#but at least it's a slightly more serious drawing of them than my previous

[monwillica]

Rooting for cbx!

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe. 🩵 Special thanks to @secretbraintwin for the ko-fi request! 🩵)

~

✨ Also, taking this opportunity to shout out the fact I have a brand-spanking-new author discord! Come be among the first to say hi, make friends, get exclusive story updates, and much more 😉✨

~

In which Tyrus and Astarion try something new in the bedroom. Explicit/18+.

~

It took time, drawing out from Astarion what else he thought about alone. After their first few successful ventures back into sexual intimacy, Tyrus expected him to be excited about trying whatever else he’d been imagining—but Astarion seemed firm on sticking with what worked, when they did occasionally indulge.

That was, until one occasion after they’d already unclothed, when Astarion held Tyrus’s hands with both of his as his lips traveled down Tyrus’s neck. At first they just interlaced fingers, palms pressed together the same way the rest of their limbs and torsos were. But then the pressure increased. 

Astarion was pinning his wrists into the mattress, Tyrus realized.

Before he had time to process the feeling, Astarion’s lips paused. “Does this feel alright?” he whispered in a low, rough voice against Tyrus’s skin, before raising his head. “Holding you . . . down, like this?” His eyes were wide and dilated with arousal, and yet half-hidden by a concerned, furrowed brow.

Tyrus didn’t answer right away—though neither did he pull from Astarion’s grip. He squeezed Astarion’s hands in reassurance while he tried to assess his body, this position, and what, if anything, was happening in his head.

“It feels impractical, I suppose, if you still want to be using your hand for the rest of it,” he nodded down in the direction of Astarion’s erection.

Astarion’s worry faded into amused exasperation. “I’m restraining you, Tyrus. Please be serious.”

“I am,” Tyrus protested, even if he understood what Astarion was truly asking. He wiggled his wrists in Astarion’s grip—then shrugged. “I seem to be fine. Though, I don’t understand: why do it?” 

Even in the midst of asking, Tyrus watched how Astarion’s eyes slid away, his shoulders hunching up and his hands pulling out of Tyrus’s. Embarrassed about the answer—no, ashamed, Tyrus quickly gauged.

He managed to catch one of Astarion’s hands before it went far, at least. Then gave it a quick squeeze, pulling Astarion’s arm forward while he propped himself up on one elbow. 

“I don’t have to understand,” Tyrus corrected himself, before pressing a small kiss against the other man’s knuckles and then moving their hands back to the previous position. “If it’s something you wanted to try, I don’t think I’ll mind.”

Astarion blew out a breath. “You’re right that it’s a bit impractical to do for long, love, especially with just my hands,” he sighed around a small half-smile.

Tyrus did feel something then—a small swoop in his belly. Uncertainty, at the thought of something besides Astarion’s hands.

He was a mage of great power, well capable of defending himself, free of a master’s influence, and currently alone with the person he trusted most in this entire world. Still, the thought of allowing rope or worse, cuffs around his wrists, in a sexual context no less, after the experiences of his first winter ball . . .

If he did ever try such a thing willingly, Tyrus already knew he would feel more vulnerable than he ever could with a thousand Dark Justiciars at his back.

He blinked, realizing Astarion was watching his reaction with sharp, inquisitive eyes. Tyrus had no idea what expression had taken over his face, but tried now to give a reassuring smile. “You could . . . hold them with one hand?” he offered, moving Astarion’s hand then to meet both of his own in between them. 

Astarion’s pale face colored, ever-so-slightly, and Tyrus felt some satisfaction knowing it was thanks to him twice over. “Well. Perhaps the delicate shape of those wrists are good for something besides fancy spellcasting,” Astarion said—very careful in starting to wrap his forefinger and thumb around Tyrus’s wrists, despite the flippancy of his tone.

It didn’t mean much to Tyrus, at first, as Astarion used his free hand to spread more oil on his erection and then in the intimate crease of Tyrus’s inner legs. It was the same as what they’d done the last two times before, save he was left to watch and stay pliant while Astarion slung Tyrus’s legs over his free arm, then slot his cock into the tight seam of Tyrus’s thighs.

Then Astarion moved Tyrus’s captured wrists up, past his chest and face—holding them down into the pillow just above Tyrus’s head.

Tyrus felt another swoop in his belly as Astarion went back to kissing at his neck and nipping his earlobe, holding him so securely and confined while his hips moved. This time the feeling was harder to define: still uncertainty, but something more complicated, too.

Strangely, it was easier to just focus on tactile sensation instead—Tyrus was only half-hard at the moment, but whenever the head of Astarion’s cock rubbed just so against the slippery oiled skin behind his balls, he could feel arousal tightening in his groin. This time even more so, considering Tyrus could do nothing with himself at the moment but lie there and feel.

Astarion’s words were his only distraction, though they fueled Tyrus’s arousal in a different way; murmuring things like, “I have all of you now, don’t I?” and “Taking it so beautifully, darling,” and “All mine,” as he began moving faster.

Tyrus hadn’t bothered having an orgasm since their last night before Cazador’s death. Now he could feel his body building up to something like one, with the combination of feeling Astarion so enthusiastic and aroused above him, the perineum massage from Astarion’s cock spreading a deep, pulsing pleasure within him, and the inability to do anything but take it with his hands pinned above him.

“Astarion,” Tyrus gasped after a few minutes, though he was too overwhelmed to say more. To even translate what he was feeling into words and needs, even as he felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Astarion quickly came to a stop. “Too much?” he murmured in Tyrus’s ear, the ring of his fingers loosening around Tyrus’s wrists.

Tyrus shook his head. “Just . . . just, so much,” he sighed, before instinctively making what little movement he still could: undulating his hips against Astarion’s cock snug between them. 

Astarion sucked in a hitched breath at the feeling. “Gods, you’ll be the death of me,” he half-groaned, half-laughed, before holding Tyrus tight and moving his hips again.

It was a deeper, slower build up than Tyrus was used to, his cock leaking over and over despite the fact it hadn't grown full mast. All of this felt so contradictory—being so helpless, yet so entirely taken care of. And when the pleasure did come to a peak, it was all-consuming and yet left him just as aroused as before.

“Astarion, please,” Tyrus begged after that point in a high, breathless voice, still unsure what he was asking for. “Please, please.”

Clarification apparently wasn’t needed. A dark fire lit up in Astarion’s eyes at Tyrus’s words—he thrust sharp and fast, eased further by the mess Tyrus had made, then let out a desperate moan as he found his own release.

He barely had to do more than touch Tyrus’s leaking erection, afterward, before Tyrus joined for an uncanny second time.

This time, Tyrus did feel his body come down from it, though his mind was left both a bit floaty and confused. Nowhere close to the overwhelm and devastation of his first few experiences with sex—though maybe it would have descended into that, if not for how carefully Astarion treated him once it was over. 

After cleaning their bodies quickly with Prestidigitation, he slowly released Tyrus’s wrists, bringing them up to massage and kiss one by one. “You did so well, love,” he murmured while smoothing Tyrus’s hair, pressing his lips to the corners of Tyrus's drying eyes, positioning Tyrus's legs more comfortably when Tyrus didn’t have the frame of mind to do it for himself.

Next, Astarion used the same spell to warm the huge, knitted blanket Cynda had given them and cocooned it around the both of them, pulling Tyrus at last into his arms. Stroking a hand up and down Tyrus’s spine, kissing the crown of his head, before whispering, “Thank you.”

Tyrus’s thoughts had slowly, gently cleared through the process—and though his mind still felt a bit tender after such a strangely intense experience, he also felt a wonderful, blossoming warmth in his chest, more lovely than any of the previous sensations combined.

“I trust you,” he said back in a soft voice, smiling when Astarion’s arms squeezed around him just a bit tighter in response.

-

Later, he leaned back and said, “So . . . you like hearing me say, ‘Please,’ hm?” 

He couldn’t help but giggle when Astarion only huffed, buried his face abashedly in Tyrus’s hair, and made no answer.

[cattatonically]

The Dragon Experiment - Louisa Masters (Here Be Dragons, book 3)

Synopsis

Who knew sleeping around could save the entire species?

I’m a simple dragon. Give me knowledge, give me research, give me rings for my hoard, and give me athletic men who want to get sweaty between the sheets… or anywhere else. Those things make me happy. Other things… well, who cares about those?

Turns out, I should have cared. Or at least paid attention. Because I somehow signed up for a scientific study run by a shy, nerdy sorcerer with the body of a god. And the study just happens to be about my favorite form of exercise.

It doesn’t take long for me to know I want to do more than science with Rhys. I’ve never been the kind of dragon to mix feelings with fun, but Rhys could be the one person who meets all my needs, even if he won’t wear a ring on every finger.

But when his research becomes more important than any of us could have imagined, our relationship enters a new phase. Now it’s up to me to show Rhys how much he’s worth… both to me and to the future of his species.

My Thoughts

I really wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from Fabian, what with the brief encounters we’ve had of him in the first two books. But I can’t honestly say he is about exactly what I expected.

Fabian is passionate about research, and history. To the point where he gets distracted by his trains of thought very easily, and often finds himself not paying attention to important details, or outright forgetting them. Which leads him to very promptly forget signing up for a study conducted by Dr. Rhys Griffiths. How does one forget they consent – with a signature! – to a be a participant in a scientific study? By being distracted by pretty rings.

Rhys is incredibly serious, and entirely devoted to his research. He wants to improve the overall health of his community, and this study could help him achieve those goals. But he was not prepared for Fabian, who comes (back) into his life rather like a tornado.

Even when the stakes of Rhys’ research prove to be higher than he initially anticipated, Fabian is by his side, determined to figure out the puzzle, and resolve the situation.

Rhys and Fabian could not be more opposite, but that draws them together. They grow to care deeply for each other – to fall for each other – and they balance each other out. (Balance seems to be a very key theme in this series, and in the previous series as well.) They have a few rocky moments that they work through, and a few nosy friends and loved ones who intervene maybe a bit too much. But it goes to show that they each have a support network in their side that care for them, and their wellbeing.

In the end, despite the slightly higher tension of this book, it was still a very lovely, low-angst, romantic read. I enjoyed getting to know Fabian more, and being introduced to Rhys. The larger the dragon family grows, the more content they all seem to be. And there are few things that make me happier than a happy, healthy found family.

[hollandsmushroom]

What about doing the same thing to the reader like your last blurb but instead of push ups she's doing squats?

Mother Fucking Squats || T.H.

this is a sequel to Mouth Fucking Pushups(one of your guys' favorites it appears lmao)

Warnings: Smut 18+, mentions of fellatio, explicit descriptions of cunnilingus

Word Count: 1,641

You and Tom often worked out together, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and in fact it was an activity that the both of you enjoyed greatly, loving pushing each other and encouraging each other to do one more rep. There were times that the company had its downfalls, it was when his muscles looked too good underneath his shirt, much like that night a couple weeks ago when you had ended up on the floor beneath him with his dick buried deep in your throat as he did push ups, really the devolution into sex was the only downfall(if you could even call it that).

It was a beautiful Sunday and you and Tom were in your home gym, both dressed in your workout clothing which was alway something so alluring, Tom’s shorts accentuating his thighs and his tight spandex shirt showing every ridge of muscle that you wanted nothing more than to drag your teeth over, to lick the sweet sweat from his body as held his body above yours. Your mind flicking back to that night a couple weeks ago, the thought tempting you to drop your kettle bell and slide beneath Tom once again but he looked so determined, watching himself in the mirrored wall to maintain his proper form, or at least that what you thought Tom was doing, that's what it looked like to you.

In reality, Tom was watching your reflection, the way that the fabric of your legging stretched around your body as you hinged downwards into a squat, drawing your kettle bell up to your chest and letting it strike softly at the valley of your sternum, the only thing that Tom would think about was being the weight against your chest, pressing heated kisses between the mounds of your breasts, your skin sweet under his mouth. He could feel himself getting hard, the temptation for your body to be flush with his overwhelming to a point of no longer being able to fight it, dropping the dumbbell softly on the padded floor and pushing himself up into a standing position, walking over to you on his toes, careful to not make a noise louder than the music that was ringing through the room. The rounds of your ass looked so alluring to his chocolate eyes, the temptation to sink his teeth into the tensed muscle something that he had to actively fight, instead he opted to get in a position much like the one that you had been in a couple weeks ago, placing himself between your spread legs, looking up at your crotch.

“Tom, what the fuck are you doing?” you asked, stopping your movements, bending over and resting your weight on the ground, looking him in the eye, noticing the devilish glint that danced in his tree ring colored irises.

“Watching the show” his voice was playful but it was clear he was dead serious and had no intention of moving, he was going to stay there and watch how your body moved over his face, the smell of your cunt reaching his nose, enhanced by your exercise heated state, he was loving it.

“You are such a fucking boy” you giggled, returning to your work out, dipping lower so your ass was closer to Tom’s face, temptation getting the better of him as his poked your cheek.

“Correction, I am a boy who fucks” his voice was sultry, the poke turning into a full as grab before you pushed back up to a standing position, your breath having left your chest when Tom grabbed your ass so harshly.

“Are you gonna let me work out or are you gonna distract me” his hand was still on your ass, dipping down with you, following your motions.

“Haven’t decided yet” you didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smiling at you cheekily, his signature smirk that made you weak in the knees, and if you became weak in the knees now you would collapse on his face, maybe that is what he wanted. You continued going along with your squats, thighs tiring slightly as you exerted yourself. It was only about a minute later that Tom gives in, his hand that had stayed on your ass for the past minute gripping in, tugging down at the fabric until your ass was on full show, your movements having ceased as he worked to make you bare.

“Tom” you whimpered as he blew cool air on your bare cunt, dripping already from having watched him work out.

“Mhm, baby” Tom sighed, his hand running up your thigh, the side of his hand nestled in the pit between your inner thigh and your cunt, thumb dipping between your wet folds and softly tracing them, running across the ridges. “So wet,” he stopped, retracting his hand from your pussy and bringing his thumb to his lips, pressing onto his tongue and smearing your arousal across his tongue. “So sweet”

“Fuck Tommy!” your knees were shaking and he hadn't even really touched you yet, his hand was coming back up your leg but it stopped at your knee, breaking the brace you had been held in and forcing you to fall onto your knees, your cunt now hovering directly above his face.

“Reminds me of a couple weeks ago” he spoke purposefully breathy, the air fanning lightly across your hyper sensitive cunt, drawing a long plantiful whimper from your throat, your hands falling between your spread legs and raking their way through Tom’s sweaty curls, tugging from the root. You pulled so harshly his head came off the floor, forcefully burying him in your cunt, a groan escaping from his chest and vibrating through your core, an inadvertent delivery of stimulation to your clit, your back arching and head throwing back in a moan.

“Fuck fuck fuck” the cries of pleasure left your lips rapidly as his tongue snaked past his pleasure coated lips and beginning to lap at your clit, flexing his tongue as it flicked underneath the hood of your clit, savoring the way your body jolted every time he did. His arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling your as close to his face as possible, your lips spreading on his cheeks as he started to rock his head into you. His tongue left your clit, licking a hot stripe from the bundle of nerves to your entrance were he began to circle the clenched hole with his talented muscle, dipping into you and lapping up into you, his head moving with every thrust of his tongue, nose rocking against your engorged clit. It felt like heaven, there was no other way to put the sensation into words, it felt amazing and like pure euphoria.

Tom groaned something into your cunt but he was so deep in you that you couldn’t make out what he was saying, not that you would have been able to fully comprehend it even if you had, you were too lost in the dizzying amounts of pleasure that was running up your spine and winding tight in your belly.

