#an old au ive had kicking around for a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucyandthepen · 2 years ago

Text

a lesson on style - i . [ ljn | njm ]

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi

you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner. alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M chapter warnings: none word count: 6.1k

author’s note: this is actually an old exo cast fic of mine from my old blog that i had to put on hiatus (alongside myself, actually), for many, many terrible moons (see : 3 years, for a master’s diploma that is simply collecting dust), but upon re-reading it, i thought that it would be a pretty good fit for a dreamie cast instead!! i’ve been thinking about branching out and writing for different groups for a while now, and as a slow return to writing, i’ll be posting the edited already written chapters up slowly so i can also write ahead! for anyone who might have found this blog and recognizes this fic, welcome back! i hope you still enjoy it! for people who’ve encountered it for the first time, i also hope you enjoy it! :) this is unbeta’d (even after all this time pls), so please do point out any errors i might have missed while editing!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There are three things you had intended for your very average, simple, girl-next-door life:

1. Graduate high school with an average GPA, a diploma and a sigh of relief, without any type of valedictorian honors or the requirement to make a teary/educational/sentimental/hopeful speech about the past/present/future.

2. Get a desk job as the vice-vice-vice senior-vice president of an average paying company, pushing papers and typing numbers you don’t fully understand into a pirated version of Microsoft Excel 2000 to be able to pay your not very steep rent and eat take-out every other night.

3. Get married to an average-looking guy either named Jaehwan or Minhyuk, and have children that, like you, will have no particular special talents and will also live their lives as the average people that basically exist to make glamorous people appear more fabulous.

The back up plan is to stay single and have a very lazy, fat cat that eats more than you do.

There were three things you did not intend for your very average, simple, girl-next-door life, though:

1. Break your leg trying to do a somersault you can’t, even at gunpoint, imagine why you would agree to doing in the middle of the last pep rally of the season as – get this – a cheerleader.

2. Be asked to the homecoming dance by not one, but two very popular, very good-looking jocks who both, for some odd reason, manage to actually talk to you without either yawning or simply walking away while shaking their head.

3. Be asked to professionally join a teen-to-adult entertainment agency, after a 24-minute long supposedly private amateur sex tape starring you is leaked onto the internet and goes viral around the entire cyberspace.

In other words, your younger brothers have seen you naked. Online.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“_____________, I just don’t understand why you like him so much.”

Some people might think you’re an optimist. Others might brand you an idealist. The least kind label would be absolutely deluded.

It doesn’t matter to you, though — you, knowing exactly what Lee Jeno looks like. Wasn’t that knowledge already a good enough reason in itself for you to spend a very creepy, alarming amount of time wishing, just wishing, he would walk over and say hey?

And it’s not just that he’s so chiseled and his face is perfect and his lips are so kissable. It’s not that he’s got an amazing body, and is tall and muscular but lean at the same time.

It’s his eyes.

They’re like, god. Great pools of molten chocolate with just the slightest hint of swirled creamer and – ugh. Behind those eyes, you’re sure there’s a sweet, sensitive man who’s looking for the right kind of girl. His soulmate, if you’re feeling a little more like a hopeless romantic today. You sincerely, genuinely, desperately hope you’re that girl.

Yeah, it’s weird. You’re in high school. Your hormones are probably kind of raging.

“Like, he’s just some dumb, boneheaded jock,” comes the continuation from beside you. You roll your eyes in response, but say nothing to contribute out of a desire to simply not. “And that’s all he’ll ever be. He’s failing nearly everything, except physical education. Why can’t you have a semi-obsessive crush on someone who might actually have a future?”

“For your information, Huang Renjun,” You snap, turning to your best friend. You’re seated in the cafeteria, supposedly enjoying a simple lunch meal. That was, of course, until you had realized you were three tables behind where Lee Jeno and his best friend, Na Jaemin were seated, also enjoying their lunches in some very cool, very manly sort of silence. So you’d looked, and let out a long sigh.

It was just a sigh, for the love of God. It’s not like you had run over and fallen to your knees in front of him. And yet Renjun had just put down his triangle gimbap, shook his head, and asked you why you had chosen, out of the thousands of perfectly acceptable (in his opinion) people in the student body, Lee Jeno to give you unreciprocated affections to.

And your response had been, and will always be: just look at him and tell me –- why the hell not?

“Jeno isn’t what you so assume as a boneheaded jock. He’s a classy, athletic student who just… happens to care more about sports than the mundane task of having to read a textbook for hours on end,” you shrug. That had come out more articulately than you’d imagined, which shocks Renjun as much as it actually surprises you — something that you notice with a twinge of belligerence after his eyes widen. “He’s probably going to get himself a top notch varsity scholarship.”

“Yeah, if he can even graduate,” Renjun shoots back contemptuously. “And even then, what’s a varsity scholarship going to get him? Do you know the amount of people who actually get into professional athleticism? He’s probably just going to end up a janitor or something.”

“Don’t you dare,” you growl.

“Come on, __________, the guy is a douche! Why do you have to pick him of all people?”

“He’s not a douche! And for your information, Jeno isn’t failing. He’s gotten a good number of D’s.”

“Yeah, I bet his teachers have gotten a load of D’s too,” Renjun replies snidely.

“Hey, not everyone can be a star student, Huang Renjun-nim with all the straight-A’s to brag about,” you sniff. “And Jeno’s not like that. He’s a gentleman.”

“Uh huh,” he said, sounding supremely unconvinced.

“Why do you hate him so much? He’s not really a bully. And he’s not done anything to you.”

“I don’t hate him him, I hate that you like him.”

You shake your head. As if that had made it clearer. “What’s not to like? He’s funny, athletic, sweet —”

“I’m sure you know all that because you spend so much time with him.” Renjun sighs. “Why can’t you just like someone else? Why can’t you moon over, I don’t know – Mark Lee, the very smart, also very athletic and very active student body president? Or Donghyuck, the physics lab assistant who, though not particularly into sports, has one of the highest GPAs around here? Or – I don’t know, someone like me?”

“Like what?” you say, distracted – Jeno had just stood up along with Jaemin, and had begun to clear their table, piling their trash onto their trays.

“Like – you know — you know – just —“

“He’s coming this way,” you hiss, effectively cutting Renjun off. Even though he doesn’t like it, he’s forced to turn away with you, even though he hadn’t really gotten a good look and wasn’t exactly trying to hide his presence from Jeno to begin with.

“So what?” He whispers before suddenly realizing he doesn’t know why he’s even keeping his voice down. “Are you going to offer to throw his stuff for him now? Is this what we’ve come to?”

“No, I want to leave.”

“What?” Renjun looks at you, then at his unfinished triangle gimbap, then at you again. “Why?”

“Because — I don’t want him to see me like this —“ you also whisper, starting to get up. Renjun, however, holds your arm, visibly confused and no small amounts annoyed.

“See you like what? So he’s coming, and now we have to leave?”

“I just – I don’t want – I just – can we please just go?” you beg weakly, watching them approach from the corner of your eye.

“No, there’s absolutely no reason as to why you have to leave just because he’s coming here,” he says stubbornly.

“Let go of my arm, please-“

“Just sit down, ____________.”

“No, I can’t, I don’t want to make eye contact with him — I don’t even want him to really see me right now—"

“Who said you have to make eye contact with him, anyway? Just eat your food.”

“Let’s just go —” You yank your arm back violently — just in time too, as Jeno and Jaemin pass by your table, trays in hand.

It happens all at once: your chair falls over as you shoot upward from the force of pull, and you reel back as Renjun lets out a surprised yelp. You don’t go far — just enough to make an impact on the person behind you with your forearm and elbow.

That person being, of course, Lee Jeno’s best friend, whose can of soda was just by the edge of his tray – an edge it fell off of the moment you collide with his arm.

You hear three things after that, all close to being simultaneous with one another:

One, a very loud Oh, shit! from the guy behind you, who you had just bumped.

Two, a chair scraping as your best friend stands up from his seat, eyes wide in horror.

And, three, a bloodcurdling shriek from your own mouth as Na Jaemin’s half-full diet Coke splashes down the back of your shirt.

There’s a brief hush that falls over the room. The words that come after seem a thousand times louder.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry…”

The fizz of the soda pops and crackles against your skin, causing the now-translucent fabric to stick to your back like overly carbonated flypaper. Your mouth hangs half-open in shock, trying to find the appropriate words for the situation. Renjun looks up at you, his eyes mirroring a fraction of your horror from witnessing the situation.He mouths something that vaguely looks like “let’s go,” but you don’t want to dwell on what it could have actually been, otherwise you might strangle him.

A warm hand gently rests on your back, pushing the sticky, soaked cloth even further closer to me. You wince at first, mildly disgusted by the feeling.

But a warm thought strikes you in that instance – what if, maybe, it’s Jeno trying to comfort you, about to say something sweet and caring that would ultimately show Renjun up, and perhaps lead to the beginning of a wonderful romance that would blossom between the both of you?

Well, you like being idealistic about your future – especially when the thought of it involves Jeno.

The idea of Lee Jeno pressing his palm against your back, his hand only obscured by a thin layer of fabric, suddenly sends unnatural tingles down your spine. Color rushes to your cheeks, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling at the strangely embarrassing but not altogether revolting thought. Renjun catches it and throws you a slightly quizzical look that suddenly changes to mild exasperation.

“Are you okay?”

It’s the same question you’d expected, but it was not asked in the sexy, careful, and husky drawl you’d often heard Jeno speak in. You deflate noticeably, turning slowly to the best friend of the man of your dreams.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say quietly.

“God, I’m so sorry, I really am —” Na Jaemin bites his lip, trying (see: failing) not to gawk at your blue and brown-all-the- way-down-the-back shirt. “I swear — it was an accident, I really didn’t mean to —-”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I should have watched where I was going. My… bad eyesight, you know.” Your eyesight is fine. You don’t even know why you’d said that. The situation in itself was already sufficiently uncomfortable without a lame medical lie.

Physically, of course, sure, what with your back still kind of popping and fizzing from the coke stain. But more socially, considering you now have two attractive boys right in front of you, unsure of what to do about said stain, while whoever is still present in the dwindling population of the cafeteria stares, very pityingly, at the still-spreading new pattern of Coca Cola on your shirt.

But what really knots up your insides is the fact that this coke stain, the obvious focal point of the situation, is probably the one striking reminder of the day Lee Jeno actually had his attention fully on you, for the first time in your life.

Which, considering what everything was, really isn’t the best way to make your mark on someone.

There’s a long, awkward pause. Suddenly, Jeno pipes in for the first time since the scene had gone awry, speaking in the slow, bass tone he had claimed as signature. “Do you need a jacket?”

Oh god. He’s talking to you. Not around you, not near you, not over you, not out of a conversation you’d eavesdropped – no, sorry, overhead. To you. In that, sweet, nonchalant cloud of sound that fills your ears like some one-man angelic chorus. You let out an involuntary, dreamy sigh.

Renjun, obviously hearing your response (or lack thereof), clears his throat, trying to prompt you to reply to him. Well, shit. What did he say?

“Uh — sorry —- what?” you breath out, still dazed.

“Do you,” Jeno repeats patiently. “Need a jacket?”

Oh, god. He’s going to offer you his jacket. Offer you. His jacket. The one that says Lee in that super cool varsity font that makes his name look even yummier. And that’s literally the closest you’ll ever be to him.

“Hey,” Renjun hisses to you in a low, annoyed voice. “Say something.”

You snap out of a mental monologue again, flushing a funny shade of red for at least the third time today.

You open your mouth, but no words come out -– at best, a very pitiful sort of squeak lodges itself in your throat and dies there. Your lips simply part and shut like a fish trying to process oxygen. You can practically hear the sound of Renjun rolling his eyes, probably going so far back he can see all the creases in his big brain.

“Yeah, she’d appreciate it, probably.”

Yes. Yes, definitely.

There’s the sound of rustling cloth, and hands, gentle on your shoulders, carefully place the jacket on your back. You catch a whiff of the freshly laundered cloth, peppered with the subtly faded scent of cologne that’s been religiously sprayed onto the fabric many times before. It’s heavenly. With a wide grin on your face, you turn to the two of them, more or less ready to lay down your life at Jeno’s feet.

But his jacket, pristine and crisp, is still on him, devilishly unbuttoned and lightly clinging to his sides. He raised a questioning eyebrow as you stare, a little too long, at the jacket that you’d thought had been wrapped around you moments ago. Maybe he has two jackets. Maybe you’re in the matrix.

You turn your head, trying to read the lettering on the back. You only had to see one “N” in order to realize that the embroidery read “Na”, and not “Lee”.

It’s somehow embarrassingly difficult to hide your disappointment, but you thank Jaemin nonetheless. He seems genuinely troubled, making sure your arms are well into the sleeves of his letter jacket before backing away, hands up like you’re robbing him on the bus.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he repeats. You don’t know how much more apologetic he could manage to look.

“It’s fine,” you mumble. “Sorry about your coke.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter — what I’m worried about is -–”

“No, it’s no big deal — nothing some laundry time won’t get rid off,” you wave another round of apologies away. “Thanks for the jacket.” A bit of sadness makes its way into your voice; thankfully, it goes virtually unnoticed by all but Renjun, who makes an unpleasant face everyone who does notice it (see: you) decides to ignore.

“It’s the least I can do. Sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

The first bell’s ring, signaling five minutes before the next period, punctuates the short and uncomfortable exchange. Most seniors have a free period or two for “studying” – except, only Renjun actually takes that seriously. You usually spend it with him, which is, truthfully, a big bore, so you generally end up falling asleep on the desk until he wakes you up for the next actual class.

“Hey, Jaemin, hurry,” Jeno says suddenly, checking his watch. “I want to catch that new action movie – next showing’s at half past one.”

Or, sometimes, if you had a car, guts and a whole lot of charm, you could sneak out of school for the three-hour downtime and go to the nearest mall, grab a bite or watch a movie if you could afford it. Fortunately for him, a car, guts and charm were pretty much Lee Jeno’s strongest selling points.

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin said halfheartedly, his eyes flickering to you. “You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ll have your jacket with you, fresh and clean, tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head, smiling. It looks genuine, but for some reason, you feel like that can’t be too right.

“Na Jaemin,” Jeno repeats. Jaemin backs away, offering you a last small, apologetic look before nodding back at Jeno.

“Later,” he raises a hand in farewell. Jeno begins to walk ahead, not even glancing back at you. It seems he had more important things on his mind. Maybe he’d been trying to figure out what was going to go down in the new Mission Impossible movie. That seems like a valid train of thought for him to be so unconcerned about anything else.

When they’re clear out of earshot, Renjun gives a very audible, very heavy sigh. You wheel around to him, frowning.

“What’s so —” you imitate his sigh.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, Renjun, I may not be grade A but I’m not that dumb.”

“You were like a one eyed pony crippled by a shiny unicorn,” he shakes his head. “And by unicorn, I did indeed mean Lee Jeno, which is actually a significant downgrade.”

“Don’t say his name so loud, people might hear.”

“Everyone in this part of town knows you like him, _________. It’s really not a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle,” he chuckles, though a bit sardonically.

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath.

“Fine, let’s agree to disagree, then.” He rolls his eyes. You note he’s been doing a lot of that today. “You could have at least handled the situation better. Most people would have actually managed to say something other than uhhhhh…”

“I did say something!” you defend yourself, rather affronted. “I said thank you, and it was fine —”

“Yeah, to Na Jaemin. In case you didn’t notice, that stuff doesn’t really funnel down to Jeno —”

“It as good as does.”

“All I’m saying is that if you wanted to make some progress, you could have at least looked him in the eye and not choked on your own saliva.” He’s amused. You can tell. Except you’re not in the mood to laugh at all, so you settle with sniffing — very angrily — pursing your lips, and saying nothing. “What? It’s true!”

“Just shut up, Renjun,” you say tiredly. “Maybe I didn’t want to make progress then, have you thought about that?”

“Not likely,” he snorted.

“Oh – really? Really? You thought it would have been a fantastic time for me to strike up a hi hello, how do you do, would you care to have a cup of coffee with me some time? while I was drenched in coke from the waist down?”

“I’m just saying, if you’re trying to be an opportunist, you can’t really be picky about when you make your move.”

“I don’t understand you,” You throw your hands up in the air. “First you tell me to stay away from him, and now you’re telling me to think back upon the fact that I didn’t make a move when I should have?”

“It’s called reverse psychology,” he said, after a moment’s pause of consideration. “Like, I’m telling you now yeah, go for it, but then in your mind, another voice is going maybe it’s not such a good idea, especially if the only time we ever get to talk is when I’ve been splashed by coke and I can’t even form coherent sentences.”

“Oh, well, shit,” You mutter sarcastically. “Why didn’t I figure that out?”

“Given time, you might have. I have so much faith in your intelligence, even though you refuse to use it.”

“I doubt it.” You mumble under your breath. He falls quiet, and you sniff again, not because you really feel the need to but because you want to express how miffed you are at the very, very sudden and bad turn of events.

“___________,” Renjun begins in a slower, considerably kinder tone after moment of actual silence. “Are you all right?”

“Fantastic,” you sigh. “Got coke dumped on my back, in front of forty percent of the student population, I smell like a soda parlor and I choked on my own saliva in front of Lee flipping Jeno.”

“That’s a good estimation — forty percent,” Renjun approves.

“Wow, thank you.”

“Hey, it’s not all bad. For the rest of the day, your last name is Na,” he says, trying to cheer you up. You sniff for the third time in a row, nose now raw with the habit.

“I’d much rather it were Lee.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You part ways in last period, Renjun heading off to what he calls AP Physics and what you like to call AP Torture. You, however, had managed to stay very happily in the physics lesson for normal people, despite Renjun’s constant badgering for you to just work harder so that you both could be AP Torture lab partners together. You’ve declined, quite politely, on more than one occasion. Average is your specialty.

Never mind the fact that Lee Jeno was in your Physics class, only three stations away from you. It’s not the reason you’re staying, but you’d be a liar if you ever said it hadn’t served as one of the many excellent justifications.

He’s already there when you walk into class, yawning and twirling his pen in between his fingers. Your breathing hitches a little as you take the glorious sight of him in, but you scold yourself for a hot minute, reminding yourself that cool people don’t ever show when they’re feeling any other emotion than the one called cool. You do a pretty good job (well, it feels like a good job) of making yourself seem calm and aloof, remaining seemingly unaware of his presence as you walk past him over to your station to sit down on your stool.

You should have been able to skate by with the whole act, too, except you stupidly take the time to sneak a glance at him, causing you to miss the surface of your station and drop your books so loudly you feel like the people in the next classroom hear it too.

Face burning to about the average temperature of a summer’s day in the Sahara Desert, you scoop up all your books and shove them onto the untrustworthy station table. Luckily, when you cast a furtive look at Jeno, he makes no indication that he had noticed the racket you’d made. His head is still turned to the front, finger performing a mini-exhibition of pen twirling.

“Hey,___________, have a good term break?”

“Hey, Donghyuck,” you greet, sliding into your seat. “Pretty good, how was yours?”

Lee Donghyuck, another physics genius with a strangely buddy-buddy relationship with the head of the Natural Sciences Department at school. He and the chair, Choi Jiwoo (who Donghyuck fondly refers to as “Jiwoo-nim”, for some inexplicable reason), are pretty tight, which is probably why Donghyuck landed himself a position as ‘teaching assistant’ in the basic Physics class, where he can tell you what you’re doing wrong and grade your quizzes instead of having to attend whatever boring lecture they had going in AP Physics, which he probably would have aced anyway. You’re not sure if he gets paid, or whatever, but you know it sure beats the hell out of staring at a Powerpoint all day.

You’re also pretty sure they put you in a station close to the teaching assistant’s desk because of that weird chemistry incident last year when Park Gaeun got her eyebrows burned off. You know they think it had been your fault because you were the one who had screamed and filled a beaker of water to splash onto her face when she was screaming (too) and going around in small circles like a blind chicken.

