gift for you.” His words make a alcoholic vapor fill the car, and Britta groans and she rolls her head to rest on Abed’s.

“Yeah?” Troy says dryly, his grip on the steering wheel shifting. “What’s that?”

“You can keep my car.”

Troy rolls his eyes, shaking his head, waiting.

“...Until Monday,” Jeff adds, lifting a hand and pointing at Troy. “But don’t crash it, ok–“

“Crash it, Troy!” Britta interrupts. “Crash his car!”

“Don’t crash it!” Jeff calls, raising his voice. “You can keep it... until Monday.”

“Thanks, Jeff.”

“No! Sunday. I have school on Monday.”

“We all have school on Monday,” Abed says, and Troy glances into the rear view mirror at him. Their eyes lock for a second until Troy looks away, back to the road.

“God,” Jeff slurs. “Sound like a fuckin’ high schooler.”

“Jeff, should I drop you off first?” Troy says before Britta can say anything.

“Yeah.”

Troy looks up into the mirror again, catching Abed’s eye, before gripping the wheel and turning around a corner.

“Abed, make sure Britta doesn’t do anything stupid,” Troy says as the car pulls to a stop.

“Will do,” Abed says, turning his face into Britta’s shoulder. “Britta, don’t move.”

She groans in response.

“Jeff, come on, I’m walking you up,” Troy says as he unbuckles, turning to see Jeff trying to find his buckle under Britta’s hip.

“Leave me alone,” she moans, snuggling closer to Abed.

“I’m trying to get away from you, dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass, dumbass.”

“Jeff,” Troy says sharply.

“I’m coming, Dad.”

Jeff walks with his arm around Troy’s neck up the stairs to his apartment building and all the way through the halls and in the elevator.

“You know...You know what we’re gonna do?” Jeff says loudly as they stumble down the hall to his apartment.

“What are you gonna do?” Troy says, quieter, placing a hand on Jeff’s back to catch him as he trips over himself.

“We’re gonna have a real party for you. Like, an actual party, at a good bar that Shirley doesn’t hate.”

“That sounds good.”

“We can do it next weekend.” Jeff lets go of Troy’s neck and falls against the wall, going to twist the knob before stopping and saying “Oh,” and reaching into his pocket, pulling out nothing.

“Jeff,” Troy says, holding out Jeff’s keys.

“Oh, thanks, man.”

“Troy,” Jeff says, falling against the doorframe when the door is open.

“Yeah, Jeff?”

“Don’t be mad, okay?”

“I’m not mad,” Troy sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m just...” He shrugs, looking away. “Disappointed.”

“See?” Jeff says, tilting his head forward and looking at Troy from under his brows. “Now you’re really acting like my dad. I’m supposed to be the dad of the group.”

“I’m not your dad, Jeff. I...” Troy bites his lip.

Fuck it. Jeff won’t remember this in the morning.

“This was my first birthday party, you know? And a big one, I’m twenty-one. I’m supposed to be a man, but I wanted that man thing to mean getting a seven-and-seven legally and finally hanging out with you without feeling like a kid. But I ended up being in charge and responsible and I don’t know if I’m gonna get to go back and be a kid. I’m scared that I’ll be stuck like this. As a... grown up.”

“Troy,” Jeff groans, rolling his eyes theatrically. “You’re not magically a grown up just because you’re twenty one. You’re still Troy.”

“Yeah,” Troy sighs, ready to put Jeff to bed.

“And I’m pretty sure Abed is older than you and he’s still Abed. And you’re still gonna be best friends with him, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Don’t stress,” Jeff mumbles, and his head falls against the doorframe. There’s a moment of silence before Jeff inhales loudly, and Troy scoffs.

“Jeff,” he says firmly, and Jeff startles, snorting. “Go to bed, man.”

“‘M going to bed...” Jeff turns around, holding the doorframe with both hands. “‘M going...”

“Good night, Jeff.”

“Night,” Jeff says quietly, and Troy almost misses it as he turns to go back down the hall. “Love you, Troy.”

Troy pauses, looking back to see Jeff’s door shut.

“...Love you too.”

When Troy gets back in the car, Britta is snoring and Abed is laying on her shoulder, staring and blinking and staring and blinking.

“Abed, is it cool if I drop Britta off before you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Okay.”

- - -

“Britta, talk to me so I know you’re alive,” Troy says, his arm around Britta’s waist, holding her up as she stumbles over her own feet.

“‘M alive,” she says loudly. “I feel so alive, Troy!”

“You need to go to bed, Britta.”

“I will,” she mumbles. “I’m gonna go to bed, and I’m gonna sleep for...” She takes a deep breath, huffing the chilly night air. “For as long as I can.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, so that’s fine.”

She groans, throwing her arm around Troy’s neck.

She tugs him into her apartment when she finally, after much effort, gets it open, leading him to her room. Troy’s heart pace picks up, stammering out, “Brit–Britta, stop. Britta, don’t, s–“ as he tries to unlock her grip on his shirt.

“It’s fine, Troy...” she mumbles, stumbling into her room as he trips over her feet. “‘M just...”

She finally lets go of him and he steps back, to the door of her room, watching as Britta collapses into her bed, her hair covering her face like a blonde cobweb.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, Britta,” Troy says softly.

She groans in response.

“Okay,” Troy mutters before he leaves.

- - -

Abed is in the front seat when Troy gets back.

“Hi,” he says lightly, looking over as Troy slides into the front seat and slams the door shut, laying over the steering wheel and covering his face. He feels Abed’s hand lightly rub his shoulder.

“Hey,” he huffs when he sits up.

“So tonight was weird, right?” Abed says as Troy turns the car on and pulls out of the parking lot.

“Yeah. I don’t... really know how to react to it.”

“I don’t really know how to react to most things,” Abed says. “So I understand.”

The corners of Troy’s mouth quirk into a smile.

“Good to know.”

- - -

“Do you want me to walk you in?” Troy asks Abed as they pull into the student parking lot outside the accommodations.

Abed hums, twisting his mouth and looking out the window.

“Yes. But I don’t think you’ll have to hold me up.”

Troy chuckles, unbuckling and opening the car door.

“So where did you disappear to?” Troy asks, and he ignores the fact that they’re nothing walking much slower than they usually do, their feet shuffling over the asphalt of the parking lot.

“They had Asteroids.”

“Right.”

Troy shoves his hands in his pockets, looking up at the building they’re approaching, looking up at the dark windows, and the few, scattered, bright ones. One is open, and leaking out of it is faint dubstep music.

He feels awkward, for the first time with Abed, wanting to ask about that guy he saw talking to Abed, that guy that seemed entranced by Abed. (Of course, who wouldn’t be entranced by Abed? It’s like he’s made of magic.)

And why isn’t Abed saying anything about him? Why does he only mention Asteroids, and noting about the guy with the stupid moustache and the beer? The guy that bought Abed a beer?

Troy’s nostrils flare and he clenches his fists.

But then he looks up at Abed, and Abed’s looking at him. And Abed smiles.

At him.

Not the moustache guy.

And so Troy smiles back.

It’s not awkward.

Troy holds the door open for Abed, watching him as Abed steps past him (his shoulder brushes Troy’s chest).

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you tonight,” Abed says abruptly, turning to face Troy as the door shuts.

Troy shrugs nonchalantly, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy.”

“No, let me do this.”

“Okay.”

“I shouldn’t have stayed with you,” Abed says, turning to walk down the hall, and Troy follows. “I shouldn’t have just left you for a video game. It was your birthday.”

“Technically it wasn’t my birthday.”

Abed pauses, his finger hovering over the up button of the elevator.

“Right,” he says softly, his brows furrowing before he presses it. “Anyway. I shouldn’t have ditched you.”

“It’s okay, Abed.” Troy hesitates, following Abed into the elevator and watching him as he presses the button for floor three.

“Hey, uhm...” Troy finally says, shifting on his feet as the elevator lurches into motion. “Who was that guy you were talking to?”

“Oh,” Abed says, his brows furrowing for a short second. “R– Richard? Roger?”

“You don’t... know?”

“I didn’t really get to know him, I just talked about Farscape.”

“And he just listened?”

“Yeah, for the most part.” Abed glances at Troy. “He was actually hitting on me but I didn’t pick up on it until I was already on a roll so I ignored it.”

The elevator comes to a stop and Abed steps out when the doors slide open. Troy feels stuck, frozen in place.

Hitting on him?

He follows Abed out before the doors can slide shut.

“He was hitting on you?” he asks when he catches up, trying his hardest to keep his voice level.

“Yeah.”

“How... was that?”

Abed looks at him as they move down the hall.

“He’s not really my type.”

“And what is your type?”

Abed looks at him again, his eyes skimming over his face slowly. Troy feels himself burn up under his gaze.

“Not him,” Abed says after a few quiet, strained seconds. “I don’t really like moustaches.”

Troy scoffs, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

“He got mad at me,” Abed adds like its an afterthought, and Troy looks at him curiously. “When I told him I knew he wanted to have sex with me and that I chose to ignore it, he tossed his drink in my face.”

“What?”

Troy freezes, reaching out and catching Abed’s shirt with a hand. Abed turns to face him, and under the dim hallway lights, Troy finally notices that the front of his shirt is wet.

“What an asshole,” Troy mutters, looking at his shirt. His face is burning, and his hands are shaking lightly, by Abed seems indifferent.

“I understand why he was frustrated.”

“No reason to be such a douche.”

“...Yeah.”

Troy looks up into his eyes, away from his shirt, and Abed smile softly.

“I’m okay,” he reassures Troy.

“I know,” Troy says, and he smiles when Abed gives him a thumbs up.

They stop outside Abed’s door, and Troy’s smile is still there. Abed sees it, and Troy knows he does.

“Oh!” Abed says, turning to face Troy after unlocking his door. His eyes are wide.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had something for you. A birthday gift.” Abed huffs, looking down the hall, and he doesn’t see Troy’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise. “I forgot it in the study room. I was gonna give it to after the party but the... the plans changed and it slipped my mind.”

“That’s fine,” Troy says, nodding reassuringly. “You can give it to me on Monday.”

“Yeah,” Abed sighs, and his mouth twists the way it always does when he’s thinking. So Troy waits.

“I–“ Abed swallows, tilting his head and looking into Troy’s eyes. Troy hopes Abed can’t see his face flush in the dimness of the hall. “I do have something I could give you right now.”

“Oh.” Troy shifts on his feet, noticing Abed’s fingers tangled in front of himself nervously, not making a move to open his door. “Okay.”

“Close you eyes,” Abed says after taking a sharp breath, and Troy shuts his eyes promptly.

He waits patiently, for Abed’s door to open, for Abed to take his hands and place something in them, for... anything. But nothing happens.