“Oh Tom, fuck oh fuck, Tommy” You cried, your body falling forward and forcing your hands from his hair, bracing yourself on the floor, finger nails leaving crescent in the padding as your gripped into it. Your hips began to inadvertently grind against his face, riding it like you would his cock. The added pressure of your new position shoved his nose harder against your clit, the notch of his incorrectly set bone burning with friction against you as his tongue curled into your g-spot. Your toes curled with pleasure as your head fell forward, looking down to where Tom was buried and the sight of him, he messy hair and the arousal slickening your thighs and his cheeks sent you, the coil in your stomach snapping as you came on Tom’s tongue, hips stuttering against his face as you ceased ability to move, your whole body tensing as a cry of ecstasy left your lips. Tom carried you through your high, not letting up on his movement until you were shaking above him, your thighs quaking around his head as your moans turned to soft whimpers. He raised his hands, gripping your hips gently and pulling you from his face and helping you lay down next to him, your eyes meeting his for the first time since you had been doing squats, his face glistening with your cum.

“That was a great post workout snack” Tom mumbled as his fingers dragged across your cheeks, gathering the rest of your cum and arousal on his fingers before pushing them between his lips and sucking them clean, not wanting any of your sweetness to go to waist.

“That was a great workout,” you sighed, your thighs shaking as you curled into his side.

“I'm sure it was, you were really working it against my face, my nose hurts” he joked, raising his hand up and playfully rubbing at it as if it was sore.

“Oh shut up” you groaned, swatting his chest as you buried your face in his neck, hiding from his teasing eyes.

“Hey hey, no none of that, I am just teasing” he mumbled, his fingers catching your chin and pulling your face from hiding, his eyes softened from their previous playful mirth. “I love you” the words came out as a whisper and your heart was pounding, it was not a new phrase to be exchanged between the two of you but it still made you glow to hear him say it.

“I love you too, Tommy” you pecked his lips, tasting hints of yourself in his mouth. You pulled back, your tone shifting to one similar to Tom’s previous teasing one “You give good head, how could I not love you”

♡Taglist♡

@iluvdeja @quaksonhehe @lovehollandy12 @thollandneedy @prancerrparkerr @parkerpeter24 @hollandsour @spidey-sophie @thehumanistsdiary @itscaminow @marvelsbitch8 @kasidy409 @parkerdarling @scarletspideyy @capital-koreasofia @marvelhasmyheart235 @hackerholland @tom-softie @hollandsjen @tomhollandsbitch8 @bi-lmg07 @reawritesthings @tomsholland2412 @lowkey-holland @cocoamoonmalfoy @tomhollandlol @roseobx

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[kaeyasaki]

📹 — :; “face-to-face” GQ interview

-> inspired by the “face-to-face, A$AP rocky answers 18 from rihanna | GQ interview”, except i make the questions a little more personal because i don’t think anyone cares what gojo’s ‘fav curse word is’

-> ft :; gojo satoru

-> interview writing layout heavily inspired by @rintaroll

y/n: hey GQ! i’m here to do face-to-face with my co worker, gojo!

gojo: coworker? is that all i am to you?

y/n: be grateful i even acknowledged you.

gojo: you wound me.

y/n: yet you’re still smiling.

gojo flashes a playful frown to the camera as y/n roll their eyes before pulling out a stack on cards.

y/n: so first question, what’s the hardest part about working with me?

gojo: everything.

y/n: i’m serious.

gojo: and so am i, you make it hard for me to work with you because we never get anything done.

y/n: don’t make it sound like it’s my fault! we never get anything done because you get too distracted and drag me into it!

gojo: maybe you should discipline me more...

he teases and sends you a wink to which you dismiss quickly.

y/n: you’re a grown man, you shouldn’t need me to discipline you.

gojo: what if i want you to?

y/n: would you just answer the question seriously or i’ll really start to think you don’t think we work well together!

gojo: okay, i was kidding... you’re actually a pretty good teammate when we’re sent on missions together, i have fun with you... maybe a little too much fun...

y/n: don’t give them the wrong idea we’re nothing like that!

you cringe at him as he laughs before the camera cuts moving onto the next question

y/n: okay, second question, answer seriously from now on, got it?

gojo: anything for you~

y/n: you disgust me... anyway, how well would you say you take care of yourself?

gojo: you mean like... self care wise?

y/n: yeah, like self care!

gojo: hmm well, i’d say i take care of myself pretty well, after all, pampered men are attractive men right?

y/n: i mean sure, i think it’s attractive when a man takes care of himself but if that mans you... maybe not so much.

gojo: you don’t mean that! you must be somewhat attracted to me.

y/n: can’t say i am no.

gojo: lying is a sin you know.

y/n: you’re totally straying away from my initial question.

you groan and face the camera and gojo tilts his head and laughs.

gojo: sorry, well, i’d say i clearly look after myself very well which should be to your liking.

y/n: you’ll never be to my liking, but it’s nice to hear you take care of yourself well and that you’re not just an annoying man, but rather an annoying but hygienic man.

gojo: you’re so horrible to m-

the camera cuts as you start laughing and gojo starts whining.

y/n: we’re getting through these quickly now let’s keep it that way.

gojo: you know, we’d be half done by now if you stopped insulting me every chance you get.

y/n: i’m the quizzer, you’re the answerer, you answer when spoken to.

gojo turns to face the grinning camera crew behind the cameras on set.

gojo: now do you see what i have to put up with! i’m a victim i’m telling you!

camera man: no no, keep it up, you guys have nice chemistry

y/n: chemistry? not to be rude but you must’ve failed science, the only clear dialogue between us is practically conversation between an adult and child.

the camera crew laugh and gojo feigns offence before you clear your throat and look at the next card.

y/n: anyways, when was the first time you were majorly recognised as ‘famous’?

gojo: ah, a long time ago i need to think, give me a sec.

you pretend to yawn as gojo thinks about his answer before smiling at you.

gojo: my second year i think. that’s when i really started getting noticed for my talent.

y/n: practically a star since birth i see, how do you do it?

gojo laughs at your sarcasm as you grin back, evenly matched banter between the two of you flowing on set.

gojo: i’m handsome and gifted, i was made for this kinda life, it all comes naturally to me.

y/n: you know what doesn’t come naturally to you though?

gojo: hm?

y/n: that dress sense.

gojo: what’s wrong with my outfit?

y/n: bland, basic, and the way you chose itadori’s uniform was just straight up ugly!

gojo: he liked it!

y/n: the poor boy probably didn’t have the heart to express his disgust to your face.

gojo: well, until he does i’m gonna believe he likes it and my dress sense is more than up to standard.

y/n: if that’s what helps you sleep at night i guess...

the camera cuts with the two of you playfully bickering with each other, any previous speculation of hostility now gone as it’s clear for watchers to see just how your dynamic together works.

y/n: question four! what’s the first thing you notice in a person?

gojo: in general or when analysing to an extent?

y/n: in generals fine.

gojo: hm i would say looks, but i don’t wanna look too shallow on camera.

y/n: they would’ve just recorded you saying that. don’t be shocked if you’re trending on twitter later for it.

gojo: it’s fine, as long as i’m trending who cares what it’s about.

y/n: i can see the headlines already... ‘gojo satoru, top sorcerer, favoured teacher at jujutsu high and big narcissist’

you smile smugly at the man as he laughs along with you with the camera crew from behind.

gojo: yeah yeah whatever you say, but if i had to answer honestly, i’d say what energy they give off. i don’t let it bother me too much, but i’d say i’m pretty good at judging what someone’s like based off of what energy they’re giving out.

y/n: i’m shocked, that’s a pretty good answer... for you anyway.

gojo: i try my best for you.

y/n: mhm sure, keep that attitude next time we’re working together and maybe we’ll finish jobs quicker.

gojo snickers and smiles gently at you, his direction is no longer faced towards the camera, but rather solely directed at you as you clear your throat.

y/n: yeah anyway, good answer. that might just get you uncancelled.

gojo: i haven’t even been cancelled yet don’t speak it into existence!

y/n: i’ll ‘try my best for you’

you’re both smiling softly at each other after you mock one of gojo’s previous replies, there’s no speech cut off as a comfortable silence rests for a moment as the scene cuts.

y/n: okay, i want genuine answers only.

gojo: that’s what i’ve been giving you from the start!

you jokingly narrow your eyes at him before looking down at the next card.

y/n: well okay then, so, what was the first thing you noticed about me when we first met?

gojo: unusually bold question from you.

y/n: just shut up and answer, i was recommended to ask this.

gojo: sure, sure.

y/n: would you please just answer so we can get this over with?

gojo sighs dramatically and sits up properly and nods.

gojo: naturally, for anyone else i would say energy but for you, ah, i think it was your pretty face.

y/n: shut up, i said genuine answers only.

gojo: i am being genuine! aren’t i allowed to call you pretty?

y/n: you aren’t allowed to answer falsely, serious answers please.

gojo: you make me sound like i’m down bad, honestly, you’re very attractive to me, your energy was just a bonus, i’m serious, stop doubting yourself so much.

he smiles your way, not playfully nor forced, it’s a soft and genuine smile to calm your nerves, it’s a sign of truthfulness on his end. before you answer he clears his throat, slight hurry in his voice.

gojo: -of course, we were younger back then, since then you’ve gotten wrinkles and is that a few grey hairs i see? you also slouch-

y/n: -okay okay you can stop!

the two of you laugh as you gently kick his chair, the fact you’re being recorded and being watched by a whole camera crew totally forgotten about.

y/n: okay, last question finally!

gojo: admit you had fun with me.

y/n: i see you everyday, today was nothing special.

gojo: you wouldn’t say we’ve bonded more over this interview?

y/n: you’re still as irritating as before this interview so no.

you grin and gojo scoffs before shuffling in his chair a little before a sly smile draws across his face.

gojo: go on then, last question.

y/n: would you sl-

gojo: go on, ask it, we’re waiting.

gojo is leaning on the palm of his hand, teasing smile playing on his lips and y/n stares at the card in disbelief.

y/n: you definitely wrote this! i would never ask this! there’s been a mistake with the cards or something

camera man: ah no, they’re all the questions that were on your form you sent in prior to the interview, these are the questions you apparently wanted to be asked. sorry, you’ll have to make do.

y/n: i’m not asking that.

gojo: come on now, don’t upset your supportive fans.

y/n: i know you wrote this, you’re so infuriating!

you glare at him but not with complete hostility, the situation slightly humorous to you despite your protests.

gojo: i mean well.

gojo shrugs as you sigh and stare at the card before speaking.

y/n: fine then have it your way. would you... would you sleep with me?

gojo: how brave! asking me on camera in the middle of an interview! how could i dare say no!

gojo is laughing along with the camera crew as you fight back a smile, refusing to admit his interference was entertaining.

y/n: at least take me out for dinner first.

gojo: now you’re asking me to take you out? you’re really bold today aren’t you!

y/n: oh shut up! i didn’t mean it like that! this is totally your fault it’s awkward now.

you’re grinning at this point not caring that your flirtatious banter with gojo is being recorded and is soon to be edited and posted for the world to see.

gojo: i mean, i’m free tomorrow if that’s good with you?

y/n: what? no, i- this wasn’t even a serious question shut up!

gojo: i’ll shut up if you let me take you out... and maybe then i’ll sleep with you after if that’s your request.

y/n: i can’t stand you!

gojo: but you do everyday, that must count for something right?

y/n: i hate you.

gojo: quite the contrary, i’m sure i’ll get you to admit that by tomorrow though.

y/n: ...i’ll be waiting on it then.

the two of you are smiling at each other, laughter dying down as you once again softly kick gojo’s chair. he pays no mind to it as a moment of fondness occurs, viewers clearly able to see the evident bond between the two of you.

y/n: okay well... that concludes our face-to-face, GQ interview, thanks for watching and putting up with him!

gojo: maybe we’ll come back to do an interview about our date after i take you out, who knows, maybe i’ll get to ask you to rate me in bed!

y/n: gross. you sound like a fifteen year old boy.

gojo: am i at least a hot one?

y/n: i refuse to catch a case.

gojo cackles as you laugh too, the camera fades out with the scene of the two of you softly smiling at each other as the interview concludes.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 7

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, pining, Din in suspenders, fluff Summary: Din takes a job with his old crew, and you and the kid wait for him on Arvala-7. Notes: Sorry this took me forever!

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After you left the atmosphere of Tatooine and jumped into hyperspace, Din swiveled his chair around to face you in the copilot’s seat.

“I should take a job. Everything we made went to Peli, and I don’t like being low on credits. There’s a crew I used to run with...I can reach out to them...” he hesitated then added, “but you and the kid can’t come with me.”

“What do you mean I can’t come with you?”

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “I mean, I don’t trust them enough for you and the kid to come.”

“If you don’t trust them, wouldn’t it be better to have backup?”

“I just—,” he looked away, “I don’t want them to know either of you exist.”

“If you don’t trust them, should you be taking a job with them?”

“We don’t have a lot of options.”

“I could get work somewhere. We could go somewhere safe enough for a few weeks. There are some places where I have contacts, and non-bounty hunting work is usually less conspicuous.”

“I don’t think we should stay anywhere that long right now.”

“But—”

“I’ll feel better if you and the kid are safe together.”

“I—”

When he bowed his head in a silent appeal, your determination crumbled.

“Ugh, fine.”

He sighed in relief, reaching out to rest his hand on your knee briefly. His touch was reassuring.

“But, just so you know, this is only going to work once, so don’t think that my staying back with the kid is going to be a regular thing.”

He removed his hand and turned back around to face the viewport.

“I am taking your silence as tacit agreement,” you said to the back of his helmet.

He chose to ignore that, fiddling with the controls instead.

***

Now that you’d both admitted you wanted to stay together, abandoning the pretense of strategy and convenience all together, things were a little off between you and Din. Neither of you were used to being vulnerable, so conversations were slightly stunted again. You found yourself being overly polite, and Din was doing the same.

That first night back on the Crest, he offered you his bunk.

“I’m not taking your bed. You need it to take off your helmet.”

Besides the unshakable lingering chill of the hull, sleeping there wasn’t that bad. You usually slept with every sweater you owned on and that kept you warm enough.

“Use it when I’m not. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor.”

“Sure, thanks,” you agreed, knowing you’d never take him up on that. You didn’t want to be on a different sleep schedule than he and the kid.

You did try to nap with the kid in Din’s bunk the next day because there wasn’t all that much to do in hyperspace. As soon as you lay down, though, you knew it was a mistake. First of all, it was crazy uncomfortable (somehow not better than the literal floor and the close walls made it slightly claustrophobic), and second—and far more importantly—it smelled overwhelmingly like Din. It smelled like his pine-y soap and beskar and blaster residue and leather and whatever else made up his infuriatingly good scent. It conjured images of crackling fires and golden skin and warm embraces and taut muscles.

Shit.

There was no chance you were going to be able to fall sleep when all you could think about was him.

The kid, on the other hand, was snoozing contentedly beside you. When you’d fully given up on napping, you edged your way out the bunk carefully, doing your best not to wake him.

Din was sitting in the hull on a long crate against the wall, cleaning his blaster, the pieces spread out next to him. Usually, when you were in the hull at the same time, you’d find a place across from him. Instead, you purposefully sat next to him, drawing your knees up to your chest and leaning against the wall.

You decided you were going to push through this awkward phase and make things not weird right there, right then. And you were going to do that the best way you knew how.

He tilted his helmet toward you momentarily then refocused on the blaster in his hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he said, running a rag along the barrel.

“How does one develop a catchphrase? Does it happen organically or is there an iterative brainstorming process?”

Din paused, sighing dramatically, set his blaster and the rag down next to him, and pushed himself back until he was also leaning against the metal wall. His helmet clunked slightly as he relaxed it back. “This is the way is not a catchphrase. It’s a tenet of the Creed.”

“And ‘I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold’ is also a tenet of the Creed?”

He lolled his helmet to the side, looking down at you. “Okay, fine, that one isn’t,” he conceded.

“So you admit it—you have at least one catchphrase that you regularly use on bounties.” You smirked up at him.

Without missing a beat, Din fixed you with that unreadable visor and quipped: “I’ve been told I have a sexy voice. I’m just giving the people what they want.”

Your jaw dropped, a shocked laugh echoing through the hull. You had planned on teasing him and had not expected him to turn it around on you so smoothly.