Except it wasn’t your fault – you don’t even know how it had happened. You had sworn it couldn’t have been you, because…

Well, because you’d had your back turned to Park Gaeun. Because you had been busy staring at Jeno, who was filling his graduated cylinder with hydrogen peroxide, his brow all scrunched up from concentrating. Which, by the way, makes the top 10 cutest things of the year every year.

But it still doesn’t change the fact that Park Gaeun lost her eyebrows and now has to draw them on with a pencil until they grow back, and it doesn’t sway your theory that you had been put in the station next to Lee Donghyuck’s teaching assistant’s desk so that he could keep an eye on you, in case you decided to like, accidentally electrocute someone.

“It was good,” he replies, smiling. “Do anything interesting?”

Well, you had tried to add Lee Jeno on Facebook, if that counts. Not that he’s rejected you; he just hasn’t accepted it.

Maybe today, he will. If not, there’s always tomorrow.

“No, not really. Mostly stayed home and slept,” You shrug, deciding to keep that Facebook thing to yourself. You and Donghyuck aren’t that close to begin with. “You?”

“Graded stuff,” he taps a stack of papers piled neatly upon his desk, and you raise a quizzical eyebrow.

“They let you grade the final exams?”

“Yeah.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Wanna know what you got?”

“No,” You pause, reconsidering. “Yeah. Nah – it’s low, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you either way,” he chuckles. “I’ll leave it as a fantastic surprise.”

“Fantastic,” you echo hollowly, knowing that must mean you had gotten a zero.

“It’s not as low as you might think. Besides, you can more than make up for it this term.”

Before you can ask what was happening this term, the door slams shut, and you spin towards the front of the classroom. Hwang Taehyung, the non-AP Physics teacher, stalks in, looking moodier than ever.

There are three things everyone knows about Hwang Taehyung:

One, he’s bitter because he’s consistently turned down for the AP Physics slot, which is also consistently handed over to newer and seemingly more qualified instructors. The latest AP Physics teacher is a young new graduate, Jung Yoorin, who is an average babe: pretty, fair-skinned, a slightly above-average bust size, with a surprisingly very, very above average IQ. You think the fact that she’s smoking hot kind of makes Hwang Taehyung a lot sulkier.

Two, he has one thing and one thing only in his wardrobe: a grey suit. Day in, day out, grey suit. Going to class? Grey suit. Going to a meeting? Grey suit. Catch him in the mall? Grey suit. Going to a wedding? Probably the grey suit. Maybe with a flower on the lapel, or something, to spice things up a little.

And the third, most important thing about him: He’s always, always in the process of getting a divorce with his wife.

And it’s not like he’s a ladykiller and is trying to get all these hot bitches off his back to protect whatever assets he may have accumulated with his teacher’s salary over the years. No, it’s the same wife, who is as old as he is and about sixty times bitchier, from the way you hear it. Except, you don’t know why he can’t just get rid of her. Or why the divorces never push through. Some people think it’s the really disturbing notion of make-up-break-up with a lot of old people sex involved. You prefer to stick to the theory of there not being an actual wife, and he just files with an imaginary spouse so that he can get continual pay raises for “divorce bills” that don’t exist. It’s not like the school does a really extensive background check, anyway. If you can teach and don’t presently do hashish, you’re pretty much hired.

“Donghyuck, give out the papers, please,” Hwang instructs, tossing down a clipboard onto the desk. Donghyuck jumps up and begins handing back your final exams from last term. “And are you sure you got this list right?”

“Absolutely, sir,” he says, sliding a paper over to you.

Ugh, a B minus. Not your worst, but definitely not your best. Meanwhile, Renjun is probably celebrating another well deserved A-plus in his AP Physics finals from last term.

“Fine, since I’m too lazy to look it over the class list,” Hwang swivels to the board, scrawling some unreadable shit that looked weirdly like Penis Tum Roadjet.

“Your Physics Term Project,” you stifle a laugh that Donghyuck shoots you a look for. “Will require you to work in pairs on a four-month-long investigatory research and experiment that involves any physics concept or breakthrough. And – yes, what is it?”

Park Gaeun, eyebrows half grown in, had raised her hand. “Sir, do we get to pick our partners?” You notice she’s pointedly looking at you, and you turn away, trying to look innocent. Judgy bitch. Maybe you should have roasted her eyebrows off.

“No, Lee Donghyuck over here has already laid out a masterlist.” The statement is met with a disapproving noise. “Now, as I was saying – what is it now?”

Another student, Moon Jonghyun raises his hand as well. “Sir, any physics concept? Say – if it involves the trajectory of a car falling off a cliff as it drives two hundred miles an hour –”

“If you can find a way to simulate that and prove what kind of significance it has to today’s society, I won’t stop you,” Hwang Taehyung says dryly, though his tone suggests that if anyone did manage to simulate a speeding car falling off a cliff again and again for this project, they might as well give themselves an F and be done with it. Moon Jonghyun sobers down, looking sulky. Clearly, he’d cottoned on as well.

“Now, when I read your name off the masterlist, find your partner – I’m assuming you’re all familiar with each other? You should be. You can spend the rest of the period discussing what you want to do. Turn in your short proposals by the end of the week.”

Everyone sits up a bit straighter, listening very hard for their names attached to their partners.

“Jeong Jisoo and Kim Minhyuk. Park Gaeun, Oh Taekyung. Min Taehee, Moon Jonghyun. Lee Jeno, ____________.”

As though in slow motion, you watch his head turn, his eyes searching briefly before they land on you. You feel your mouth go dry, and you see him, as though from a dream, stand up and walk towards your station.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. What are you going to do? Shit, shit, he’s still looking at you. Okay, be cool. Oh God, You’re going to have a heart attack.

As he takes the last few steps towards you, you run a hand through your hair. You think, maybe you should smile. But would that creep him out? But would it make you seem too cold if you didn’t smile? The end result of that debate is a painful, lopsided thing that looked more like a grimace than a grin.

“Hey,” he greets, setting his book down atop the station. He blinks once, very briefly, and it looks like all the lights in his head have gone out before something clicks in his mind. “You’re that girl right? The one in the cafeteria?”

He remembers you, though. You nod, speechless — actually, not trusting yourself to speak.

“How’s your shirt?”

You lick your lips, trying to get them to move again. “Fi-fi-fine?” You say breathlessly.

“Cool,” he blinks once again. “So — uh, I’m Jeno, by the way.”

And then he sticks out his open palm and holds it in midair. You have to hold your wrist to stop your fingers from trembling against his. You briefly grasp his hand, and he holds it for a brief moment before letting it go.

“I’m – I’m __________.”

“___________,” he repeats. “Okay, __________. Know anything about this physics stuff?”

“Well – I – uh,” You push your books back with your elbow, covering your embarrassing B-minus in case he wants to see what you’d gotten. “I’m… I’m cool with it.” Only because Renjun forces you to study with him and sometimes has to shove the new lesson down your throat when you'd rather be on Facebook trying to beat your Everwing high score.

“Oh, well, cool. Because, you know, I gotta be honest with you,” he shrugs. “Physics blows for me. We don’t get along. You know what I mean?”

“Mmm,” you reply, more or less entranced by the very confused, very beautiful look on his face.

“So, uh, will you be okay with taking the reins on this one? Get us a cool grade, and all?”

“Mhmmm,” you answer dreamily, watching the corners of his mouth turn up. He’s so cute.

“Fantastic. You’re a cool kid, ___________. Not sure why I haven’t spoken that much to you before,” he stands up, and you instinctively straighten up to look at him, eyes still following his every movement. He gives you a light pat on the shoulder, and all you can think of is how he’s touched you twice today. “So -– is that it? Are we good here?” He asks. You don’t know where your voice is again, so you just nod in response. “Cool. See you tomorrow.”

He glances at the now-empty teacher’s table — Hwang had left the class alone to plan — and then over at Donghyuck, who’s looking through an unclaimed exam paper of an absentee and probably laughing at all the stuff they got wrong.

“Hey, Lee Donghyuck, I’m going ahead.” Without waiting for a response from the teacher’s assistant, he eases out of the station and exits the room. No one seems to find this the least bit unusual.

“You’re with Jeno; that’s tough,” Donghyuck frowns, putting down the exam paper. You notice that there’s a really large, proud D on it that he must have really taken the time to write out. “He’s not doing well in this class. It looks like he’s going to need at least a B-plus to get him to graduate.”

“We’ll get whatever grade he needs,” you reply, your eyes still on the door as if you’re expecting he’d come back through and take you with him.

“Yeah – so you got a plan, already? You guys planned quickly. Everyone else just sat down.”

“Yeah, we have a plan.”

“So? What are you doing?”

“It’s – well, it’s a secret; I can’t give it all away, can I?” You snap out of your daze long enough to give an answer that isn’t just parroting back whatever you can hear above the noise in the room.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “Keep your secrets then. But it better be good. You know I’m grading fifty percent, right?”

“Well, you better give me that fifty percent, then,” You raise your eyebrows.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, standing up from his spot. He pats you once lightly on the shoulder before leaving to walk around to see what kind of progress everyone else is making. You note that it feels nothing like how Jeno had done it.

It’s only now that you realize you’ve hit a big snag by making that brash promise to Jeno. You don’t know anything about physics.You chew on your bottom lip, watching everyone draw up ideas left and right for the term project. Some people already have five ideas written down. You have zero. Plus, your partner’s already gone.

You knead your brow in frustration, slightly hating the moony-eyed part of yourself and wondering why you always let it take the reins during important situations. You can’t let Jeno down, but there’s no one you can ask for help here either; this class is a competition now, not collaboration. You think about asking Donghyuck for some tips before remembering that you had already told him you and Jeno had a plan. Besides, whatever question you’d come up with, he’d probably just laugh at hysterically inside; nothing could match his AP Phy–

AP Physics.

And if there were a moment you would choose to thank a God you don’t fully believe in for making Huang Renjun your best friend, it would pretty much be right now.

#jeno imagine #jeno scenarios #jaemin imagine #jaemin scenarios #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #jeno drabbles #jaemin drabbles #nct scenarios #nct imagine #nct imagines #jeno imagines #jeno scenario #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenario #jeno drabble #jaemin drabble

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bitterqueenofhearts · 4 years ago

Text

His World (I)

Warnings: age gap, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex

Sugar Daddy!Bucky AU x Reader - “a stranger at a party offers you more than the night”

WC: 2.3k

Note: Ahh I’m so happy to be writing again! It’s my first fic in years and I’m really excited about it. This is my entry for the Two Years of Darkness by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor !! I hope you enjoy reading it, please leave some feedback, likes and reblogs are super appreciated! (I intend to make this a 5 part fic)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

As you mindlessly played with the straw from your drink, you wondered once again about your reasons to come to this party. When you got the invitation, it sounded like a great idea. A blind date at a party that you didn't know who was throwing and at a popular club on the fancy side of town. You rarely visited that neighborhood, and its tall buildings and fancy restaurants. You lived five minutes away from the university, on the opposite side of town. There were certainly more fitting places you could be visiting on that Saturday night, like a bar with cheap drinks and desperate frat guys. Okay, it's not like you preferred the frat boys either.

Yet, there you were, at a stranger's party, in a fancy club you've never visited before, having a boring date with some boring guy - what was his name again? That was the only huge disappointment, he barely bothered to ask your name or make small talk before indulging in a monologue about his family business... and then you both fell in empty silence, and you just drank your way trying to fill it.

You couldn't recognize anyone around you. Most of them looked like old money. Ivy leagues, business majors, heirs. Fancy designer dresses and purses, watches, and golden monogram buttons. Where the hell have you gotten yourself into? With a glance over your shoulder to check on your date - who was scrolling through his phone and seemed to have forgotten about you at that point, - you immediately excused yourself to get another drink or whatever. Tired of wasting time and patience, you grabbed your purse and walked towards the bar.

When you stood up, you could finally feel the alcohol from the last couple of drinks kick in. The loud music, mixed with the colorful lights and all the drunkness in the air made you let out a sigh. It felt like a chance in a lifetime to be at a place like this, and you were tired of wasting your time. An hour had already passed by and you really could use some actual fun - even if it wasn't your kind of place or your kind of people.

Another drink down - a shot of tequila this time - and you decided you wanted to dance. A remix of a familiar song blasted through the speakers, and that was the first time you noticed a DJ was playing. You chuckled to yourself, letting your body move in the rhythm with the music. The alcohol made the lights and colors brighter and the whole experience more comfortable than if you were sober. You felt even prettier now in that little silver strap dress than you did before.

A little while later, you felt eyes on you. Well, it felt like someone was staring. You slowly stopped dancing and looked around, and that's when your eyes were captured by a strong gaze. Piercing blue eyes that were so captivating you wouldn't dare look away.

He was sitting at a booth with a couple of friends, but his attention was completely yours. The man wore a black suit and a matching glove on his left hand, which rested on the table. His face... even from that distance, you could easily yearn just by taking a look at his gorgeous features.

Being stared at like that made you feel like prey, a piece of meat. Which shouldn't exactly feel like the best thing in the world, but you couldn't explain the chills running up your spine. You swallowed hard, feeling both intimidated and turned on before he broke the connection looking away.

As he simply looked away and resumed the conversation with his peers, you were left confused. The man was so attractive, like a movie star or runway model attractive, and looked way older than you too. And honestly, given the type of people there, he could easily be one. You wouldn't mind having a little fun with that rich man if you got the chance.

But that was it... Just one look, nothing else. For all you knew, he could be judging you - for looking so out of place? All the confidence from before seemed to dissipate for a moment. You had turned on your heels, thinking about going to the bathroom before wrapping up the night. You could fantasize about him doing whatever he wanted with you when you got home...

"You shouldn't stare, doll. It's not polite." A firm voice warned from somewhere close behind you. The chills were back in a nanosecond. Turning back around, searching for the source of the voice, and your eyes met the black suit that accompanied those stern blue eyes that found you on the dancefloor a moment ago. He was too close, you thought, before taking a step back and looking directly at him again.

"I'm sorry, what?" You chuckled just a little, almost nervously. It could come off as if you were playing dumb, but you could swear that wasn't the case. It was just that being called "doll" was something odd, but strangely enough, you didn't dislike it entirely. Besides that, the handsome stranger was right there in front of you, which was one step closer to your little fantasy becoming reality. Fuck your date.

You took the opportunity to take a better look at him. His short, dark hair was so perfectly fitting to his face and stubble. He could be at least ten years older than you, just from that look on his face. The kind of look that's so expressive and carries so many stories and much more experience than you could imagine. He could be thinking "don't play with me" or "I'll make you hear it loud and clear" or whatever your hazy mind could come up with in a deviant scenario.

Did you have a daddy kink? You didn't think so. It was a common thing, right? Men that look older and think they can boss you around... It was fun to think of it. It made you wet at times.

Again, your thoughts caught your attention and you couldn't understand what the sex deity in front of you had just said. You almost answered with an innocent "sorry, I was fucking you in my dreams", but that thought only made you giggle.

"How drunk are you?" He asked again because apparently, you didn't hear it the first time.

"Just enough to get all bubbly." You answered, simply. "I'm (Y/N), by the way." You offered a hand for him to shake. Let's be honest with a stranger, why not? What was the worst thing that could happen? It's not like the night could get any worse, and having a good talk with that man could never be the worst-case scenario.

He took your hand with his right - this one didn't have a glove on -, carefully but firmly, and you smiled at the way he held it. "I'm James Barnes. Friends call me Bucky." He seemed to be eyeing you up and down as well. You couldn't tell if he was worried by your state - even though you were just fine - or admiring you. Either way, it felt good to be under his gaze. Even better than before, with the chills easing on you.

At the mention of friends, you looked for the other two men who were sitting in the booth with him before - they were nowhere to be found. "I don't know anyone in this place. It's annoying." You confessed.

"I know." He had half a smile dancing on his lips, as he was amused by whatever you had said. "I'd remember inviting such a pretty little thing to my party."

Your lips formed an "o" as you heard the last words. Pretty little thing. Damn... "Wait, so it's your party!" That was kinda impressive, judging by the high standards of the club.

"Yes. And how did you end up here, doll?" His brows furrowed with what seemed to be genuine concern. How embarrassing would it be if you mentioned the failed date? Especially keeping in mind you very much wanted to score that handsome James Barnes tonight, from the very first moment his eyes laid on your figure.

"It's not a very interesting story." That was true. "But I promise I didn't sneak in." Another chuckle, followed by a delicate bite to your lip. Your drunk self thought that could be a sexy move, and maybe it worked because you noticed his eyes locked with your lips for a moment.

"Fine. You won't get in trouble..." He said very seriously. "...if you accept to join me for a drink. I'm unexpectedly bored by everyone else here, and I'd enjoy your... company." The invite was pretty clear, and so were his intentions. Inside, you jumped and cheered and celebrated that this hot piece of sin seemed to be just as into you, as you were into him. Trying to bite back the smile that covered your lips, you just nodded and followed the man, as he didn't drop your hand for a second since he took it.

xxx

Even though all your body could think about was sex in a neon sign, you two had a good talk before getting into the dirty business. He was a fun person to be around, complimented you at every chance he got and had such a powerful presence... You couldn't get enough of his banter, of his laugh, of his smile. The night was infinitely better now, because of James. He felt like an old friend you could be completely open about anything... And the alcohol only helped the feeling.

Of course, by the way he talked and how he was dressed, you couldn't forget he was very rich - and it would feel kinda weird if he wasn't so good at making you feel like you belonged to it all. Like you were part of this world. And you've been honest from the start, you told him about your life, that you paid for your education and that you lived on your own in a small apartment by the university.

While James... Yes, there was old money involved. But he never wanted to follow the family business, so he started a new path... entertainment. So he built a nightclub, and that was his full-time job! You were impressed by his determination and how wealthy he actually was. He owned one of the highest-ranked clubs in the city. And that explained... "his" party.

At some point, he wrapped his left arm around your shoulder, and you remembered about the single glove. "What's with the glove?" You mindlessly asked, almost missing when he clenched the jaw at the question.

"I can show you later." The way he stopped smiling just to answer in that harsh tone... Something felt off as if you had offended him somehow. But it wasn't entirely harsh. You could easily interpret that as a warning about how the night would go on... Oh, you and your dirty mind going at it again.

"Y/N." He interrupted your thoughts with a serious call of your name, not moving his hands from you. Your attention was completely his, and you dared to delve into his gaze once again.

"Yes, Bucky?"

He caressed your chin with the gloved hand and licked his lips before continuing. "You're such a precious girl. I can tell you're a smart one, as well." You just nodded, enamored by his words. "I could give you one night, and fulfill our desires. We could make some memories and then never see each other again, but that feels wrong. It would be such a waste..."

As he continued, you frowned for a moment. Where was he going with this? His hands never left you, and his handsome face only kept getting closer to yours. Sitting on that booth, where you knew most of the people couldn't see the two of you, but you felt under a spotlight at that moment. "What do you..."

James didn't let you finish your thought. As he inched closer, you felt his cologne mixed with whisky. His lips captured yours, and you couldn't thank him enough for finally making it happen. The kiss was hungry, full of desire, and lacking patience. But he determined the pace and kept it all under his control. Before you realized it, it was already over. And you almost whined as he pulled away, but he stayed close, dragging his lips across your neck with small pecks, taking in your perfume as deep as he could.

Was he as intoxicated by you as you were by him? Because it certainly felt like it. "Bucky..." You whispered.

"I want to propose an arrangement." He interrupted you, his words barely above a whisper in your ear. "Be mine. I will take care of you, you can keep me company. I can give you the world. My world. And in return, you just need to give yourself to me.

Those words echoed in your thoughts like a wonderful dream. You smiled thinking about it, and the alcohol got the best of you. With a giggle, you nodded and said whatever he wanted to hear. Of course, you could surrender yourself to him. Anything he asked for.

"You won't regret it, doll." Those were the last words you remembered from the night.