Then something warm brushes his cheek, and it’s soft and gentle and comforting and Troy leans into it subconsciously, his eyes just beginning to flutter open before something presses against his mouth.

Troy hmphs lightly, his eyes flying open, and Abed is kissing him.

Kissing him.

Abed is kissing him .

Troy shuts his eyes again, lifting his hands and going to slide them over Abed’s neck, but Abed pulls away, and Troy leans in, following his face and gasping, blinking and blinking and taking a deep breath. And Abed’s eyes are on him, shining and dark and blinking.

“Is this...” Troy starts, his stomach and heart and hands dropping. “Is this a bit? Is this from... a movie, or...”

Abed’s fingers brush over his cheek again, over his jaw, lightly touching the side of his neck like feathers.

“No,” he says softly. “Its a cliché, but I’ve wanted to do it for a long time.”

Troy looks at Abed’s mouth, watches his lips as he says it.

“Really?” he asks softly, just breathing it, his voice higher than he’d usually like it to be, but right now he doesn’t care.

“Yes.” Abed’s mouth twists again, his fingers brushing over Troy’s neck before sliding around to the nape, holding him lightly. “I really like you. In like, a gay way.”

“I really like you, too,” Troy whispers.

“Can I...” Abed’s eyes flick to Troy’s mouth. “Can I do it again?”

“Yes please,” he breathes.

So Abed does it again.

His lips capture Troy’s lower lip and Troy squeezes his eyes shut, sliding his hands over Abed’s neck and pulling him so Abed leans down.

The hallway is so quiet, and the noises of their lips and their breathing sounds like it’s echoing, vibrating through them and the walls.

“Cool,” Abed murmurs when Troy pulls away for a gasp, and Troy grins before kissing him again, the butterflies in his stomach that are perpetually fluttering finally bursting free.

Abed’s hands slip over his neck, skimming over his throat as Troy hums quietly, and down his chest, and around his waist, pulling him in until their chests are flush against each other, and Troy is sure Abed can feel his heart pounding against him.

Troy steps forward when he feels Abed’s teeth on his lip, pushing Abed against his door, and Abed lets out this noise, this tiny, quiet, soft, vulnerable noise, this noise that escapes his throat and falls right into Troy’s mouth, and Troy’s hands tighten in on him, his nails digging into his skin.

Troy finally pulls away after an unknown amount of time (time always escapes him when he’s with Abed), and his lip is throbbing from Abed sucking on it and he can feel the trails that follow Abed’s fingertips over his waist like they’re glowing, like Abed’s fingers are covered in fairy dust.

“Oh,” Troy breathes, tracing his fingertips over Abed’s cheekbones, over the bridge of his nice and his eyebrows and his eyelids.

Abed smiles.

And his arms wrap around Troy’s waist, pulling him into a hug as Troy buries his face in Abed’s neck, winding his fingers in Abed’s hair.

“Do you wanna sleep over tonight?” Abed whispers.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Okay, come on.”

“Okay.”

Abed lets go of Troy to turn and open his door, and Troy almost whimpers at the loss of his arms around him.

When the door is open, Troy puts his hand on Abed’s back, gently pushing him inside, and he hears Abed give his precious “Hmmm,” giggle.

Troy shuts the door behind himself and pulls Abed back in, and somehow it’s even better in the privacy of Abed’s room, without the possibility of someone coming out of their own room and spotting them, seeing them and knowing just what they’re feeling, knowing just how their hearts are beating like they share arteries, because there’s no way they can hide it now.

Because now Troy can slide his hand over Abed’s waist and he can catch the fabric of his shirt, lifting it up and hearing what sounds like a sigh of relief come from Abed. And now he can slide his tongue across the seam of Abed’s lips, and Abed can let his mouth drop open and let his hands clutch at Troy’s neck desperately.

“That’s nice,” Abed sighs when Troy pulls away, and Troy nods in agreement, dropping his face into Abed’s neck again.

“I really, really like you,” he mumbles against Abed’s skin, and Abed’s fingertips finally slip under his shirt, over the warm skin of his hips and waist.

“I love you, Troy,” Abed says lightly, matter-of-factly, like it’s not the biggest deal in the whole world, in the whole fucking universe, like it doesn’t make Troy’s mind and heart explode in some pink, shimmery, glittery, dust.

“God, I love you too, I love you so much,” Troy whispers, because he finally can, his hands shaking as he holds the back of Abed’s neck and as Abed presses soft kisses to his cheeks and lips.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” Abed asks. “The earlier we wake up, the longer we’ll have to celebrate your birthday.”

“I don’t know how early we’re gonna wake up. Or if I’ll even want to get out of bed, honestly.”

“Understandable. I’d like to cuddle with you for a while.”

“Yes, please,” Troy says softly.

They fall asleep under two blankets in their boxers because they can’t be bothered to find pyjama pants, Troy’s face in Abed’s neck, leaving soft kisses as Abed’s fingers trail over Troy’s neck and hair.

Troy’s fingers trail over Abed’s chest and stomach and shoulders (he tugged Abed’s shirt over his head, telling him he didn’t want him to catch a cold; Abed most likely knew it isn’t likely that he’s going to catch a cold from a damp shirt, but he let Troy have it, let him press soft soft soft kisses all over him) and he feels Abed shiver under his fingertips as he scratches him faintly. It’s so quiet, and when Troy moves, lowers his head to Abed’s chest, he can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady and real.

Just as Troy is drifting off, he feels Abed shift, just slightly, and leave a kiss on his forehead.

Everything is different. Different, and strange, and weird, and peculiar, and completely, totally, absolutely fucking perfect.

[flowerwrites06]

diamond trail II — myg

Plot: The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)

Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Yoongi x Consigliere!Y/N

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 3k+

Genre: Mafia | Marriage | Mature Themes/Fluff/Smut

Tags & Warnings: criminal activities, mentions of past abuse (outside of the pair), explicit smut (spanking and very brief anal play), mild violence, coarse language, prostitution. 

Authors Note: the planning got a little wack but i think i’ve got it down now. hope you enjoy this part and make sure a like/reblog/comment go a long way! 

Morning turned dull and dreary as the cloud hung heavy in the sky. The driveway darkened from and the grass shimmered from the thunderstorms last night but the weather didn’t relent in its greyness. You wore a deep emerald sweater dress, black coat and warm hat while the guards prepared your car.

Yoongi stayed quiet throughout the entire ride, hand still holding yours. Except his mind wandered to mentally prepare himself. Gang leaders don’t always agree to meetings nor do they end up well for anyone. You were the glue that held them together at this point.

Consiglieres’ normally always have good connections but your web was unbeatable. The amount of time you were able to keep Yoongis’ business on the down low and manage to keep it running in the same line. It was one of the reasons he fell in love. The aura of magnetism around you that attracted so many to trust you. Aside from your looks, the way you spoke and held yourself was something any experienced gang leader would be careful not to test.

Their meeting was in a neutral zone. In the private basement of Petunia Valley, a small florist shop situated near the outskirts of the city. Namjoons’ car already arrived to the scene. Daisy, the owner, had some trouble with gang members in the past. She came to you for some aid and you suggested that making a front for Gae Pa would put Daisy under their protection. Making it an act of war or treason if gang members attacked her.

She’d been safe ever since which gladdened your heart.

As you and Yoongi entered the flower shop, Daisy gave you the biggest smile. “Ma’am! It’s good to see you.” She bowed.

“Everything’s ready for the meeting.” You nodded towards the stairs.

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded enthusiastically. “The tall man with the shades came in. I’ve given them some jasmine tea to calm themselves since he looked antsy. No funny business or fights though.”

You smiled and patted her shoulder. She looked so much happier than the crying girl with bruises littered on her face three years ago. “You’re looking well.”

Her pale cheeks flushed in pink. “All thanks to you, ma’am.”

Another car pulled up at the entrance.

“Let’s get this over with, sweetheart.” Yoongi gently rubbed your arm. He gave an extremely brief smile to Daisy before guiding you down the stairs.

Thankfully the basement had a faint floral scent to it with that tiny hint of fertilizer than you both hoped wouldn’t get too pungent as the hour passed. Namjoon sat at the wooden table, tattooed hand clasping the adorable pink floral cup with a clear grimace on his face. Clearly that jade bracelet messed with his head as much as the diamond gun did Yoongi.

The shades were probably to hide hangover or lack of sleep. Or both.

You sat at the head of the table being the meeting coordinator. One of Namjoons’ bodyguards poured you a cup of tea by his boss’ request. “Thank you.” You smiled.

“I’ll have some too,” Yoongi said.

“Get your own fucking tea.” Namjoon narrowed his gaze.

“Gentlemen.” You warned, spreading silence between the two leaders. Taking the teapot, you poured a cup for Yoongi and gently placed it in front of him.

Jimin walked down with three bodyguards crowded around him. He sat on the far end of the table, purposely ignoring both Yoongi and Namjoons’ presence. Being the only leader without a sigil or history, he must’ve been trying to keep an air of intimidation up. “Let’s get this over with.” He straightened out his coat.

“Ass without a sigil thinks he can scare us, Min.” Namjoon scoffed. “You believe that?”

“No I don’t, Kim.”

You sighed in slight exasperation. “I’ve called you three here because our reputations are being toyed with. By an elusive thief who is trying to create tension between the gangs.”

“Would you really consider that ones’ business as a gang?” Namjoon tilted his head to Jimin.

“I work and have significant influence and following in the underworld. So yes, it counts as a gang.”

“I was asking the real gang consigliere, kid.” Namjoon smiled bitterly.

“Namjoon…he’s right.” You explained to the best of your thinning patience.

“You might have to explain things to him a little slower, my lady.” Jimin smirked. “He tends to focus more on the curves of your breasts than anything you say.”

“Little brat wants to die today,” Yoongi seethed, teeth grinding.

Jimin scoffed, plump lips curling upwards. “This is a neutral zone. You can’t kill me unless you risk this entire flower shop getting burned down.”

“I’ll decide what happens to this shop and the ones who harm it, Mr. Park.” Your gaze sharpened on the man. “I’m sure your wife and kids wouldn’t appreciate having their vacation stopped short because you wouldn’t play nicely in a meeting.” All Jimins’ bodyguards standing ready to fight and the man himself holding a clipped tongue, lost for words. “Bora Bora, is it? Lovely place.”

Jimin bit down the insides of his cheeks, chest rising and falling as frustration twisted his usually pretty features. He raised his chin to maintain his pride. “Continue.”

Yoongi tried to hide the impressed smirk that desperately tried to tug at his lips.

“Thank you.” You tapped the side of your cup. “I don’t have enough information to pinpoint a culprit yet but it is definitely someone notorious to like chaos in the country. Our best lead could be to suspect Jwi Pa but it’s too obvious.”