“Uh... I was sort of hoping we’d stick to our unspoken agreement to not bring up the stupid things I said when I was drunk.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, definitely not.”

You looked back up. “Alright, well then in the name of fairness, we’re going to have to get you really drunk the next time the opportunity presents itself, so we can see what embarrassing things you say.”

He paused for a moment, considering, then said, “Does that mean you’ll carry me home?”

You cracked a smile, nodding vigorously. “Of course. That would only be fair.”

A warm laugh rasped through the modulator. You crossed your ankles in front of you, letting your knee rest against the cold beskar on this thigh.

“I feel skeptical of that promise.” He dropped a gloved hand to your knee.

“Okay, okay I can’t promise to carry you home, but I can promise to tie your shoe if needed.”

“My boots don’t have laces.” He lifted a foot off the ground to show you.

You shrugged playfully: “Well, that’s not my fault.”

“This doesn’t sound like a very good deal for me. I tied your shoe and carried you home.”

“To be fair, both were against my will.”

“But necessary.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, okay, I can’t carry you, and I can’t tie your shoe... so I’ll...,” you bit your lip as you fished around for something else to offer, “...hold your hand? And not let anyone tickle you.”

He huffed and rubbed his thumb over your knee: “I’m not ticklish.”

You pursed your lips. “Right, sure, of course not. My mistake.”

He harrumphed. “Can I ask you something now?”

“I’ll allow it,” you intoned seriously.

“Where are you actually from?”

“Naboo. Most of my back story was true—I just left out the one major detail.”

“Your favorite color?” he deadpanned.

You laughed. “Yes, exactly. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Aq Vetina.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

“When my parents died there, I was rescued by the Mandalorians and raised in the Fighting Corps.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, placing your hand over his and squeezing gently. “That sounds like a tough life for a child.”

“It was all I knew,” he explained, shifting slightly.

“Still, that can’t have been easy. It makes sense that you couldn’t leave the kid.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, solemnly. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Less serious question,” you replied, changing the subject to something lighter.

“Okay.” He relaxed a little.

“Why don’t you ever use a straw to drink with your helmet on?”

“These are the things you think about?” he laughed. His laugh was usually a quiet, muffled sound through the modulator, but it was getting easier to pick up on it. “There’s a seal on the helmet, otherwise the filters wouldn’t work,” he tapped the release on the side of his head. “So a straw isn’t a possibility, unfortunately.”

“Mmm,” you responded, “that is disappointing.”

He gripped your thigh lightly, turning toward you. “I, uh, heard back about the job... while you were asleep. It’s a go.”

“Ah... great. I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t hear back.”

“I know. It will be fine.”

“Okay... So, any ideas for where the kid and I should stay?”

To your surprise, Din explained that he had a trusted friend on Arvala-7. When you agreed to the plan, he disappeared to the cockpit to set the nav—a two-day trip.

***

That same evening, you discovered a new favorite activity on the Crest. Before bed, the kid was being particularly fussy, so you pulled out your data pad and downloaded the first children’s book you could find. It worked liked a charm.

From then on, it became a daily routine: you’d read to him until his eyelids drooped before his nap and before bedtime. Regardless of his mood, listening to you read seemed to soothe him. You’d pull him into your lap and settle onto your stack of blankets against the wall. He’d watch your face, enraptured, as you relayed story after story to him. His favorite—the story that elicited the most chirps and grabby motions and ear wiggles—centered on a family of frogs. You revisited that one at least once a day, sometimes more if he was grouchy.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his hyperfixation on that particular story given his appetite for frogs.

At this rate, your digital library was going to be largely children’s books. You didn’t mind.

You noticed that Din would find something to do in the hull while you read. The first couple times, he sat and cleaned one of his many weapons or sewed a hole in his flight suit. Very quickly, he stopped bothering with an ostensible task and would just sit and listen.

When you were still 15 hours out from Arvala-7, Din was seated on his usual crate in the hull, the one next to the weapons cabinet, as you finished the final page of a particularly thrilling story about a snail. The kid was snoring softly in your arms, so you clicked off your datapad, and got up to settle him in his hammock for his mid-day nap.

“You’re good with him.” Din was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I guess,” you shrugged, snapping the door to Din’s bunk shut and turning back to him. “I just think about what I liked as a kid. I loved when my parents would read to me.”

He nodded, helmet trained on the floor between his boots.

“I’m sorry—” you started, realizing how that must have sounded to Din.

He looked up and cut you off. “Don’t be. It’s nice for him to have some normal kid experiences.”

“You know what he’d really love?”

“What?”

“If you read to him.”

He dipped his helmet slightly in acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders back at the same time like he was uncomfortable agreeing with that.

Several hours later, you pulled Din down next to you in your normal pre-bedtime story time spot. He had the kid in his arms. You switched on your datapad and toggled through the catalog of books you’d downloaded, all of which had colorful covers and silly, whimsical titles, until you found the frog book.

“Here,” you offered, passing it over to him.

You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, listening to Din’s serious, even voice narrate the heartwarming hijinks of a family of frogs. The kid cooed and babbled along.

To your (and the kid’s) utter delight, Din’s rendition slowly evolved into a full-on dramatic reading, complete with sound effects and slightly different voices for each character, as he leaned into whatever prompted the most enthusiastic responses from the kid. You kept your eyes closed and said nothing, worried that if you drew attention to this new development, he’d get self-conscious and stop. You couldn’t help from smiling a little though.

When the story came to its conclusion, you opened your eyes. Din was scrolling through the library of options, browsing for the next book. “What do you think? Which one next?” You looked at him, but he wasn’t asking you. The kid let out a string of gibberish, pointing with a teeny finger. Din read out the titles of several options, selecting the one that triggered the most animated trill.

As Din began the story, he shifted until his body was flush with yours. The places where his beskar made contact with you were cold, even through the fabric of your clothes, but you didn’t mind.

By the time Din finished the second book, the kid was displaying the telltale signs—drooping ears and unfocused eyes—that bedtime had arrived.

Din handed you the datapad and stood to tuck the kid into bed.

As he shut the door to his bunk, you said, “I think you just put me out of a job.”

He scoffed, but you could tell he was pleased.

***

As you got more comfortable around each other, Din took to walking around without his armor—beside his helmet—on. Most of the time, he’d even leave his gloves off. He wore either a flight suit that zipped up the middle or a black shirt and pants...with suspenders. The first few times, it was jarring to see him like that, without his armor. He looked wrong. It was like seeing a turtle without its shell... but if turtles were sexy.

The first time he emerged from his bunk with the suspenders hanging loosely by his sides, you stopped dead, mouth hanging open. He tilted his helmet sharply at you: “What?”

“You sometimes wear suspenders under your armor?”

“...Yes?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you and the goofy grin that spread across your face.

“What?” he prompted again, shoulders pulling up toward his neck.

“I just really wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed.

“What were you expecting?” The playful note in his voice left you flustered. He took a step closer, much more relaxed now that he was the one doing the teasing. He was getting too good at flipping things on you.

Instead of answering—because you were not about to address the fact that you had absolutely thought about what he wore under his armor—you strode up to him and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. He stood uncomfortably still, arms hanging awkwardly by his sides.

“What are you doing?” He looked down at his shirt then back up at you.

“I just want to get the full picture.” You looked him up and down.

“Thought about this a lot, have you?” He quirked his helmet down at you suggestively. It was only the second time you’d gotten that particular flavor of head tilt, and you...didn’t hate it. It made your neck feel hot. You disregarded the intense desire to grab him by the suspenders and jerk him toward you.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes at him, enjoying this new bold flirtation. Without looking away from his visor, you hooked a finger through one of the suspenders and pulled it out a couple inches, letting it snap back against him.

“Ow.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that it obviously hadn’t hurt, but for dramatic effect, he rubbed the spot on his chest where it hit him.

“You’ll survive,” you assured him, patting his shoulder and brushing past him to climb the ladder to the cockpit. When you sat down in the pilot’s seat and kicked your feet up to rest on the console, you still had a smile on your face.

***

A few hours later, you were seated in the copilot seat with the child held tightly in your lap as the Razor Crest descended through the atmosphere of Arvala-7. On the way, Din shared how he’d met this friend—he had helped Din when he was originally tracking down the child months ago.

However, when you asked what his friend’s name was, Din said he didn’t know. Honestly, you weren’t even that surprised. Just exasperated.

Din told you the details of when he tracked down the child, including the assassin droid he'd crossed paths with. He explained how he’d teamed up with IG-11, but in the end, he had to destroy the droid to protect the kid. The anger in his voice was raw when he described watching IG-11 point his blaster at the child.

As the dusty, cracked surface of the planet came into view, you asked, “Is that what caused your thing with droids?”

“What thing?”

“Din.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Droids destroyed my home planet, killed my parents. They’re the reason I was a foundling as a child.”

His words washed over you, and your heart dropped. You leaned forward in your seat to put a hand on his shoulder. He stayed perfectly still, helmet trained on the controls in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded stiffly and reached up to squeeze your hand briefly.

“We’re about to land.”

You took that as a cue to drop the subject for now.

***

You and Din, the kid in his arms, approached a small collection of low structures. You swept your eyes across the uniform landscape—all was dry and sienna and flat. The Ugnaught’s homestead was the only sign of habitation in sight. The buildings were brown and domed, and windmills creaked slowly in the warm breeze. Three blurrgs in a large corral watched you balefully.

“Mandalorian!” the Ugnaught greeted, emerging from the door of his low home.

“Ugnaught,” Din replied with a nod.

“I did not think I would see you here again. What business brings you back to Arvala-7?”

“I was hoping that my friends could stay with you for a couple nights—I’ll pay you for the lodging.”

Of course he'd refer to me and a literal infant as his "friends."

You introduced yourself, offering your hand.

The Ugnaught bowed his head slightly as he clasped your hand: “It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Kuill.”

At least Din knows his name now.

Kuill turned back to Din. “The child remains in your care,” he observed.

“Yes,” said Din, offering no explanation. He set the child down on the ground, and he toddled his way slowly over to Kuill.

Kuill scooped up the baby, and he chirruped happily, reaching toward his whiskery mustache.

“It hasn’t grown much.”

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast.”

You shot Din a skeptical look. He’d never shared this particular theory of his with you.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly,” mused Kuill.

You raised your eyebrows at the frankness of his statement. He is not ugly.

“Your friends are welcome to stay with me. No payment will be necessary. I have spoken.” Kuill turned and headed back inside without so much as a backward glance.

“I insist,” Din said to his back.

Kuill disappeared into his home.

Din turned to you: “He does that. Just ends a conversation like that.”

“I understand why the two of you get along so well. Men of few words.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Din nodded, reinforcing your point inadvertently.

You and Din stepped closer to each other at the same time. For the first time, you let the concern you were feeling color your features.

“I’ll be back in three days, if not sooner.”

He was padding his timeline in response to the worry that was etched across your face. You knew Din could defend himself—that wasn’t your fear. It was that, whether he liked to admit it or not, he occasionally let trust blind him. The irony of that wasn’t lost on you, considering how long it had taken for him to trust you. This was the trademark paradox of Din. He was loath to fully let people in, but he had a tendency to take people at face value and assume they would keep their word—because he always kept his word. He had a surprisingly generous worldview for someone with such a violent profession and brutal past.

Din reached down to grab something small that was tucked in his belt—the metal ball from one of the controls in the cockpit that the kid loved to play with. He occasionally pretended to be irritated whenever he wanted to play with it, but you knew he found it endearing.

He handed it to you. “He’ll want that.”

You smiled and nodded, looking at the sphere in your palm. Din raised a hand to your chin and tilted your face back up to his.

Do we... hug? He doesn’t seem like a hugger.

So instead, you offered, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he promised. He stayed there for a moment longer, looking at you and rubbing his thumb along your cheek. Before you could decide if you should also try to hug him, he turned abruptly to walk back to the Crest.

You stayed and watched him as he walked the distance back to the ship and disappeared up the ramp. You stayed and watched as the Razor Crest rumbled to life and took off. You stayed and watched as it ascended through the atmosphere and vanished from view.

***

It was a relief to be off the ship for a few days—even if Arvala-7 wasn’t exactly your ideal planet. It would be a treat to eat real food, instead of shelf-stable ration packs, and to have more than the limited space of the ship to move around in... not to mention an actual bed.

Kuill was a kind and welcoming host. He offered you his spare room, where you placed your things, and you sat down for tea together in his small kitchen.

“How did you come to be in the company of the Mandalorian and the child?”

“I guess he has a soft spot for people who are wanted by the Empire?” you chuckled, and Kuill nodded somberly. “Now, we’re just helping each other out.” You weren’t really sure how else to explain it.

Kuill didn’t press you anymore than that, nodding sagely. Instead, while you sipped your tea with the kid on your lap, he told you about his background—decades of indentured servitude to the Empire before he worked off his debt and bought his freedom—in the solemn, frugal way that was clearly characteristic of the Ugnaught. You understood why Din trusted him: he was forthright, calm, wise.

“What can I help you with while I’m here?” you asked, already anxious to find something to occupy your time.

“You are my guest. You do not need to do any work.”

“I would be happy to,” you insisted. “I would rather be busy. I can help with cleaning or repairs—whatever you need. My formal training was in programming, but I’ve picked up general skills along the way.”

Kuill nodded and said, “Come.”

He turned and walked out of his house. You set down your tea on the table and followed him, the child tucked in the crook of your elbow, happily clutching the silver ball. Kuill stopped in front of the workstation that was a short distance from his doorway. Tools and wiring and various speeder parts were arranged on and around a long workbench and a collection of smaller tables and shelves. The circular backdrop of the workbench was the repurposed window of a TIE fighter.

An assassin droid was laid across the tabletop.

“Is this the droid that Mando shot?”

“I believe so, yes. It was left behind, in the Mandalorian’s wake of destruction. I found it lying where it fell—devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remains of its neural harness. Reconstruction will be quite difficult.”

“What are your plans for it?”

“To convert it from an assassin droid to something more useful: a protocol and nurse droid.”

You nodded. “Handy.”

“I will have to reconstruct the neural harness, and then it will have to relearn every function from scratch. It will be a blank slate on which to program something nurturing instead of destructive. You may help me restore him if you would like.”

“Of course.”

The two of you got to work.

***

That night, when you lay down to sleep, you tossed and turned. The child was snuggled in a makeshift crib next to your bed. You found yourself sitting up periodically to check on him. Every time you checked on him, he was sleeping soundly.

Eventually, you slipped out of your bed, tiptoed quietly through the house, and walked out into the cold, clear night. You walked aimlessly for a while, circling the corral of blurrgs. They were asleep, eyes shut tight, standing in a close clump. Then you turned to head out across the open plain and watch the stars through the thin veil of clouds that dusted the sky.

You were starting to regret that you hadn’t pushed harder to go with Din. He was with a whole team of people who sounded untrustworthy at best, malicious at worst. You couldn’t help but think of all the things you should have said to him before he left. You hadn’t even hugged him.

It was freaking you out a little just how attached you were to a man who you’d known for a couple months.

You walked until the chill of the night air became too much, then turned back.

In the morning, you sat at Kuill’s kitchen table again, feeding the child. Kuill moved around the small food prep area, pulling together breakfast and making tea.

You followed Kuill as he went about his daily jobs, caring for the blurrgs, doing routine maintenance, and continuing the work on IG-11.

You were sweating in the sun, hands covered in grease, concentrating on refitting a damaged arm joint when Kuill’s calm voice brought you out of your train of thought.

“It is curious that the Mandalorian elected to keep the child.”

You looked up at him. “He secretly has a soft heart,” you said, smiling to yourself.

“Yes, that much is clear, but he is also set in his beliefs, and this choice went against the Guild Code. What is curious is that such a small being could inspire a change of heart in such a rigid person.”

You considered his words.

“I... think he was just waiting to find a greater purpose than hunting, to find someone to love, you know? It comes naturally to him, but I don’t think he’d ever had the chance.”

Kuill hummed thoughtfully. “Is that not what we are all doing—looking for a greater purpose?”