Little did you know, you had agreed to something you could only have dreamed of. When the man had set eyes on you in that club, he decided he wanted you for himself. And you fell right into Bucky Barnes' trap.

xxx

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sugar daddy!bucky #sugar daddy au #twoyearsofdark #marzi writes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #marvel #winter soldier

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in-ky · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith #au!negan #the walking dead #twd smut #twd negan

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hollyethecurious · 3 years ago

Text

CS AU: In the Company of Demons (12/12)

Summary: After being in the wrong place at the wrong time, bounty hunter Emma Swan finds herself conscripted into working for one of Storybrooke’s most notorious crime families. Tasked with finding a rat that has infiltrated the Jones family enterprise, Emma tries to keep things just business between herself and the all-too-tempting Killian Jones. If she can unmask the rodent, she’ll receive not just a reprieve from the family, but her freedom and a hundred grand to start a new life. But what kind of life? One that exists in black and white, where there is a right way to do things and one must overcome their demons? Or the kind Killian can offer her, where one can revel in the grey areas while enjoying the company of demons?

A/N: I can’t believe we are at the end!! Thank you all so much for all the love you’ve shown this fic. I will have an author’s note at the end, but for now... THANK YOU and enjoy the conclusion!

**This chapter contains whump and aftercare. Obligatory tag to @killian-whump because of the chapter content ;o)

Shout out to @artistic-writer for creating the amazing cover art for this fic. Also major flails to @itsfabianadocarmo and @cocohook38 for also creating some incredible art inspired by this fic. You can check out Fabiana’s aesthetics here and here, and Jules’ mob Killian rendering here. Please go flail at all of them for their awesomeness!!

Much love to @kmomof4 and @artistic-writer for being my sounding boards and cheerleaders for this, as well as the fantastic @elizabeethan and @thejollyroger-writer for being my kick-ass betas!

Rated E (finally) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / add to tag list / buy me a coffee / Prologue / Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Another muffled scream slipped past the strip of leather gripped between Killian’s teeth, his forehead beaded with sweat and slipping against Emma’s collarbone as she tried to brace him while Whale dug out the bullet lodged in his side.

When they’d first arrived Whale had assessed Killian’s shoulder first - You are one lucky bastard, Captain. If you’re gonna get shot in the shoulder, this is the way to do it - then set up an IV and started transfusing blood to make up for the volume he’d lost. Needing to save the limited anesthetics he had in case Killian needed surgery on the shoulder later, they’d opted to dig out the ricocheted bullet, caught in one of his ribs, the old-fashioned way. Propped up on an elevated surface, Killian sat with Emma standing between his knees so she could help support him while Whale went to work.

Killian’s fingers were gripping her hips painfully, sure to leave bruises, but Emma didn’t care. Every pained grunt and agonizing scream tore through her. The hot, ragged exhales puffing against her skin as he tried to catch his breath in the brief reprieves Whale gave him made her skin break out in a sheen of cold sweat, matching the clamminess of his. Her hands, stained a deep crimson, felt tacky as they tried to apply soothing touches down his back and over his chest, desperate to do anything that might alleviate his suffering and knowing her murmured words were being drowned out by his stifled cries.

“Nearly got it,” Whale declared. The long tweezer-like instrument he was using to try and grab onto the projectile twisted and sank deeper into Killian’s flesh, causing him to scream again. The leather strap fell from his mouth and his uninjured arm wrapped around Emma, crushing her to him as Whale pulled the bullet out and deposited onto a nearby tray with a metallic clink.

A few sutures later, Killian was bandaged, wrapped, shoulder set in a sling, and given enough pain meds to knock out a horse. Emma and Whale half carried, half dragged him to a room where he could lie down and rest, then Whale left Emma to tend vigil while he cleaned up, waving her off when she offered to help.

He was too still, too pale, the even rise and fall of his chest the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart as she held his hand, too cold, too limp, unable to return her grip as she threaded their fingers together. As much as she wanted to be right here beside him when he woke up, Emma knew just sitting here, worrying, would absolutely drive her crazy. She needed to keep busy. She needed to distract herself from the way her world was suddenly falling apart around her.

She needed her laptop and files so she could figure out who was behind all of this.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she crossed the room and dialed Robin. Usually, he didn’t answer calls, preferring to communicate via text, which was why she hadn’t realized the hitman had been a fake, since she’d never seen or spoken to Robin before. Fortunately, given what happened earlier, he answered this time, and she let out a relieved breath that she recognized his voice.

“Emma? How is he? Is he--”

“He’s okay,” she assured him, mentally kicking herself for not calling sooner. “Whale was able to patch him up. He’s resting now.”

“Good.” A shaky breath sent static through the line. “That’s good. I’ll let Liam and Brennan--”

“They know?” Emma whispered-shouted. “I thought Killian told you to--”

“Hyde told Liam and Brennan. He had to. Killian was supposed to be meeting with them, so he had to tell them something when he didn’t show.” Perhaps sensing her next question, he rushed to add, “Whale works out of a few different locations, and I haven’t told either of them which one you're at, but it wouldn’t take long for them to find out. Fortunately, they’re busy overseeing the clean-up and determining who the men sent to kill you were.”

Emma chewed her lip, torn between asking Robin to bring her laptop and files over, and letting him go on with the tasks Killian had assigned him. Ultimately, she chose to let him carry on looking into who orchestrated the hit. The information might be the clue they needed to identify the rat (assuming it was the rat who set her up and not…), and she already had Jefferson working on the initials. Besides, Emma knew Robin was also clandestinely getting her go-bag ready, and as much as she didn’t want to run, she wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

“Do me a favor?” Emma asked, pausing until Robin prompted her to continue. “Give me a head’s up if Liam or Brennan ask about our location, or if they come looking?”

“I will,” he promised. “And you let me know if there’s any change, yeah?”

“I will.”

~/~

His entire left side was on fire, blistering in his side and smoldering at his shoulder. He didn’t even have the energy to groan, much less open his eyes, but something had pulled him from the drug-induced slumber Whale had put him under. It was as though he were trapped in a fabled sleeping curse, semi-aware of his surroundings, but unable to engage with the world around him.

A door slammed in the distance. Shouts of protest were being exchanged. Destructive noises of things being shoved or thrown out the way made their way closer as hands landed on his chest, trying to shake him awake.

“Killian!” Emma’s voice was frantic in his ears, but he still had not the power to respond. “Killian, Liam’s here! Liam’s here and he thinks I--”

“Don’t deny it!” his brother’s voice boomed, filling the room with an audible rage that made Killian’s blood run cold. “I know it was you. You set my brother up.”

What? How in the bloody hell had he come to that ludicrous conclusion?

“The messages sent to those men, ordering the hit at the warehouse, were all sent from the burner cell we found and catalogued before returning it to the glove compartment of your vehicle the first time we had your bug towed to Billy’s.”

No. That’s… the burner phone was… bloody fuck, wake up!

“You sent the order. You tried to have my brother killed.”

“No!” Emma protested, frantically.

Killian finally managed to pry his eyes open, and the scene before him made his heart seize even as rage now set his blood to boiling. Standing at the foot of the bed he was lying prone in was Emma, hands raised as she pleaded with his enraged brother, who had his gun pointed squarely at her, neither of them noticing his movements.

“Liam, I swear! It wasn’t me. I would never do anything to hurt Killian. The set up was ordered by a r--”

“I’m not interested in anymore of your lies,” Liam seethed, pulling back on the slide to cock the pistol. “I have all the proof I need of your treachery, and I’m not gonna let you--”

“There’s only one problem, brother,” Killian grunted, pulling Liam’s and Emma’s attention towards him… and the gun he’d found laying on the table beside him, aimed directly at his brother as he struggled to sit up.

“That burner phone was taken from Emma’s bug the night you had it towed from The Brig.” With a grimace pulling at his features, he flicked off the safety, then set his sights on Liam once more. “Tell me you didn’t, brother,” Killian implored. “Tell me you didn’t order a hit on Swan the moment I told you we were coming back early. Tell me it wasn’t you, because I know for a fact Emma had nothing to do with it. She was the target, not me.”

“Her? Who, besides us, would want her dead?”

“You mean besides you,” Killian shot back. “I told you from the beginning we could trust her, but you’ve had it out for her since that first conversation on the Jolly Roger. If not for the possibility that Emma was set up by the traitor within our ranks I would have already--”

“Traitor? What traitor?” Flicking his gun towards Emma, Liam insisted, “She’s the only traitor.”

“No,” Killian panted. The effort to keep himself upright and the gun lifted was taking its toll. “We have a rat within our organization, brother. I’ve… I’ve known... for weeks. Long before Swan was recruited. It’s why I… why I wanted the use... of her skills… in the first place. So, s-she could help me… identify him.”

Unable to muster the necessary strength any longer, Killian slumped sideways. The movement tore his side and sent agony ripping through his shoulder. He tried to bite back the pain, but knew it was clearly expressed on his features, his face twisting from the torment.

“Killian!”

“Brother!”

Emma scrambled up the bed, helping to prop him back up and take the strain off his injured torso as Liam rushed to his other side and knelt beside the bed. His head lolled, and more pillows were placed behind and beside him before they eased him back so he could recline in the nest of cushions the two had arranged to support him.

“Killian,” Liam clipped, tapping his hand against Killian’s cheek in an attempt to rouse him. “Little brother, wake up.”

“Younger,” Killian groused, forcing his eyelids open. “It’s younger brother, you git.”

A rare smile twitched at the corner of his brother’s lips and his hand came up to cup his cheek. “Younger brother,” he relented, softly. The tenderness lasted for only a moment before his expression turned serious, his gaze meaningful as it connected with Killian’s.

“It wasn’t me,” Liam vowed, his eyes flicking in Emma’s direction to impart to her, “I didn’t order the hit on you.” When his gaze returned to Killian’s, it overflowed with the acceptance that all Killian had told him was true, no need to try and further convince him. “But we must find out who did before they have a chance to do so again.” Standing, Liam procured a chair and brought it back to Killian’s bedside. Turned so the back faced the bed, he straddled the seat and rested his arms along the back. “So… tell me everything you know about this rat.”

Killian rolled his head in Emma’s direction and gave her hand, which she’d placed within his own at some point, an encouraging squeeze. “You tell him, love.”

She swallowed and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead before nodding. Over the next hour or so, Swan laid out everything. The issues at the docks that first tipped Killian off, the fact someone warned Walsh to run, the close calls with the SPD that made it clear someone from the inside was working against them. She also explained her models and how she’d been trying to find connections within the organization, until they’d learned the Mills had discovered a rat of their own.

With Brennan now joining them via speaker phone, Killian and Emma both shared what they’d uncovered at the casino event, speculating that Gold may very well be behind the entire coup and their hope that identifying the last set of initials would be the key piece they needed to not only identify the Jones’ rat, but prove Gold’s treachery.

“I worried that something like this might happen,” Brennan declared over the phone, sounding short of breath and weaker than Killian had ever heard him. “Malcolm was a cunning son of a bitch, but he and I respected one another. We had an understanding and rapport I never quite managed to gain with R.G.”

Rasping coughs filled the line, and Killian exchanged a pained look with Liam, both of them knowing their father did not have long before he succumbed to the disease ravaging him.

Clearing his throat, Brennan caught his breath and continued, “I half expected the treaty to become nullified when Malcolm died and his son took over, but R.G. agreed to keep to its terms. I think it was because his own son was still young and reckless, having only just taken his place within the family business.” Killian felt Emma stiffened beside him, the action prompting even Liam to take notice, and his brother’s face darkened at the reminder of what she and Killian had told him of her past with Neal and R.G. “I imagine he already had his hands full, reining in and training up his rash progeny… not that I would know anything about that.”

Everyone chuckled at Brennan’s remark, but the movement of Killian’s diaphragm twinged the wound at his side, causing him to hiss in pain. Both Emma and Liam placed a soothing hand upon him, their faces etched with concern which he attempted to alleviate with a forced, lop-sided smile.

“So, why now?” Liam asked, turning his attention back to the conversation. “Why is he willing to jeopardize the treaty now when both our enterprises have fared so well under its terms?”

It was Emma who supplied the answer; his smart, savvy, amazing Swan, who had the advantage of having an outside perspective which allowed her to recognize the obvious component they’d all overlooked.

“Because Brennan is dying.” Her face scrunched, her lack of tact in blurting out the obvious, yet typically uncommented on fact, grimacing across her face in apology before she carried on. “You’ve kept his illness a secret because you know it makes you vulnerable, but somehow, Gold must have learned the truth. He’s getting everything in place to take you down when you’re at your weakest.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “And because his hubris knows no bounds, figured he could take out the rest of the competition while he’s at it. He’s already succeeded in doing so with Arthur.”

“While I think it is clear Gold is behind it all,” Liam interjected. “We still need proof. Either way we will have a war on our hands, but without proof of Gold’s breach of contract and his involvement in planting informants within the other families, we won’t have the Mills on our side, and we’re going to need them.”

“Yeah, and we still have to identify who our rat is and control the damage he or she has already done,” Emma replied.

Killian’s chest constricted, his breath catching at the casual way she said our rat, but Liam mistook his response for another bout of pain.

“I think we best let Killian rest. We can discuss this more once Emma has her files back and Robin or Jefferson gets her the rest of the information she needs. Until then, we keep everything locked down like we have since Flynn’s body was pulled from that dumpster. I’m going to have Robin cross check the short list of suspects Emma made before the J.R. angle came up with anyone who might have had access to her vehicle the night it was towed from The Brig. Whoever took the burner phone is either the rat, or another step closer to finding him.”

“And I’m going to have Whale get your more pain killers,” Emma said, leaving the bed and making her way towards the door before Killian could protest.

“She’s right, brother,” Liam admonished, when he tried to call after her. “You need to rest. We need you in fighting shape for when this all goes to hell.”

~/~

“You look like you could use this.”

Liam set a steaming cup of coffee beside her and Emma wondered wearily what time it was, groaning after checking the clock on her laptop.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing away from the makeshift desk Liam had helped her put together after he’d retrieved her things from Killian’s yacht. Wrapping her hands around the warm mug, her eyes shifted to the slumbering form, nestled within cozy covers and pillows, yet still fitful as soft groans reverberated from his chest from time-to-time.

She hated seeing him like that. Hated the pain he was going through, hated the damage those men had inflicted upon him, hated knowing it was because of her that he was suffering. Hated that he had taken a bullet, two in fact, for her. Not that it should have surprised her… she would have done the same for him.

“I was wrong about you,” Liam stated, moving the chair he’d been keeping vigil in and placing it closer to her so they could talk without disturbing Killian. “I want to apologize for my behaviour. For being an arse to you, for making things difficult, for--”

“Telling Killian to get rid of me because my brother, who isn’t even my brother, is FBI, then thinking I had arranged to have your brother murdered, and pointing a gun at me?”

He actually flinched. Emma never would have thought him capable, but the man was actually contrite enough to flinch.

“Aye,” he sighed. “All of that.”

“You know,” she said, taking a sip of the coffee and crinkling her nose. Unlike Killian, Liam had not been able to correctly deduce how she took it. “Nothing’s changed in regards to David.” She wasn’t sure why she was reminding him of that fact. She supposed if they were going to finally have it out, then they should put all their cards on the table. “He’s still FBI, he still thinks of me as family, he still has Graham keeping tabs on me, and he could still become a problem for you.”

“True,” he said with a nod. “But based on how well you dealt with him during that phone call, I think that threat has been neutralized.”

“For now, maybe,” she muttered, gulping down another swallow.

Liam tilted his head in that familiar Jones way, his brows drawing together. “For now? Are you insinuating he might become a problem in the future? I don’t see why he would bother with us once you’re free to carry on with your life as you did before. Out of our employ.” His eyes followed the flicker of her own, lingering on Killian before returning with comprehension settling into his gaze. “I see,” he drawled with a hint of amusement. “My little brother’s infatuation isn’t completely one-sided, is it?”

“Younger,” she corrected with a smirk, bringing the mug up to her lips once more. After another fortifying swallow, she firmly stated, “But that’s a conversation I intend to have with Killian before having it with you.”

“Fair enough,” he relented with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair and letting go a heavy sigh. “But you should know,” he added in a soft but not less fervent tone. “That we take care of our own, and by extension,” he paused and fixed his gaze upon her with a meaningful look that made her heart thump against her ribs, “those closest to them. So if you do stay, if you choose to become a part of this family, then we will ensure David and his family’s safety. They’ll have nothing to fear from us.”

“But what about--”

“I’m sure we can all work together to find a way of keeping the FBI at bay.” A devious smirk lifted at his lips, and he quipped, “We’ve ways of getting agents on our side, no matter how noble of character they may profess to be. Everyone has a price, whether it be monetary or otherwise, and I think you’ll come to find I am a formidable negotiator.”

“With formidable threats, you mean,” she accused, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a suspicion brow at him. “I thought you said David and his family would have nothing to fear from you?”

“Aye,” Liam drawled. “But he doesn’t know that.”

She tried to stifle the smile that twitched at her lips when he winked at her, so very much like his brother. While she hated the thought of roping David into complicity with the Jones family, she couldn’t deny how entertaining it would be to watch these two older brothers go toe-to-toe with one another.

Fortunately, that confrontation could wait. They had others looming they needed to prepare for.

“Swan?” Killian croaked, his right arm shooting out and searching the space beside him as his eyes struggled to open. “Emma?”

“I’m here,” she called out, lunging out of her chair and up onto the bed. Taking his hand, she brought it up to kiss the back of his knuckles, smiling down at him while his vision adjusted.

“You’re still here,” he exhaled in a relieved breath, a small wince cringing his features.

Emma brushed her fingers down the side of his face, then released the tension in his brow with a light touch as she whispered, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he groaned as he shifted, pulling his hand from hers as he attempted to sit up. “...you’d left. I thought you’d taken the money and,” He swiped his hand down his face and shook the remainder of whatever fog the drugs had left in his system out of his head. “It must have been a dream.”

“Of course, it was a dream,” Liam reassured him. “Emma hasn’t met her end of the bargain yet. She’s not going anywhere until after our rat is identified, per your agreement.”

An acknowledging and slightly sad smile ghosted over Killian’s lips. Emma wanted to tell him that even then, she wasn’t planning on leaving. Not with a war looming. Not when she could stay and help him take down Gold.

Not when she could stay… would rather stay… with him.

The words stuck to her tongue long enough for Killian to brush the matter aside, clearly not wishing to discuss her leaving any longer, and his expression hardened as he asked, “Have we learned anything new? Any word from Rob or Jefferson?”

“Not about the mysterious J.R., no,” Liam lamented with an irritated tone. It seemed both the brothers Jones abhorred waiting. “However, Robin did provide us with a list of those who may have had an opportunity to take the burner cell.” Plucking a notepad from the table, he crossed the room and read off the names. “There’s Billy, of course, but he’s not deep enough in the organization to account for the other discrepancies. Felix was on security detail for the parking lot that night, which likely means Rufio was lingering about after getting the dealers set up with what they needed for the poker game. Arlo assisted Billy with getting the bug hitched up, and later went by his shop to discuss his assistance with the shipment of exotic cars we had coming in.”

Flipping the page, he paused for a quick breath and Emma’s phone rattled on the table with an incoming message notification. While Liam gave Killian the last few bits of info, Emma went to check her phone.

“Billy told Robin that Tink came by the next morning before he returned the bug, and that she had a man with her he didn’t recognize. Robin is scrolling back through the footage from Billy’s security cameras to see if he can identify the man without asking Tink. We don’t want to tip either of them off in case they turn out to be the rat.”

“They aren’t.”

Both men’s heads snapped towards Emma, her phone clutched tightly in her hand as anger coursed through her.

“Swan? What is it? How do you know--”

“Jefferson came through,” she said, cutting him off and taking a deep breath. Pushing back the urge to work out every little detail in her mind, she informed them, “He found him. J.R. The final man connected to the watch heist.”