“Don Byeol doesn’t really share her grandfathers’ viewpoints anymore,” Namjoon said. “If we had another Sapphire Assassin scandal on our hands, we’d probably all be dead by now. This thief wants us to die by killing each other by your theory.”

“Is it really for power if it’s so indirect?” Yoongi asked. “The way this guy’s working is like he just wants the chaos for sport.”

“Why don’t we just settle our differences now?” Jimin asked.

“‘cause you’re refusing to give me my sisters’ bracelet, dumbass.”

“I bought it fair and square.”

“There is a way I can get more information. During a charity event, I heard that a street gang leader rose up to the ranks by killing the Don of Mal Pa. A sort of revolution since the previous Don was getting a little too obsessed with creating piles than actual influence,” you said.

Mal Pa hadn’t been too popular ever since Don Chun Hei passed away. She didn’t have a lot of children so the leadership moved to underbosses and then associates. The meaningfulness of the gangs’ importance subdued and eventually became obsolete. However, the gang was still alive and apparently running under unknown leadership. It was a good place to start.

Except you would have to dig deeper if you were looking into a mystery gang like this. You’d have to visit him.

“I know an information broker who might be able to gain a lot of information of Mal Pa and the thievery itself.”

Yoongi didn’t need too long before his expression softened in realization. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Namjoon asked.

“He asks for information as his currency. Keeps his connections strong so you can only work with him a few times in dire circumstances.” The last time you had to gain information on the large robbery in Gae Pa and had to tell him that your father and brother were still alive in Singapore. “He can help me track down the thief. He might even be able to name him exactly.”

Yoongi curled his fingers into tight fists. Kim Seokjin. Always asking for the right things to keep up his popularity and wealth. Information can get you anywhere from the top of the most expensive building to the bottom most slums of the city. The country ran on it and Seokjin was one of the monarchs who owned it. “Is this the only way?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Even Namjoon and Jimin stayed quiet, unable to really comment on the matter. The only person at risk in this situation would be you. You knew all kinds of information but there were different promises and deals made in terms of spreading news on people and networks in the underworld.

Yoongi stared at you in silence. A mixed look of concern and anger twisting his features. Just let it this be over.

***

Seokjin knew what he was doing when he made the deal. Best way to gain power without being seen is to take advantage of the one with the most connections. You were the top tier.

Another storm poured down into the city the same night as you travelled to Seokjins’ favorite restaurant. Road glistened like polished obsidian, reflecting the pink neon of the entrance sign. You drove in alone but measures were taken to ensure your utmost safety in the matter. With a deep breath, you walked through the restaurant with an air of confidence.

Seokjin sat at the booth, tapping the side of his sherry glass. When he noticed you arrive, a wide grin tugged from ear to ear. “Darling!”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the nickname. The tall male reached in and kissed both her cheeks softly before relaxing back onto the black booth.

“I haven’t heard from you since that massive robbery. Have you been purposely avoiding me?” Pillowy lips jutted into a pout.

“I have to keep my peoples’ funds in check. You tend to ask for a high price even in casual visits.”

Seokjin chuckled, the warm lights casting an eerie shadow on his eyes. Black orbs of a demon. “I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He shrugged. “So what did you need tonight on such short notice?”

You waved your hand for a drink. “Someone is trying to create havoc with two gang leaders and a restaurant chain owner.”

“Ah yes, the robbed auction. The underground newsletters were brimming.” Seokjin failed to hide the excitement flooding through his veins as his face turned smug. “So much anger. Two dreadful murders already.” He looked at his nails with a forced saddened expression. “So gory, your people.”

“Well—” Your eyes flickered up to the waitress who gave you a cup of earl grey tea.

“On the house, ma’am.” The waitress grinned before turning on her heel.

“So terribly famous.” Seokjin smirked.

“My suspicions are on Mal Pa. I had a theory since the leader used to be in a street gang. There’s a lot of whispers that they have some kind of vendetta to all gangs. It’s a good place to start without getting traced.” You didn’t want to voice those rumors to Yoongi or Namjoon since it had no basis yet. But with the way Seokjin smiled at you knowingly, you knew that was a lead.

Thunder struck, silver bolt flickering against the blackened sky. You used the warmth of the tea to bring you some comfort even though all you really wanted was to snuggle up in bed for night. “You know something, yes?”

“So long as you understand the natures of this transaction.”

Anxiety crept at the back of your mind, like thorn vines climbing up an aged building. More thunder boomed across the skies almost making you jump. You blinked slowly and breathed deep. “I do.”

“Good,” Seokjin said. Long fingers intertwined, business stance with a ready breath. “Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jeon Jungkook?” You shook your head.

“That’s the current leader of Mal Pa. A former street goon who was apparently asking for the previous gang leaders’ aid. They refused so Jeon took it upon himself for justice. Got a bunch of people and trashed the entire place. Killed the Don along with it.” Seokjin traced the brim of his glass. “If anyone has an agenda against the Dons of this country, it’s him.”

“How do I get in contact with him?”

Seokjin laughed like you spoke the funniest joke in the world. “Sweetheart, even if you offered your body and soul to the man, he wouldn’t talk to you. He hates the higher ups.”

“I wasn’t always a higher up.” Your origins started in the streets just like Jungkook. The smell of garbage and cheap perfume lingering in the air. Hiding in the closet with earbuds while mother worked. Taking over the family business and expanding your horizon with nothing but the clothes on you back and sweat on your skin. “Is there a way I can get through to him?”

Seokjin sighed. “For a man with a supposed higher purpose, he visits this courtesan house quite regularly.” He grabbed a napkin and wrote down the name of the establishment. “If you meet him there while he’s high on opium then you might be able to gain some information.”

“Nectar Oak.” Your heart jumped up to your throat. How long had it been since you saw or heard that name before? The feeling of their silk uniform still lingered on your skin.

“I understand this is no strange place to you,” Seokjin spoke.

You swallowed the small lump in your throat. “A thing of the past.” You buried the napkin into your purse. “What’re your terms?”

“I’ve asked this of you before. Information on a gang leader requires a hefty price. You can’t delay me any longer since we found out about your father and brothers’ hideout.” That same sinister smirk tugged at his lips. “What were the true terms of your marriage with Don Min Yoongi?”

A cold flood washed over your form, welcoming unwanted twists and lurches in your stomach from the time years ago. Time when things weren’t as warm as they are now. You kept a steady face, the corner of your lips twitching just the slightest. “I was a worker at the courtesan house,” you spoke softly. “Before they pay you for customers, they train you with different workers in the house. My first real customer was Yoongi. He was very kind but distant.”

You took a deep breath. “One night he came in and he said that he was going to reserve me. I didn’t know customers could truly do that. It meant he paid for everything and I got to spend time outside of the house. Working in a place like that, you tend to gain many connections and information very easily. It allowed me to earn a place in Yoongis’ radar. He’d come to me for information and personal activities.”

Seokjin took a tiny sip of his sherry, eyes fixated on you like the excitement would stop if he blinked.

Sadness loomed over your face. “I got pregnant. I told him as soon as he arrived to the house.” You sucked in your bottom lip. “He looked so happy…but—then he never came back again. For seven months, I never saw him. I already prepared to have the baby on my own until one morning, he came back. I learned that Gae Pa was going through a power struggle. When Min Areum murdered the Don, there was chaos. Questions on whether Yoongi deserved to have power—but then my pregnancy created all the more chaos.”

“He came to me and told me that he needed help.” You smiled a little to yourself. “He knew I had people I could talk to help with the associates trying to harass Yoongi. But I had to be part of the family. So he married me. We signed a legal agreement and I took down all the associates who dared to threaten Gae Pas’ true heir.”

“So the most popular couple in the underworld—” Seokjin rested back on the booth. “—is a marriage run on business and convenience. Not love.”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t any love.”

Seokjin hummed with a slight smile. “I’m sure there is.”

You suppressed the need to roll your eyes as you stood up from the booth. “Pleasure doing business with you, Kim.”

“Be sure to give Yoongi my love!”

***

“No, no, no. Absolutely fucking not. Not a chance.” Yoongi kept blabbering as the news finally reached the room. He curled up the sleeves of his white shirt, roughly raking through his hair. He turned and took a deep breath. Trying to protest more before turning away again in light stammers. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“You’re not killing anyone.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

The maids were ordered to work on the bedroom quarters while the living room reserved for their little argument. Yoongi clasped onto his hips, shaking his head. “We’re risking too much, baby. I don’t think it’s worth it. Even my mother would slap me in the head if she saw this.”

“It’s not just about the gun anymore.” You padded closer to him, rubbing his arm. “There’s a high chance he’s gonna try something else. Something worse than a robbery. It’s already happening, there’s been two murders. We can’t wait for that to happen to us.”

Yoongi let out a deep sigh, nerves still aching from the tightness but at least information was registering in his head again. You were right. Jungkook could have Namjoon or Jimin assassinated in an instant. The underworld will be able to trace Gae Pa down immediately. Right now, he was playing but it could very well get serious and bite them back in the ass for ignoring it. “I just hate that you have to go back there again. Wearing those same clothes.” He swallowed down thickly. “You’ve done so much to get me out of problems and now it’s almost back to square one.”

You reached in and kissed the back of his neck. “It’s not gonna be like last time. We’re stronger now. And this is my home as much as it is yours.”

“I know—”

“So I’m going to protect it no matter what. Okay?” You moved so you stood in front him, nose nudging against his. “We’ll protect it together.”

Yoongi smiled, cupping your cheeks and kissing you on the forehead. “What did you ask you for?” A part of him didn’t wish to know. The fear of personal information in the slimy hands of that weasel made his insides lurch but he knew the weight would lifted off of you.

“Our terms of marriage.” You smiled sadly. “How it actually happened.”

“Did he ask about the baby?”

“Actually no—he seemed pretty satisfied with the story itself.” Or Seokjin figured on what might’ve happened if their child wasn’t public nor were there any rumors of a Gae Pa heir.

“We’re not talking to him ever again.”

“So long as we don’t get into trouble.” You chuckled under your breath. Even entertaining the idea of a trouble free life was too idealistic.

“Then we’re never getting rid of him.” Yoongi sighed.

Fear still lingered, twisting his stomach in knots at the events to come but his mind knew better. You were both stronger than the time Yoongi was taking the chair as Don. This was a small bump in the road. Nothing more.

<< prev chap | next chap >> 

[soulwillower]

boyfriend stuff • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)      

requested: PLEASE FAKE DATING TO LOVERS WITH RICHIE PLEASE A WHOLE FIC PLEASE MORE

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions of sex, a bit of drinking, family members, richie has a little sis!! and i believe that is it but as always its unedited

[losers + reader are in college]

sorry i haven’t been posting much but i have this fic for u guys, hope u like it!