“I guess?” You shrugged.

“And have you?”

“Have I what?” you asked, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead.

“Have you found the greater purpose you were looking for?”

You considered for a moment then said, “Well... I found a purpose a long time ago, when I joined the Alliance, and since then, I’ve been too busy trying to escape the wrath of the Empire to really think about what’s next in the larger sense... Staying alive has been the main priority.”

Kuill hummed again, glancing over at the kid. “You weren’t looking for something greater, but it appears to have found you.”

“I...,” you started. You watched the child, who was siting on the hard ground admiring the silver ball clutched in his hand. “I’m not sure.”

“I have spoken,” said Kuill, bowing his head, and he lapsed back into silence.

You watched the kid as he dropped the ball and staggered to his feet, squealing excitedly as he chased a lizard that darted past him. You wondered where Din was at this exact moment, and your heart squeezed in a familiar way.

***

The second night was much like the first. You walked outside for some time, thinking of all the awful things that could be happening to Din.

What if they turn on him?

What if another hunter finds him?

What if he doesn’t come back?

It wasn't a crazy thought. You were used to people not coming back.

Until that moment, you hadn't considered that you'd be the sole guardian of the kid if Din didn't return. For a split second, you felt the crushing weight of responsibility for the life and safety and happiness of the tiny green child that Din must feel at all times.

Eventually you fell into a fitful sleep, waking early, and the day dawned bright and cold. As the sun climbed, the chill rapidly dissipated, making way for a dry heat that seemed to be the only weather condition on Arvala-7.

You spent the morning helping Kuill continue the repairs on IG-11. You did your best to not count the hours that slipped by. He’d said it could take three days, so there was no reason to be concerned yet.

But... did he mean he would return ON the third day? Or the fourth day?

And for that matter... did the day he left count as day one? Or was yesterday day one?

Did he mean seventy-two hours from the time he left? Or that he’d be back at the start of the third day?

How did I not clarify this before he left??

That evening, you were in deep in discussion about artificial intelligence when Kuill said, “I believe your Mandalorian has returned to you.” He pointed behind you, and you whipped around to see the Crest touching down in a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Will you—?” you asked, turning back to Kuill.

“I will watch the child.” He seemed vaguely amused by your enthusiasm.

You sprang to your feet and walked as fast as you could toward the Crest. You briefly considered running, but that felt dramatic. He’d only been gone a couple days.

Why did he land so fucking far away?

You’d made it about half the distance when the ramp of the Crest finally began to lower with a hiss. Your resolve snapped, and you started to jog. Din descended the ramp, and you were so relieved to see him that you weren’t even embarrassed anymore that you were literally running to him.

Din cocked his head—a curious head tilt—when he saw you sprinting at him across the dusty ground. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

“Are you—?” he started to say as you crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He barely budged upon impact.

His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he pulled you tight against him.

Well, if he wasn’t a hugger before, he is now.

“I’m okay,” he reassured you.

“Good,” you said into the fabric bunched around his neck.

After a moment, you released him and stepped back, the steadying weight of his hands remaining on your arms. He looked like he was in one piece, but the slight heaviness in his shoulders told you that the job had taken a toll on him.

“I, uh, missed you too,” he said, a little awkwardly.

You smiled at him and took his gloved hand in yours to walk back towards Kuill’s home. You felt slightly giddy that you were casually holding the Mandalorian’s hand. He seemed taken by it too, his helmet tilted down to where your fingers were intertwined.

“The kid?” he asked, looking up to your face.

“He’s good. Misses you, I think. Ate several frogs. And one lizard. The usual. He is disgusting,” you laughed.

Din made a sound that you would almost swear was a snort. “Yeah, he is,” he agreed fondly.

Kuill was waiting outside his home, the child in his arms. When you and Din were close, Kuill set him down, and the baby tottered over to wrap his tiny arms around Din’s calf.

You watched as Din bent stiffly, slowly to pick up the kid.

“You’re hurt,” you realized.

“I'm fine,” he said.

You felt sure that wasn’t true, but you let it be for the moment.

“Thank you,” Din addressed Kuill. He reached into the pouch of his belt for credits.

“I will not accept payment,” Kuill insisted, shaking his head. “In fact, your friend here helped me make great progress on my current project.” Kuill raised his eyebrows at you.

“Very well,” Din acquiesced.

You gathered your things and said your thank yous and goodbyes, returning to the Crest, which—with a jolt—you realized was already starting to feel like home.

***

Chapter 8

***

Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @bookloverfilmoholic @elinedjarin @eury-dice3 @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi @jagi-yaaa @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @tuskens-mando @spideysimpossiblegirl @theflightytemptressadventure @ubri812 @zoemariefit

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[wheezyandchesterwrite]

Daydreams and Tickles ~ Ruby Martinez

Summary: You get distracted while Ruby rambles. 

Word count: 3.3k

Pairing: Ruby Martinez x Fem!Latina!Reader

Warnings: Tickling, Kissing, Suggestive dialogue (Innuendos, dirty jokes, etc) If we missed something let us know!

A/N: Hiya, it’s been a while, we are going to try to post at least a monthly one shot, but won’t make any promises. Hope you all that read this enjoy this!

You were awoken by the sound of notifications going off loudly. You stirred around on your bed, trying to ignore the cacophony of dings your phone kept emitting. Groggily, you made a mental note to silence your phone from now on. When you could finally look at the screen without it blinding you, you scrolled through the seemingly endless string of texts Ruby had sent to the group chat, “The Gnomies”. Yes, Jamal came up with it. Yes, everyone tried to change it, but he just kept changing it back so they gave up. You groaned as you read the messages. ‘Be here at one on the dot,’ the last message read, ‘mandatory meeting’. That was less than half an hour from now. Lazily getting out of bed, you started getting ready. After brushing your teeth and making your hair look somewhat presentable, you threw together an outfit that resembled a picture you had seen on Pinterest after looking up ‘grunge aesthetic’. You liked trying out different styles constantly, feeling like every single one of them suited you, but none of them could get you to commit to them for more than a month. Satisfied with the way you looked, you left your room, grabbed your keys and skateboard, and started to skate your way to Ruby’s house. Midway, though, you decided to take a detour and get some food—junk food, to be precise—knowing that you would not be able to handle a hyperactive Ruben on an empty stomach.

You left the joint with two bags full of food, hoping bribery would get you out of being lectured by Ruby about punctuality. You balanced the bags on both hands like a scale as you focused on not falling from your board on the way there. Making the last turn to Ruby’s house, you miscalculated the speed you were going at and had to hop off the board, letting it crash against the curb. Though you fell on your ass, you made sure to hold the food up keeping it safe and sound. Holding both bags in one hand, you retrieved your skateboard and walked up to the door, but it flung open before you could even think about knocking. Ruby stood on the other side with a scowl. You smiled sheepishly, extending one of the bags to him. 

“You’re very late! Did you get me fries with that? Also where are the others?!" Ruby said all in one breath.

"First of all, I know I'm late, but I'm sorry to inform you that you are not more important than food.” Ruby scowled and was about to protest, but you kept speaking before he could utter a word. “Secondly, yes, I did get you fries, you impatient goblin. I mean, what do you take me for? A monster?” You pretended to be offended, but Ruby simply looked annoyed by the dramatic display. “Just know that when I win my first Oscar I will not be thanking you, Ruben.”

“Yeah, yeah if you say so—also don’t call me that. Can you get to the most important question now?”

“Damn, someone hasn’t had their daily handy.” You laughed in astonishment, amused by how much irritation Ruby had in him.

“Seriously, Y/N, this is serious!” His voice raised an octave, causing it to crack, and you had to bite back a laugh.

“A la jaula, bestia, a la jaula,” you began, laughter causing your words to come out like wheezes. Ruby spared you one death stare, and you somehow found your composure. “Look, I have no idea where everyone else is. I, honestly, thought everyone was already here and that you were waiting on me.”

“So, you thought they were here and didn’t think to bring them food?” Ruby questioned.

“Do I look like I have enough money to feed todos esos trogloditas? I brought you food with hopes of getting out of the ‘Punctuality Lecture’, but seeing as they aren’t here, guess that spares me.” You dropped the skate on the entryway, pushing past Ruby to sit on the couch.

“And here I was beginning to think you favored me from the rest.” Ruby sighed with disappointment before raising his voice dramatically. “When in reality, it was just BRIBERY!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking once more as he fake sobbed while clutching the food. You clapped as you opened your food, ready to dig in.

“Damn, man, I better watch out, otherwise you’re probably going to win that Oscar before me,” you said as you began stuffing your face.

“Are you calling me dramatic?” He placed his free hand over his heart.

“Oh, without a shadow of a doubt, now sit down and eat.” With your fork, you pointed at him then towards the couch. Instead of sitting, he started pacing around the coffee table, and you watched him as you munched on your sandwich and fries. He stopped for a second to place his bag of food down, yet he didn’t sit down to eat it. He kept going around the small table at a pace too quick for your eyes to keep up without feeling dizzy. “Wow, man, slow down. Me mareas con tus vueltitas.” He only huffed. “Ruben, seriously, I did not buy that for you to let it go to waste. At least breathe and stress eat.” He whipped around at the mention of his full name.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he reminded you exasperatedly. “Anyway, I can’t eat right now. I have many thoughts whirring in my brain, and it’s making me sick. Do you know why I called you guys here? Well, if you’re here, you must have read the messages—” Ruby was rambling on and didn’t even stop in between sentences to take a breath so you cut him off. 

“RUBEN!” He ceased all movement so abruptly that a skid mark could’ve possibly been seen in the spot where he stopped. “Could you get to the point,, please? You’re making my head hurt.” You completely ignored his previous statement and pressed the tips of your fingers to your temples. Rolling his eyes at you he sat on the other end of the couch and took his food out. After a few angry munches, he turned to face you, the grease of the food that was plastered on his mouth drawing your attention to his lips. 

“Alright, since the others aren’t here yet, I’ll just start telling you my new ideas for income.” He stopped eating and started chattering and chattering and chattering… 

You don’t know when it happened, but at some point, he stood up and began pacing around the living room again. You stopped listening about half an hour into his ramble, zoning out and staring blankly at him. Your mind got the best of you, and you started to remember why you liked Ruby. What brought this on? You didn’t know. Maybe it was how much passion he put into his pointless arguments, or maybe even that you found it totally adorable that he was practically unable to lie because he would start sweating like a pig on a stick. Maybe it was the way he smiled at you, the tendency he had to correct everything you said matter-of-factly, or maybe it was his dangerously absurd perfectionism. It could be one of his many qualities, good or bad, you didn’t care. Your eyes trailed to his lips once more. They were so full and pink it was hard not to stare—slightly chapped too, but that wasn’t a problem to you. You imagined running your thumb over them, pulling them close to yours and then just crashing them together. Your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of you and Ruby making out. It wasn’t an uncommon thought of yours, seeing as you’ve been dreaming about it happening almost every night since you discovered what hormones could do. 

There was always Cesar, you thought. He was the “face” of the group after all, but that got to his brain sometimes. Nothing more dangerous than a cholo who’s aware of his good looks. You grimaced slightly. Cesar’s ego was one of the many reasons why you never developed an emotional nor carnal liking to the boy. You’d rather leave him to Monse, plus you wouldn’t dream of getting caught in the middle of their toxic and manipulative games. But that’s beside the point. You were abruptly brought back to reality by Ruby waving his hands in front of your face, occasionally snapping his fingers. Shaking your head to shake out the thoughts, you noticed Ruby was now standing on top of the coffee table, being careful not to step on either of your foods.

“PAY ATTENTION TO ME, (Y/N)!” Ruby whined. You held back a chuckle at how funny he looked. His small body barely added to the coffee table’s weight. Deciding to play it cool, you shrugged nonchalantly.

“What’s your fuzz? I am listening to you. Have been for the past hour and a half.” 

Ruby squinted his eyes at you. “No, you weren’t. I know that face. You were very deep in your thoughts. What’s going on in that pretty, little head of yours?” You freaked internally. 

He’s onto us, you told yourself. “Yes, I am onto you, (Y/N), that’s why I asked. Keep up.” He looked at you like you were stupid. Wait how did he—Can he read my mind?  Blink twice if you can read my mind. Ruby blinked twice, and you felt like a rock dropped in your stomach.

“Oh shit,” you whispered under your breath.

“Before you throw up on my couch, I’ll have you know I can’t read your mind. You were just speaking out loud.” You threw yourself backwards unto the couch, grabbing a pillow to cover your face. After making a mental note to slam your head against the nearest wall later, you decided you were not going to make a further fool of yourself. 

“I wasn’t not paying attention; I was just—”

“I am the king of bad excuses, babe, so spare me your lies.” You blushed at the nickname and prayed he wouldn’t notice. “Now since there is obviously something more important on your mind, speak,” he demanded. 

You weighed your options. You could either try to lie and hope he’d let you off the hook, which was not likely, or you could tell him the truth and risk your friendship being awkward from now on if he didn’t feel the same way—and with your luck he most likely didn’t. A few more silent seconds passed before Ruby spoke once more, “Don’t make me take drastic measures on you, (Y/N). I will have no mercy.” He eyed you with determination. You scoffed in disbelief.

“What could you possibly do to torture me, Ruben?” You mocked him, stretching out his name. Ruby smirked.

“Oh, you’ve done it now.” He jumped from the coffee table, landing on top of you and successfully pinning you to the sofa. You giggled and tried to get away from his grip, but it was surprisingly strong. Ruby chuckled at your failed attempts to break free. “Now, you’re going to tell me what I want to know, or else,” he brought his lips close to your ears, “you’ll pay for it with your melodious laughter.” Your eyes widened in realization as his words sank in.

“No, not the tickles,” you begged him playfully. He nodded while mischievously smirking. 

“One last chance, are you gonna talk?” You shook your head.

“In your dreams,” you defied. 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” In seconds, his hands went to your sides and laughter erupted from your throat in loud cackles.

“Stop, Ruby—Stop!” you tried to articulate between laughs. He shook his head no.

“Not until I get what I want.” He said between laughs as well, since in retaliation, you had managed to start tickling him as well. The sound of his own laughter mixed with yours was like music to your ears.

“N—Never!” You still mutinied. His fingers only increased their pace and not in ways you’d like. Your stomach was starting to hurt and you were running out of breath, leaving you with just one option. Well, it was now or never. 

“I WAS THINKING ABOUT KISSING YOU,” you blurted; his movements ceased, “I have been since we were in middle school.” You closed your eyes, concentrating on catching your breath. Ruby released you and got off of you, running his hands through his hair in deep thought. You sat up and covered your face with your hands. “This is going to be so awkward now,” you muttered through your hands but it came out like an incoherent jumble of sounds. You moved your hands to sneak a peek at Ruby. Your muffled words didn’t even faze him.

“Ruby?” You looked over at him. His eyes met yours, and he struggled to bite back a laugh. Great, you thought, he thinks I’m a joke now. 

“About time.” He grumbled and sighed.

“What?” You were very confused. What could he possibly mean by that?

 “I said ‘about damn time,’ (Y/N).” His suppressed laughs turned to a shy grin. Still confused as ever, you tried your best to gather your thoughts and form a coherent sentence.

“Wait, YOU KNEW?” You felt sick to your stomach now. All this time, you thought you had been successful at keeping your feelings hidden and sealed away, but now it turns out even he knew.

“Well, yeah, I’ve known for a couple of months now.” He shrugged it off as if it were obvious. 

“Months?!” This was unbelievable. You abruptly stood up and faced him, hands on your hips. “So, you’ve known for months and you didn’t think for one second to tell me? At least, have the decency to confront me, damn it.” You found yourself feeling dumbfounded, feeling toyed with. Ruby reached out to you, holding on to your forearm and pulling you back to sit on the couch. You let him.