“And?” Liam demanded. “Who is he? Is he the rat we’re looking for?”

“No. He’s dead. Died three years ago in a drug deal gone wrong, but--”

“Bloody hell,” Killian growled, cutting her off. “So we’re no closer to identifying the rat?”

“Afraid not, brother,” Liam sighed. “We both know dead men tell no tales.”

“Actually…” Emma began, a gratified expression lighting her face. “In this case, they do. J.R.’s real name tells us exactly who the rat might be.”

“It does? How?

“What was his name, Swan?” Killian asked, an edge of darkness wrapping around his words and shadowing his gaze. “I want his name.”

“Jonathan,” she told them. “J.R. stood for Jonathan... Rufio.”

~/~

“No! No, please! I can… I can explain! Please! I--”

A swift punch to the gut silenced Rufio as he was brought on board the Jolly Roger. It had taken a little over a week to track him down. After the warehouse, he’d gone into hiding, certain it was only a matter of time before his cover was blown. At first, they’d been afraid he’d run back to Gold, assuming R.G. would offer him protection. He must have realized, however, that he was a loose end R.G. would want clipped, and that his unsanctioned hit on Emma would have potentially incurred Neal’s wrath, leaving him with no allies.

“I hear you enjoy spilling your guts to my enemies.” Killian approached Rufio, who was doubled over, still wheezing from the blow. Grabbing him by the hair, Killian yanked his head back, forcing the young man to stare into his face as he snarled, “Well, rest assured, Rufio. One way or another, you are going to be spilling them for me before we are through.” Releasing him with a rough toss, he ordered, “Take him below and get ready to cast off.”

Emma could hear Rufio’s pleas and screams as they dragged him from the deck, down into the bowels of the ship. She couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit sorry for him, given what all they’d uncovered over the past week, but the man had made his choices and now he had to live with the consequences. Well... not for long.

There was also that small matter of him trying to kill her, so… No, actually. Emma didn’t have much sympathy for him at all.

“Are you sure you wish to stay on board,” Killian asked. “If not, now’s your chance to leave.”

Emma met his searching, uncertain gaze with one of determination. She still hadn’t told him, hadn’t had an opportunity to really discuss things while he was busy recovering and working to ensure their entire empire didn’t come crashing down around them, but she would. As soon as they had the rest of the answers they needed, she would tell him.

“I’m staying.”

Killian nodded, then turned his attention towards Liam who had called out to him before he followed the rest of the men below.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked, still concerned he wasn’t healed enough to be interrogating Rufio, even though he wouldn’t be the one doling out the punishment.

“Aye, I’ll be fine,” he assured her, tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, though several others began whipping about now that they were pulling away from the docks. “I’ll come find you after.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she told him, lifting herself up onto her toes and placing a kiss at the corner of his lips before murmuring, “In your cabin.”

Time stretched on, so she occupied herself by going over everything again. All the secrets they’d revealed, all the mysteries they’d unravelled. They didn’t yet know why Gold had planted Rufio within the Jones organization, but they had learned Rufio had a vendetta against the Joneses. The drug bust, during which his brother, Jonathan, had been killed, had been one of those misdirections Killian often used Smee for, tipping the police off about a rival’s crime so they’d be preoccupied while they committed one of their own. Robin had missed the connection because Jonathan had died days later. It wasn’t until they really looked into his death, and had Jefferson’s insight to assist them, that they discovered he’d been a part of the gang dealing drugs on the boundary line between the Jones and Gold territories. Rufio had used his brother’s death as one of the reasons he wanted to join the Jones family in the first place.

Having lost the only family he had left, he’d said he wanted to be a part of something.

Rufio had gotten his start working in the distilleries, packing and shipping the bootlegged liquor until he rose through those ranks and got promoted to the docks. He hadn’t worked with Walsh long, but probably knew the man by reputation from his drug dealing brother, so when EWH hit the streets it seemed likely Rufio would have suspected it was Walsh’s doing, and most likely was the one who warned him to run.

His work at the docks explained the inconsistencies with the cargo manifests, and his access to The Brig, as well as the property Robin maintained an office out of, allowed him to overhear or pick up on things he was then able to pass along to whoever he was working with on the outside. Who Emma suspected was none other that Owen Flynn.

It would explain why Flynn had frequented the bar on the nights he had, a place where they could converse or clandestinely exchange information. It also called into question what exactly happened the night Rufio had been tasked to watch over Flynn when he supposedly died from Killian’s beatings.

All the pieces had come together by the time Emma found him, back where it all began. He’d been hiding out in Wizard of Oak. The abandoned furniture store Walsh had once used as a front business, dealing whatever concoction he’d been peddling before eventually being recruited years later by the Jones family. She supposed Rufio thought it a safe place to hide, knowing there was no tangible connection that could trace him to it. The only way he knew about it was because he’d accompanied Killian and Will the night they’d tracked Walsh there.

The same night Emma had.

They had the how’s pretty much figured out, all they needed now was the why’s.

“Well, you were right,” Killian said as he entered the room. A few specks of blood and grime littered his shirt and suit jacket, which he gingerly shrugged off and tossed onto the bed on his way to the mini bar. “He was the one who told Walsh to run. He’s also the one who convinced him to come back.”

“Why?” Emma joined Killian at the table, eager to find out everything the Jones brothers had managed to beat out of their rat.

“It seems Gold wanted Walsh to turn himself in so he could make a deal and testify against me, but I discovered his revolting little side business before he could agree, though there was speculation he’d been unwilling to do so anyway. Rufio was then instructed to lure him back, with the hopes he’d be arrested. Then he would have had no other choice but to roll on us in order to save himself.”

“Wait,” Emma replied, needing a minute to process. “So, Gold tried to use Walsh to take you down?”

“Aye,” he confirmed, knocking back the dram he’d poured for himself, then refilling his glass with the bottle he’d brought with him to the table.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” Emma told him, tucking her legs beneath her in her chair and topping off her own drink. “Why did Gold send Rufio to spy on the family in the first place?”

Killian gave her a play-by-play of the interrogation, or rather, a slightly less bloodied version.

Knowing his brother had worked for Gold once before, Rufio had gone to him first after Jonathan’s death. Having become suspicious as to whether the Jones - who had started to transition leadership from Brennan to Liam - were being truly honorable to the treaty, as it related to the agreement they had regarding the Storybrooke Harbour, Rufio had first been instructed to infiltrate the family and get assigned to the docks so he could keep tabs on things and report back. However, as soon as Rufio learned of Brennan’s deteriorating illness, the Gold men saw an opportunity to expand their territory.

They began to look for ways to get Killian or Liam arrested, so that once Brennan died, the remaining son would be left to fend off the ambush on his own. The prospect of achieving such a coup must have made Gold greedy, because not long after the revelation of Brennan’s impending death, he had Neal arrange for others to infiltrate both the Mills and Pendragon organizations, seeking out weaknesses he could exploit.

“After I shot Walsh, Rufio wanted to go to the police and do the very thing they had tried to get Walsh to do. Turn himself in as an accomplice, but then roll on me so I’d be arrested for the murder. R.G. told him that without a body there would be no point, so when the opportunity came to provide the police with one…”

“Flynn,” Emma deduced, shaking her head and grinding her teeth.

“It was Rufio, not me, who killed him,” Killian informed her. “I knew I hadn’t done enough damage to cause his death, and I was right.” Emma reached over and took Killian’s hand. She knew it wasn’t the man’s death he’d been berating himself for, it was the lack of control and carelessness that might have led to it. “Rufio finished him off then called Felix in a panic, convinced him to help get rid of the body, then planted the matchbook in Flynn’s pocket before they dumped him.”

“I assume he’s also the one who told Neal I was working for you,” she said, taking them away from the subject of Flynn and what could have happened if Smee and others hadn’t been so convincing with their false leads and planted evidence, turning the police investigation in another direction and all but clearing Killian of suspicion, given he had an ironclad alibi.

“He was,” Killian confirmed. “Though, because Rufio did not know the true nature of our agreement he didn’t realize how closely we’d been working together. Neal had no idea you were anything more than another asset until you showed up to the event with me.”

Emma took a long pull from her glass and let the burn of the alcohol fill her belly with its smoldering heat, further stoking the fire that had been building within her. She’d been trying to hold it back, to suppress the thoughts gathering at the edges of her mind, to keep her darker impulses at bay even as her demons spurred her on from the recesses she usually confined them to. She couldn’t deny them any longer though. The truth of the matter was… she needed them. Wanted them. Wouldn’t be able to do what was required, what was necessary, what she desired without them.

To make Neal and R.G. pay for their audacity. To watch their empire burn until they were the ones left with nothing.

“What happens now?” she asked, keeping everything she was feeling reined in for the time being, knowing there would come a moment when she could use it to her - their - advantage.

Killian sighed. “Liam and I will set up a meeting with the Mills and share what we’ve uncovered. Father, Liam, and I are all in agreement that this means we’ll be going to war with the Golds, and we’re hoping to have Cora’s allegiance and manpower to aid us in the fight.”

He stood and went over to one of his night tables, opening the drawer and removing a thick manila envelope. “Don’t worry, though,” he said, his expression grave and guarded as he tossed the packet onto the table and resumed his seat. “I already collected your new identity, and Robin set you up an account. Most of the money has already been transferred into it. The rest is in there,” he said, gesturing to the envelope casually as he took another drink, attempting to appear as though the topic of her leaving wasn’t tearing him apart. His tight smile didn’t meet his eyes, though he tried to make it convincing as he assured her, “Everything you need to make a fresh start.”

Emma slid the envelope back towards him and stood. “Fresh starts are overrated.” Skimming her fingers along the top of the table, she picked up his glass and brought it to her lips. After taking a sip, she licked an errant drop from the corner of her mouth and offered, “It seems to me, if there’s going to be a war you’re going to need all the help you can get, which includes having Arthur, and those loyal to him, among your list of allies. But Arthur can only help if he doesn’t have to concern himself with Percy, who’s gone to ground.” Setting his glass back down, she carded her fingers through his hair, swirling them through the dark, silky strands. “I happen to know someone who’s pretty good at finding people.”

Killian’s brows shot up his forehead and his lips parted in surprise, sticking in the corners in that way she loved. “You want to find Percy so Arthur is free to return and fight alongside us?”

Climbing onto his lap, Emma straddled Killian’s hips, mindful of his still tender side and shoulder, and wound her arms around his neck. “In this family,” she murmured, tilting her head so their foreheads were pressed together, his eyelids fluttering closed as he held his breath in anticipation of her words, “we look after our own, and those closest to them.”

“You understand what it’ll mean, don’t you?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. “You, choosing to stay?” He opened his eyes and fixed her with his forget-me-not gaze. “It won’t be for only this single job, or merely until our war with Gold is won.” His hand tightened at her hip, his fingers digging into her skin. “It’s for life, Swan.”

“I know.”

“And you’re sure you’re ready for that? Ready to cast off the black and white and fully embrace a life lived in the spectrums of grey?”

“I am,” she assured him. Trailing her fingers down his neck she placed her hand over his heart and confessed, “You were right about me.”

“In what way?” he asked, his lips ghosting over hers, barely able to restrain themselves.

“Turns out,” she whispered huskily, flicking her eyes up at him through her lashes, “I do enjoy the company of demons.”

“Well, then,” Killian purred, snaking his hand up her back until it wrapped around the base of her neck. “Come kiss this handsome devil, won’t you love?”

The End

A/N: I know, I know, I know! I can hear you. Trust me. While the scope of this fic, regarding the identification of and dealing with the rat, as well as bringing CS together, is complete, I recognize that there is still more story that could be told, so... I have started notes for a sequel. NO PROMISES as to when or if it’ll get written/posted, but know that I agree with you and will do my best!

Thanks again for all the love!!!

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#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #captain swan #cs mob au #mob boss!killian #bounty hunter!emma #in the company of demons #complete #completed #words by hollye

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myarmsaretoolong · 3 years ago

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so ive been reading all the young dudes...

its massively inspired me to actually get on and figure out this epic length hogwarts au that follows from the og6 starting at hogwarts (marauders style) and going all the way to peter's seventh year

obviously there's a ton of plot stuff in the middle that im still figuring out but i have some basic ideas

anyway this one scene has been bugging me all week so i decided just to write it and see and?? i actually think?? its kinda good?? usually i write something and think meh but this feels good for some reason

its clints perspective, he's 11 but not at hogwarts yet, and yes im making them all british. let me know if you think this actually has legs? im nervous (also ive not edited this at all so ignore any mistakes)

St Joseph’s Home for Wayward Children looked more like a prison than an orphanage. Its grey stone walls were high enough to block out the sun, impossible to climb but topped with barbed wire for good measure. The wrought-iron gate, the only way in or out, was old and rusty and squealed like a kicked pig any time it opened. It, too, stretched upwards, though was much easier to climb. Unfortunately, Clint hadn’t been careful enough of the spikes on top and got himself stuck where he had to wait until Matron came and got him down in the morning surrounded by all the other boys all laughing and pointing at him. The stunt earned him the cane and got him sent to his room without dinner for a week.

Everything was grey at St Joseph’s. The painted walls, the cold stone floors, the uniforms - grey blazer, grey tie, grey jumper, grey trousers, grey socks. The shoes were black, as was the stupid little hat they had to wear, but they hardly added colour to the drab place. Hell, even the sky was grey.

The building itself was U-shaped and surrounded the yard on three sides (the fourth side had the gate to freedom). It housed around eighty children, split pretty evenly between boys and girls. Actually everything was split between boys and girls. A chain-link fence cut the yard - which was really more a concrete square - perfectly in half. Boys on the left, girls on the right.

The east wing housed the boys’ dormitories, bathrooms, and sports room. Presumably the west wing had the same for the girls, not that Clint would know. Sometimes when he looked out of his window he would see one of the girls doing the same, staring up at the stars and dreaming of some other life they’d never get to live.

Classrooms filled the main building, and the canteen took up most of the ground floor. Once again, the boys had to sit at tables on the left while eating, the staff lined up down the middle with crossed arms and permanent scowls to stop them interacting with the girls on the right. Not that they could talk to them anyway because they had to sit in silence. Upstairs, the corridors had a thick white line painted on the stone to keep them separate. Occasionally, one of the boys would manage to pass a note to a girl as they passed between lessons and it would be the talking point of the week.

There was a sharp rap at the door and a shrill voice called out, “Up! Breakfast in ten.”

It was the same as every morning. The four other boys in Clint’s dorm groaned. The oldest and biggest of the lot, Phillip Hutchins, rolled over and pressed his pillow over his head.

“I said, up!” Matron said again, her voice strained.

“Yes, Miss,” the other boys chorused. Hutchins added an extra layer of sarcasm.

All four of them looked at Clint, waiting. Clint rolled his eyes and looked back out the window. “Yes, Miss,” he mumbled.

Matron gave a satisfied hum and marched off to the next room to begin the routine over again.

Reluctantly, the other boys changed out of their grey pyjamas and into their grey uniforms, made their grey beds and trailed out into the grey halls. Hutchins threw his balled up pyjamas at Clint on the bunk opposite the door and cackled, “Tosser!”

The clothes hit Clint’s chest and fell into his lap. In one swift motion, he swept them up and lobbed the bundle back, hitting Hutchins square in the face. Hutchins’ cheeks went tomato red and his hands curled into fists. “You’ll regret that!” He slammed the door behind him, rattling the bunk Clint was sat on.

The five boys had three bunks between them and nobody wanted to share with Clint, not that he cared anyway. He was perfectly content to be left alone, not poked and prodded all night like the other boys did to each other.

Across the yard, Clint could see the first few girls passing windows as they went to breakfast. He looked closer at the room directly opposite his own. A red-haired girl stood on tiptoes as she struggled to make her bed. She didn’t see Clint watching her. He wasn’t a nonce or anything, the girls had the luxury of curtains on their windows. There was just something about the girl, rumours that followed her about like a bad smell.

Clint watched her tie her frilly bow tie around her neck and straighten out her skirt before she stalked out of her room. He hopped from his bunk and stripped, pulling his trousers and shirt on as quickly as possible. Then, slinging on his blazer, he ran out into the hall with his hat between his teeth as he fiddled with his tie.

He thundered down the hall, heavy footsteps echoing off the walls, and barrelled past Mr Adams - the history teacher.

“Stop this instant!” Adams bellowed, shaking his fist. Clint ignored him and kept on. “Detention after last class. My office!” He spoke like they did on the news, all propper with all the letters pronounced. All the staff at St Joseph’s did.

Clint, mentally, flipped him off as he turned a corner, he’d learned the hard way it’s not worth actually doing it. After he’d got his tie on straight, he ran a hand over his hair and shoved on his hat. Matron shaved the boys’ hair so short they might as well be bald, leaving it spikey and sticking straight up. The girls’ was cut to the middle of their backs and always in neat pigtails.

He reached the staircase and hopped the railing to the landing below, stumbling a little as he landed before turning and jumping to the ground floor. The corners of his mouth turned up a little when he stuck the landing. Quickly, he returned to his usual scowl and shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking up dust as he traipsed down the boys’ side of the corridor.

The red-haired girl appeared at the other end. She tugged awkwardly at her skirt hem but stopped as soon as she noticed him walking towards her. Clint caught her eye and lifted his chin in a nod. The girl held his stare and kept walking.

The smell of breakfast wafted from the canteen between them, as did the scrape of cutlery and dull thud of shoes. The girl didn’t thud. You’d have thought she was floating the amount of noise she made, all the girls were like it. It made Clint pick his feet up and straighten his back.

Still she stared at him. She opened her mouth and-

“Barton!” Matron shrieked, appeared in the canteen doorway. “Inside, now.” She grabbed his ear and dragged him in, giving him a shove for good measure.

“Oi!” Clint tripped over his feet, one hand covering his ear as he looked back. Matron crossed her arms and looked down her pointed nose at him. She looked like a bird from this angle. Behind her, the girl slipped in unnoticed.

Hutchins and his mates laughed, spraying toast crumbs across the table. Clint balled his hands into fists, his face a shade of red. He could jump Matron, give her a black eye to last a month, but it would get him slammed in all-day detention for twice as long so he thought better of it. Instead, he stalked up to the counter where the dinner lady filled his tray with two slices of plain toast and a bowl of cornflakes.

The boys either side of him shuffled away when he sat, nobody wanted to be associated with him else they’d get on Hutchins bad side, too. Clint didn’t care. He only had to survive five more years, then he’d be out. Besides, Hutchins would only be around for two more. Maybe then he could slink through the halls unnoticed and unbothered.

He ate grumpily, biting at the toast in between mouthfuls of cereal. Once or twice, he glanced over at the girls’ side. The redhead had her back to him, eating alone at the end of the table as she always did.

Just as he was about to go back to the counter and ask for seconds, Mrs Westwood walked right up to him with another boy Clint didn’t recognise in tow. Clint shuffled in his seat, turning his back, but Westwood cleared her throat loudly, drawing unwanted attention from Hutchins.

“Wot?” Clint kept his head down, shoulder up around his ears.

“Today is James’ tenth birthday.”

“Who’s James?”

Out the corner of his eye, Clint saw the boy give a little wave.

“As you know,” Westwood ploughed on, “it’s tradition that the youngest shows the new boys how things are done.”

Clint remembered his tenth birthday well. Westwood got him up early and took him to one of the supply cupboards where she took out the ‘big kids’ uniform’ - as she called it. He got changed in the bathroom, then marched into the big kids’ canteen. His guide was some goody-goody barely past his own tenth birthday called Paul or Patrick or something like that. Clint followed him around all day - new classes, new dorms, new boys. Then the git went and got adopted the next day, leaving Clint to figure out the rest on his own.

“Right,” he muttered.

“He’ll also be in your dorm.”

There goes his empty bunk.

Westwood patted James on the shoulder, gave him a tight smile, and swept from the room. Clint fished around for the last few flakes, not caring how loud his spoon hit the bowl.