6k words yowza

♡

"you said what?!" you hiss, your stomach swirling, jaw dropped as the wind whips your hair around. richie's grinning, but it's not his usual up-to-something grin. much more of an i'm-sorry-i-ran-my-mouth-again  kind of smile, but it's still richie's, so it's impossible to stay annoyed.  

"well shit, doll. you know how i am! and it was my grandma, i couldn't let her down. she is crazy." he says with a shrug, his hand pushing back his wild curls as you glare up at him in his stupid striped shirt and awful, annoying, angelic face.

you scoff, crossing your arms as your eyes flick to behind richie, taking in the law library and some kids playing hackey-sack on the quad. birds chirp in the distance. "c'mon, toots. you can play my girlfriend for a few days, right?" he asks gently, making you look back to him, gazing into his hopeful expression.

you're silent as a warm breeze flutters around you and you weigh your options - honestly, what could go wrong by going to your friend's grandma's house and pretending to be his girlfriend for a bit?

"how far is the drive?" you ask sharply.

"yes, baby! i knew i could count on you." he yelps, scooping you in his arms and making you yelp, rolling your eyes. "i didn't actually commit to fake-dating you yet, richie. unless you pay me."

"100 bucks, kid." he says, holding your shoulders. you gape at him, "what? do you seriously need to convince your grandma and the rest of your family that you're dating someone that much?" you ask, eyes wide and a smile curling onto your lips.

this boy was ridiculous.

he launches into a story about how his grandma is super weird - nice, but oddly suspicious; like (as he puts it) red-scare mccarthy type suspicious, which doesn't do much to help his case with you.

he then lists on his fingers the reasons he needed a girlfriend and continued to insist, "y/n/n, look at me. nobody's going to believe that i'm single. i'm way too gorgeous." you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

"-plus, you're the only friend i have that is hot enough and tolerant enough to pass as my girl for a whole weekend. i would ask stan the man, but i already mentioned that it was specifically a lady-lover of mine, and i can't put stan through a weekend of bra stuffing on top of faking' it with me."

you scoff at his absurdity, following him as he walks towards his dorm and weighing your options. "we have to stay with your batshit grandma, tozier? and you're really gonna do all that boyfriend stuff?"

he just laughs, tilting his head up so the sun glints on his forehead and you have to tear your eyes away before you get too attached to the sight of him.

"oh, of course i am toots. i can't wait to treat you like you deserve, babe. plus, it's a small house. we'll be sharing a room, though." he mutters, slinging a heavy arm around you and giving you icy butterflies that thrash in your ribcage. you groan, "come on, richie. i'm only doing this out of the goodness of my heart." you mutter, shaking your head as he sweeps the door to his building open and wiggles his brows. "and i have to share a bed with you?"

"you can curse my momma for bein' so liberal."  he says with a shake of his head, "you'll love her, though. she's excited to meet my girlfriend."

you fake a gag.

x

somehow, a week later, you're pulling yourself out of richie's beat up cherokee and sighing at the heat outside, watching as richie unfolds his body to his full height and sweeps an arm towards the quaint house across the street.  you walk to his side of the car and shake your head, trying not to think of the pressure of acting like a good girlfriend for the next two and a half days.

the drive back to richie's hometown was just as you'd expected a road trip with richie would be - cherry cola, loud music, a/c on blast as the summer warmth whips around his car on the outside, and a briefly awkward lay out of rules for the two of you to follow.

"well what about, like, rules?" you ask, feet balanced on the dashboard. he looks over to you, smirking as he hums along to the radio as it plays quietly. "well, like, what about them?" he asks, smacking his mouth and fake twirling his hair like a valley girl. you hide a giggle behind a glare.

"i'm serious, rich." but your smile gives way to your playful manner as you toss a chip at him. it hits his shoulder and he smirks - you're distracted, then, by how the faint morning glow hits his eyelashes, how his side-profile is sharp and angular but somehow also soft and subdued.

his hair is scruffy and placed perfectly as if he'd just rolled out of bed - though you know it took him a few minutes to make it look that way. he's wearing his stupid black corduroy pants and a long sleeve shirt that looks so soft you might melt and his lips are quirked into a wry smile.

richie's eyes are bright and teasing as ever, even on this early morning, and his teeth toy with his pink lips as he grins. you smile to yourself as you stare, because richie tozier is an artwork.

"y/n/n?" he asks softly, shooting you a soft look that really makes your fingertips tingle as you reach for your coffee. had he been speaking to you? you clear your throat, "richie, eyes on the road."

he chuckles but obeys, turning to look forwards, and you feel your heartbeat relax slightly. "okay. what about touching?" you reiterate as he keeps glancing at you, making you flush and your stomach thrash in tickle.

"you know i'm all for it." he wiggles his eyebrows and you scoff, shaking your head and pressing your lips together to keep down a smile. he's too much."-for real, though. what are you comfortable with? i can do any of that boyfriend stuff." he says, mimicking your words from the week before when you'd agreed to come, and you turn red again for nearly no reason.

you shrug. "well, touching is fine...but don't you think.... er- i mean, maybe kissing is just... a little weird? i don’t know." you ask, your stomach fluttering. you're not totally sure why, or you just don't want to address it, but you think that kissing richie might make things... different for you.

you ignore the feeling as richie nods. "yeah, i mean it’s not like my parents are gonna try and make us lock lips in front of them anyways." he mutters, making you roll your eyes, smiling out the window as the countryside flashes by in splashes of green and yellow.

"right, kid. you ready?" richie's voice calls you to look at him with a smile. "guess so." you shrug, your breath mixing with the warm afternoon air. the front door of the house creaks open from across the yard and richie turns to you, smiling devilishly and holding your bag in his hand.

"quick, they're coming. kiss me." he says with a lopsided grin. your stomach dips and you huff, "ew, no!"

he looks at you with a grin as you continue, "-you just had funyuns! that's so gross." you say, shoving his face as he tries to lean closer to you, making kissy faces. you can't help yourself from giggling as he smiles, "do it! c'mon, toots. plant one on me." "no, rich!" you squeal with another laugh, shoving him as he beams down at you. slowly, he pulls you into his chest and you lay your head, wrapping your arms around him. the proximity of your bodies takes your breath away as you breathe in the faint scent of mint, strawberry and cigarettes. it makes you relax almost completely and you're unsure when these feelings with richie started, but you're suddenly hyperaware of them and you think you might be in some real trouble.

"let's do this, y/n/n."

x

you'd expected meeting richie's family to be the most stressful part of your day, but it went so smoothly you were almost concerned.

his mom was taller than you but still shorter than him, and when he lifted her up in greeting it made your heart swell. next was his grandma, who was quite short and had curly gray hair. she hugged you and kissed your cheek and you immediately felt welcome as you met them.

then not shortly after, a fiery bullet with a black dress and light - up sneakers came barreling full speed at richie, making you blink as he yelled, "munch!" and lifted the girl up.

you met his little sister, who he insisted you call "munch," through a shy wave and a grin as she had her arms looped and face buried in his neck.

and then you smiled and pretended not to feel anything as you watched him tickle her and kiss her forehead.

throughout the day, it is physically painful for you to watch richie with his family. really, it is.

you know richie tozier. the boy who falls asleep at the library and drools on his textbook, the boy who ties people's shoelaces together at parties when he's just entered that drunken stage of "pranky richie." he's the dumbass who fell out the window of bill's dorm and into the bushes, the kid who was a huge nerd yet incessantly boasted about his 'very high' body count (which, by the way, you did not believe). he was the loud person at every party, the kind who drew people in out of admiration, fascination or loathing, he was the boy who got the highest gpa and also the highest amount of parking violations and speeding tickets.

but here, at home...

god, richie was incredible. he had a whole other side to him that fit in perfectly, like a missing piece to a puzzle that you didn't even know was incomplete. he spent as much time with his sister, munch, as he could - singing to her, brushing and braiding her hair, teasing her relentlessly, and making snacks for the three of you.

he even wore a tiara and a tutu when munch insisted you have a tea party - and he steeped real tea (which tasted like shit because he did not know how to steep tea), even getting out his grandma's fancy cups.

the way he treated munch was honestly the nail in the coffin for you, because the one thing you expected richie to be bad at was interacting with young kids. like, he swears like a sailor, is always bouncing around, rarely goes a day without a cigarette, and just all around seems like he'd prefer the company of an average-aged joe. but he is full of surprises, as you've learned.

x

it took almost six hours of driving to get to his grandma's house, none of which richie allowed you to drive, despite your insistence. so after a quick catnap, you'd spent the entire day exploring the house, playing games, and getting to know munch and the rest of his family. and so now, before bed, richie was upstairs showering while you were sitting downstairs at the kitchen table with his grandma and his sister.

you were left to your own wits with his family, which wasn't too bad, but you're nervous you're going to slip up.

"you are just such a lovely young woman, aren't you?" his grandma asks, sipping on her bailey's. you laugh, shrugging your shoulders. "you're too kind, really. you guys are just easy to be around." you say with a smile.

"now i just wonder, what made you settle with richie?" she asks, lifting a brow. you choke on the last gulp of your own bailey's, the warmth going straight to your stomach and the alcohol right to the head. you decide to go the joke route.

"i have no idea, i mean. have you seen those awful shirts?" you say with a snort. his grandma laughs sweetly, sipping again and seemingly forgetting the problem so you pull at your collar, willing for richie to come rescue you.

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"-hey, you can't judge my life choices, y/n/n, because you are one of them." he says with a grin, drawing you into the crook of his shoulder. "the best one, might i add."

you flush but just roll your eyes, knowing that it's just for show, but secretly yearning for that to be true.

he groans."can you at least pretend you think i'm charming?" richie whines,  "that costs extra." you say, then suddenly your eyes snap to richie's as you realize what you've said.

"costs?" his grandma asks, looking confused. you clear your throat, "o-oh, i..."

"she owes me gas money." "he owes me money for food."

you stare at each other - fuck. that's kind of awkward. richie's grandma hums in suspicion and your mouth feels dry.

richie suddenly guffaws loudly, shaking your shoulders as he nods. "well aren't we the cutest, y/n/n? okay, let's get you off to bed now." he rushes, shitty excuse doing nothing to fix the situation as he tugs your arm so you rise from the stool, then places your empty mug in the sink. he kisses his grandma on the cheek and hurries you upstairs, towards the guest bedroom where you're both staying.

x

the next day was when you really realized that richie tozier never stopped fidgeting. he was an anxious person inherently, so you understood this mixed with his adhd led him to tapping fingers, humming and bouncing his legs.

earlier, he'd had his arm secured around your waist (a foreign yet welcoming sensation) as you'd eaten dinner with his family. he was shaking his leg so aggressively that the table was vibrating and you loved it - you loved the uncomfortable but understanding looks on everyone's faces. you loved that they loved richie just as you did, you loved that they accepted him and teased him and hugged him and joked with him and listened to him like you did.