“Cesar and Jamal implied it once during one of our guy’s nights, and ever since then, I kind of started paying more attention. Ergo, leading me to the conclusion that you liked me,” he explained. “If it makes you feel any better, the clues to your feelings were very subtle so, I would have probably never noticed if it hadn’t been brought up.” Ruby was trying his best to cheer you up, but you still felt extremely embarrassed by the fact that your secret crush wasn’t so secret. 

“Why would they even bring that up, in the first place?” you questioned, annoyed.

“Well, I may or may not have made a comment about how I thought I was starting to develop feelings for you and the guys just jumped on that and told me that you liked me too,” Ruby admitted shyly, rubbing his neck awkwardly. 

“So, if you like me back, then why didn’t you say anything or make a move when you figured out I actually felt the same way?” You felt bad for interrogating him like that, but you were in dire need of answers.

“I just didn’t know how to bring it up, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have known how to say I liked you back without, probably, choking on my own saliva.” He chuckled lowly, afraid that if he laughed too loud, he’d set you off again. “You know I’ve never been good with the ladies, (Y/N).” You grimaced at the memory of all of Ruby’s failed love attempts. 

“Well, you already knew I liked you—it was a matter of saying three words, eight letters,, and I would’ve been yours months ago.” You pushed his shoulder playfully, the anxiety and embarrassment you had felt washing of and making room for the still-settling realization of having confessed your feelings. Ruby leaned back into you, your legs brushing, causing you to take notice of your proximity. Your hands fell upon each other’s, and you looked up to meet his eyes. You started leaning in, maintaining eye contact as you got closer.

“Ruby,” you started, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t think, act,” he said as he grabbed the back of your neck, crashing your lips together. All your late night fantasies crashed at once, the real thing surpassing each and every one of them. Kissing Ruby felt like a kaleidoscope of butterflies got loose in your stomach—it felt like your heart alone was running a marathon. Kissing Ruby was soft and messy, your lack of experience shining through-. Ruby kept pressing himself to you, making sure there was absolutely no space between you. You had to resort to lying down, pulling Ruby on top of you, not once breaking the kiss. Due to the new position, one of his hands made its way to rest on your waist and the other cupped your cheek. Your hands around his neck were pulling him impossibly closer, and in that moment, your body felt like it was exploding with fireworks, warm all over. You didn’t break away until you needed to  breathe, a goofy smile plastering itself on your face. Ruby held the same expression as you as he looked down at you. As you started leaning in for another kiss, the door burst open. You pushed Ruby off of you, causing Ruby to fall on the ground with a thud. 

“Uh, what’s going on here?” Jamal asked.

“Told you guys it would work.” Cesar had the biggest, cockiest smirk on his face. You and Ruby shared a confused look and stared back at the very late rest of the crew.

“Yep, just like you said. A couple of hours alone, and they were all over each other.” Monse said, trying her best to refrain from laughing.

“I think our little man, Ruby, just popped his cherry.” Cesar wiggled his eyebrows. Monse’s eyes widened and she broke down laughing. 

Irritated enough, you finally spoke up, “Slow your roll, Little Spooky, we’re not like you and Monse.” You shot at him defensively, and Monse choked on her laughter. “No offense,” you added, not wanting to stir up any drama.

“None taken,” Cesar assured. Ruby got off the ground and reclaimed his seat beside you.

Leaning over, he whispered, “Why can’t we be like them?”

“Keep it in your damn pants, Ruben.” You nudged his side and he raised his hands in surrender.  

In retaliation, though, Cesar sat between you and Ruby. You shared a look of annoyance before Cesar asked, “Are you going to finish that?” referring to the forgotten leftover cluttering the small table. 

“Go crazy.”

“Suit yourself,” you and Ruby at the same time.

As Cesar dug in Jamal spoke up, “Can we just skip to the part where Ruby yells at us for being late and starts talking non-stop?” 

“No, man, not today.” Everyone looked bewildered. “Cesar why don’t you take that home? Yes, okay, bye,” Ruby dismissed him.

“Wait, woah, the hell man?” Cesar questioned as Ruby used all his might to get him off the couch. 

“You can all come back tomorrow, on time, and we’ll talk about my idea.” He said shooing them all away. 

“Are you freaking serious?” Monse got angry quickly.

“Hey, not my fault you decided to play cupid and be late on purpose.” Cesar, Jamal, and Monse shared looks of pride at Ruby’s statement. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some wasted time to make up for with my new girlfriend so, bye!” 

“Whatever you say, man,” Cesar said as he opened the door with one hand, the leftovers in the other. When Jamal and Monse were outside he said, “Just remember sin gorrito no hay fiesta.” He immediately shut the door after himself, but that didn’t stop Ruby and you from yelling after him.

“Fuck off, Cesar!” You both yelled with smiles on your faces as you looked at each other. With everyone else gone, Ruby cupped your cheek once more and tenderly kissed you until you had to head back home. That night you slept peacefully, no longer having to dream and wonder about how kissing Ruby would feel like.

Taglist: @steveisherdaddy  @apotatoinabigfield @xlostinobsessionsx @izjustafaze @yourlocalwhitemanwhore​

[supremeinlilac]

Into the light (I'll hold you)

Pairing: Coven!Cordelia Goode x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Slow dancing in the greenhouse.

Word Count: 2557

Warnings: Self doubt, angst.

A/n: Canon divergent, H*nk doesn't exist and Delia's acid attack never happened, although she has still had the Sight previously. Was saving this fic but fuck it, I'm posting it now😌

Halloween.

The night of eerie suspense and the lingering sense of being watched. You enjoyed the days festivities when you were younger, skipping excitedly door to door under a white sheet with your friends.

This Halloween would be your second at Miss Robichaux’s, the first you’d all gone out to a party and got a little too drunk, returning to an irritated Ms Goode. It had been the first time you’d kissed her, and she’d rejected you because of the state you’d been in.

Still, it was the night that had started the path of your relationship with the headmistress.

You loved Halloween.

This year, Fiona Goode, reigning Supreme, returned to the academy. You were instantly weary of her, due to the fact Delia never liked to bring her mother up in conversation of her past. When you’d overheard her telling your girlfriend that she was wasted potential in the school, a prickle of icy anger called the hair at the nape of your neck to stand rigid.

You and the rest of the witches had decided to stay in, watch films and play games. It wasn’t often that everyone could get together to celebrate an evening where witches were celebrated, so they wanted to make the most of the friendly atmosphere that surrounded them. It never lasted long in the coven.

Fiona went out to a bar, her witches hat crooked atop her head and you found yourself glaring at her as she left. The woman alit a flame inside you, one that easily spread and engulfed your powers, fire licking hotly at the tips of your fingers and threatened to overpower you.

Cordelia had stayed behind with you, much to her mother protest, to have a quiet night while the rest of the hubbub would be concentrated in the living room. You were both wrong to think that there’d be no disturbances.

The shattering of glass fractured the silence in your shared room with Cordelia. She’d been braiding your hair, an intimacy that the pair of you rarely found time to do together. She hummed the song you were sung as a child, a habit that she’d picked up in your time at the coven, the action now second nature. It no longer only served to soothe you, but now it brought her comfort too.

Her fingers stilled in your hair, head snapping to the door. You heard a couple of loud thuds and shouts, and then her hand was clutching yours protectively.

“Hey Cordelia?” You heard Queenie shout up the stairs, “you best look outside.”

She was off the bed like it had burned her, drawing the curtains back to show the slow advance of the people outside. You heard her shaky inhale, before she fisted her hands in her trousers and turned to you.

“It’s just the locals. Playing tricks on us, you know how Madison likes to irritate them the rest of the year. Lord knows we’re not the best neighbours,” her face looked serious but the waver in her voice betrayed her. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than you.

It had been a blur after that, shouting and running, and Cordelia slipped out of your grasp. You’d been fighting, had a kitchen knife pressed into your hand by, Zoe, maybe? No. It had been one of the other girls.

They wouldn’t die, those zombies, if that’s even what they were. You’d slashed at a part of them that they shouldn’t have been able to get back up from. Yet it did, limbs flailing and reaching spindly towards you.

Knocked to the ground, you think you must have passed out. But not before you’d seen Cordelia trying to defend the house, eyes furious and scared and dark.

You remembered the purr of the chainsaw, the splatter of blood. The silence that hung after.

The next day you found Cordelia sat at her usual bench in the greenhouse, frows furrowed in concentration as she mixed ingredients with the gentle crack of test tubes and vials. You could see the anguish behind hooded eyes, it was clear that she’d been restless last night, down here long past when everyone else slept.

You had seen her from your window as you’d been drawing the curtains the night before, standing over the pile of haphazardly thrown bodies of the zombies. You weren’t sure how long she’d spent there, not wanting to disturb her until now.

She’d also been absent at both breakfast and dinner, with the excuse of paperwork, but you could see through the thinly veiled lie. You brought her a sandwich and a yogurt, setting them down on a bench before pulling a chair up beside her to watch her work.

Cordelia could mix potions and restore plants without thinking, her craft a lovingly perfected dance in which he moved around the greenhouse with practised ease, plucking vials off the shelves and balancing glassware in steady hands.

Her hands shook. Slightly, almost unnoticeable was the small tremor but it indicated her unease. There was blood still crusted under her fingernails.

You softly coaxed her to put the glass down with fingers around her wrists, guiding her to look at you before lazily lacing your fingers together. She whispered a greeting with a small smile, almost as if she hadn’t registered your presence until you’d touched her.

“I feel like I failed everyone. My girls.” Her voice cracked languidly, eyes falling to where your hands joined on her lap, her nails scraping at your skin nervously. “How can I be headmistress when I cannot protect you all?”

“It’s not your job to do it all alone.” You reminded her gently, thumb brushing over whitened knuckles, following the dip and contour of her skin. “Cordelia.”

A single droplet of shimmering water does not sink a ship. A single cloud cannot shield the sun. A single parent could spend years doubting their worth, unaware that it takes a village to raise a child.

No single person can bear the weight of the world’s troubles without crumbling.

Not even Cordelia, whom you thought could harness the sun if she willed it, could do everything herself. It simply was an unrealistic expectation that her mother had used to weigh her down with.

“Look at me, baby. You are not alone, okay?”

When her head lifted slowly, the light caught the water in her eyelashes, diamond tears shimmering and rolling down the curve of reddened cheeks. You were quick to coo at her, hand coming to cradle her face so you could lean to kiss them away, salt on your tongue.

She shook her head, refusing to look at you and you felt hopeless, like a bystander on the site of an accident. As much as you tried to couldn’t get close enough to her to help, to comfort her as she needed. Running in a dream, tripping over a mere breath and wading through syrup as you tried to escape.

“I’m a failure.”

You found yourself shaking your head, the phantom of a protest falling from your lips, how could Cordelia think that.

“Everything that Fiona says is true.” She continued, head falling into her arms on the desk. Your hand rested on her back, a gentle reminder of the comfort you could give her if only she asked for it. If only she would accept it when you would give it to her anyway.

“I don’t belong here.” Whispered from under her hair which hid her.

Cordelia didn’t realise her own worth, and you wondered if anyone ever truly does.

Does the night sky know its beauty? Or does it envy the blue of the day? Does it wait for the sun to kiss its head and grant it eternity. The night sky is rich with light, if it would only look deep enough within itself to find it. Burning stars and planets reflecting the sun, a kaleidoscope of colour on an ebony canvas.

Cordelia would often look at pictures of her absent mother when she believed to be alone. She was secretly envious of Fiona’s effortless graceful command and hold that she had over the whole coven. She believed her own magical abilities to be inferior to that of the Supreme’s, but it was an unfair comparison, for a Supreme would always persist.

She thought that it meant hers weren’t strong enough, scared for eventualities like the previous night, that she would fail at the role of protector. But she hadn’t failed, she’d fought just like you and Zoe, and it was just the luck of the draw that Zoe’s fear would trigger her Power Negation.

But Cordelia held such raw natural, burning potential that you’d habitually find yourself staring as she practised spells. Eyes following the deft flow of her fingers as she’d manipulate movement. She’d had the second sight within her, so at least on a subconscious level she must know her power.

“You belong here. And look around you, look at this place. Yourgreenhouse.”

“You made it into what it’s become. It’s you.” You spoke, letting yourself spin to appreciate all the work she’d put into this place, into herself.

Cordelia lifted her head, hair falling from her eyes and crowning her face as she followed your gaze to the hanging planters, the glass vials. To the floor that she’d swept only days ago, leaves starting to litter the stone again.

She watched you run fingertips over the exposed brick on the wall, your attention solely on her work around you. She could see the adoration in the iris’ of your eyes, alight with your honesty. You gaze returning, always, to her as you walked to her.

Tentatively, you reached out for her. Was she yet ready to accept your help, your love as you wanted to give it to her?

Still unsure, Cordelia shied away from your comforting touch, head returning to her hands.

“You don’t have to live behind Fiona’s words anymore.” You whispered into her temple, as if straight into her mind.

Sometimes it is easier to live in the shadows than to confront those who cast them.

She’d spent her whole life cowering in Fiona’s shadow, growth and development stunted from the lack of light. Self-belief fractured into a gaping crack.

She’d been trapped, dark and alone with a mother figure who didn’t love her in a way she understood how to be loved. They both loved each other then, and ove each other now, but sometimes mere love isn’t enough. It isn’t consistent enough to be safe. You can love someone and still hurt them.

You had spent time working on her confidence, creeping back into the light and into herself again. Breaking down the thoughts that had grown to immobile threatening walls that only served to block the light more.

All it had taken was one night of Fiona being back for all that progress to retreat back to where they’d been hidden. Cordelia had urged you then to back away, to leave her and grow by yourself, that she was only holding you back.

But you gritted your teeth and grinned in the face of the devil. You weren’t scared of the dark. And you’d be damned if you were leaving it without your girlfriend. Even if you had to start right back at the beginning, you’d help her to heal.

“You could be the next Supreme.” You urged, pulling her head from where it rested on the table, forcing her to look in your eyes and see your honesty.

“Don’t say things that aren’t true.” She begged, vision hazed by tears.

“But it is true, Delia. You’re so powerful.” You pressed, eyes conveying your severity like your voice couldn’t. Willing her to believe.

You reached to brush the tears that clung to her eyelashes before they fell and stained her face. A lingering kiss to her lips, the feeling of her lower lip wobbling between your own. In that moment, you could feel her fragility.

You didn’t want to push further, knowing that she may never truly believe in her full potential like you did. Instead, you pushed yourself to feet and bounced in front of her. She looked up in confusion, eyes still full with tears that caught the light, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss them away again. They didn’t deserve to dampen her skin.

“Dance with me?” You asked, standing and offering a hand the way you’d so often seen in movies.

A shy smile formed on the headmistress’ lips, cheeks pink and the tips of her ears flushed as she allowed herself to be pulled from her seat. Into the shine of the moonlight, which shone beams of liquid silver through the glass onto the hard stone and the soft of Cordelia.

Your arms secured themselves around her waist while hers stroked the back of your neck. Moments like this made you wonder if perhaps the cliché’s people told you about love had been true. Maybe this could be forever. It always felt like forever when you were in her arms.

You swayed to phantom music, slow and deliberate, soft touches and kisses on bare shoulders. You felt like even a whisper would shatter the perfect peace you’d enveloped you both in, sending ripples of doubt over the sheer water and to Cordelia again.

The moon felt like perfect company in that moment, like a third person, watching and waiting. A witness to the silent change.

Cordelia pressed her forehead to yours, her fingers splayed through the hair at the back of your head, holding you close. You could see the depth of her eyes, searching for the lie in yours that wasn’t there to find. You truly believed that she was the next Supreme, she had to be.

“Say something.” She breathed, hand on your waist dancing under the hem of your top, cold fingers on warm skin.

“Like what?” You asked, pulling back momentarily so you could smile at her. The hand that was behind your head tucked hair behind your ear and brought your hand from her shoulder so she could press lips to your knuckles. The ridge of bone under the soft of her skin and then she was hugging you again.

“Anything, I just want to hear your voice.”

So you told her about yourself. Stories she’d never heard and memories you’d thought you’d forgotten. Whispers of your past shared with your future.