“Sit, then,” he snapped, noticing James was still standing there wringing his hands. James practically fell through the bench he sat so hard.

He could feel the boy's eyes boring into his skull. The last thing he wanted was a shadow clinging to him all day, probably never drop him if James got too attached. James still hadn’t got the hint. Clint slammed down his spoon and turned to look him straight in the eye. “Want sumffink?”

“N-No!” James stammered. He nibbled on his lip, eyes darting between Clint’s. “Where do I get food?”

“There.” Clint pointed at the counter and James scampered off.

Clint half watched, just to be sure he got something. Angrily, he realised that, though he wasn’t the youngest anymore, James was at least a head taller than him and much less skinny. His uniform was neat and tidy, not a thread out of place, unlike Clint’s that often got him shouted at by the staff.

James returned and ate in silence as they were supposed to. Clint snuck another glance at the red-haired girl. He knew the rumours about her were bad, but not bad enough for all the girls to ignore her. They were hardly the worst things he’d heard.

Matron strutted to the front of the canteen and clapped her hands twice. Everyone rose, benches scraping along the stone. James sprang up a second later, half a slice of toast still hanging out of his mouth. Clint snatched it and threw it down.

James looked down, mourning his breakfast. “Now what?”

“Church,” he shrugged. “Sunday, innit?”

They lined up, boys on the left, girls on the right, and Matron led them into the chapel. As the others started filing into the pews, Clint grabbed a handful of James’ blazer and hung back, shuffling into the last row. James smoothed the creases out of his uniform as everyone else settled.

Clint zoned out as the Chaplain droned on about some dusty old book, though James sat forward to listen.

The chapel was easily the most interesting room at St Joseph’s. Still drab and grey for the most part, but there were marble arches in the roof way above, and coloured patterns in the stones making up the floor, and other things like the weird sink next to the Chaplain’s podium. In other words, there was something to look at.

He found himself drifting back to the red-haired girl. She wasn’t hard to find, what with having half a pew to herself while all the other girls crammed in around her. She had her head tilted back, looking up at the arches. He found himself feeling jealous of the way they left her alone.

Maybe he could make one of his own weird things happen. Maybe he could do something really bad and scare Hutchins so much he daren’t look at him ever again.

that's what i have so far, let me know what you think!

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ollypopwrites · 4 years ago

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IV. Little Lies | Biker!Mando AU

Biker!Mando x Female Reader (no y/n)

Links to part I, II and III

Summary: Almost two months ago he had barged in and as an attempt to get a rise out of you, to get you to reveal something, he had made a comment about how beautiful you were. He hadn’t been lying then but it was easier to say something like that when it was part of the job he was sent to do.

Wordcount: 4.1k A/N: Soon I will have a masterlist specifically for this story that will include any headcanon questions, edits and art that are associated with or inspired the story! Please don’t be afraid to come and ask questions and things like that, and again I can’t thank you all enough for your interest in it. It’s become one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written.

Warnings: Language, threats, a tiny-tiny bit of violence.

When you arrived at the Covert, the Mandalorian standing guard just nodded at you and opened up the gate. This was your second trip this week, and you weren’t entirely sure if it was the same one from before but you were expected this time. The kids inside all moved out of the way until your car passed and then went back to running around -- screaming and laughing.

You caught sight of Nessa who recognized your car and gave an exuberant wave in your direction before she went back to playing. You parked and made your way to Syala’s open door, knocking lightly on the door jam and entering to find Lysa sitting with some schoolwork -- her little legs were kicking as she sat in the chair. You gave her a small kiss on the head, you moved towards the kitchen to drop off some food you had picked up.

Tycho thought you were taking trips to see some friends last week. Earlier that week he had thought you were going to meet with a couple about some arrangements for their wedding and today he thought you were picking up rare plants. Instead you had been letting Nessa and Lysa show you the best spots around the Covert to play hide and seek, reading stories to Jido, or laughing about the old days with Syala over a glass of wine.

The two of you were cooking together, chatting away but kept looking towards the door.

You had run into Din a few times since that night at the bar. It was usually very late and he was just picking up Junior for the night. There had only been a little conversation between the two of you but the tone of those interactions had changed.

Where there had been suspicion on your side was now only curiosity; seeing his face and knowing his name made him less scary and more intriguing. You noticed now that when you weren’t baring your teeth at him right off the bat, he seemed to be just a little unsure of how to handle that.

“You don’t have Junior with you today?” you asked as casually as you could.

“No,” Syala said, “his dad is home for a little while.”

“That must be nice, to get a little break.” You responded brightly, trying to mask the slight disappointment you felt.

“The kid practically babysits Jido for me, I really don’t mind having him around,” she said. “You know his dad is always asking me about you,” there was a mischievous glint to her eye as she chopped up some vegetables.

“Oh -- “ you were surprised to hear that, “he’s probably just...trying to keep an eye on Tycho.”

“Trust me,” Syala said, “they don’t need you to get to Tycho.”

Thankfully Nessa ran into the kitchen for a glass of water and Syala had to break away from teasing to remind her daughter not to run in the house. Nessa was too busy gulping down as much water as she could in as little time as possible and Syala had to shift to insisting she slow down. Then there was a sudden loud commotion as a large booming voice filled the entire front room. It made you jump and Nessa grinned and bolted out of the room again.

“Come on...one more!”

You followed Syala to the front room to find the doorway almost entirely blocked by a solid figure. Not Din, but another Mandalorian; tall and broad but kneeling in front of Lysa who had abandoned her school work. His helmet was not shiny like Din’s, instead it was dark blue with some accents of a lighter teal with a darkened visor. His patches on his worn leather vest were also different, except the one on the back, and you saw “Heavy Infantry” spelled out on one of them.

Lysa was punching at his massive hands, gloved but spread wide open, and she used all of her little might. The man showed her how to hold her fist and to dig her small pointy knuckles for maximum damage.

“Paz, please,” Syala said with a slight laugh, “you’ve already got Nessa challenging all the older kids -- don’t give Lysa any ideas.”

“And how many times have you lost?” His head turned to ask the oldest girl.

“Only twice,” Nessa said smugly.

“Keep practicing and you will be undefeated.”

“Paz!”

“If your mother says it's okay.” He added quickly.

It was too late. You could tell from the smile on Nessa’s face she was ready to wrestle every kid her size and beyond until she was some kind of champion amongst them. You had to laugh at the way the Mandalorian, Paz, seemed to sheepishly get to his feet at Syala’s pointed look. His attention turned towards you and you offered him a small smile and a little wave.

“You must be the sister-in-law.”

You nodded before properly introducing yourself, holding out a hand to shake. He didn’t even look at it, just left you standing there foolishly with a hand out.

“I saw you came two days ago, and now you’re here again.” His tone was not welcoming, and outright combative. Even that simple sentence sounded like some kind of accusation.

“Is that a problem?” you asked with a forced politeness and a tight smile.

Part of you was still scared of the Mandos, especially being greeted by this one with so much hostility. But you had not learned your lesson apparently, and were ready to go toe to toe with yet another Mandalorian if it came down to it. Syala sensed this immediately.

“Obviously not,” Syala cut in, her tone even, “since I invited you here, right, Paz?”

All he gave in response to that was an almost inaudible grunt.

The kids were still around but you guessed that if they weren’t he would have some choice words to say to you -- and the only reason you could think of that would make him so unwelcoming was your brother. But Tycho was also the kids’ father, and whatever manners this Mando had seemed to keep him from bringing him up around the little ones.

Feeling the tense air between all the adults in the room, Nessa blurted out, “auntie! You haven’t checked on our plants yet!”

“You’re right,” you said before looking away from the Mandalorian. You turned to her, “why don’t you two show me?”

Nessa and Lysa quickly exited the room, suspecting some ‘grown up talk’ was going to happen and dragged you along with them. You barely made it out of the room before the burly Mandalorian began speaking in a hushed tone to Syala.

Nessa and Lysa had found a great spot in their shared room on the windowsill for their new plants. They got more than enough light and had a small tray underneath to catch any excess water. You inspected the plants and they seemed to be doing just fine, if not a tad bit overwatered. You gave the two girls all the best tips you could -- writing them down on a piece of paper so they could refer back to it.

“When they grow a little more I’ll bring you some new pots to put them in,” you promised.

“How big will they get?” Lysa asked excitedly.

“These ones can get really big if you take good care of them,” you said.

“As big as a tree?” Nessa inquired.

“Not quite that big,” you laughed, “to get a big one like that you have to have patience and know how to keep them healthy.”

You made a bargain with the girls: if they could get the plants you had already given them to grow enough you would see about finding them some really big ones. They excitedly discussed what kinds they would want but over their conversation you heard voices get a little louder in the other room.

You peered out of the door into the hallway and heard an argument -- two male voices. The girls were distracted so you slipped away to find not one but two Mandalorians in Syala’s living room, and it looked like they were a few moments away from brawling.

You recognized Din easily and Syala looked to you with a slight roll of her eyes but seemed unsure of what to do. The two men were speaking in a language you didn’t understand. Din was shorter and of a smaller stature but he didn’t seem intimidated in the least, and you thought Paz might be trying to make himself even larger, if that were even possible. It was a lot of testosterone and posturing and you had no idea what sparked it but before you could even think to ask there was a sudden weight on your leg.

Leaning against your shin and grabbing at the fabric of your pants was Junior, big brown eyes turned up to you inquisitively.

“Hi,” you said, kneeling down to be at a better level. “Do you know what this is all about, little one?”

He babbled at you and his face brightened with a huge smile.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Paz murmured something under his breath which made Din curse and then there was the short sound of scuffling before Syala shouted.

“Okay, out -- not around the kids,” she insisted.

When you looked up from Junior, Din had Paz’s leather vest gripped in his gloved hands and Paz was holding on to the edge of Din’s helmet like he was going to pull it off.

“Sy -- “ Paz began in protest.

“Out.” She cut him off, “we’ll talk later.”

Paz stormed out after that and Din looked back to Syala. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” she waved him away with a sigh.

“I’ll be right back for the kid,” he said and then followed after Paz.

“What was all that about?” You asked once he had gone.

“It’s…” Syala trailed off, “it’s nothing. Those two butt heads a lot, this is pretty normal.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “okay.”

“I guess I do have Junior tonight,” Syala said in a happy tone, obviously trying to change the subject, “let’s see if Jido is awake from his nap for a little play date.”

Din followed after Paz’s large strides towards the warehouse where the bikes were parked. Luckily not many others were in there and the kids outside were all too busy yelling and playing to pay attention to them. Paz was climbing onto his bike, getting ready to take a ride and cool off. Din approached before he could turn the key and placed his hand over it to keep him from doing so. Paz tried to pull his hand off but he stubbornly held on.

“If you threaten her again -- “ Din started.

“How can you trust her when she lied to your face,” Paz growled. “She chooses to protect the di’kut. And you welcome her within our gates? In Syala’s home?”

“She is her family -- Syala asked that she be welcomed here,” Din said.

“Then make her useful, send her back with a message for that -- “

“Our message was made clear,” Din retorted. “We push too hard and he’ll scatter again. That’ll make things worse for Syala!”

Paz didn’t respond so Din pulled his hand away and stepped aside so he could leave if he wanted to. His point was made, and any further arguing about it would be talking in circles. Din waited for Paz to retort or to challenge him again. He was ready.

Instead the other Mandalorian spoke. “Is there something between you two?”

Din paused, thinking of you and how you had smiled at him at the bar. “What?”

“Syala,” Paz snapped. “Are you and her --”

“No,” Din interjected before he could finish. “She’s burc’ya and so is the sister-in-law.” There was a heavy moment, “she isn’t a threat.”

Paz nodded his head once. Irritation still radiated off of him, but he had nothing to say.

Satisfied, Din turned and started making his way back when he heard the bike start up. He couldn’t zoom out of the compound because of all the kids but once the gates opened up, Din heard the pipes as he tore off down the highway.

When he made it back to the house you were seated on the floor with both Jido and Junior, the younger boy was learning to get his feet underneath him while watching Junior as an example. Junior’s little hand gripped one of yours tight and Jido was using your free arm for leverage to try and pull himself up.

Syala came out again seeing him, “how’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” he nodded. “The healer says I should give it another week.”

“Were you hurt?” You asked looking up at him.

“It was nothing.”

“He was stabbed,” Syala retorted.

“Not very deeply,” Din said back. “Didn’t hit anything.”

“Oh,” was all you could say in response. Junior toppled over while trying to climb onto your lap and you caught him with one arm saying, “whoops! Careful, buddy.”

Syala laughed and then turned to Din. “Go get changed and join us for dinner, it’ll be done soon.”

“You don’t have to --”

“Go. Bathroom is empty, you can take all that off.”

He silently walked away and you waited until the door was closed to whisper to Syala.

“I saw him without the helmet the other day,” you told her, and when she gave you an interested look you said, “I’ll explain later -- why does he have to hide away to take it off?”

“Rules.” Syala shrugged. “Can’t wear the vest without the helmet on, can’t be seen taking it all off.”

“Why?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” She said, “watch them while I set the table, will you?”

“Sure.”

It was only a few moments later and Din returned, vest and helmet removed. He stood in the middle of the room looking uncertain of what to do now that he was helmetless.

“I’m sure Syala won’t mind if you sit somewhere,” you said with a teasing smile.

He cleared his throat and moved towards the couch, setting his things on one side and sitting on the other. You decided not to tease him any further, instead just shooting him a smile before turning back to the boys who were essentially using you as a jungle gym.

You felt Junior putting one of your fingers in his mouth, and you delicately tried to pull away but before you could he chomped down, a few little teeth digging into your skin. It didn’t hurt much, but the surprise was enough to make you yelp.

“Hey,” Din was quickly off the couch to kneel next to you. He scooped Junior up swiftly, grunting a little at the movement on his injured shoulder. “We talked about that, no biting.” He looked at you, “sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you said, inspecting your finger. There were little indents of tiny teeth and it was covered in baby drool but otherwise it was fine. To his credit, Junior was looking a little watery eyed, maybe due to the loud noise you had made and Din running over to grab him so abruptly. “You’ve got some mean little chompers, bud,” you reached out to run a finger over the soft skin of his cheek.

“One of these days someone is gonna bite him back,” Din grumbled, “and then what will you do, ad’ika, hm?” He spoke the last part to Junior.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

Din looked at you again, that same uncertainty seeming to rise up again. “It’s a term of endearment for children.”

You smiled and then turned your attention back to Jido. “Is everything okay? I thought you were going to brawl it out here in the house.”

His expression tightened a little bit. “It’s fine.”

“He… doesn’t want me here, does he? Because of Tycho.” You said.

Din wasn’t looking at you anymore, he was watching Junior with a slightly furrowed brow. “He doesn’t trust you.”

There wasn’t much you could say to that except, “he’s never met me.”

“No,” Din said seriously. “But ... “ he heaved a sigh and then looked over his shoulder, making sure Syala wasn’t coming, “Tycho’s been involved with some dangerous people. He’s just looking out for her and the kids.”

You nodded, wanting to ask about who exactly your brother had been associating with, but Syala called everyone to dinner.

You didn’t get up right away and Din was looking at you now, “should I stop coming around?”

“No,” Din said quickly. Too quickly. He felt his insides churn at how intensely he had said it. “He won’t bother you again.” There was a pause, “Syala likes when you visit.”

You nodded and opened your mouth to speak again but --

“Guys,” Syala said, more insistently, and breaking through a tension you hadn’t really realized was there until she interrupted, “come on, before it gets cold.”

There was a lot more to ask him, but right now wasn’t the time.

You got to sleep in the next day, and when you finally made your way down into the store Tycho was helping a customer carry a couple large ficuses into his car. Sitting behind the counter you started going over the earnings for the week, wondering how much to give to Tycho. All of it was going towards the child-support, but it was technically his earnings for the week. He had worked hard for it. Things were lean for the month, but the extra sales you had made from hopping around with the cart were keeping you above water for now and the amount you gave him at least would cover this month and begin to chip away at what he owed.

As you sorted through the finances you wondered about what Din had told you and what Tycho had not. What dangerous people had he been working with? You knew he had gotten into some small time trouble, but the way that Mandalorian, Paz, had acted made you concerned that there was something far worse going on.

It felt like you had no idea who your brother really was. But no matter how badly you wanted to confront Tycho, it would cause too many problems. He couldn’t know you were going to visit his family.

You sent him off a little later with some cash to transfer his payment to Syala and to pick up lunch for the two of you. Unable to stop thinking about what the hell was going on you moved to rearrange some displays in the windows. The store was empty and you had been meaning to do it, might as well keep yourself busy.

You were in the middle of a new arrangement when the bells above the door jingled to signal an entrance. Turning with a chipper greeting, you saw that in the doorway was none other than your Mandalorian friend.

Helmetless and with Junior hoisted onto his hip, his hair was a little more tame, cut a little shorter and his face only had a hint of scruff to it. Wearing a brown jacket and some dark jeans, you couldn’t help but think that he looked good. Cleaned up and less disheveled than he had been last time you saw him.

“What are you two doing out here?” you said with a smile and came towards them.

“We were in town and you -- uh, you said I should come in and say hello,” Din offered, just a little bashful.

“Yeah,” you laughed a little, “I did.” There was an almost uncomfortable pause as neither of you spoke and so you cleared your throat, “what are you two up to today?”

“The place down the street makes his favorite bone broth,” Din told you and now that you looked Junior had a sippy cup full of it. That was… strange but the kid seemed more than happy with it so you didn’t make a comment. “And the Razor Crest is in the shop.”

“The Razor Crest?” You asked.

“The bike.”

“You named the bike?”

“Yes,” he said dryly.

“That’s...that’s adorable, honestly,” you teased with a laugh.

He gave a small scoffing laugh in response and looked around the store. “Where is your brother?”

Your smile fell a little. “He’s on his lunch break,” you said, “is that why you’re here?”

His gaze came back to you then and you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed before saying, “no.” He opened his mouth to say something but Junior was now wiggling to get out of his grasp and reach for a vine of ivy. “Don’t touch,” he said gently.

“He’s just curious,” you said and reached out to rub a thumb over one of the leaves, “he can touch.”

Following your example he touched the leaves but didn’t pull. The next few minutes were spent showing them around the shop so Junior could touch the plants or smell a flower. Din was quiet, unsure of what to say. Almost two months ago he had barged in and as an attempt to get a rise out of you, to get you to reveal something, he had made a comment about how beautiful you were. He hadn’t been lying then but it was easier to say something like that when it was part of the job he was sent to do.

Now that you were here quietly leading a conversation with Junior and not snapping at him he almost wasn’t sure how he had found the courage to say it before. You were just as beautiful, maybe more so with such a warm and open smile on your face for the kid -- he just knew how to handle aggression better and this was...soft.

You lifted a light purple flower up to Din’s nose to smell. He looked at you like you had grown another head, and you were obviously trying to hold back a smile. “It’s a flower, smelling it is not gonna kill you.”

He leaned in a little, it smelled fresh and delicate.

“And?”

“It’s...nice.”

Pulling it away you pressed it towards Junior who pressed his face all the way into it, which made you laugh before wiping his face off gently.

The door opened and in strolled Tycho yelling your name, bags of food in hand for you both. You felt yourself tense up a little and could see from the way Din’s shoulders lifted that he also was on alert. Din was uncertain how much you had told your brother, but he was about to find out.

Tycho turned and took in the scene and smiled brightly, blissfully unaware of the reality of the situation. Before him stood his tracker, smelling flowers and holding a baby, and Tycho had no way of knowing that. Somehow, though, you were scared that he would know somehow and waited with held breath for the shoe to drop.

“Sorry, sir,” Tycho said in his best customer service voice, “didn’t realize we had a customer.”

You released the air from your lungs gently and looked to Din, who simply raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s fine,” Din said. “We should get going anyway.”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, “of course, I’ll um… I’ll see you both another time.”