"what're you thinking' about?" he'd asked into your ear, loud enough that the others had definitely heard. his grin was nearly audible and you smile, looking into his warm eyes, "just you." you'd said simply, with a shrug. and as the words left your mouth, you realized you weren't even putting on a show, or ‘faking it' for his family.

you just really, really liked richie.

shit.

so now, it was well after richie's sister had gone to sleep and the rest of the family was up drinking, listening to music and telling stories. you really were enjoying all the embarrassing stories that fell from maggie's lips, her brain and body being well into a bottle of chardonnay and being more and more humiliating as the clock ticked on.

"-and he was- what was he, dear, seven?" she asks, hand falling onto wentworth's thigh. richie groans, "mom, stop. this isn't even funny."

you nudge him, "speak for yourself."

richie scowls then, leaning back against the awful floral pattern of the couch and pulling you into his side. you smile as you nuzzle into his chest, listening to his wild heartbeat as maggie laughs, "oh, rich. we're just teasing you because we love you."

you nod and giggle as he sticks his tongue out at her. his grandma speaks up, "how did you two kids meet?"

she sounds almost angry, and you're not sure why, so you laugh a little into your sleeve as richie leans up a bit as if preparing for a bullshit speech.

"well y/n was friends with bill first, you know. bill, mike, and her had a class together, and i always heard about y/n this, oh y/n that." richie starts. you smile as you watch him talk, recognizing that it really is the way you met. you'd figured he would just make something up.

"-but anyways, this one time, she came into the dorm because she thought bill would be there. it was just me, though. i was working on some homework or something, and she-she just looked amazing. seriously, i sounded like bill when i introduced myself because i stuttered so much." maggie shakes her head at that, but richie plows through, "and god, ma, she's so smart, she was so sweet i swear i almost got cavities just from talkin' to her for ten minutes. i have never been more star struck in my life, dad. i swear." he says, shaking his head. "later, after y/n left, bill told me he did it intentionally. the little wingman he is, tried to get us to hang out because he knew i'd fall head over heels in love. who couldn't?" he ends, smiling gently at you and brushing his hand on your cheek.

oh.

you feel yourself flush and then you smile at the carpet, your hand rising to grab richie's and lace them together.  you didn't know how damn thick tozier could lay it on - boy did he know how to woo a girl. even if it's all fake.

"meant to be, huh?" wentworth says, and you look from him to richie's grandma, then to richie. "guess so." you say quietly, leaning up to quickly peck richie's cheek and then telling yourself it's just for show in front of his family. it isn't.

it was only 15 minutes later that richie decided it was time to retire to the bed, insisting you come with him - but you know it’s because he’s getting very embarrassed. it was cute to see him flustered for a change. 

"goodnight!" you call, waving to maggie and went as they raise their glasses at the two of you, maggie with a knowing glint in her eye.

you both walk in content silence until you get into your bedroom. 

the music still plays downstairs, a melody of piano and guitar and maybe a quartet wafting up through the vents and creating an eerily romantic ambiance. slowly and wordlessly, richie puts his hands on your waist and hums nonsense as he sways the two of you.

without thinking, you melt into his touch and smile.

you wind your arms around his neck as you move with him, his meaningless humming setting your heart into overdrive - or, perhaps, it's because of the proximity to the boy in front of you.

"rich, nobody's here to see us." it's whispered, because you really don't want to pull away or to have him realize that this isn't what friends do, because you like it. a lot. 

"i know." he says it so softly, you barely hear it. but it's there, the words are out in the open, and you like the way they fall over the air in the room like they're meant to be there. the soft light of the single lamp, the ugly floral wallpaper, the smell of richie.

"isn't it nice, though?" he adds, almost like an afterthought. you grin down at the carpet below you, your eyes taking in his striped socks, his feet absolutely dwarfing yours as you move back and forth gently.

"yeah, it really is." you whisper back, lifting your head up to watch his owl-eyes as they stare back at you, his chewed lips parted as small puffs of breath fall out, his nose splattered with freckles that you can make out from the proximity. he smells like chocolate and that damn mint smell again

"richie..." you start, your eyes trained on his lips as you slowly feel yourself leaning closer to him. he looks frozen, his eyes now changing from wide to almost hooded as he stares down at you. 

you wonder if he's afraid to move, because he's stopped swaying you and now his thumbs are rubbing circles into your side, slipping under your top and yeah, that's definitely new but it's amazing and you wonder if it's such a bad thing for you to want all this stuff with richie.

and to want more.

"yeah babe?" he asks and your brain marvels at how natural and unceremoniously the pet word falls from his lips, as if that really was your name.

but then - be it fear, shame, or anxiety - you mumble out the words, shaking your head. "did bill really try to set us up? l-like, was that all true?" you say with an awkward smile. you just clear your throat, eyes not focusing on richie as if you're looking for something, anything to occupy your mind because you can physically feel the tension and it's suffocating you.

"yeah." he says simply after a couple moments, arms still wrapped around you. you're now too nervous to look at him because he'll see how pleased you are, how happy it makes you that people want you and richie to be together. "all of it was real." he says and his voice sounds so honest, so genuine and so raw that you smile bashfully, looking at him shyly.

"oh, cool." you mutter quietly, fingers playing with the fabric on his chest. he chuckles and his chest shakes with the noise as he pulls you even closer to him. his fingers rise softly to cup your chin and he tilts your head so you're looking in to each other's eyes.

richie is staring at you with a sincerity that you swear you've never seen before; his gaze on yours makes you hear a soft guitar melody, makes you feel weightless and completely full at the same time, makes you taste adventure and strawberries. 

his lips are parting and if he were to speak to you right now, you're completely confident that you would not comprehend a single one of his words because you're too caught up in him. he's making you see pale pinks and blues and lilac and you swear you want to stay the subject of his gaze forever and ever, just you and him and the world outside this room. 

"cool, hm? cool is all i get, baby?" he asks softly, and the only reason you hear it at all is because you feel his breath on your lips and even though you said 'no kissing,' that was a lie - you think you might want to feel his lips on yours forever. your eyes fall shut as you grip his shirt collar, smelling his stupid strawberry 3-in-1 wash as you lean in closer.

and his lips brush yours so faintly that you swear it's like a kiss from a fairy; there and gone so quickly you aren't sure if it ever happened in the first place-

"-jesus, munch!" richie suddenly yelps, scaring you and himself as he jumps slightly, leaning away from you.

you look down, eyes opening to see richie's sleepy sister staring up at you two with wide eyes, her hand clutching richie's leg. "why are you up, kid?" he asks softly, kneeling to her height, hands leaving you. your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you try to catch your breathing, your fingers brushing your lips as you watch richie. did that just happen?

munch whispers into richie's ear, looking to the floor afterwards and you smile, loving how different the siblings are in personality and how sweetly richie treats her. 

richie looks to you with a bashful grin of his own, his cheeks glowing pink and making your heart flutter because at least he felt slightly the same way you felt right now.

"munch wants you to read her a story." he says, shrugging lightly, "you don't have to if you don't want to." he adds, his hand rubbing her head as she hugs his leg. you smile, "n-no, i'd love to."

richie rubs munch's cheek, "lead the way, kiddo." richie loops his arm around your waist softly as you follow her to her room, and you are pretty damn sure it's not just for show.

it took about ten minutes for her to fall back asleep, nestled in a mound of stuffed animals, blankets, and an old shirt of richie's that he'd left behind when he went to school. 

your own eyes droop as you lean your head onto richie's shoulder from where the two of you rest against the wall, stretched on the edge of her bed, and the last thing you remember is smiling at munch's sleeping figure before it's all blank.

you wake up again with a start as you hear a thudding noise - your eyes are bleary and dry, your back and neck kinked in the worst way and you groan a bit as you stir and lift your head. you look around and richie is standing in front of you, arm outstretched. wordlessly, you grab his hand and pull yourself to your wobbly legs as you look at his sister's sleeping body.

you're so exhausted and thrown off that you just follow richie wordlessly into your room and pull off your jeans, putting on shorts before flopping onto the bed next to richie in the dark. 

"g'night." he mumbles sleepily as he wraps a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he can reach over you to put his glasses on the nightstand. he falls back onto the pillow with a tired huff and you're already half asleep but you can't help your heart from picking up speed as a pair of lips press softly to your hairline.

you fall asleep this time feeling warm and comfortable, the feeling of his lips burning on your forehead sweetly. 

x

when you wake the next day richie’s already gone, the space next to you cold and empty.

 after getting ready, you pad down to the main floor to find everyone outside, munch and richie splashing around in the pool in the backyard. you're excited to see they've set up a lunch outside in the shade under the tree and you decide to go put on your swimsuit just as richie walks in.

"mornin' sugar." he grins, walking over to the kitchen sink. you snort, looking at the clock on the oven: 11:18.

"hey, sorry i slept so late." you mumble, your stomach filling with butterflies as he smiles genuinely at you. your eyes trail over his bare chest, dripping with water droplets as he breathes slowly. your mind flashes back to last night, and you shake your head, jabbing your thumb behind you. "um, i should go put on my suit." you feel awkward. 

he hums, pushing off the counter, "i'll walk with you."

you frown as he does, nervous about being alone with him again. you're being a fucking dumbass, sure, but he makes you nervous in the most delicious way and you can't help but picture his lips fully on yours. it's a terrifying thought, honestly.

"my grandma is being weird today, i think she's onto it because she said we were just really good frien-" richie mutters as you walk the hall and you cut him off, frustrated with his paranoia for no reason.

"rich, why does it even matter if she suspects us? it's not like she knows for sure." you try to reason, your hands falling on to his arms to halt his stride.

he’d just mentioned his grandma’s offhand comment about how close of friends you seem to be. maybe it was nothing, or maybe she didn't believe you. why did it even matter?

he shakes his head, eyes wide. "because that's fucking embarrassing for me! i have feelings, you know." he defends.  

you roll your eyes - you knew damn well richie had feelings. this was getting to be so stupid, this whole thing was pointless - because you know that you've just fallen in love with richie for real and made things ten times harder for the two of you.