She nuzzled her chin into the crook of your neck and listened, breathing deep the smell of your perfume that clung, lingering to the collar of your clothes.

A laugh.

Rippling up your throat at reminiscing a memory, vibration muffled against her ear at your jaw, and Cordelia swore that she could feelyour emotions. Truly feel you, and she realised that you couldn’t lie to her. Couldn’t will yourself to say something untrue just to still the aching beat of her heart within her chest.

You couldn’t make yourself want to mend her. You didn’t want that. You wanted to help her heal. Heal from her past that held less joy and laughter than yours did.

You wanted to help her create memories of her own, just like this.

Slow dancing in the greenhouse.

Dancing in the dark under the glow of the patient moon.

taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @okpaulson @pluied-ete @magnifique-monstre @extraordinarilycelestrial @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @venablemayfairgoode @serawalkerwrites @sapphicsarahpaulson @delias-bitch-craft ,, if you want to be added sent me an ask or reply to this post <3

[keepingupwithpotters]

prompt!! "I've been looking for you my whole life. "

Thank you for heeding my call for help sel, this is the softest thing I have ever written, feeling very uwu in the house tonight ☁️

As it had been kindly pointed out to me by @sunshine-marauders the second part of On Looking is still pretty fucking angsty and I have decided to defy all odds and write them disgustingly soft for once. I also remember some people saying "and now kiss" to the first one and granted a few wishes there as well...

You can read this and the previous 2 parts on ao3

There were several instances James felt like he was still in a dream. Slow dancing with Lily Evans under the candlelight was one of them.

He had a feeling she was aware of it too, there had been many moments he slipped up for her to not to. Lily was a smart witch, but he probably wasn’t posing a serious challenge at any rate with the way he had been mooning over her.

With his hands splayed around her back, he couldn’t rein it in even if he tried, staring at her in wonder, away from the prying eyes. He made an effort not to do it too much when they were in public, more so because of Sirius’ mocking than anything, but they were alone in the Heads’ Office now, accompanied by nothing but the faint notes coming from the radio.

It was more swaying than dancing, carrying each other’s weight, drawing the strength beneath. They had been dead tired for a while now; the N.E.W.T.s load only increasing with the Head duties piling up on it. They’d stayed up late again for detention slips today, many of them had been for attacks on Muggle-borns, both noted grimly. None were as serious as the one Lily had stopped in April, but what they lacked in severity, they made up for it in numbers. Hospital wing never stayed empty, always at least one young student in it, waiting to be treated by Madame Pomfrey for a minor injury.

He knew that was half the reason for the hunch on her shoulders, brows furrowing further with each slip they went through. He felt the burning need to put an end to it, carry her away from her worries. The crackling tune that came on the radio was just his chance.

They had been swaying for two songs now, one crooning voice carrying on after the other. He stopped paying attention to what they were saying a long time ago. Lily’s head, which till now had been on his shoulder, lifted up, soft gaze going hazy as they went in a circle. Meeting her eyes took his breath away again. She started chuckling when she noticed it, calling him out.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Hm?”

Her head tilted to one side slightly. “Staring at me like I’ll just disappear.”

“I don’t think you’ll disappear,” he murmured. “I just can’t believe you’re here sometimes.”

She took her time before speaking again, concern lacing the lines of her face. He decided to twirl her in the meantime, wanting any clouds on her face gone. A faint smile was back when she returned to face him.

“Why is that?”

“It’s just… For so long, I feel like I’ve been looking at you from afar and now…” He didn’t finish the sentence with his words, tucking a stray tendril behind her ear instead, saying now I can touch you, now I am with you, now I’m looking in you.

She leaned into his touch tenderly, cheek fitting in his palm like it should. “I know it didn’t always feel like it but… I've been looking for you my whole life, James.” Her eyelashes brushed the top of his thumb, lighter than feather. “I just didn’t know it then.”

And he kissed her because what could he do besides kiss her in this moment?

His other hand went to her neck, desperate to hold her, fingers tangling in her hair with need. She sighed into his mouth, the sweetest breath James ever took in, molding into him like soft clay. There wasn’t a spot in his body that wasn’t touching hers and it still didn’t feel like enough. Her hands clutched above his heart, praying, like she still needed him to ground her. They didn’t leave him even when they broke apart for air.

There was something very intoxicating about breathing in the same air as Lily Evans as her eyes crackled, burned, and flared.

He rested his forehead on hers, the faintest of touches, trying to make up for the absence of her lips on his. The radio was playing on, another slow number filling the air like mist. There was sleep dripping from his eyes, but he had never been so sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

“Would you like to stay awhile before we went to the dorms?” he whispered. Everything had to be hushed right now, it felt like.

She gave her answer with a kiss, shorter than before, still as sweet.

They sat on the couch by the fireplace together, limbs tangled, sweet nothings sighed into ears. When she was between his arms like this, back pressing to his chest, it all seemed to fade away, nothing but her floral scent left behind. Kisses fluttered above her freckles, her pulse, the little scar on her knee; lips pressed to palms, imprinting. To be in her embrace was warmth itself, spreading from deep within, belly to fingertips. Her hands found their way back to his hair every time; once in the pretense of flicking it back, twice for an emphasis on a joke, ruffling it lovingly, and any other time just because she damn pleased. An affectionate Lily was a force to be reckoned with.

The physical aspect of it was nothing new, but everything else behind it took his breath away still, the scraps of her he had before fading away in memories, when a whole Lily Evans was in front of him. Comparing the Lily he was holding in his arms right now to the faint impression of the Lily he had before was not something he did frequently, but on nights like this, when her fingers traced a burning path on his heart, hair tickling his neck, breaths mixed in, he felt like he understood.

To the surprise of no one, they did fall asleep in the office that night, heads getting heavier with the exhaustion of being loved so thoroughly. They didn’t make it into a habit, although the couch looked so tempting at nights, the silent sneaking of the morning after always fresh in their minds. He did suggest from time to time that maybe an invisibility cloak could be the answer to all of their walk of shame related problems, but Lily heard none of it, face getting redder every time she remembered their friends’ teasing in the morning.

That was alright by James as there were many mornings ahead of them waking up together, not that many but he didn’t know that yet, there were many nights filled with music and dancing. Still, he held the memory of this night close to his heart, cherished on the warmest and the coldest days; the night he woke up from the dream and Lily Evans looked at him.

[dimpledlavendeer]

This is a bit long and suggestive

I can't belive this is what I'm imagining in my exam week but he's Lee Heeseung after all isn't he 😩🖤

Making out with a Jealous Heeseung

Ft.Jay and Minhee from cravity

Jay invited you both to one of this fancy night club kind of place

Heeseung definitely didn't want to go

You had to convince him because it was important for Jay, plus all the other boys were going so it would be rude not to go

You two started getting ready to meet with the others at the club

You wore something like this, not too revealing

Heeseung was not the type of boyfriend to get involved with the way you dress, he always admired and praised your beauty so you were comfortable with anything you wear

When you were finally ready, you go down stairs to meet a grumpy Heeseung

A playful smile formed on his face when he saw you

"It's still not too late to spend the night for ourselves baby"

"We talked about this Heeseung, we can come home early but we should be there"

He sighed deeply "Fine"

You gave him a peck on the lips and turn around to go get your jacket but he held you from your waist

"You look amazing" he said in a whispering tone

You placed your hands around his neck "I always do"

He was in love with your confident figure even tho it's not always the way your are but once you are he found it incredibly attractive

Your hands were playing with the ends of his long black hair, slowly getting closer to him

His grip on your waist were getting even tighter, his eyes focused on your lips while he was licking his

You loved to see your affect on him with a simple movement but you didn't have time for a make out right now

So you just kissed his cheek before saying "You have to be a bit patient tonight"

The expression on his face changed drastically as he frustratedly said "You're so freaking cruel"

The way he looked so cute while saying this made you giggle which made him groan in frustration

You hold him from his neck to give him another small peck on the lips, this time he hold your face

"Kiss me right" he commanded before smashing his lips into yours

One of his hands was holding your face so that he could kiss you the way he wanted

and the other one was trailing down to your waist

When he teasingly bite on your lower lip you let out a little whine, gripping on his shirt

He tilted your head to a side to reveal your neck to him

He was leaving wet kisses everywhere, making you completely forget about going out to meet with others

When he started sucking on your skin, your head managed to start functioning and remembering that you're being late

"P-please, we have to go" you said breathing heavily

"They can wait for a bit longer" he said definitely not caring about anything else but you atm

You managed to hold his chin to make him look at you

His black hair was a bit messy now but that looked even better, his dark eyes were looking into yours with anticipation while his hand on your waist was gripping you tighter than ever

He was needy right now and it looked great on him

"We have to go" you said kissing him once more

He fixed your hair and wipe your lipstick away from his lips before saying "You owe me a night"

You giggled and kissed his neck before fixing your make up to go out

After you arrived at the place the others were, you get inside holding Heeseung's hands

It didn't take long for you guys to find Jay, he hugged you both before showing you the way to meet the rest of the boys

It was so loud and filled with people, everyone was dancing like crazy,, everyone was drunk

It felt so unfamiliar to you but Hee wasn't looking affected at all

Jay and Hee were talking about something and it looked serious considering the way they talked even with this music blasting out

Jay took you to a place with less people at least there were places to sit now

Whatever they were discussing about was serious so Heeseung told you to sit there and wait for him for a while, before following Jay

You were sitting alone, with a couple of people next to you but definitely not as crowded as the previous place

Your eyes were on your phone so that you could answer when Hee calls to not worry him

When you lift your head from your phone you saw a glass of drink and a smiling face in front of you

"Minhee?"

"Hey y/n"

"Oh my God Kang Minhee?! What are you doing here?!"

You were so surprised to see one of your friends from high school at a freaking night club

"As you can see I'm working as the hot bartender ;)" he was looking almost the same as before but more handsome

You giggled at his words, "I always knew you were the club boy anyways" you said

He laughed at your words "Look who's talking club girl" he said winking at you

"It's been so long since the last time I can't belive we met like this" you said

"Well time did you good" he said smiling "You look amazing"

You smiled back, "Said the boy crush of the school" you said teasing him

He was one of your closest friends at high school but you guys got drifted away because of his "relationships" with other girls

"Oh so you're still into me huh?" He said smirking

You know he was joking but somehow it made you uncomfortable, thinking about Hee

Yes Minhee was everyone's crush back in the days and yes you two had a history but it was all at past

A broken smile formed on your face remembering of the past, your gaze focus on the glass

When you lifted your head to respond to him your eyes met with your boyfriend's

His strong gaze was focused on you while he was watching you from behind

"Fuck.." you murmured, he probably misunderstood the way you speak with a stranger all giggly and stuff

You watched Heeseung while his jaw was clenching, when Minhee followed your gaze he saw a furious Heeseung looking at you two

"I'll explain to him" Minhee said moving towards Heeseung

You were panicked so you grabbed Minhee from his arm to stop him before realizing you screwed up even more by doing that

Heeseung's gaze fall into your hands on Minhee's arm before he walked towards you

He grabbed you from your arm literally dragging you with him to the exit

He was so damn angry you could see it from his furrowed brows and clenching jaw and you had had no idea how to explain it to him

"Heeseung, please slow down okay?"

No response

"It's not what it looks like istg"

Again no response

"DAMN IT HEESEUNG MY ARM HURTS CAN YOU CALM DOWN?"

He stopped in front of his car opening the door for you

"Get in" he said

"Listen to me Heeseung, please"

He didn't even look at you before going to his side of the car to get in, not repeating himself for you to get in

You did as he said, getting in realizing even more how angry he was

He was just driving without talking, brows furrowed,eyes focused on the road

But the problem is that he was driving so fast and you started to get scared at this point

"We're going so fast" you managed to say in a low tone eyes focused on him

"Mind your own business" he replied back

"Heeseung don't be like this" you said moving towards him

He started to drive even faster at your actions not caring about anything

You were so frustrated because he didn't even listen to you and you had enough

"Slow down" you said raising your tone

He didn't care at all

"ENOUGH" you said grabbing his hand making him pull the car off to the side of the road

He grabbed your hand pulling you close to him, grabbing your hair with his other hand and smashing his lips to yours

Your other hand was in the air not knowing where to land at his sudden action which was not what you were expecting at all

He was kissing you aggressively, tongue inside your mouth like he was discovering somewhere new

He let go of your hand, placing his hand on your throat instead

He bite your lower lip as if he was trying to make it bleed while slightly squeezing your throat with one of his hands

"Get to the backseat" he whispered on your lips, unfastening his belt and yours

You got out of the car, getting to the backseat and him following you

"Sit" he said showing his lap and so you did placing your legs on both sides, sitting on his lap while looking at his eyes

He pushed your hair behind your shoulders, then placing one of his hands back to where it was on your throat

"Minhee huh? Your ex?" He asked teasing while his index finger was playing with your lower lip

"He isn't my ex"

"Hmm" he got closer to lick your lips then pulling off

He wasn't believing you and you honestly had no idea what he was thinking

All you could think was to kiss him and apologize until he forgives you

Your breath was getting heavier at the sight of him looking that good, his sharp features glowing at night

"How can I make myself forgiven?"

"So you admit you flirted with him while i was gone"

"No, I wasn't he is one of my old friends from high school"

"Which you have a past with" he added to your words

"I-"

"Shhhh" he said cutting you his index finger pressed on your lips, while his other hand was moving down to your ass

He hold your jaw to bring you closer to himself "Make me belive you"

"I'll do anything"

"Anything?" He asked with a small smirk on his face

"Yes, just tell me anything you want please Heeseung"

"Hmmm"

"I'm loyal only to you" you said kissing him, closing the gap between your bodies

He kissed you back, hands on your thighs squeezing your flesh and pulling you close even more

A little moan escaped from your mouth to his lips when he grabbed your ass moving his hips under you

You hold onto his neck, his other hand on your hair, tilting your head to a side to make a better way for his tongue to find yours

His small hip movements under you made you crazy with how the way he touched you, more passionate than ever

He moved onto your jawline licking his way down to your neck placing wet kisses before sucking your skin

Your hand sliding into his hair slightly gripping on them before he held your hands and lead them to behind your back, holding with one of his hands not letting you touch him

His other hand was drawing slow, small circles on your back while he was still working on your neck

You were sure everywhere he bites would turn into bruises tomorrow but honestly you just wanted more

His hand on your back, his hips moving under yours, his lips on your neck everything was too perfect

"I'm sorry, I didn't know he would flirt me" you said in a shaky voice

He sucked on your flesh harshly making you whine, making it clear that he was still pissed off

"I only love you, just you" you said voice cracking, because you hated yourself for making him feel this bad

"How much do you love me?" He whispered to your ear

"As much as to do anything you want me to do for you"

"That's daring for you to say considering our situation now y/n" he said moving his hips, pushing you down on his lap

"I mean what I said" you said before leaning in to kiss him

"We'll see" he said caressing your skin, he seemed to belive you but he still needed you to calm him down a bit

"Tell me what to do" you said kissing his nose

"You owed me a night remember? Pay me back once we're home" he said kissing your collarbone before hugging you tightly, face buried on your chest

"Anything for you, Heeseung"

[bonjour-rainycity]

Late in the Night | Part Three

Previous part

Prompt: There’s only one bed (Content Challenge Day 6)

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Rating: PG

Word count: 1914

Warnings: None

Challenge participants: @game-ofthe-company @grunid @themerriweathermage @errruvande @the-reformed-ringwraith @awkwardkindatries

A/n Happy Day 6 of my content challenge! If you like my account, chances are you’ll love the accounts mentioned above! Check them out if you can :) If you want more, you can find the challenge’s masterlist here and my personal masterlist here. Okay, happy reading!

The tavern is warm and a welcome escape from the evening chill. Occupying the common room is a small, though lively, crowd, including Gimli and Boromir, who sit in plushy chairs drinking mead by the fire. The barman eyes the newcomers with a measure of surprise — it’s his second unusual guest of the night. Though the woman is predictably human, the one standing next to her is clearly an elf. The barman marvels at his luck, knowing he will be the talk of the town if he can compile some interesting stories about the elf and the dwarf he met this eve.