Din turned with Junior, the baby still holding a plucked gardenia in his tiny hand. The bells jingled as he left and when he passed by you in the window there was a hint of a smile when he looked at you. Your stomach suddenly had a fluttery feeling, and your heartbeat seemed to stand out to you suddenly.

Your brother called your name, frowning as he asked, “who was that?”

You suddenly felt like you couldn’t think. Flustered before and now worried, you knew there was some unspoken agreement. Tycho couldn’t know who Din was. But what excuse could you give him? Another lie?

“He’s the guy I met, the one who gave me a ride home from the bar,” you said quickly.

“You didn’t say he had a kid,” Tycho replied, “is he married?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, coming up to grab your lunch.

Tycho gave you a serious look. “Don’t take rides from strangers anymore, I mean it.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me what to do, Tycho. He’s fine. He’s actually nice. And you were the one who fell asleep when you were supposed to pick me up, so don’t tell me who I should be getting rides from.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands in surrender, and thankfully dropped the subject.

You weren’t sure how long you could keep all these secrets from him, but if it meant Din could come around without the helmet more often...you were willing to keep it to yourself for a little longer.

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#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars imagine

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vanillann · 4 years ago

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within the vision (bucky barnes x f.reader)

a/n: i’m going to be naming each chapter based on a sitcom from that time era, cause i can!! also i’m so glad everyone liked the prologue!!

warning: WANDAVISION SPOILERS, swearing, suggestive language, talks of past trauma, AU

word count: 1.9k

within the vision masterlist

Chapter 1: Born Yesterday

“Do you remember everything we just went over?”

I rolled my eyes, snapping the silver bracelet on my wrist, the little charm would be normal to anyone else but Bucky and I knew the content.

“No, I forgot everything,” I turned to Tony, smiling sarcastically when he frowned.

“We should have given you up for adoption,” Tony titled his head, the tiniest smile on his lips and he played with the technology again.

The room felt packed with people, Tony and Bruce running around the technology, Bucky and I waiting beside two beds that were shoved beside Wanda’s, and Steve and Sam leaned against the wall trying to tell me to stop with this plan.

“We don’t know what could happen,” Steve repeated again, his arms crossed as Tony gave Bucky his bracelet, thicker than mine but still normal enough to not have anyone question it.

We had taken extra steps to ensure our safety as nobody knew exactly where we were going.

“You both need to get out as soon as the mission's over,” Bruce nodded, to both of us. His finger danced across the different screen, Tony and himself were the only ones who understood it.

“I was planning on going on a walk before I came back.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but gave me a hint of a smile. He understood my defense mechanism, one of the few people who never got mad when I couldn’t be completely serious. One plus for anger management classes.

“I regret doing this already,” Bucky spoke under his breath, looking up to Sam who gave a fake thumbs up.

“If it comes down to it, leave Bucky,” he responded, earning a thumbs up from me.

“I hate both of you.”

Bucky and I both laid in our own bed, our combat gear already on as we laid back slightly, Tony taking Bucky's side while Bruce came to mine.

“We’re going to first hook you to this machine to keep track of your vitals,” I said nothing, watching Bruce shove the IV in my arm and playing with the machine a bit to make sure everything was okay.

“Next, on the count of three you’ll press the button on the bracelet. Remember you need to keep your mind focused on Wanda for this to work,” Tony continues with his run on sentence, only stopping once Bucky and I both nodded once.

I felt the chill suddenly run up my body, suddenly nervous to just hind out in my best friend's mind. Especially since she had always been younger than me, I felt weirdly awkward now.

“Are you both sure about this?”

I saw Bucky nodded slightly from the bed beside me, suddenly all eyes on me. I felt myself shift in the bed, avoiding eye contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine, I just need a second,” I spoke after Steve, smiling at his worried glares but said nothing else of it.

You were doing this for her own good, you were helping her. This wasn’t you reading her diary after teasing about her crush, this was her turning into herself not knowing we were waiting for her.

“I’m good,” I laid down on the bed, not looking at anyone as my other hand searched for the button. I wasn’t going to mess this up cause I couldn’t find a button.

“Okay, remember to stay safe and think about Wanda.”

I nodded lightly, trying my best to zone in on Wanda while Tony’s count down filled the room.

“One.”

I thought back to young Wanda and Pietro trying to hide my shoes before one of my first dates when I was 14.

“Two.”

Wanda giggling in my room at the compound when Steve went on a manhunt for me because I was late for practice.

“Three.”

I felt my finger smash the button, thinking of Wanda’s face as she held off Thanos with Vision life in her hand. I thought of her tearful face as she gave me one last glance before everything blew up before my body was smashed against the nearby tree.

The weird feeling around me gave me a stomach ache. The feeling of falling when you were about to sleep almost, but my eyes refused to open as the wind rushed past me. I wanted to panic, to pull myself from whatever I walked into, but I simply couldn’t.

I couldn't sense anyone around me, my body was all alone falling and I couldn’t stop it. I was a controlled person, I enjoyed control and suddenly that word didn’t even exist anymore.

Then it stopped, the falling was gone and my eyes were pushed open. My body was moved differently, pushed against something. When I slowly moved around I noticed the slight dusk of the sky.

“(Y/N)?” My name whispered filled the same space I sat in, I looked around trying to get my brain to focus on one thing. I felt something cold against my wrist cause me to jump, pushing harder into the rough back.

I looked down, Bucky's face laid under whatever I was sitting on. I looked up, noticing the windows and the steering wheel slightly ahead of me. I took in the leather under my fingers, seeing there wasn’t a door handle in the back and how low the roof was.

But that didn't worry me, what worried me was I couldn’t make out any other colors besides black, white, and grey. I looked to Bucky, hoping to see the light pale skin on his face but was met with white, almost like a white crayon that had been run in black dust lightly.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Wanda’s head, I thought this was your plan,” Bucky slowly sat up from the floor of the backseat, I had luckily ended up on the actual seat. I looked out, hoping to see the colors of the sky but I was met with the same grey color.

“Can you see color?”

“Can’t say I do,” Bucky rubbed his arm, slowly moving to sit in the same space I had made for him on the seat.

I finally looked around the rest of the area, noticing the row of houses and other such things. The trees and bushes reminded me of the old movie Steve would make us watch, looking like something out of a sitcom.

“What are you wearing?”

I frowned as I looked at Bucky, his eyes held confusion as he looked me up and down once. I looked down at myself, shocked to find myself in a dress, definitely not my combat gear. The material was dark, I couldn’t tell more, and a fake belt was sowed into the thick fabric.

“I haven’t seen one of those in awhile,” Bucky picked up a piece of the dress at the end, rubbing the material between his fingers when I slapped it from his wands. That when I heard it, laughing. Not like you told a funny joke laughing, like a sitcom laugh.

I pointed to Bucky, my eyes wide as I waited for who knew what. When I saw Bucky slowly look up at me from the place he looked at my dress I knew he heard it. That's when I noticed the suit he was wearing, specifically an older looking arm suit. I looked back around the car, spotting the matching hat to the suit on the dash of the car. I didn’t say anything, slowly reaching up to grab it when I saw a door open.

A lady with dark hair and bright smiles walked out, held a hand slightly in the air if she were to hold a cigarette but no smoke came out. She was talking to someone, whoever was in the house. Suddenly I watched the owner lean out slightly, my jaw going slack as I saw Wanda’s bright smile hides behind loopy curls.

“Doll-”

“Don’t call me that,” I spoke softly, doing my best to keep the facade up but I was so shocked, Wanda was lightly pushing the woman out the house, almost as if begging her to leave with a little laugh. She looked the same, only dressed up similar to me.

“You’re going to want to see this,” he tugged on my dress, my hand slapping it away again but he yanked hard. He sent me flying to the back seat of the car. my side pushed into his with a loud oof.

I heard that stupid sitcom laugh again, trying to push it to the make of my mind as I pushed away from Bucky. I hit him in the side with the hat I had managed to take back with me, my mouth wide open to yell but Bucky shoved something in my face.

I could spot the coke logo from miles away, only it wasn’t the saem logo I had always remembered. The bottles were glass and the writing looked much more vintage. That when I noticed Bucky tapping on a part of the label, my eyes reading over the information their.

Expiration date: July 6th, 1953

“1953?” I looked around the neighborhood again, suddenly realizing the vintage cars that were parked along the streets and the dress that hung off my frame.

“How?”

“I don't hear you asking how we ended up in the wrong decade,” My voice was stern as he spoke, watching the dark haired lady finally leave Wanda’s porch and go to her own house close by.

“Not the time,” Bucky finally sat up slightly, watching the lady walk in her house.

“When is the time then? Maybe the 70s or do you wanna wait til the 90s,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder with a pout. His face was so close to me, I finally noticed his once long hair was cut short.

He looked like he had in those photos of Steve and himself, back from the 40s.

“Well, what do we do know?” Bucky looked at me, his nose almost hitting mine when he turned but I had slightly moved back.

“I guess blend it?” I shrugged, hearing that stupid sitcom laugh that I wanted ro punch in the face.

“How do you suppose we do that?”

I looked around the neighborhood, smiling when I noticed the house across from Wanda’s had a large “FOR SALE” sign standing in the front yard.

“Break into that house and act like we belong here,” I smirked, ignoring Bucky as I slowly climbed into the front seat of the car. I heard Bucky yell out about me kicking him but I didn’t care as I made it to the driver seat, pushing open the door.

“For your information, I do belong here,” were the last words I heard from Bucky before I closed the door, smiling over at the house and trying to keep my voice low to not attract wandering eyes. I stood in the same place for a second, suddenly my view changed from house to concrete. I felt a little bump on my backside and frown when I heard Bucky laugh.

“Should’ve held the door,” I noticed his combat boots beside my face. Normally I would have bought him down with me but I decided it would bring too much attention and simply pushed myself from the ground.

“I hate you,” I frowned, slamming my foot into the road when I heard that stupid laugh sound around me again.

“Okay okay,” Bucky held out two arms from me, trying his best to calm me down but it wasn’t any use, I simply pointed to the sign, turning back to look at Bucky with a serious look in my eye.

“We are stealing that sign and moving to that house.”

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@diedestress @criminaly-supernatural @fangirl-swagg @montypythonsholysnail @justab-eautifulmess

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barns x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes x reader #james barnes x y/n #james barnes x you #james barnes x reader #marvel x reader

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sukiglycerin · 4 years ago

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call it fate (or a christmas miracle) || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: bodyguard!katsuki bakugou x earthbending quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: bodyguard!au, fluff, some angst, fake dating, aNd thEre wAs OnE bEd

* words: 10.3k (help)

* warnings: swearing bc bakugou, too much backstory, idk what bodyguards even do, there’s a fight scene (in a similar lieu to the sports festival arc), hunter x hunter? no this is tsundere x tsundere, i want to hug bakugou, yes i imagine mr. tanaka to be the tanaka from kuroshitsuji, christmas is a very minor aspect of the story (but the title was too good to resist)

* original request from @apexqueenie: Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh can I get a Bodygaurd Bakuboi x bratty reader who don’t like to be watched like a hawk cuz she wants to do fun things pretty please? // and from anonymous: if it's ok, can I request Bakugou with a reader who has a quirk like earth bending please? // and from @killkurzyackerman: ÒWÓ UR REQS ARE OPEN can u do a bakubabe with like lil sassy bad bitch vibe reader bc ive seen a lot of fics that sorta like softie or angel type and no offense theyre great but ya know sumthn diff this time please

* a/n: this is a very long fic, to say the least. i combined these three requests! though reader’s quirk doesn’t appear often, it conveys my thoughts on how bakugou would go about with that quirk. moreover, i hope this reader is badass? i realize that that characterization is quite hard for me. so, i hope you don’t see reader as super soft! i made them fight back against bakugou (literally, too) and kinda bratty hehe. i got to explore a lot of new things with this fic, so i hope they reach you well. this is a repost because it originally did not show up in the tags!

* synopsis: things had gotten boring with bakugou as your bodyguard. it was only until an interesting proposal by the man that things would change. well, maybe a little too much would change...

you, to be quite simple and honest, were getting tired of katsuki bakugou. he'd been your bodyguard for years (years! much longer than any other you'd hired!) and he was getting boring. dull. plain. any synonymous word would fit. he was boring like a 24 hour session of watching paint dry, monotone like a professor’s droning that never failed to put you to sleep. (perhaps he was even more spiritless than professor sato at the academy. he caught you sleeping no less than thirteen times in his class. the number didn’t even account for the times he didn’t catch you.)

to the untrained eye, katsuki bakugou is vibrant. he's aggressive, unruly, and ruggedly charming (somehow). he's a wonder in a suit-and-tie and the epitome of an oxymoron with his harsh words, rough hands, and crisp suit. it was that very reason you’d hired him; his personality excited you. it seemed unpredictable and it was a challenge.

like all other challenges, bakugou was not impossible. once the challenge was overcome, time flow was stagnant; you watched the ticking of a clock as the day passed by you. you’d gotten used to him and he’d gotten used to you. these days, he watched you like a hawk. you could never slip past those sharp eyes anymore, no matter what you did. he was not fazed by any of your antics (ticked off mildly, sure, but he could live with it).

“leave me alooooone,” you whined for the fourth time in an hour as you exited a mall. bakugou's hands were full of shopping bags filled with everything from clothing to the latest technological invention. you weren’t sure how he was supposed to protect you in that condition. though, to be candid - in the first place, you didn’t need protection. you attended a private institution designed to maximize the use of your quirk as a child and graduated with absolutely flying colors. on top, you’d taken various martial arts outside of school. you didn’t know why your parents were still concerned about your wellbeing. you handled it fine. around 99.9% of the time, you could easily beat your bodyguard in a fair fight. it was a regular practice for you; so common that there was a reward if a bodyguard could last longer than six months working for you. not that any of them liked to be called bodyguards.

“sweetheart, i would if i could,” bakugou gritted through his teeth. “pay’s too good to- goddamn, what did you even buy?” he’d stopped behind you to adjust his grip on one of the bags.

you hummed pleasantly, continuing at your same, leisurely pace. his question was a rhetoric; he watched you buy everything with your black credit card. you watched as a car pulled up in front of you.

“there’s our ride,” you said, brushing bakugou’s shoulder as you stepped into the car. he grunted in response, loading the car with your purchases.

“fight me with your quirk when we get home,” you said during the ride. “you have, what, a boom boom quirk?”

he made a noise in his throat, voice hard. “my quirk’s explosions. nitroglycerin.”

“dangerous,” you said through a smile. he’d never used his quirk around you, but you were already starting to see possibilities of strategies you could use.

“so says the master earthbender,” he retorted sarcastically.

you clicked your tongue. “we’ll see who wins in the fight, explodo-boy.”

“finally brave enough to challenge me, eh?"

“i was always this brave.”

“oh, give it up already, bakugou!” you directed another wall of rocky terrain toward bakugou, who blew up the land and sent rocks flying. his stance was hunched slightly, forehead matted with sweat. the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, coat long abandoned on the rugged terrain.

“tired already?” he snarled. he put his hands together, preparing for a bigger explosion. you didn’t let him have this opportunity, slinging a large rock to absorb the impact of the explosion. he dodged swiftly, to your disappointment, but his attack seemed to be subdued.

you used his delayed reaction time to try to trap him with terrain under his feet, but he was somehow a step ahead of you. you heard a popping noise; bakugou was propelled through the air, your rocks blasted already and a cloud of dust forming. you cussed under your breath, already moving yourself away from his estimated landing spot that was too close to you.

he sent crackling explosions to the bottoms of your feet, but you easily dodged them. you created a temporary platform of elevated ground to protect yourself from the small explosions, jumping off it and rolling away. he was already aiming a larger blast toward you, presumably expecting your escape route. you figured it’d be a directed blast to pierce through a wall. you knew that the explosion would be unavoidable. to counter, you created a line of walls resembling dominos. they acted as stairsteps; you quickly ran up to the highest you could conjure in the short time you had before bakugou hit them. you grabbed the closest piece of rock that you could and leapt as bakugou’s blast made contact with your steps, chucking the rock at him and aiming to kick him when you landed. you knew he had no power to counter, being unable to react quickly due to the powerful nature of the blast he’d conjured.

you were about to win when the door to the training facility opened. you froze, literally, in midair and frowned, turning to look at the intruder.

“fighting, young-?” one of the butlers, tanaka, said. he was an elderly man with a gentle voice, but his eyes always seemed to glint with a clandestine humour in it.

“you can call me by my first name. please put me down, tanaka,” you said, no malice in your voice. he nodded, and you softly landed on your feet next to bakugou. you’d known tanaka for far too long for him to use honorifics with you. he’d practically raised you as a child.

“you haven’t fought in a while,” tanaka commented. he conjured a water bottle (you never knew how he had the right things for the right occasions) and walked toward you.

you made a noise of acknowledgement. “and it seems i was just about to win.”

he smiled tenderly. “i’m sure.” he handed you the water bottle, which upon further inspection, you saw was ice cold.

“thank you,” you said, gingerly accepting the beverage. the water flowed soothingly down your throat, easing the aching that had formed due to all the dust you’d kicked up in the fight.

“mr. bakugou?” tanaka asked, offering another water bottle (seriously, where did he get that?).

“thanks,” bakugou took the bottle. he drank feverishly, quickly finishing the bottle in what must’ve been two seconds flat. so undignified.

“y/n, you have an appointment in 15 minutes with-” tanaka said as you capped your water bottle.

“oh, yeah,” you said, waving off the matter. “i got it.”

you brushed off the dust on your clothes and started toward the exit. bakugou was quick to follow you, nodding politely to tanaka.

bakugou stood outside the door during the meeting you had with your father. you were not a minute too late or too early when you stepped into your father’s office, freshened up and dressed in clean attire, the dusty clothing from your fight with bakugou long discarded. the smell of leather and mint enveloped you, reminding you of the days you’d play in your father’s office in your youth. the room was always dim, the light on your father’s desk being the brightest object in the vicinity when the curtains were pulled down. when you were younger, you liked to pretend the room was made of chocolate, as the color was so dominant on the interior. your father was not pleased to find five-year-old you trying to bite the corner of his desk, to say the least.

the sight of his office was ever-so familiar to you, and once held a feeling of endearment in your heart. that was then; now, you only ever entered the room for a business-related matter. your face was blank, lips held in a thin line - you anticipated the topic of the meeting since your father first scheduled it a week ago. it, quite frankly, was inevitable; you could be neither opposed nor favorably disposed to it.

“i’ve found a compatible match for you, y/n.” your father sat at his desk, eyes intensely trained on you. “they’re from a well-off family with a strong quirk.”

compatible. it didn’t mean they got along with you or would be a good partner; no, it meant that they matched the superficial criteria set by your family.

“yes, father,” you said indifferently. he nodded, as if already expecting the answer.

“you’ll meet them soon. we’re arranging the date,” he folded his hands on the desk. “tanaka will alert you of it when it’s finalized. that is all.”

you nodded, taking your cue to leave. giving the room one last glance, you started to push the door open, then paused. door halfway open, allowing outside light to stream into the dark room, you looked back at your father. it was now or never to ask, you guessed.

“father… we wouldn’t happen to be having a family gathering anytime soon, would we? for new years or anything...” you hadn’t had any in the recent years, but you’d figured you’d ask. the scent of homemade food and the comforting chatter of the gatherings always made your heart swell.

he grunted, not looking up from the papers he shuffled around in his hands. “no.”

“ah. okay,” you said, sighing quietly. you knew better than to get your hopes up for such things. you turned back to the light, where bakugou was awaiting you, and shut the door behind you with a thud.

you walked in silence.

“so, no plans for the holidays?” bakugou asked bluntly.

“eavesdropping, i see,” you deadpanned.

“shouldn’t’ve had the conversation in front of the whole damn world.”

you rolled your eyes. “what about it?” you asked. “my lack of plans, i mean.”