"of course you do, rich, but we-"

the noise of footfall in the hallway to your left sends you both into a panic for no entirely good reason, so you tug him closer towards you with wide eyes. his hands catch himself on the wall on either side of you, his breath fanning on your face.

why are you so panicky and jumpy? "did they hear us?" richie whispers frantically, head turning to look and see who was coming towards you.

so instead of responding, for some reason your brain insists you act like a fool and draw his lips to yours. your hands cup his jaw as you press your lips to his, the feeling sending your stomach through loops and your brain fuzzy.

holy shit, this was exactly what you told yourself not to do. shit.

just as you pull back slightly, intending only for the kiss to be a chaste peck, richie's hands are on your body and he's pressing you against the wall, deepening the kiss as he tilts your head to deepen it. 

you're caught off guard, eyes wide as you throw your hands around his neck, kissing him fervently. your eyes close and his tongue prods your lip, taking your fucking breath away.

he tastes like sugary lemonade and you think you're melting, spiraling and falling deeper as you open your mouth. you almost moan out at the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, sliding your tongue against him just as a throat clears.  

you both pull back, alarmed even though you knew this was going to happen - but you're more alarmed at what the fuck richie just did than at his grandma staring at you. 

yeah, his grandma catching you kissing was sort of a huge victory in the 'selling the fake relationship' department, but it’s also a huge bummer for your 'pride and self-confidence' department.

“shouldn't you two be outside?” she says, a small smile on her lips. you let out a quick breath, unable to fucking speak after what just happened. you faintly think you can hear richie saying something to her and then she’s shaking her head with a smile and walking towards the backyard. you blink,  your fingers still hovering over your tingling lips. then, you snap out of it and turn to richie.  as you shove him up the stairs, you yelp, "if you ever kiss me like that again-"

"oh, shut up, you liked it!" he fights back as he turns toward the room you're sharing and lifts a brow, "you opened your mouth for tongue-" he starts but you screech, rushing through the doorframe and shutting the door a little to loudly, "i did not!" you hiss, shoving his shoulders and hiding your smile.  

he stares at you, a grin on his face and eyes teasing. "-then why'd you lick mine when i stuck it in your mouth?" he’s shrugging. you want to punch him in embarrassment because holy shit, is this not a big deal to him?

your eyes widen and you scrunch your face, "god, you're disgusting, just-" you sigh, shaking your head.

your heart is thumping wildly in your chest and you have to physically hold your hands down by your sides so you don't reach up and tug at the stray curl on richie's forehead.

"doll, all i'm sayin' is that was a good practice kiss." he shrugs again.

right. it was for practice.

he speaks up again and you swear he’s giving you a headache. "hey, i mean...since we're here, should we practice sleeping together too?" you turn bright at his words. "richard!" he giggles as you slap his shoulders and he mutters, "-yeah, no, i was kidding, sugar. damn, baby." he mutters, shaking his head with a grin so bright you can't help but share it. “i mean, technically we already did, last night and the night before. but that’s not the kind of sleepin’ i was talking about-“

you cut him off with a stern look and an elbow to the gut and he has the audacity to fucking giggle. 

your stomach tosses and flips itself sick inside of you at the sound and you sigh, giving him a look as he grins. you hope he doesn't notice the absolute heart-eyes you have for him at every given moment.

"cross my heart, sugar. totally kidding." he says, eyes closing as his fingers lazily trace an 'x' over his chest. "i'll wait out here for ya, toots." he says as he walks out of the room, leaving you to change into your suit quickly.

when you open the door back up for him, he whistles. "damn, y/n/n, you look fuckin' sexy."

you stare at him with a blank expression. "richie i'm wearing the same clothes as earlier." you deadpan, gesturing to yourself, having put your clothes back on top of your suit. he grins cheekily as he walks down the stairs, flashing you a wink, "i know that."

he rocks back on his heels. 

"so what can i do to show my love for you since i can't kiss you?" he asks, smirking. you roll your eyes, "shut up, richie. we're by ourselves right now, you don't have to do anything." you insist, pulling your hair back from your face. he sighs, groaning as if in pain. "but what if i just want to?"

you freeze, looking to him with wide eyes as your stomach drops. "do you really just want to?" you ask, mostly joking as your heart beat picks up. he takes a few steps towards you, shirt now on as his curls drip slightly. you watch a drop roll down his jaw and you swallow.

"yeah, i really do." he says simply, shrugging. "i’ve realized that i really do want to do all the boyfriend stuff for you."

you let out a shaky laugh, a smile falling onto your face as you raise your eyebrows. "for show?" you ask, and he shakes his head with a small laugh. "no." he says and you stare at him, unmoving. 

"so you’re gonna make me say it, huh?" he says with a smile that gives you full-blown butterflies as he pulls you to him. you smile back at him, heart melting into mush at the thought of richie being your real boyfriend.

"i think you should, just to be safe." you say with a grin. he smiles brightly, hand coming up to your cheek. his thumb rubs over your face.

"i love you, y/n." he says softly, looking into your eyes. "i want to be your boyfriend, and i want you to be my girl and i want to do stupid shit with you and have tea parties with munch, and for you to listen to my parent's embarrass me, and to spend all my time with you. i want all the boyfriend stuff, y/n."

you shake your head, "we already do that, rich. i've been yours this whole time." his cheeks turn pink and you love the way he looks so you add, "i love you too, richie. i really do. please be my boyfriend."

he kisses you, then.

it's soft, his lips like rose petals and his kiss like honey and it's quite different from your other kiss - both incredible, but this one with much more intention and love. it melts you completely as richie pulls you closer to him, his lips parting from yours slowly, a smile falling onto his face.

"what do you say then, want to go for a swim?" he asks softly, sending you a smile that is blushy and beautiful. you smile, pecking his lips. "sure, rich."

"c'mon, girlfriend." he says happily, tugging you down the stairs and making you grin stupidly, knowing this time for sure that it's not just for show.

//tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @toziershmozier @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11  @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman​ @diorbubs @kait-tozier​ @upamongthestarss​ @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @baby-yoda-a \\

[gallickingun]

keep my secrets safe

Summary: Bakugou hates covert work. And he’s hungry. But also, apparently he talks in his sleep? 

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Rated: T Warning: language, etc. Word Count: 1,702

bakugou’s birthday party has begun! see here for more info!

“I can’t believe I got stuck on stake-out duty again.”

“I can’t believe they stuck me with you again.”

Bakugou growls, slumping further down in his seat, resting his head on his fists. He’s completely stretched out in the front passenger’s seat, legs sprawled out, fast food wrappers on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee starting to go cold in his cup holder. You keep your eyes glued to the building across the street where you’re waiting for the final piece of evidence to fall into place so you can arrest a particularly dangerous set of villains.

“And they say I’m a pain in the ass,” Bakugou grumbles, kicking at the tinfoil wrapped beneath his feet. He closes his eyes, “I should be asleep right now.”

You nod in the general direction of the nightclub across the street, “I’m sure if we just go in there and tell them to commit their crimes so you can put on your pajamas, they’ll totally listen!”

The telltale sound of Bakugou’s hands crackling, body itching to display his quirk so you might be the slightest bit intimidated by him, echoes against the windows and you wince, “Seriously?”

“You’re so annoying,” Bakugou curls his fists back together, shutting down the fireworks. He crosses his arms over his chest, resting his head against the window, “This is so stupid, I hate covert work.”

You look through the binoculars again, focusing intently on the various entrances, “It’s because you’re the worst hero possible for covert work. You literally blow things up.”

He goes quiet, so you take advantage of the silence to start really surveying the area. You pinpoint the different exits and make sure to watch the rooftop for any villains with wings or quirks that may allow them to stay so high in the air. Your eyes track over every surface of the buildings and you keep track on a small notepad the number of guards and their rotation schedules.

“S’hungry,” Bakugou mumbles from the passenger seat.

You chuckle, “I told you to get two burgers, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He whines out the word again and you hear his body shift on the leather. You don’t dare take your eyes off of the nightclub as the next round of guards switch out with the prior group. “Bakugou, I didn’t eat my whole sandwich. You can have the rest.”

A string of incoherent words passes from his lips but you don’t pay him any mind. He likes to piss you off, you think, so of course he’d say something about being hungry but not take you up on your offer to feed him what little you have. However, you won’t allow him to distract you from this important mission.

To him it may seem like a nuisance, something that he has to do to get through the day, but this is an opportunity for you. It is an opening into a better agency if you’re able to prove yourself, which is why you pray that Bakugou can behave himself for one night until you can capture the criminal activity going on in the nightclub. And then you’ll let him loose, allowing him to use his quirk to blast whoever he wants.

“Pisces sushi sounds good,” Bakugou’s words slur together, his feet pushing around on the floorboards. You sigh, turning your head just enough so he can know that you’re acknowledging him, “Katsuki, now is not the time to think about sushi.”

“So good!” he whines, “So hungry.”

The next hour passes in silence, which you’re thankful for. You can only take so much of Bakugou’s sarcastic attitude and snarky remarks.

However, in the quiet, your mind starts to wander. You think of the reason you started your Pro Hero journey - your desire to save people stemming from the death of your parents. You swore to yourself as a child that you would use your abilities to save others so no child would have to grow up alone like you. 

You tilt your head, leaning back on the car headrest, “Why did you become a Pro Hero?”

The only response you get is the echo of crickets outside the car. You groan to yourself; you knew that Bakugou didn’t have the emotional maturity to have a full length conversation about anything semi-sensitive.

A quick retort sits on your tongue, begging for you to burst, but he surprises you with a small response only milliseconds before you’ve opened your lips.

“Protection. Saving.” Bakugou’s voice is clipped, but you’ll take what you can get. He coughs and out of the corner of your eye you see him shift uncomfortably in the front seat.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, adjusting the binoculars so you can see closer, gathering more details about the various villains guarding the nightclub. A small inhale parts your lips, “Wow, not what I expected.”

“I wan’ to make people feel safe,” he’s slurring his words but you are sure he’s just tired. You chuckle, a blush painted on the tops of your cheeks at his admission - you didn’t think he had such kindness within him, let alone the humility to let it leak through in the form of words. Bakugou swallows audibly, “The way All Might made me feel safe.”

The binoculars rest on your chest now, your nails busied with the base of your cuticles. You can’t believe he’s baring himself to you in this way. The only time you’ve ever heard Bakugou talk openly about All Might is when he’s swearing up and down that he’ll surpass him as Number One Pro Hero. Of course, the veteran has since retired, but Bakugou still holds him to a level above all the others.

“I think that’s very noble of you, Bakugou.”

There is a beat of quiet before his mouth opens again, “I miss Kiri.”

Your jaw drops at his blatant admission, but there is a sound of gunfire from across the road and the two of you spring into action. Bakugou blasts himself forward using his quirk, slamming into the thugs outside before storming the building.

The two of you make quick work of the villains, your backup arriving only a few minutes after you’re tying up the head crook. You hand him off to the cops and step to where Bakugou is leaned against your rental car, “So, how about something to eat? You had to have burned a lot of calories in that fight.”