The barman waves at the odd couple, and they come to the counter. The three exchange pleasantries, but Legolas and Y/n are careful to be vague about their travel plans. Even though the barman seems innocently curious, one can never be too cautious. The barman inquires about their needs.

“Meals for tonight and tomorrow morning, as well as two rooms — at least one with a fireplace if you’ve got it.” Legolas reaches under his cloak and produces a velvet pouch containing the human currency he brought for the journey.

The barman grimaces. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid there is only one room left. You see, we are a small establishment, and the guests that arrived shortly before you requested separate dwellings.”

With narrowed eyes, Legolas turns to regard a very satisfied-looking human and dwarf. Gimli raises his mug, winking at his elven friend.

“Did they, now,” Legolas murmurs, beginning to guess at his friend’s plan. At his side, he hears Y/n huff in disbelief, obviously having caught on.

To his credit, the barman seems genuinely apologetic. “Yes, I-I’m afraid so, sir. If you like, there is another inn on the other side of town, I could inquire about vacancies there—”

“No, thank you.” Legolas cuts him off, trying to soften his cold tone with a smile. He can’t risk the managers talking and comparing guests before he and his companions are long gone. “We will make do.”

The barman briefly disappears to find the key, and Y/n tries to study Legolas surreptitiously. Unfortunately, he seems to have the same idea about her, and their eyes dart away immediately upon meeting, knowing they’d each been caught.

How awkward.

The barman returns, sliding a smooth silver key into Legolas’ hand, who quickly pays the man. “Would it be too much trouble to have dinner delivered to our room?” Legolas swallows. Our room.

The barman responds favorably, but there is an unmistakable note of disappointment to his tone. No doubt he was looking forward to studying probably the only elf he’s ever seen.

Y/n sneaks a look over to Gimli, who is quite enjoying his mead, and figures that he will give the barman enough entertainment to last a few years.

The pair ascends the stairs, and Y/n notices a pink twinge to Legolas’ cheeks. He stumbles over his words, something quite unusual for him. “I—uh, did not mean to presume. I apologize.”

Y/n shrugs. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s our fault for not asking to arrive first, I guess,” Y/n tries for a laugh, but it’s impossible for Legolas to not notice how she won’t meet his eyes.

He stops on the landing, looking quite pained. He hates the idea of making her uncomfortable. “I will sleep on the floor.”

Y/n takes pity on the poor elf, and puts effort into seeming relaxed. “No, really, it’s okay. It’s no different from lying near each other when we camp, right?”

It is completely different, Legolas thinks, but decides not to share that comment.

They reach the door, and both try to will their nerves away as Legolas turns the key in the lock.

“Oh.” Y/n is pleasantly surprised by the state of the room. “It’s nice.”

Legolas has to agree. The bed—the sole bed—is off the ground and boasts an actual mattress, complete with two fluffy pillows and three blankets. There’s a fireplace, a water basin, a tin tub, two exceptionally large jugs of water, and a changing screen. The presence of these amenities constitutes luxury after their time in the wilderness.

Y/n crosses the threshold first, and Legolas chides his own cowardice. The battlefield gives no fear to him, but sharing a room with the woman he…

Well.

He forces himself to enter the room.

Y/n twists the hem of her tunic in her hands, trying desperately to get through the awkwardness. “Will it bother you if I have a bath?”

Legolas practically catapults himself forward, eager to have a task to busy his mind. “Not at all. I’ll heat the water.” He grabs one of the water-filled jugs, lays it on the grate inside the fireplace, and works to start a fire.

Y/n fiddles with the changing screen, dragging it slightly to the left so it completely shields the length of the tub. Even though the fire is properly kindled, Legolas stays near it, kneeled on the ground, eyes glued to the heating water.

Y/n chances a look at him, and the sight of him brings a small smile to her lips. He’s just so sweet. And though she would never say it out loud, Y/n admits to herself that, if she had to spend the night with any of her companions, Legolas would be her first and only choice.

Y/n busies herself with spot-cleaning their extra clothes until Legolas has the water heated and pours it in the bath.

Are his cheeks red from embarrassment or the heat, she wonders.

“I-I’ll stay near the bed and-and give you your privacy,” he stutters out, looking anywhere but at her.

Definitely embarrassment. Y/n bites back a smile, grabs her washing supplies, and slips behind the changing screen.

She undresses and slides into the water, sighing contentedly at her first encounter with warm water in weeks. Knowing it won’t last long, she works quickly to scrub the dirt from her skin.

Legolas sits on the edge of the bed, trying to distract himself by cleaning their weapons. He doesn’t know whether he should try and converse with her, or ignore her completely, or if he should just run from the room and never come back?

Valar, how this is difficult!

A knock sounds on the door.

“That was fast,” Y/n muses, to which Legolas hums in agreement.

He sheds his cloak and uses it to conceal the weapons, then meets the barman at the door to collect the dinner plates.

Legolas shuts the door with his foot and turns back towards the bed.

And freezes upon realizing the issue.

Y/n is still in the bath.

Legolas exhales, looking down at the plate in his right hand, then to the changing screen, then quickly to the opposite corner of the room, a blush coming to his cheeks once again.

He closes his eyes, drawing in a breath.

You are a prince, he reminds himself. You lead council meetings, command troops, and have the respect of an entire kingdom. Pull yourself together.

Before he can give himself a chance to lose his nerve, he turns on his heel, and marches towards the changing screen.

“Delivery, My Lady.”

The teasing tone in Legolas’ voice catches Y/n off guard, and she releases a startled laugh. He can’t be serious? But she sees the tips of his boots peeking under the edge of the wooden screen, and decides to play along, trusting him to keep his gaze respectful. “You may approach, Good Sir.”

Legolas peeks around the screen, presenting Y/n her plate of food and making a show of keeping his eyes closed.

Y/n giggles, for just a moment forgetting the awkwardness and the insurmountable pressure of the fate of the world on their shoulders. “Such service! Thank you.”

Legolas bows, and returns with his own food to his spot on the bed. As they eat, they trade stories of the time before they knew each other — Y/n being careful to edit any details that would give her non-Arda origins away. When the food is gone and the bathwater runs cold, Y/n dries, dresses in fresh clothing, and folds back the changing screen.

She and Legolas stare at each other, unsure how to proceed.

“Um, is there anything you needed to do before bed?”

“No.” Legolas shakes his head. “You?”

“No.” A pause. “Well, I guess we should go to sleep, unless you wanted a bath?”

“It’s alright, I washed in the stream earlier.”

Y/n shifts on her feet. “Oh. Right. You sure you don’t want something hot?”

Legolas smiles. “Temperature doesn’t affect ellyn the way it does humans.”

Y/n laughs softly at herself, using it as an opportunity to exhale some of the nerves. “Forgot….I’ll just get the candles, then.”

Legolas stands abruptly. “Let me.” Then, his panicked look fades into a teasing smile. “Humans already have terrible eyesight in the daytime, I fear for your safety if I let you stumble around in the dark.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Y/n laughs, crawling onto the side of the bed closest to her. The mattress probably isn’t the softest in the world, but it’s much better than the freezing ground. And the pillow and blankets are a nice touch. Y/n remembers her fluffy bed back home, and finds herself snuggling deeper into the covers, trying to recreate the memory.

The room goes dark, and moments later, Y/n feels the bed dip beside her.

Legolas slides under the covers wordlessly, keeping as far to the edge as he can. His mind runs a million miles a minute, wondering if he’s making her uncomfortable, noticing how nice her hair smells, thinking how he’s going to kill Boromir and Gimli for putting them in this position, and everything in between.

On the other side of the bed, Y/n stares at the wall, unable to calm down enough to sleep. Never in her life has she been so affected by someone else’s presence. It’s just a bed for Pete’s sake, she’s shared plenty of them before!

But she can feel his warmth from across the mattress, can picture how his chest would feel under her cheek, and fights the urge to cuddle in close to him.

Oh how she is going to murder Gimli and Boromir.

Time passes, neither of them knowing how much.

But after a while, Y/n gives voice to the more anxious thoughts in her head, unable to let them go.

“Are you awake?”

Legolas’ voice is soft, barely a whisper in the late night. “Yes.”

Silence, and Legolas wonders if Y/n has fallen asleep. But a few breaths later, she speaks again, this time, with a measure of fear in her voice.

“Do you think we can do it? Destroy the Ring?”

“We will.” His voice is confident, steady, just the reassurance she needs. “No matter the cost, we will see this Evil defeated.”

Y/n sighs, closing her eyes. She gives into the exhaustion in her bones, in her mind, and sinks into dreamless sleep. Legolas follows not long after, allowing himself only the briefest of looks at his slumbering companion. He holds the image of her peaceful face in his mind as he drifts off.

And if they do find themselves cuddled up in the morning, well, no one needs to know.

A/n See you all tomorrow with part four! Likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. Also, let me know if you would like a tag!

Tag list: @angelic-kisses13 @lainphotography @anangelwhodidntfall @sheriffgerard @themerriweathermage @k-llama-llama

Next part

[narrators-journal]

Step four

CW: Congratulations reader-chan! You’re expecting! Illumi also really cranks up the yandere side, nothing too bad, but he’s definitely not proving to be a stable man in this part.

Previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi found his mother in the family library, doing some research for a job she'd gotten.        "Mother, sorry for interrupting, but I have a rather pressing dilemma with my relationship." He said, and he could see the woman perk up slightly, but she only hummed and stayed focused on her research,       "Sorry dear, I can't help right now, maybe try Gotoh." She spoke casually, but he could see in her body language that she was dying to hear about her eldest son's relationship.       "I was wondering if it would be inappropriate to bring her here so soon." he added, and like that her research was forgotten and she was instead offering him a seat beside her. So, he sat in the intricately carved wooden chair and filled her in on his dilemma with the concerns for your safety after finding out Hisoka knew your name, and the concern of pushing you away unnecessarily. "I don't want to put her in danger, but my research on dating says that bringing her here is something to do later on, when we've been together for more than a month." he explained, his mother digesting the information before speaking,                "This is a rather delicate situation...but since Morrow is here, it should be safe to leave her where she is. Maybe set some butlers as constant bodyguards, but hold off on bringing her around here. At least until I can prepare! Oh I'd have to get the chefs to cook a special meal for when your father and I finally meet your partner, and the mansion will have to be meticulously cleaned, and the gardens tended to!" Illumi sighed as his mother rambled on a tangent about how this sort of conflict was always so romantic in the novels she'd read and how she'd have to make sure the family was perfect so as to leave the best possible impression on you.        "Mother, I am being serious. I have worked with Hisoka before, he's a dangerously clever man. I don't want to risk him harming my future spouse," he reminded the woman, who savored her excitement for a moment longer before regaining her composure,         "I'm sorry dear, I just get so happy when I think about my sweet baby boy finally settling down," she said somewhat wistfully, and the assassin inwardly groaned. He was the eldest of at least five, he was far from her baby anymore, but he couldn’t really remind her of that without sending her into a sobbing fit. "anyway!" she chirped, drawing him back from his blank staring and practiced way of spacing out when she took advantage of the fact she was the only Zoldyck allowed to be mushy like this, "I really do think you should leave her where she is, at least for a bit longer. Once she comes to this mountain she won't be able to leave easily, and I'd hate for your future wife to turn out to be some spy or desperate journalist." While she said it in honesty, her voice lacked any real remorse. If you did turn out to be a threat, even Kikyo wouldn't hesitate to squash you like a bug. I think out of everyone to have after (y/n), mother would be the worst. Illumi thought as he pondered his mother's words, agreeing to keep you at your home for the time being. So, for the next few weeks Illumi alternated between jobs and returning to stalking you, but until he could rein in the possessive urge to kidnap you, he kept his distance. When he couldn't watch you himself, like when he was torturing Hisoka for adding extra steps to that job, he made sure someone was still there to ensure nothing bad happened to you. Another bonus of this set up he found was that the servants he had hidden nearby to watch you were able to warn him when you started acting odd. They couldn't exactly place why you were suddenly so anxious and slightly distraught though, so the ebony-haired assassin decided to finish the job he was on quickly when he found out and return to his secondary home. About a day after he'd returned, in the late afternoon, you knocked at his door, as he was expecting.         "Hello," he hummed as he opened the door to find you standing in the slightly chilly daylight fidgeting anxiously,         "Um...I think we need to talk." You said, your words shooting an arrow of anxiety into his heart, Is she going to break up with me? Should I have brought her home sooner?  Should I just grab her now? he asked himself, his dark, empty eyes scanning over your form to glean any information he could from your body language while he wrangled in his moment of panic, No. Invite her in, if she really is about to break up with you she'd be easier to subdue where no one can be a witness. he told himself, temporarily quelling the urge to snatch you up and refuse to let you go again and instead inviting you inside to talk out of the cool late spring air. Once inside you sat on his couch, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to mind the bit of mess in the room that Illumi was swift to sweep under the couch or toss out of sight. Your tense mood drove Illumi crazy, but he skillfully hid the fact that he was growing impatient with waiting and beginning to plan out a way to sedate you and take you home, keeping his focus on the dirty clothes he was throwing behind the chair and the garbage he was shoving into his pockets. simply sitting beside you after a while, awaiting whatever bad news you might have for him. Is she really going to try and break up with me? Damn it, I should've never let my mother talk me into this whole 'dating' thing. He thought bitterly, his own sliver of anxiety adding to the tense, heavy air you had already created. However, after an excruciatingly long stretch of time, you took a deep breath,        "Illumi, I t-think I'm...pregnant." you forced out, not looking at the dead-eyed assassin as the two of you fell into another stretch of silence while Illumi processed this news. Pregnant? We've only had sex twice, is she really that fertile? He pondered, an honest smile spreading across his usually expressionless face after it set in. In a flash, he'd jumped up and scooped you up, hugging your possibly smaller body to his tightly, making you squeal,         "this is wonderful news!" he said, making you smile and turn a light pink,             "Oh, well if I'd known you'd be so happy about it, I wouldn't have stressed so much," you laughed awkwardly, letting Illumi hug you for a moment longer before he put you down again and cleared his throat, his face returning to his bland expression,          "Though, this does put a rush on putting together a wedding." he hummed, not noticing the way your eyes widened          "uh? w-wedding?" you squeaked, drawing his attention out of his thoughts and back to you. Your panicky expression was rather cute to him, you were so innocent,          "Well yes, I was originally planning to take things slow, but now I can't afford to wait. Not to worry though, I'm sure my mother will help you plan it," he assured, but judging by the increasing panic in your (e/c) eyes, it didn't work, "is something wrong, (y/n)?"          "I-I don't want to marry you?" You squeaked, and while your words did sting, he knew this might happen,          "Well, I can't let you parent this child without me, and marriage is the perfect way to ensure I stay involved as well as that you and our child are safe from harm." He explained, but you shook your head,          "Illumi, no! It's only been a-a few months since we've started dating, it's far too soon to marry!" you tried to explain, but he waved your arguments away,          "dating is already a redundancy, I've been very patient in waiting this long before moving on to marriage," he explained, getting a bit annoyed at your horrified look. It was intriguing to see you get flustered and slightly scared, but marriage was not something that deserved this sort of reaction. He sighed, I can't let this continue, the stress is not good for the baby, he reminded himself before speaking again, "Please explain to me why you are so against getting married. I don't think I'm understanding your points clearly enough." For a moment, you struggled to find words, obviously confused and shocked, but he made sure to be patient,        "I-Illumi, it's too soon for marriage, that's something for later on down the road, i-if we even make it that far." You tried to explain, but the assassin grimaced, so you spoke again "Plus, it's perfectly fine if we don't get married before the baby's born, we can still parent them together," Your words made his expression darken further. Finally, you sighed dejectedly, "or...I could always just termi-" Illumi cut you off by grabbing you by your shoulders, his grip tight, nearly painfully so he was sure, but he was not about to allow the entertaining of such ideas,         "You will NOT harm that baby, (y/n)." he said darkly, watching tears well up in your (e/c) eyes from fear and maybe pain. That made him calm down, he had to keep his temper in check before his malicious aura was the one to harm his future wife. "If you try anything to put yourself or our baby in danger, I will be forced to keep you under strict observation." he warned, his voice not holding any room for argument when he spoke, but than he tried to relax, hugging your slightly shaking form to him again.        "It'll be okay, mother will plan a good wedding and you'll be a good mother when the baby's born." he assured, running his hand through your (h/l), (h/c) hair in an attempt to calm you down and show that despite his flash of temper, the excitement of your good news still zapped through his veins. "I'll keep you safe, i promise." He could feel the shiver his words sent through you, but fear was easier to manage than defiance. After a moment though, he let you go again, "I'll have some butlers help you pack your most necessary things, tomorrow I'll take you to the estate." he decided, and when you went to argue again he gave you a cold look, "you can't say anything that will change my mind. The Zoldyck estate is the safest place for you, so go home and pack." he ordered, his tone firm enough for you to get the message. You didn't get a choice.