“well-” he coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, averting his eyes. “that old hag- my, uh, mom, somehow got under the impression that i’m no longer�� single. probably because of my profession - she thinks it’s ridden with scandals like a damn drama - but, uh… she’s expecting me to bring… company home for our christmas dinner…. and i can’t ask any of my friends, ‘cause she knows them… i wouldn’t damn ask you if i had no other option…”

“thanks,” you interjected. you held your tongue from making a comment about how little friends he probably had. “anyway, why don’t you tell her no?”

he slouched. “have you met her?” he grumbled. “the hag won’t listen to me. trust me, i would’ve, but… you can’t refuse her, once her mind is set on something… she’s too stubborn for her damn good.”

“like you,” you remarked, earning a small shove from the man.

“pl-” he choked, “pl - ah, fuck - please can you go to the dinner with me? it’s just for a night and morning, i need you to fake being my date. i can tell her we broke up later or whatever, i just really need…”

your lip curled. a desperate bakugou was a rare sight, and you wanted to relish in it for as long as you could. you feigned further consideration.

“but there’s so much i would rather be doing…” you whined. it was a lie. all you wanted was some variation in your life; a dinner didn't sound too bad. perhaps there was a dark secret within the bakugou family you could exploit.

“like what, wasting money?” bakugou muttered bitterly under his breath. you shot him a dirty look.

“fine, please?” he asked again. “there’ll be some damn good food… and, uh…” you tapped your foot with false impatience.

he cussed under his breath. “i’ll do whatever you want, damnit, just go with me! please!”

you cocked an eyebrow. “whatever i want?”

“yes, for a day,” he groused. “only a day.”

“alright!” you pumped your fist up. your father’s business training came in handy sometimes. “when’s the dinner?”

“this weekend,” bakugou said. “we also need to, uh, figure out how to act more… coupley.”

“...right,” you said. business class had not prepared you for that. “how the fuck do we do that?”

as it turned out, you two were not the best pair to fake a relationship. neither of you had actually been in a relationship prior to this. you didn’t really have time to date on top of your studies and such; you didn’t need to, anyway, because all of the people who were romantically interested in you bored you. their personality traits either consisted of rich or doormat. as for bakugou - well, he was bakugou. you couldn’t see anyone wanting to date that brute.

“i’ll pay,” you said upon entering a cafe. it was a big cafe, nestled in the midst of an even bigger mall. your tone was firm; there’d be no way bakugou would be paying. you looked up at the menu and said to him, “the usual?”

he was silent for a moment, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. he cleared his throat. “uh, yeah, sure. the usual.” weird.

you ordered yourself a drink and bakugou his usual order, a decaf iced caramel macchiato with light ice. he looked at you with a strange emotion on his face when you handed him his drink.you practically shoved it in his hands while he was too starstruck about god-knows-what.

the two of you settled at a booth (“table,” bakugou had argued. you eventually won the debate).

“so… trivia about each other, right?” you asked. “i guess we’ve got to get to know each other more.” he nodded. “well, first, you need to stop being so quiet. right now, you’re not my bodyguard or anything. we’re, uh…. dating. we’re partners. datemates. lovers.”

he choked on his drink at the word “lovers.” he sputtered, then gained composure. “yeah.”

“okay, i need to you to be more casual.”

“tch, who said i’m not casual right now?!” there it was; this was the bakugou you’d known when you first met him. he was awkward and amateur-ish, stumbling on his words and failing miserably at being polite. it was a fond memory. overtime, he’d obviously polished himself up (but only in the presence of you and your family).

“that’s more like it,” you said.

“tch.” he sipped his coffee, unrelenting to admit that you’d won.

“well, let’s cover basic facts. your birthday is april 20 and you like spicy food.”

he coughed again, setting his drink down. “yeah.”

“are you okay? d’you need water, or something? are the lights in here too bright?”

he shook his head, eyes still dazed with a certain unclarity. “‘m fine, idiot.”

you weren’t convinced. “...whatever you say.”

he took another sip, closing his eyes then continuing as normal. normal, in the standards of bakugou, of course. “i-i think i know damn well enough about you. don’t need to prove shit,” he grumbled the last bit.

“a little bit too well,” you muttered saltily. “well, this is a learning experience for me, take it or leave it. we need to get along at the dinner, don’t we?” you drummed your fingers on the table, eyes darting around at the cafe. the decor was pretty.

he made a grievance under his breath, but nodded. “there’s my dad and my mom - the old hag - and me. i’m an only child.” figures. he continued, “they both work in fashion… yeah… my dad’s more quiet than my mom, she’s loud… apparently we’re a lot alike - don’t comment - but yeah, she’s my mom. they live in shizuoka, and it’ll be just them at the dinner. you’ll need to stay overnight...”

“seems… intimate,” you commented offhandedly.

he whistled. “you think?”

the gears in your head turned as you stared into the space over bakugou's shoulder at a large poster of some featured drink. it was all small talk to you, but you saw this meeting for what it was. an opportunity. it was your break from the uniform days plaguing you for the past week's - he wouldn’t need to watch over you, now your fake lover. lovers were equal.

love - what was love? you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. feigned or not, it was different. couples were moody, from what you could gather. one day they’d be hanging off each other’s limbs, and the next, they were bickering their heads off. it sounded fun, to be a couple with bakugou rather than his employer. you could say goodbye to normalcy and tedium.

you felt your lips turn into a smile as a plan developed in your mind, tapping the table at an increasingly faster tempo. who cared about the dinner? you were a fake couple! you could break away from the norm and find the things that made bakugou tick. you could gain a one-up over him. you could pick his personality apart piece by piece until it broke the monotony of daily life. you watched bakugou’s expression grow puzzled and frustrated. you pretended to be deep in thought, aware that bakugou was opening his mouth to make a snarky comment presumably about how the smile on your face was getting unnerving to him.

you didn’t let him speak, instead cupping your face in your hands and leaning in towards him. “how do you think we should become more intimate, kat-su-ki?”

you think you got soft over the years. when you first met bakugou, he was a rough little thing. being the same age as you, he was far less qualified compared to the other candidates to be your bodyguard. he looked out of place in his suit identical to everyone else. call it fate, or what you will, beckoning you towards him. when you first met him, you could’ve never imagined how far into the future you’d be stuck with the boy. all of the bodyguards you’d hired prior to bakugou’s appearance in your life didn’t last long. it wasn’t their fault; no, no, they were very competent. extremely competent - to the point it was boring, scrutinized under their meticulous gaze. you could do absolutely nothing under their watch, and where was the fun in that?

so, long story short, you hired bakugou for his incompetence. you’d low expectations for how long he’d last. you were surprised he could even put on a tie properly. from the way his hair spiked in every which way (“undignified!” your father had complained to you) and how his feet shuffled against the nice, newly polished cherry wood floors (“the scuff marks…”), bakugou was far from the epitome of a bodyguard. he couldn’t sit still and constantly made weird crackling noises (which you later learned were small explosions, not the concerningly incessant crack of his knuckles). the cherry on top to the disaster pie called bakugou, however, was his speech. he was polite, at face value, but also incredibly rough at face value. if you transcribed his words down, they’d be all standard formalities. it was the quirky way in which he presented his words; gritted out like somehow had forced him into this job. actually, scratch that, it was like this job was the be-all or end-all of his life. he was like an extremely tsundere shounen protagonist. he needed to win (“win what?” your father had laughed in disbelief) and be the very best. you'd… appreciate the sentiment more if you were his mentor in becoming a pokemon trainer.

of all the things bakugou was at the time, he was not a stoic old man nor a cold, indifferent boy who looked down on you snottily; he got the job. much to your father’s chagrin, of course. you’re pretty sure he had a backup bodyguard during the first month or so of bakugou’s employment, in case bakugou dropped out mysteriously for any reason.

surprisingly, bakugou was competent, but not infuriatingly so. he had snark, and under any other employer he would’ve been fired in the first week. he did his job, and that was all. it was fun to tick him off, too, and so easy. it was - dare you say it? - cute. you wanted to watch him fall apart and leave, as so many others had. you waited for the day he’d get used to you or vice versa, when you’d wake up with nothing to look forward to. in the end, no one ever stayed with you. you could usually figure that out within the first week of a bodyguard’s services.

these days, you started feeling that way. bakugou was just becoming everyone else you’d ever hired. he was becoming everyone else. for some reason, though, you still clasped onto the thread of hope that maybe he was different, and that led you down a series of events trying to convince yourself he was different.

at the same time, you told yourself he was like everyone else. did you want him to stay or not? you didn’t know anymore. maybe fate would spin something good out of this, or maybe he would. you didn’t want it in your hands anymore.

being flirty was definitely not the best route of plan, but man, it was efficient. what better way to fake being a couple than organically develop that relationship? that was your bullshit reasoning to the logical part of yourself (when it was obviously far from the truth).

yeah, it was definitely not the best plan. you bored of it quite quickly, but couldn’t shake off the lasting feeling of fluttering in your stomach. you supposed it was because it was the most reaction you’d gotten from bakugou in months. you’d never seen him so disgruntled.

he was very, very blushy. you didn’t know how you hadn’t learned of it earlier. his cheeks were dusted strawberry red, matching the hue on the tips of his ears. ah, tsundere bakugou had returned for a short period of time. you wished you could've taken a picture of him.

you tapped the tip of his nose and he hissed at you, cheeks darkening a shade.

“a boop?” he scoffed indignantly in disbelief. “who calls it that? a five year old?” but you could tell that he really enjoyed it on the inside.

“what- what are you playing at, dumbass?” he swatted your hand when you tried to boop him again.

“c’mon, couples need to do coupley things, katsuki,” you cooed. “like overly affectionate pda~”

you didn’t know someone could get so red.

“since when did you call me by my first name?” he grumbled, unable to form any other type of response.

“since we started ‘dating,’” you teased back, realizing that watching bakugou become more and more uncomposed was more fun than you’d expected. he'd never become so open around you; after all, you'd had a strictly professional relationship prior, so bakugou never expressed any hint of a personality other than his behavior when he was first hired. it was a good change, in your eyes.

then, as you did of most things, you bored of it. sure, flustering bakugou was fun because he was so outwardly tsundere, but your attention span was short. he was already starting to recollect himself in record time, face cooling from a startling scarlet to pink and remarks becoming increasingly cohesive.

you're not even sure if he was aware of your gaze resting upon him as you half-assed responses and watched the gears in his head furiously turn. when he got real worked up, he pouted when speaking and occasionally slurred words together. his eyes tended to veer away when he thought of a response and he always got fidgety.

eventually, you stopped teasing him. by this time, the ice in his drink had already melted and you were dangerously close to kissing him on the cheek (it was an impulse thing! you were not catching feelings!).

if there was one thing you learned, it was this: bakugou was truly a sight in his emotional state, though you could argue his unassuming state was equally, if not more breathtaking.

you noticed it as morning light illuminated him through the window of your room, hitting the silky fabric of your bedsheets around him. he was reading some book, dressed in comfortable attire that felt oddly domestic. maybe it'd be the most casual you'd ever see bakugou.

the thought struck a chord in you, making you wonder what'd happen after the dinner. it'd be awkward, for sure. it dawned on you that these moments with katsuki would vanish and things would go back to normal. they'd disappear into thin air, like nothing had ever happened. you weren't well educated in horology, but you were pretty sure that the time you'd spent with him would vanish as well, not to be spoken of or referenced ever again. time would keep trudging forward and you'd only be able to stare back as it disappeared on the horizon line.

you wanted to grasp the time that flooded your hands, encase the moment in glass and hold it in your palm forever.

"oi, idiot, what are you staring at?" and maybe it was the first time you truly heard bakugou's voice. it was rough on the edges with a soft core, you realized. maybe, after these couple of days, bakugou had started to care for you.

"nothing, stupid," you mumbled, returning your attention to your phone, but you couldn't shake off the newfound feeling that holed up in your heart. bakugou didn't care about you, you told yourself. you had a strictly professional relationship with him, and that was only broken for the time being because he needed a favour.

right. this was all for a favor.

nights spent testing each other on the most miniscule of facts and afternoons spent telling each other stories about each other - it was all nothing. it wasn't a big deal, you repeated to yourself.

still, you couldn't help but to look back up at bakugou and let your imagination run. he wore a black shirt and sweatpants, a complete 180 turn from the typical three piece suit he normally wore. maybe this is what he'd look like in the mornings if you were a proper couple, not client and bodyguard - maybe in another universe. you could imagine his bedhead, hair all messy and eyes still worn with sleep, vastly different from the professional persona he had around you. you'd wake up inhaling the scent of caramel and feeling his warmth surround you, feeling secure merely in his embrace. it'd be him and you in your own little bubble, unperturbed by the entire world.

wait, caramel? you wondered. where did that come from?

"you're staring again, dumbass," bakugou grunted, not looking up from his book.

"zoned out on the blandest thing i saw, sorry," you replied.

you sat in silence like that for a while. you weren't not exactly sure how it was bonding time for the dinner (were you sharing telepathic waves?), but it was comfortable like a fluffy comforter on a frigid winter day. it felt secure, like a home you never had in your own bedroom. every now and then there was the sound of a page turning from bakugou and a tap on your phone from you, and things never felt so normal. it was too short an eternity for you; before you knew it, you had some event to attend to for your father, solely there for the image of his company.

you didn't see the bittersweet look on bakugou's face as he watched you leave, or how he hadn't even finished a chapter of his book during the hours he'd sat with you. as his eyes followed your disappearing silhouette, bakugou wondered if he'd ever be able to see you like that again.

a foreign giddy feeling filled your chest as you got ready for the dinner with bakugou’s parents. you’d brought a bag for light travel packed with essentials (pyjamas, toothbrushes, and things like that), having planned ahead. you were typically indifferent to gatherings of any kind, having attended so many for your father. besides, this was a favor for bakugou. you weren’t sure why you were being so indecisive choosing an outfit for the dinner, or why your heart felt light as a feather, fluttering about in your rib cage boundless. this was no big deal, you told yourself. it’d only be bakugou and his parents; you’d spoken at gatherings of far more people with less nerves. you penned it down to only being excited for the food which was so coveted by bakugou. his mother, mitsuki, was apparently an outstanding cook (bakugou was apparently good as well), and you had to admit, you missed the heartening scent of homemade dishes. her specialty was spicy curry - your mouth watered at the thought.

yes, you reassured yourself as you walked out of the door and met the fresh, winter air outside, you were only in it for the food. you had an abnormally fast heart rate and a spring to your step (as noted by bakugou) solely for the food.

shizuoka prefecture was two hours away from your hometown, tokyo, and you forced bakugou to drive. the trip didn’t really feel like two hours, anyway, in your opinion. according to bakugou, that was only because you were sleeping the majority of the time and he was stuck with the dull task of driving and only the low hum of the radio to entertain him.

“well, this is it,” you said to bakugou, approaching his parents’ home, bag in hand. it looked quite elegant on the outside, snow thinly blanketing the well-kept greenery in the front. you turned to look at him. his suit looked nicer than usual, on full display because he refused to wear a coat despite the frigid air biting at any bit of bare skin unsheathed on your body. (“just the perks of having a great quirk like mine,” he’d said. you punched his shoulder.) you huddled closer into the warm padding of your coat, watching your white breath dissipate in the air.

“it is,” he belatedly said. his face was atypically solemn, eyes downcast and seemingly lost in thought. you didn’t comment on it. something about the nippy winter air numbed the atmosphere, as if all warmth had subsided only to your coat.

“do i look alright?” you asked him, trying to wipe away any last bits of drool you might’ve had on the corner of your mouth.

“yeah. you look… really nice,” he commented quietly. you didn’t mention that your bulky coat was covering the entirety of your attire. a heavy silence fell over the two of you.

anyway, the mood was quickly relieved by the presence of mitsuki bakugou, who greeted the pair of you at the door with her husband, masaru. bakugou really was a spitting image of his mother, sharing the same spiked blond hair and annoyingly clear skin with her. they also had similarly loud personalities, you observed later on. they’d often bicker with no real malicious intent. they were both much different compared to bakugou’s father, masaru, who was a gentle, soft-spoken man with brown hair and glasses.

mitsuki met you with enthusiasm, eagerly asking you questions about yourself and your relationship with bakugou. it was strange to see bakugou so quiet; though, at some points in the conversation, he looked like he was going to be sick. you didn’t have time to ask him about it, occupied by his mother’s unending but well-meaning questions. you’d expected to fib for most of them, but the truth easily slipped from your tongue. even compliments about him were half-truths.

"when we first met, he was like a fish out of water!" you recounted to mitsuki. "he stumbled on his words and my father didn't approve of him as my bodyguard. but, i pushed through, and here we are! right, katsuki?"

"r-right," he coughed, unable to look you in the eye and fidgeting nervously.

"it amazed me, too," mitsuki admitted. "i'd never seen our katsuki looking so polished before - it used to be a trouble getting him to even wake up at a decent time." she smiled at you. "you've brought a blessing on him."

bakugou cleared his throat. "don't talk about me like i'm not here," he grumbled.

"oh, katsuki," mitsuki cooed, pinching bakugou's cheek. "masaru, let's prepare dinner." she looked at you and bakugou. "the two of you don't need to worry about a thing - oh, you still have your bags! i’ll put them in katsuki’s room."

upon the absence of bakugou’s parents, the two of you sat beside each other without a word.

“are you… feeling alright?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “you don’t look so well.”

“fine,” he grunted. “i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. “not nervous meeting the parents?”

he cracked a small smile, but his fingers still nudged each other in his lap. you touched his shoulder, first in an attempt to comfort him, but soon realized that he was very toasty. you scooted towards him; he stared at you with an surprised, indecipherable expression. you linked his arm with yours and leaned into him, inhaling his cologne and bathing in his warmth.

“what?” you mumbled. “you’re warm.” you intertwined his fingers with yours. “warm,” you happily cooed, eyes slipping shut.

“jesus christ,” bakugou hissed. “you’re freezing. is it humanly possible for your hands to be this cold?” his other hand enveloped your hand (still being held by his), rubbing his thumb soothingly on the heel of your palm. a bubble of warmth fizzed inside you, heart effervescing like a carbonated beverage. he held you long after your hand had passed room temperature, and you sensed that maybe the fuzzy feeling jittering about you wasn’t his quirk. it was like some sort of low fire, crackling deep within you. you hadn’t much time to dwell on the thought when your eyes jolted open, smelling really, really good food wafting from somewhere near.

“look at the lovebugs,” you heard mitsuki murmur, standing in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room leaning on her husband. “dinner’s ready,” she softly said upon noticing your eyes on her.

your eyes widened, looking down at the hand entwined in yours, and you look at the man next to you. bakugou was sound asleep, tranquil slumber having sheathed itself around him. his head leaned against the top of the couch, mouth slightly agape and chest falling rhythmically.

“hey,” you whispered. reluctant to let go of his hand, you used your opposite hand to tap his shoulder lightly. “hey, sleepyhead.”

bakugou groaned, eyes still closed and body unmoving. “five… more… minutes…”

“sure,” you said easier than you expected. you immediately let go of the man’s hand (he reached out toward you blindly at this) and stood up. “i’ll just eat all of that food you've been looking forward to by myself…” mitsuki and masaru looked at you fondly.

“nice try, dumbass,” he said gruffly, standing up and putting a hand on your shoulder. his eyes were lidded with torpor and his voice was an octave deeper. it sent shivers down your spine - you hadn’t ever heard his voice like that - and a part of you wanted to hear it again. sadly, the effects of sleep passed him quite quickly; by the time he’d said “let’s eat, dumbass,” and made his way to the dining room, his voice was back to normal.

dinner consisted of scrumptious-looking (and tasting!) chicken katsu, curry, and even more conversation. your mouth watered as you spooned yourself the perfect ratio of rice, curry, and chicken in one bite. you politely raved to bakugou’s mother about her heavenly cooking, and bakugou never looked so proud or embarrassed in his life. masaru discussed fashion with you, mitsuki occasionally chiming in and offering to show you pictures of young bakugou modelling. you courteously declined for the fear of bakugou’s face getting any redder than it was already.