“Sure, I guess I could eat,” Bakugou grumbles, wringing his hands together. You notice the faint lingering smell of ashen sweetness and you’re reminded of his quirk and the way it works. You smile, “Pisces Sushi sound good?”

His eyes go wide, “Pisces is a hole in the wall - how’d you find out about it?!”

You take a step towards him, looking at him closer with your head tilted, eyeing him up and down, “Did you hit your head?”

“What the he-no!”

“You told me about Pisces, you idiot,” you kick at his shin gently with the toe of your boot, “how else would I know about it?”

Bakugou’s face turns pink at the apples of his cheeks. He turns his eyes downward, watching as he kicks around a few pieces of large gravel with the sole of his shoe, “My mom and I used to go there together. J-Just us. I’ve never told anyone about that place, no one ‘cept Kiri.”

You’re invading his space now, his senses heightened when your closeness makes his temperature sky rocket. You brush your thumb along his jawline, inspecting his face carefully, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Bakugou swats your hand away, but there’s no malice in his action, “I’m fine. Why are you acting weird?”

“It’s just-” You take a breath and his eyes are drawn to the way your chest swells, “You were talking to me in the car about food and Kiri and All Might, so I just thought that maybe-”

“Woah, wait,” Bakugou grabs you by the biceps, “what the hell? I would never say anything about Shitty Hair, not in public. Unless I was roasting him on a spit. What did I say?”

His sudden interest in the things that came out of his own mouth is intriguing, but also a little disturbing. Your browns knit together, “Uh, you said you wanted to be a hero like All Might, and you said you missed Kirishima?”

A string of cuss words fall from Bakugou’s mouth, grating against his throat, “Well, damn.”

The two of you do end up at Pisces Sushi-

-for the next couple of years.

Every Tuesday night you meet up after patrol, and he introduces you to another sushi roll you hadn’t tried yet. Of course he admonishes you, teasing you relentlessly about your uncultured view of the world. After all, who hasn’t tried a spicy tempura roll before? 

And later, much later, you’re staying up long after him when you hear it again. 

It isn’t the first time since the stakeout, that was years ago, but it still makes your heart flutter nonetheless. He’s facing you, lips slackened from sleep, and the words are soft, so quiet that you can barely hear them in the safety of your bedroom.

“I love you.”

It’s not something you don’t already know, and it’s definitely not something that he doesn’t tell you whenever he can get over his pride long enough to admit that you’re everything he’s ever needed and more. But, somehow, in the quiet darkness that lays over the both of you like a shadow, it means so much more.

Subconsciously, in his state of dreaming, he’s thinking about you still. His thoughts are on you day and night, and it’s only secured even further by the way he reaches out for you in his slumber. Bakugou’s hands are warm as he taps your rib cage, the entirety of his palm spanning the distance of your side. 

You plant a kiss on his head, threading your legs through his as you listen to his soft snores overtake his voice once again.

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even if he doesn’t hear you, something within your heart tells you to say it anyway.

-

taglist - @kamehamethot @simplybakugou @lady-bakuhoe @todorki-shoto @redhawtriot @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @cutesuki--bakugou @k-atsukidayo @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast @cutest-celestial-princess @blue-peach14 @pastel-prynce @bokunokangae @shoutodoki @bakuoushoe @tenyaingenium @lxvely-mha @myherorambles @ramen-rambles @honeytama​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @tumblingintothefeelstrain​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @bnhasidebin​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @aizawamirite​ @yuueimagines​ @plusultrawritings​ @bnha-violetnote​ @suckersuki​ @bnha-mha-imagines​ @heroesreverie​ @pink-imagines​ @brattyquirks​ @lookslikeleese​ @normiewrites​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @pinkjeanist​

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Just One Dance

Requested by @rileynicole1967

Request: “so maybe you could do a one shot for deanxreader based off the song “can I have this dance” from High School Musical. so basically dean doesn’t do the whole dancing thing and the reader finally gets him to dance with her and she helps him and it’s so fluffy”

Absolutely, luv! Side bar, I’ve never seen these movies, but I gave the song a listen. Hopefully this is just as fluffy as you were wanting!

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Excessive fluff, implied smut without detail.

Wordcount: 2,852

                 There are some things a hunter doesn’t get, and a normal, carefree night on the town is one of them. At least, it usually is. This particular Saturday you have no monsters to kill, no wounds to mend, and no research demanding to be done, and you practically beg Sam and Dean to come with you to a local pub promising good music, food, and beer.

             Maybe it’s slightly overdone, but you rarely have any occasion to dress so nicely, and as you look at your reflection, you have to smile. You admit to yourself you look beautiful, outfit the perfect color to compliment your complexion and your eyes, and comfortable so you have no qualms about dancing the night away, which you have every intention to do.

             You open the door to your room in the bunker, right across from Dean’s, and hear a low whistle that causes your cheeks to heat slightly. “I feel underdressed, sweetheart. You look gorgeous.” Dean says with that easy, charming smile. The bastard has you positively whipped, and he doesn’t even know it. “Well, one of us has to look good.” You tease, brushing off the compliment in favour of poking fun at your best friend. He chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, whatever. C’mon, let’s get Sammy’s ugly mug and hit the road before all the good parking is gone.” Dean beckons. The casual way he rests his hand on your back has your heart doing acrobatics, and you thank whatever God is listening for the years spent mastering your perfect poker face when you show no outward reaction. 

             You’re not a bird that hangs off the arm of the first handsome man she sees. In fact, you have a sense of pride in the way you don’t fall for charm or suave lines and you’ve never been the type to go for a one-night-stand just because someone buys you a drink and throws you a smirk. Dean Winchester is the only exception to your impervious shield- a simple smile from him has you feeling faint, and it’s not just his looks that have made you fall for him. Dean has been your friend and confidante. He knows things about you not another soul is privy to, and the same applies to you. He protects you, but doesn’t underestimate your skill and ability as a hunter. He’s your hero, and if you had a bit more gall, maybe you’d finally tell him that.

            It’s a perfect night at the pub- not too crowded, but with enough background chatter to make an ambience like home. The first round is on you, as you’ve promised, and Dean watches you carefully as you head to the counter to order your drinks. Sam sits across from him, a smug and knowing smile on his face. “What?” Dean finally grumbles, raising a brow. Sam shrugs, but that grin only gets wider, Dean’s green eyes narrowing in annoyance. “It’s just funny,” Sam begins, fighting to maintain a nonchalant front while wanting to laugh at Dean, “you sitting here, watching her, Y/N standing there, looking back at you. Cute.” “Sam.” Dean says, tone sharp with a warning Sam promptly ignores. “Hey, if you have any plausible reasoning for me to believe you’re not smitten with her, now’s your chance to convince me.” Sam invites. Dean glowers at him from across the table, wishing you’d hurry up with those beers already, and Sam smirks, knowing he’s won. “That’s what I thought. Want my advice?” “Not really.” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. God, where are you with the drinks, somebody save him. “Well, I’m gonna give it to you anyways. Stop being such a dumbass and go get your girl. At this point I won’t even complain if you snog her in front of me. Point is, Dean, you’ve got no rationale to not go after her.” Sam says pointedly. “I think you oughta just-”

                “Hey, sorry I took so bloody long!” You call, hurrying over with four longnecks in your hands, and Dean shoots Sam a smirk. Perfect timing as usual, thank God. “S’alright. Didn’t miss much.” Dean shrugs, sliding over so you can sit next to him in the booth. “Oh, good. I put in some song requests- DJ says this place is great for dancing.” You inform, smiling brightly. Dean instantly shoots upright, cutting you a narrow-eyed look full of suspicion. “Dancing?” He repeats, already smelling a scheme as you give him an innocent smile. “Wouldn’t you know it, this pub happens to be known ‘round here for the music? Coincidence, of course.” You say slyly. Dean shakes his head, unable to maintain his glare so he hides the smile pulling at his lips by taking a swig of his cold beer. “Coincidence. Yeah, ok. Y/N, for someone who lies for a living, you’re pretty shit at it.” Dean smirks, and you laugh, knowing he’s teasing. “Alright, so maybe I had a slight ulterior motive when I said we should come here tonight, but I promise it’ll be fun!” You say pleadingly, turning to Sam for back up. 

              “Don’t look at me! You’re on your own.” Sam proclaims, holding up his hands in surrender as you huff. “Fine! But you’re both dancing with me. I’m not settling for a ‘no’.” You assert. Dean chuckles, giving you an amused smile. “You can think that if you want, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” He says firmly. “What do you mean? You dance with me to your bloody cassettes in the garage all the time!” You demand, raising your brows. Sam laughs, nearly snorting beer out of his nose, and Dean flushes up to his ears. “Dean dances with you?” “Sam!” Dean growls, thoroughly embarrassed. “Oh, come off it, it’s not a big deal, you baby.” You scowl playfully. “No, Y/N, Dean doesn’t dance, ever. Makes you awfully special, huh, Dean?” “Shut your mouth, Sam.” Dean snaps, glaring at his brother indignantly. You’re at a loss, looking between the two in confusion. “Look, Y/N, you’ll have to settle for the less good-looking Winchester tonight. I don’t dance, ‘specially not here.” Dean says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. You smile, a mischievous look in your eyes, and he knows you’re nowhere near dropping the subject. 

             Three beers later, you’re out on the dancefloor, laughing at Sam’s awkward moves. Dean’s smiling, eyes glued to you. It’s rare he see’s you this happy and carefree, and you look so beautiful in the low light of the bar. The power could go out and your smile would light up the whole place. He hates admitting it, but Sam makes a valid point. There’s nothing stopping Dean from telling you how he feels about you besides his own paranoia, and even that is n shaky grounds. He’s not entirely oblivious. Dean knows there’s some unspoken thing between the two of you, and knows you feel it, too. But letting it lie as is and pursuing something more are two totally opposing ideas, and he’s getting tired of his head and his heart pulling him in different directions over you.

              You catch Dean’s eye, and leave Sam, grinning at Dean. “Come dance.” You say. He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Told you, sweetheart. I don’t dance.” Dean claims, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the booth. He’s content where he is, just watching you, but you’re the most stubborn woman he’s ever met, and honestly, he should’ve known better because when do you ever take no for an answer? “Just one dance. Come on, even Sam is having fun.” You try to persuade him, Dean’s eyes flicking to his brother and back to you. “Y/N.” “Dean.” You mimic. You stare him down, eyes narrowed slightly. Dean almost laughs- he’s seen this face before, your shoulders back and spine tall. It’s the posture of a hunter, the determined face you make when you’re dealing with police giving you a hard time or a monster making threats. Now you’re using against your best friend to try and convince him to dance with you. “Please.” You pout, and he sighs. God, why are you so hard to say no to?

                    It’s a silly question because he knows exactly why you could ask for the moon wrapped in a bow and by God, he’d figure out how to give it to you because you have Dean Winchester completely at your mercy. “Dean, please, just one dance! That’s all I’m asking.” You practically beg, and he can feel himself breaking. “Sweetheart, I really don’t dance, not for anybody.” Dean tries. “Not even for me?” You ask him. Damn it. Damn you to hell, you’re good. That’s his weakness, you’re his weakness, and you’re using it to play him like a fiddle. Dean closes his eyes and his shoulders slump, and when he looks at you again, you’re beaming like you won the grand prize because you know you’ve got him. “One dance. Got it? Just one. And- and don’t expect no fancy shit, or nothin’.” He huffs, trying to maintain his grumpy facade. He doesn’t last a second because your mile-wide smile is even bigger as you take him by the hands and half-lead half-drag Dean onto the dancefloor.

                     Dean’s nervous as all-get-out. When was the last time he’s ever really danced, much less in front of people? “Just take my hand, Dean. C’mon, you killed three vampires just the other day and you’re telling me you’re nervous now?” You say, teasing him gently. “Yeah, well, vamps I can behead.” Dean mutters, earning a snort of laughter from you that makes his lips twitch up into a smile. “Just look at me, yeah? Just like in the garage.” You tell him. He nods, swallowing, and keeps his eyes locked on you, which really isn’t hard to do. Just as he eases into it, the faster-paced song transitions to a slow-dance, and he freezes, instantly panicking.

              You squeeze Dean’s hand comfortingly. “Dean, we can sit down, I’m only kidding, I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.” You explain with a guilty frown. Here you are, trying to get the boys to relax, and instead poor Dean is looking at you like someone told him his impala is being towed. Dean stops you, shaking his head. “No. No, just, uh, don’t laugh at me. I haven’t done this in... well, ever.” He says gruffly. You smile fondly. Your knight in shining plaid is nervous you’ll tease him for being a clumsy dancer. “Promise I won’t laugh. Well, maybe a little.” You say, and Dean shoots you a glare that vanishes when you give him a cheesy grin. “You’re a dork.” He smirks. “Takes one to know one, Winchester.” You wink.

              “Dean, you’re stepping on me.” You tell him, biting your lip to stifle a laugh at the instant mortification on Dean’s face. “Shit, sorry!” “S’okay. You’re doing great. You are one in a million, Dean. Big, bad hunter, scared to dance with me.” You laugh softly. Dean huffs, and you smile. He’s slowly getting the hang of it, with your help, of course.

           “Hey, what was Sam talking about earlier?” You ask.  Dean falters, and you nearly trip, stumbling into his chest. You don’t know if you’re really standing still or if it only feels like time has halted, Dean’s green eyes staring into you. 

                        His eyes drop to your lips. You’re not sure you’re breathing. 

     “Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Dean says after a long moment. His eyes dart away, and you frown slightly. “That’s not what I asked you.” “Y/N.” He says intently, hoping you’ll drop the subject, because the direction the conversation is going, Dean is going to be forced to make the decision he’s been putting off for so many years. “Dean.” You echo, just as firmly, not letting him escape your gaze. Dean steps back slightly, and you realize the song is over. You let go of Dean’s hands, disappointment and embarrassment washing over you. “Thanks for the dance.” You say, trying to hide your sadness.

               You make it all of three steps before Dean reaches out for you. “Hey, Y/N, wait.” He says quickly, hand grabbing yours. “What?” “Can I have this dance?” “You don’t dance.” You say, confused. He looks at you for a long moment, a smile slowly forming on his face. “No,” Dean agrees, holding your gaze with his, “but you do. So?” “So what?” “So, can I have this dance?” Dean repeats. You nod, and he leads you back out. It’s another slow song, and Dean pulls you a little closer than before, staring at you intensely.

           “What?” You ask, quirking a brow. “Can I ask you something?” “Ok?” You agree hesitantly. “Why do you always sit next to me in the booths?” Dean asks. You swear you can your heart plummet like a lead weight. “What?” “Yeah. How come you always share with me when we have to bunk up because there’s only two beds in motels? And how come you wanted to dance with me so bad?” He presses. “I- well, I-” You stammer, absolutely thrown for a loop, and he smiles briefly. “See, ‘cause, I’ve got this theory that the answer to that is sorta like the answer to the question you asked me earlier.” He continues, confusion and dread creeping up on you. “Dean, listen, we don’t have to talk about it-” “I think we do. I want to. Here’s the thing, Y/N. I don’t dance.” “Then why are you-?” You trail off. “Because you asked me to. And I can’t say no to you. What Sam said, earlier- you are.” He says, ducking his head. “I am what?” You frown. “Awfully special. To- to me.” Dean says quietly, blushing, and suddenly it makes sense. “Oh.” “Oh? That’s all you’re gonna say? I tell you I have feelings for you, and all I get is ‘oh’?” Dean asks, blinking in disbelief. He looks like he’s about to bolt, so you lean up and before he can make another smartass comment, you press your lips softly to his. 

                 “Oh.” Dean breathes, staring at you. You smile, and he grins, and both of you laugh, not caring if anyone is looking. “Man, we’re a couple’a real idiots, huh?” Dean chuckles. “If I knew this is how it would end up, I would’ve asked you to dance with me a long time ago.” You tease, earning yourself another brief kiss. “I’ll dance with you all you want, sweetheart.” Dean says with a warmth in his eyes you’ve seen a thousand times before but never knew the reasoning for. You laugh as Dean twirls you, ducking under his arm with a bright smile he can’t help but return.

              At some point you vaguely recall Dean promising to show you the rest of his dance moves in private, and you stealing the keys to Baby from his back pocket. You’re not sure how you managed to make it safely back to the bunker, and you definitely forgot to bring Sam, but you and Dean had spent years pining after one another and weren’t about to waste another night.

              You smile, looking over your shoulder to find a familiar freckled and scruffy face pressed against your pillow. Dean’s still asleep, his arm a solid and warm weight over your bare waist, his chest firm against your back. His dark blond hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, and you don’t want to know how your own hair looks, but you really don’t even care. You scramble for the sheets as the door knob turns. Sam gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen, and the urge to fling a shoe at him is strong. “Y’know, when I told you to do something about your puppy love for Dean, I didn’t exactly mean ditch me at the pub to go sleep with him.” Sam says with a wiggle of his brows. Your face feels hot. “Sam.” You whisper warningly. “I told you he liked you.” Sam says. “Go. Away.” You whisper, glaring. Sam snickers. “You owe me, Y/N, we shook on it.” “As I recall, you said he wouldn’t dance with me, so you pay up, Sam.” You retort. Sam scoffs, and you glare even harder. “Sammy, shut up and leave us alone.” Dean’s sleepy voice grumbles, his eyes not even open as he blindly flips his brother off. Dean waits for the door to close and Sam’s footsteps to retreat down the hall before he finally looks at you.

             “Jesus, thought he’d never leave.” Dean mutters. You grin, and Dean gives you a devious smirk, planting a kiss on your neck. “Dean!” You laugh. “Who says I was done with you? Sam can handle a few hours without us, and I’ve got you all to myself.” Dean says, and you don’t bother pretending to be mad when his lips meet yours, feeling him smile.

          Who knew all it would take to finally get you and Dean together was one dance?

TAGS-

Forever Tags-

@justagirlinafandomworld

Dean Babes-

@herstarburststories

SPN Pond-

@spnfanficpond

[thelonelyrainbowguy]

Word Find game!

@antique-symbolism​ tagged me and I’m so excited. We literally sit around doing this with various manuscripts all the time.

For The Sad Big City Wizards:

strange

It was after midnight, so the lights were dimmed, but not completely out. The feeling of stepping into an empty, dark Arrival Hall was strange, liminal and otherworldly, and made Iain nervous, even though he knew he had no reason to be. What safer place was there than his school?

(dun dun dunnn)

shock

“You don’t get it.” Iain zipped up his bag and sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his shock of fiery hair. “I’m not… good. I’m not good at things. I’m not smart, I’m not talented, I’m not…” He sighed. “I can’t do another year. I want to do something good,” he said. “Something memorable. Important. Something to prove I’m not just some dumbass who can’t do math.”

(oh iain honey i just want to hug you)

style

The ceilings soared over the floors of rich, dark wood, and the far wall was made up entirely of windows that provided a breathtaking view of Central Park and the city lights beyond. They could even see the school from here. A sleek, industrial-style staircase led to a second floor that only took up about a third of the space, and there was another going up from there to a third level, leaving most of the ground floor open to the three-story ceiling.

sore

“You’re worried,” said The Other, after their friends had disappeared into the white light, leaving them alone with her. They just stared at her, hand growing sore from how tightly they gripped their wand. “I understand,” she said. “But what I projected onto those posters in your school so many times? It was all true. You’ve been fed lies your entire life. When we get back to my place, and get your friend the help he needs, I’ll explain everything.”

Stay With Me:

strange

She looks entirely normal, save for the many layers of necklaces made of chips of different crystals, and the strange, cobbled-together sweater that looks like it’s made of at least a dozen other sweaters.

(this is perhaps my favorite character)

shock

“So, I’m, uh, not a girl. I’m a boy.” He looked away, and his cheeks flushed red. The girl nodded. “I figured.” Her friend rolled onto his side to face her. “That’s it?” “I’ve known you since we were four. Did you expect me to be shocked?” “Well,” he admitted, “yeah, kind of.” “I mean, I can act shocked if you really want me to.” The boy laughed and rolled toward her so his body half-crushed hers. “No, I think I like this better.”

style

My yoga pants are too big now, so I roll the waistband down. I don’t bother with a bra; I put on the dark blue T-shirt she set out for me, then pull a faded black denim jacket that I never wear from the depths of my closet. I don’t know why, but since I’ve gotten back, the amount of bright colors in my wardrobe has been unbearable. Maybe the concussion knocked the style wire in my brain loose.

sore

“Hello?” says the voice again. It seems to come from all around me; I can’t pin it down. I don’t know where to look. I turn around. A faint, flickering image stands on the other side of my bed. “Hello? Fin? Can you see me?” asks the apparition, the ghost, and I realize who it is. The vase falls from my suddenly limp fingers and bounces off the top of my foot. I yelp and jump back, bending to rub the sore spot. When I look back up, Leah is gone, and the only sound I hear is the frantic beating of my heart.

(woooooo ghost)

This was fun! If anyone else wants to do it, your words are road, repent, rusty and revolve. Just say I tagged you, because as usual the moment I try to think of other writeblrs, my mind goes entirely blank.