“y’know, katsuki really wanted to be a pro-hero when he was younger,” mitsuki reminisced. “he even was accepted at that really prestigious hero school, ua.”

you looked at bakugou with questioning eyes, and he shook his head dismissively, hesitant to the topic. you wondered what he was doing here, as your bodyguard, rather than the hero he aspired to be. it wasn’t like he’d be unable to become a sidekick once out of ua, so what happened…?

at the end, you seemed to have gotten the approval of mitsuki and masaru. your heart twisted in pain realizing who you were and why you were here; this was asked of you, nothing real. you pushed the thought away, returning to the dining room after washing your hands.

“oh, my!” mitsuki exclaimed as you entered the dining room. “it’s getting late.” she turned to you. “we don’t have a guest bedroom, so you’ll have to share a room with katsuki, if that’s alright?”

you looked to bakugou, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. “sure, i don’t mind,” you replied.

“i’m sure you’d love to see bakugou’s childhood room.” this brought bakugou abruptly to his senses; his eyes rounded, face looking like a deer caught in headlights.

a smile tweaked your lips. “i’d love to.”

you didn’t know what you were expecting when mitsuki opened the door to bakugou’s room. certainly, though, you were not expecting this. his room was decorated from head to toe with all might merchandise, carefully collected through the years. it could’ve been worse, you admitted to yourself, but bakugou’s interest in all might surprised you. the level of admiration bakugou had for the former symbol of peace was clear, plastered on the wall posters and figurines which dotted his bookshelves.

“of course,” misuki said, “this is all really from his middle school days. he had to move to a dormitory system in high school, and i’m afraid he didn’t take much along with him…”

you tilted your head at bakugou, who’d taken particular interest in the ground with his hand sheepishly on the back of his neck.

“it’s cute,” you reassured him gently.

“though katsuki’s bed is pretty big, we could pull out a futon if you’d like…”

“it’s alright.” shit. why did you say that? noting the bewilderment on bakugou’s face, you added, “we are dating and all…” you mentally smacked yourself for assuming bakugou would be comfortable sleeping in the same bed as you. “yeah,” bakugou said, much to your shock.

“that settles it!” mitsuki smiled. she winked. “don’t stay up too late.”

after mitsuki and masaru bade you goodnight and closed the door behind them, you were left alone with bakugou.

“hey, is that a picture of you?” after looking around the room, your eyes fell on a framed photo sitting on bakugou’s dresser. you reached for it, recognizing a familiar spiky haired blonde boy proudly holding a trophy.

“wait-” the frame was already held in your hands.

“aw, you were such a cute kid.” you teased, “can’t say the same about now.”

he huffed, ears reddening. “there’s a photo album on the bookshelf,” he mumbled, pointing to a thick looking book on his bookshelf. you eagerly plucked it from the shelf, holding it like a precious treasure in your two hands. he shoved his hands into his pockets and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you open the photo album.

the first photo was a baby photo, of course, and you could feel that it was taking every part of bakugou not to rip the book from your hands and scorch it all out of embarrassment. the first few pages were those of baby bakugou, eating food with his hands or playing with his parents. as the book progressed, you watched him develop a quirk (blowing up a vase) and become interested in pro-heroes (clutching an all might doll to his chest with a big smile on his face). the photos became more scarce as bakugou grew, but he seemed to grow happier. paging through photos of him in high school, the man’s gaze seemed to grow softer and fonder. his high school pictures consisted of him either standing in front of the famous ua or making an indifferent face with a group of his friends, who looked vaguely familiar from somewhere. upon further inspection, it dawned on you. you could recognize them all - they were young versions of the pro-heroes red riot, pinky, chargebolt, and cellophane. they regularly appeared on your newsfeed for one heroic deed or another, so it came no surprise to you that they attended the famed ua high.

as for bakugou, though? you couldn’t understand what he was doing there, or rather, here. if he graduated ua, he’d be right on track to become a pro-hero, not a bodyguard.

bakugou already sensed your revelation, shutting the book and putting it down. sitting on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“i know what you’re thinking,” he stated. he took a shaky breath. “i’m- i’m not ready to talk about it.”

“okay,” you replied. “i think… we should get some sleep. you have to drive back tomorrow.”

he snorted. “me?”

you nodded like it was a given.

the night was long, dragging in the same manner that you’d trudge through deep snow with weights on your ankles. it wasn’t that bakugou’s old bed was uncomfortable; it was surprisingly plush. you laid awake, though, as the clock ticked by and the house went silent. you felt as stiff as a wooden board, staring at the dark ceiling and thinking about everything and nothing.

your thoughts first strayed to bakugou’s childhood, and how he’d seemed the poster child for an aspiring pro-hero. how could he have given that up? he had friends, dreams, and a path open to his aspirations. yet somehow his life had deviated into this, pretending to date you for his parents’ sake.

it felt strange to lay in his bed in his parents’ house and not to really call him yours. not that you wanted to call him yours outside of this scenario. definitely not. it was just the guilt gnawing at you that impaired your proper judgement - your conscience felt pity. you pulled off a large lie to bakugou’s parents that you were dating when in reality, you’d never even gone on a proper date with the man; for all you knew, he could be a terrible person. he could have terrible dating manners and leave to the bathroom when the check comes in an attempt to force his date to pay. it was hard to imagine, but hey, you reasoned to yourself, it was a possibility.

“can’t sleep either?” bakugou’s deep voice startled you. you thought he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

“yeah,” you snorted. “and here i thought you were in the habit of always sleeping early,” you referenced his mother’s stories of him in middle and high school. you turned on your side to face the man.

“kinda hard with five different all mights staring at me,” he joked, gesturing to his plethora of all might-themed decorations.

you imitated all might’s larger than life voice. “i am here! … to watch you sleep!”

bakugou first snickered, which then transitioned into a full-blown, unrestrained (yet somewhat hushed) laugh. you couldn’t help but laugh too, watching his features crinkle and gummy smile widen. your heart felt peculiar in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out the feeling. in the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him so relaxed or open. you knew you’d miss moments like this in the morning, when you’d drive back and the deal would be over. it sent a bittersweet pang to your heart - why couldn’t moments like these last forever?

you woke up to find bakugou gone, leaving you alone in the bed with only a warm indentation next to you letting you know he’d just left. you rubbed your eyes groggily, sitting up and pushing the covers aside. you swung your legs over the edge of the bedside, standing up and making the bed once again. you padded out of the all might-furnished room to the kitchen, where you could hear quiet footsteps and the sizzling of a frying pan.

“someone’s finally awake,” bakugou’s husky voice remarked. he was standing at the stovetop, wearing an apron over his nightwear and frying eggs. sleep had worn his voice deeper; you swooned at the domestic sight before you. no, it wasn’t swooning, you told yourself. just… appreciation. you really wanted to make a comment on his muscles, bulging from his short-sleeved shirt.

“that looks really yummy,” you said, in no way whatsoever referencing his biceps and definitely referring to the egg in the pan.

“i’d like to pretend that was an innocent comment, but the direction your eyes are looking at beg to differ,” bakugou deadpanned. you looked away, flushed.

“so, whatcha making?” you said, plopping yourself on a chair.

“eggs, rice, natto, miso,” he said. “but nothing for you until you change and brush your teeth.”

you stuck your tongue out at him. “who are you, my mom?” you continued, “i used to hate natto when i was younger.”

“it’s good for you,” bakugou said, moving the egg onto a plate of steaming rice.

“you sound a lot like my mom,” you replied. “but i like natto now, just not too much of it.”

“i liked natto when i was younger,” bakugou said.

“really? all of my friends hated it. they complained about the smell.” you reminisced about your childhood days, when your biggest worry was whether you had homework or not.

“speaking of smell? your breath. go brush your teeth.”

“wh- i’m so far from you, there’s no way-”

“no hygiene, no food.”

“who even says that?” but you were already out of your chair and heading towards the bathroom.

“oh, by the way,” bakugou said as you were halfway through emptying your plate with rice in your mouth, “what do you want?”

“wha?” you said, chewing the egg-natto-rice mixture in your mouth. “what?”

“the deal,” he said. “before my parents wake up.”

“the deal-?” you racked your mind for any deal you’d made in the recent days, as you weren’t much a gambler, then it hit you. the deal. in an attempt to convince you to pretend to be his date, he’d said he’d do whatever you wanted for a day in exchange. you hadn’t thought about it at all.

“um,” you said intelligently. what did you want? you wanted to spend more time with him, but there would be no way…

“take me ice skating.” he choked on his rice.

“what?”

“i really want to ice skate…” you lied. “i’ve never been.” another lie.

“you want to go ice skating with me?”

“pay for me.” you could’ve paid for yourself. “and, you have terrible dating skills. how are you supposed to get a real partner? consider this beneficial for yourself.”

he blinked, taken aback. “...okay,” he agreed, dumbfounded. you hoped he couldn’t see through you. “when?”

“today, duh.”

by the time you finished your plate, bakugou’s parents had woken up to bid the two of you farewell. hours later, you found yourself at an outdoor ice skating rink in tokyo.

the rink was decorated festively; surrounding trees had been wrapped in golden lights and there was something in the atmosphere which bustled with cheer. those skating were either children or couples, laughing and skating together. you told yourself not to pay too much attention to them, but there was something about the way they looked so happy that made you yearn for the same.

you clumsily clomped toward the entrance of the rink itself, clad in four layers of warm clothing and worn rental skates. cold air nipped at your cheeks and your breath was a snowy white before your eyes. patting your cheeks in an attempt to half hype yourself up and half warm yourself up, you tensely stepped onto the frozen water. clunk. clunk.

“you look like an idiot,” bakugou said as you made your way onto the ice with slow clunks. he was surprisingly cocky about his skating prowess once he’d gotten his skates on, despite his lack of experience on the ice. he was unaffected by the chilly weather, wearing a thin jacket and denim jeans despite the vast majority of other skaters wearing winter coats.

“it’s cold,” you responded. slippery ice beneath your feet, you suddenly felt a great deal less confident in your ice skating abilities. it might as well have been your first time skating, in the eyes of bakugou. you took baby steps on the ice, both hands gripping the side rails while bakugou glided breezily past you.

“c’mon, idiot, loosen up~”

easy for him to say. “i’m- trying,” you gritted out, attempting to copy his fluid motions.

“hey, dumbass, take my hands.” bakugou stopped in front of you, both hands outstretched for you to hold. you looked at him warily, then accepted the offer, his hands replacing the railings.

“don’t hold them that hard,” bakugou said. “i’m not going to drop you. relax.”

you nodded, gulping as you released your death grip on his hands. starting to skate backwards (an incredible feat in your eyes), he slowly guided you along the edge of the rink. you spent most of the time staring at your own feet, trying to keep your balance and rhythm in time with bakugou’s. once you seemed to get the hang of it, he sped up ever so slightly, loosening his grip on your hands.

“just like that,” and his voice was much gentler than you’d ever heard it. you looked up to meet his soft gaze. your heart leapt and he quickly averted his eyes. “um,” he coughed awkwardly. “i think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“okay.” you started to let go of his hands, testing your balance skating without anything to hold onto. in small amounts at first, you start to let go, allowing your strides to become longer and longer. bakugou matched your pace beside you and eventually, the two of you fell into conversation. you’d both forgotten your own words about how this was for him to gain dating experience; it felt too real to be practice.

“the truth is, i was really, really close to becoming a pro-hero,” he confessed, “but i was injured in my third year. i had to take a break for a year or so, but by that time, i was too rusty for the job.”

“but-” you said, almost stumbling on the ice at the revelation, “didn’t you do all that training-?”

he shrugged. “it’s the reality of it,” he said dismissively, a momentary shadow crossing his face. he recomposed. “i’m over it now.”

you had the slight suspicion that his words didn’t ring quite true, but let go of it. still, you couldn’t help but think about all of his all might decor - he must have idolized the man, only to fail at his dream. his room was like a memento to everything he wanted yet couldn’t reach. “you wouldn’t have met me if you hadn’t become a bodyguard,” you said cheerily in an attempt to distract both him and yourself.

“true,” he smiled. then, almost to himself, he added, “i don’t regret that.”

the two of you skated a couple more laps around the rink. conversation faded and your feet became more and more sore after skating for so long. a chill had settled itself onto your bones as the sky tinted in anticipation of the evening to come.

“we should get going now,” bakugou said. “before it gets too cold.”

“yeah-” your phone buzzed in your pocket. “hang on, give me a second.”

it was tanaka, telling you that you had a date scheduled by your father in two hours. it took you a moment, it really did, to remember who you were and what your priorities truly lay.

you made it a point not to tell bakugou what the call was about on the way back. you told him it was about a business deal, and he pretended to buy it. the car ride was desolate, lacking all warmth despite the heater blasting. you felt guilty; why had you lied to bakugou? you and he both knew you were lying about the business deal. was it pity? why had you felt the need to protect him?

you could only amount it to the fact that maybe bakugou was becoming a friend. maybe bakugou was becoming someone you never wanted to hurt. your thoughts were the only thing you could hear over the buzz of the car’s heater. you looked to the sky with imploring eyes as if some cloud on the lavender-tinged atmosphere listened and could provide you an answer.

you weren’t sure if it was the clouds’ doing or some star hiding behind the sun’s light that washed a sense of solemness by the time you returned to meet tanaka at the gates. it was almost enough to make you forget the sad feeling you held whilst looking at bakugou one last time before stepping out of the car to greet your old butler. the feeling was unfathomable to you; in your daze on the ride back, there’d seemingly been no reason for such a feeling to linger in your heart. why had you felt so much guilt, so much sadness for this man you were supposed to be strictly on business relations with?

not that you’d done this, anyway. your business relationship with bakugou ended the minute you agreed to that favour he’d proposed, and was further broken when you ice skated together. you wondered if he felt the same as you, or if things would return to the way they had been after this date tonight. somewhere deep in you hoped it wouldn’t - hoped he wouldn’t forget it all. (“stay here,” you’d told him when you stepped out of the car. his stare was vacant; would he? you weren’t sure why you even asked.)

“tanaka,” you said stiffly. the air was frigid around you (when had the temperature dropped so suddenly?) and a breeze wrapped itself around your legs. an impulse told you to turn back, look at bakugou, and tell him the things you left unsaid - but you didn’t.

“y/n,” he nodded. it was like a wake-up call. this was who you were, truly. your father’s pawn, his company’s pawn. you were a face used for business and nothing more. you traded your feelings for your father’s wealth - that’s who you were.

yet it was the past two days that made you feel more like yourself than ever before. the time spent with bakugou, of all people, made you feel genuinely happy. he made your name feel more like yours than your father’s. it seemed it was he who could only coax this feeling out of you. you, certainly, couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. there was something unlike anything you’d experienced before which bakugou gave you. but you couldn’t let your father down, could you?

“y/n, we must go now,” tanaka urged.

you didn’t look back.

bakugou watched you leave with an inscrutable expression. as soon as you vanished from his sight, he let out a deep sigh and bashed his head on the steering wheel, then rubbed the spot of contact. that would leave a mark.

he wished he could pretend he didn’t know what your sudden meeting was about. he couldn’t. what kind of bodyguard was unaware of his client’s schedule? you were going on a date, on account of your father’s absolutely superb matchmaking skills. he wanted to strangle the bastard.

god, he was an idiot to have gotten his hopes up about you. just like countless other things in his life, you were unattainable. he was constantly in pursuit of the impossible, it felt, yet none of his endeavours’ ends had quite felt like this. it started when he was a child with a newly developed quirk. constant words of praise fluttered around his ears, all applauding his strong quirk and natural intelligence. it continued when he entered school, winning academic and athletic awards for what everyone called his talents. (he remembered looking up the definition of “talent” in a dictionary in his elementary school’s library and being sorely disappointed. no one had seen the hours he’d dedicated to practicing and studying after school - all of that couldn’t amount to what everyone else had called natural talent.)

in doing so - winning all those competitions - he’d somehow earned the approval of all those around him. it was never something he’d wanted or aimed for, but it soon started to fit him like a custom-tailored outfit. somewhere along the way, he started to seek out the approval of others, flaunting his accomplishments to do so. however, as years went by, one thing became apparent: the tactics used on his peers and teachers would never gain his parents’ approval. he so yearned for a tad of his parents’ praise or satisfaction; even an “i’m proud of you, katsuki,” from them would’ve sent katsuki to the stars and back. he never was quite sure, as a youth, how to gain this prize, so to speak. and so, for the sake of his parents, he became stronger and stronger and thus began his journey to attain the first impossibility in his life.

high school, at once, came knocking on his door in the midst of this endless journey. with it came izuku midoriya, the boy katsuki had bullied in middle school. this time, though, it was izuku who was stronger; katsuki had so wanted to atone for all that he’d done to the boy, but it proved something impossible. on the physical level, izuku had already forgiven him and moved on. it wasn’t enough for katsuki, who’d really done nothing to deserve izuku’s kindness. so katsuki set off, trying to truly deserve the boy’s forgiveness and make up for everything he’d done. in katsuki’s mind, there would be nothing he could do that would balance out the weight of his actions to izuku. hence unraveled the second impossibility katsuki set up for himself.

the third impossibility found itself in katsuki’s third year at ua academy. he was working for his parents’ approval and atonement for izuku; this impossibility, though, would send everything crumbling down. impossibles, unlike any math equations covered during his schooling, could not be cancelled out the more brought into the equation. it was perhaps katsuki’s only salvation and lifeline, his passion to become a hero. fate snatched this very possibility from katsuki’s hand, snapping the lifeline and dangling it just out of his reach. all of it was cruel - the sympathetic words spoken from recovery girl’s lips and the weeks katsuki had to sit out of hero training. even worse was how katsuki watch his grade drop from one of the top in the class to only passable in general studies, no longer sharp enough to qualify for a pro-hero. by the time he healed, he was rendered unable to rejoin the hero course. his goal was thrown away easily, becoming another impossibility.

katsuki trained himself physically for a new job. an acquaintance had introduced him to being a bodyguard, and katsuki figured that was close enough to being a hero. not that he particularly enjoyed the notion of waiting on someone’s every beck and call. but through and through his countless impossibilities and misfortunes, he had to move forward. he was tired, so tired - hearing his parents’ disappointed voices on the phone and looking up to see a billboard of the newest top pro-hero, deku. when he foolishly and naively got his hopes up about you, the logical part in him knew it was doomed. he knew that as he stared at you, illuminated by a golden light in your bedroom, it was ill-fated. you were a miracle opening up a new life to him - but miracles weren’t real.

of all the impossibilities in his life, you were the most painful. why was he cursed in such a way? where had the happiness in his life gone, if not with you as you walked away from him? he stared at his suit cuff, suffocated in the stupid attire. he should never have taken this job.

a knock. another knock. three more rapid knocks, and he finally looked up to see your eager face looking at him from the passenger side window. he hastily unlocked the car door with a click.

“finally,” your exasperated voice said to him, tinged in a happy hue that he’s confused by.

“wh-where’s tanaka?” katsuki stuttered. “your date-”

“i did it, bakugou.” you beamed at him. “i refused. i said no.”

“wha-what? you refused what?”

“the date, duh!” you laughed. you grew quiet. “i realized something. i realized that all i want is you, and it’s… it’s about time i start taking control of my life.”

katsuki cracked a smile. a real one, not painful like so many others he’d faked before. “you’re a dumbass, you know that?” and it was endearment, bringing you close to his heart.

maybe fate had decided to bless him. maybe it was all the impossibilities in his life that had cancelled each other out to give him you.

“oh, and by the way,” you said, changing the topic. “i’ve been thinking a lot about it recently. we need to have a rematch for that sorry excuse of a fight we had the other day. i will have an undisputed victory over you.”

“you’re on, moron.”

it was definitely fate that brought katsuki to you.

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst

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