[spactcle]

you say it first

Archive of Our Own Link

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou Language: English

Summary: “I can’t tell him.” “Why not?” “Because then he’d know.” Kirishima and Bakugou seek advice from their friends about UA's worst-kept secret (except, apparently, from them).

“I think I’m in love with Bakugou.”

Kaminari is bent over his homework, cheek resting on his fist. His shoulders freeze, he doesn’t look up from his workbook, but his pen stops scrawling across the page. After a few beats, he lifts his chin and plops it on his fist instead.

“I mean… obviously.”

“What?”

“Dude, c’mon. I know I’m me and this will sound weird but let’s get serious and study, please? My grades don’t have time for you to state the obvious.”

“The obvious?” Kirishima pops up from where he's sprawled out on the ground, looking at Kaminari in disbelief. “How did you know?”

“Everyone knows, slick,” Kaminari retorts, sarcasm dripping from the nickname. “Now we have finals next week, can we please focus?”

“Everyone?”

“Okay.” Kaminari’s hands clap together and he snaps his workbook closed. “Clearly we are focusing on the wrong thing. Why are you bringing this up,” the tip of his finger jabs as his closed workbook, tapping at it for effect, “now?”

“Why have you not brought it up?” Kirishima accuses, arms gesturing widely.

“Because I thought you knew!”

“How would I know?”

Kaminari jabs his finger accusingly at Kirishima instead now. “They’re your feelings, Kiri!” His finger curls back into a fist and he brings it to his lips, brow drawing in with concern as he thinks. “Your weird, weird feelings. But still.”

Kirishima blows a raspberry at him, leaving his lips out in a pout with the gall to look offended. “How are my feelings weird?”

“Bakugou is an emotionally constipated trash can,” Kaminari deadpans. “And you’re… I don’t know? Whatever the opposite of that would be.”

“Diarrhea recycling bin.”

A beat. Kaminari’s face pulls back into a disgusted grimace. “Really could have done without that mental image.”

Kirishima shrugs and starts to nervously pull at his hair. It’s a Saturday and he didn’t style it today, just has his bangs pulled into a half ponytail behind his head. Kaminari has told him to just chop it off but Kirishima insists that it’s part of my brand, and besides how is Blasty going to call me shitty-hair if I don’t have any?

His confusion is what’s most baffling to Kaminari. They’re in their third year and it feels like Bakugou and Kirishima should have figured each other out by now – they know one another better than anyone else could, so how are they so bad at this? Kaminari figured out his feelings for Jirou the previous year, Midoriya and Uraraka got together just a few months later, and even Kendou and Tetsu finally stopped beating around the bush. Now that he thinks about it, a lot of people more emotionally dense than Kirishima have confessed to their respective partners, like Todoroki and Tokoyami.

One of Kirishima’s sharp teeth hangs over his bottom lip as he chews at the skin. It makes Kaminari feel a little bit bad. But only a little. He really should have joined Jirou and Momo for studying instead.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” he repeats his previous question but without the edge to his voice, trying to exercise patience for his friend.

Kirishima collapses on the table, voice muffled by his arm. “Because I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell him.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Kirishima lifts turns his head up slightly to glare at him from over his arm. “I can’t tell him.”

“Why not?”

“Because then he’d know.” He hides his face again.

Kaminari rolls his eyes so far back he’s surprised he doesn’t see the inside of his skull. “That’s usually the idea.” Kirishima’s answer is a wordless scoff, tongue sputtering around words he can’t form. “Just tell him. There’s no way he doesn’t feel the same.” The sputtering worsens and Kirishima snaps his head up from the table, gawking at Kaminari as his face turns as red as his hair.

“I said I was serious!”

“Yeah, seriously blind.”

“What?”

This time Kaminari is almost positive he sees his skull, but that could just be his vision whiting as he strains his eyes. “Kirishima Eijirou,” the full name absolutely required to get his full and undivided attention. “The fact that you and Bakugou have got it bad for each other is the worst kept secret in the entire school – except, apparently, from the both of you. I’m almost positive that there’s some kind of bet going around about when you two will stop being complete boneheads and make it official.”

Kirishima’s eyes wandered around the room as if searching for a cosmic answer to all his problems. “We… bet? Bakugou… I’m…”

“Yes. Now can we please study? And you can deal with your love life later?”

Kirishima’s cheeks grow big as he puffs them up with air and stares blankly at their workbooks. Kaminari gives him a full minute then clicks his tongue and starts to pack up. “Alright. I’m going to leave you here to process. Good luck, bro.” He sets a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder as he wraps his other arm around his schoolwork. “I know I said it was weird and all – and in my defense, it is – but I think we’re all rooting for you two.”

Lips formed around words that didn’t seem to want to come out of Kirishima’s mouth and Kaminari just sighed, patting him on the back before making his exit. He really should have just studied with Jirou and Momo.

- - -

“I think Kirishima is in love with me.”

Uraraka looks up from her place at the desk. She spins in her chair to find Bakugou collapsing on her bed, then she looks to find the hidden camera that someone must have hidden in her room. No one pops out of her closet laughing, and Bakugou is laying on his back staring at the ceiling, arms lying limp at his sides. He’s frowning in the way that he only does when he’s encountered an obstacle that he can’t quite figure out. So, this isn’t a prank.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He snaps up, rage normalizing his expression again, and argues, “Who the fuck else am I supposed to tell?”

Uraraka frowns at him pointedly and his lips fall out of the snarl and into a resigned grimace, a sign that she has come to recognize as his apology. “Kirishima, for starters.”

“Fuck that.” Bakugou flops back onto her bed. “Why should I have to do anything when he’s the one in love with me?” He gestures wildly at the ceiling like it’s the one that he came to for advice on his love life.

“Are you in love with him too?”

Instantly, his expression closes off. He turns his face away from her and lets his arms fall back to his sides.

“Bakugou?”

“Shut up. The hell are you asking for anyway?”

Uraraka’s cheeks blow up with air before she huffs at him. “It’s the obvious question.”

“The fuck it is.”

“If Kirishima burst in here, just as rudely as you did, and declared his love for you – what would you do about it?”

Bakugou’s head turns away from her, but she can see the back of his neck redden and she isn’t big enough to not feel satisfied by that. He’s treating his and Kirishima’s feelings as if it’s some huge secret and revelation – but she, Deku, Todoroki, and Tsu have a bet about how long it will go before one of them does something about it. Iida disapproves.

If it happens in the next week, the pot goes to Todoroki.

Her bet starts the week after.

He’s lucky that Uraraka is at least a big enough person to help him now instead of waiting.

“Probably something along the lines of,” she clears her throat, bringing her hands together and resting them against her cheek, then continues in a high pitch, “oh, Kirishima, I love you too! Sweep me off my feet!”

Bakugou sits back up before she’s even finished, hands poised to attack, and face screwed into a scowl, but the effect is decidedly lessened considering the deep blush coloring his cheeks. “Shut the fuck up if you want to graduate, round face!”

She leans back in her chair, lifting an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Bakugou, you obviously have feelings for him. This wouldn’t bother you so much if you didn’t.”

“It doesn’t fucking bother me.”

“It bothers you that he hasn’t said anything.”

“It—” His mouth snaps shut and his eyes dart away from her. His ears also start to turn pink and then he zeroes in on her with a sharp glare. “You bother me.”

Uraraka rolls her eyes and waves him off. “Everything but Kirishima bothers you.”

“He bothers me too.”

“Because he hasn’t told you that he loves you.”

“Fuck off.” He throws himself backward on the bed, again, arms crossed over his chest as he glares are the ceiling instead of her.

She observes him. Over the years, she’s learned to read Bakugou – being one of the few to earn his respect early on had those perks, if it could be called that. But she knows when he’s thinking too much – which is what he’s doing right now.

“Bakugou, why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you need me to tell you that you need to tell him?”

“I don’t need you at all,” he snaps, but there’s no heat behind it.

She ignores him. “You should tell him.”

Bakugou makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “He’s the one that always goes on about manliness. What the fuck is manly about keeping shit to yourself?” His arms uncurl from his chest and his fingers make a fist. “Fucking own up to it.”

“Well, you’re the one that always says you do what you want,” she points out, tilting her head to the side. “So… if you want Kirishima, then shouldn’t you say something?”

He doesn’t reply, and his arms fall back onto the bed. Uraraka shrugs and turns back to her desk. Their finals are coming up after all and he interrupted her studies.

“I’m fucking going to sleep,” he says finally, pushing himself off the bed.

“Or you could help me study,” she offers without turning around, voice airy. She knows the answer to that.

“Fuck no.”

“Oh, that’s right. You only ever help Kirishima.”

There’s a small explosion as the door slams behind him, but Uraraka smirks and isn’t big enough to not feel satisfied.

- - -

What the fuck does Uraraka know anyway? She’d shacked up with Deku a year ago, so Bakugou clearly overestimated her judgment and overall sense.

Truthfully, not that he would ever say this out loud, Bakugou doesn’t know why he went to her room. He doesn’t know why he was so tracked on this when his main objective should be elbowing his way to the top of his class. Finals were soon for fuck’s sake. What the fuck was he worrying about Kirishima or feelings for, anyway? He is Bakugou fucking Katsuki, and he is going to be the undeniable number one.

Hands clenched into fists, the right one still steaming from his outburst at Uraraka’s last words, he takes the girl’s elevator down to the common area. Water first, then he’ll take another practice exam before sleeping. He shoves his clenched hands into his pockets and stalks across the common area.

It’s dark outside and the rooms here are empty, everyone already separated into studying groups or gone to bed. If this was two years ago, Bakugou would already likely have been asleep. He didn’t normally stay or socialize in the common room, and if he did it was only for a few minutes or maybe an hour. But Kirishima persisted and it was annoying. He wouldn’t fucking leave Bakugou alone or stop nagging him about hanging out with his peers more (Your friends, Kirishima would correct him, but Bakugou only started calling them peers in their second year). How was he ever going to connect more with their classmates if he just holed himself up in his room to study?

Fuck you. I fucking help you, don’t I?

Exactly! And now we’re best bros!

When the hell had Bakugou asked for more friends? He hadn’t even asked for the one!

But, honestly, he’s quietly glad he’d been forced out of his room, even if he won't admit it out loud or say it in so many words. Some – and only some – of his classmates were actually pretty cool. His friends from before hadn’t really been friends. Lackeys, maybe… Kids that were taken with the boy with a great quirk and a domineering personality. Other bullies, he reminds himself. And he’d been fine with that at the time. He hadn’t needed anyone else, and he hadn’t wanted them. He would think that other people would hold him back, ask for things, for compromises – or worse, look down on him.

Then Kirishima decided they were friends and Bakugou hadn’t really done anything to stop that from happening. It changed him… for the better.

Fuck. He needs to stop thinking about it. He’s got more control than this.

Bakugou gnaws at his lower lip, glaring at the bouquet of flowers sitting on the coffee table. Blue bell-shaped flowers that he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. What he does remember is everyone’s look of surprise when it had been Todoroki carrying those flowers, and with the confidence that he always seemed to possess, walked right up to Iida and asked him on a date. Four-Eyes turned redder than Todoroki’s left side and started sweating so badly that his glasses wouldn’t stay on his face. But the takeaway from the story for Bakugou was seeing Kirishima’s soft, almost sad smile and the awkward way he laughed it off when Bakugou asked him what was wrong.

Well, more specifically Bakugou asked, What the fuck is wrong with your face?

The petals were starting to wither at the edges, but Class 1A had really come together to keep them alive for this long, though he’s pretty sure it was the girl with the vines in 1B that was doing most of the work. The two classes met and hung out a lot more than they used to. It was always so damn loud now.

Scowling, Bakugou keeps moving toward the kitchen. Yeah, maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Maybe. Like he doesn’t already know it was the wrong thing to say.

Are you in love with him too?

“Fuck,” he swears, throwing open the fridge. The water bottles were running low, and he frowns, taking one of the last four after a moment of consideration.

When he rights himself, he starts to close the door when Kirishima comes around the corner. Because of course he does, and of course he has his shitty hair down and not styled since Bakugou always thinks he looks so goddamn pretty like that. He looks just as caught off guard to see Bakugou. “Oh, hey man, what’s up?” He asks, his hand going to the back of his head and that fucking adorably shy, little smile on his lips – the one where Bakugou can only see his top teeth and his eyes crinkle a little.

You should tell him.

Bakugou grits his teeth at the thought and wills away the blush that threatens to dust his cheeks as he remembers what Uraraka said. “Water,” he grunts, the fridge door standing awkwardly open as a physical barrier between them. “What are you doing down here?”

“Snack,” Kirishima replies, with a small shrug as he moves closer and further into the kitchen. “Kaminari abandoned me to go study with Jirou and Momo, I think.”

“You think?”

And dammit the huffy little laugh Kirishima lets out, the one that Bakugou recognizes as him being embarrassed makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Yeah. I was distracted…” He starts absentmindedly looking through the cabinets as he speaks. “Thought some food might help, though.”

Bakugou shakes his head at Kirishima. “You’re always getting distracted. You need me there to keep you on track.”

Kirishima glances at him with that smile. “You study by yourself on Thursdays,” he replies with good nature as he moves to the next cabinet, the one full of nothing but dishes. When his eyes return to see the contents, he still stares into it like he’s looking for something, clearly feigning interest and clearly still distracted.

“You could’ve asked if you were having trouble,” Bakugou grumbles, his brow wrinkling as he watches.

Kirishima lets out another awkward laugh. “Yeah, I guess I could,” he agrees. He doesn’t move from the dish cabinet.

Is he pointedly avoiding looking at Bakugou now? A frown lowers on Bakugou’s lips and he stares at Kirishima’s profile for a long moment, waiting for him to say something else. Kirishima fills silences, not Bakugou. Kirishima doesn’t avoid eye contact, Bakugou does. Kirishima doesn’t stare into dish cabinets when he’s hungry and looking for a snack, Bakugou—well, no, he doesn’t. He shakes his head, annoyed with where this thought process is leading.

Bakugou doesn’t shy away from conflict. And neither does Kirishima. So…

“What the fuck are you doing, shitty hair?”

That seems to startle him, and his eyes tear away from the dishes. “Oh! There’s no food in here.” His sheepish laugh returns, but this time it’s annoying because that's the one he uses when he's trying to brush something off. “Guess I’m still distracted.”

“No. You’ve been acting weird all day.” Ever since the Todoroki-Flowers incident, but Bakugou doesn’t say that.

“Have I?” Kirishima asks, closing the cabinet as his eyes dart around the room and look anywhere but Bakugou.

That makes him grind his teeth. He knows Bakugou hates being answered with questions. He was going to wring this shitty-haired, perfect piece of shit’s neck. His gaze zeroes in on Kirishima and he narrows his eyes. “Kirishima.”

At the sound of his name, ruby-red eyes find Bakugou’s own, and he blinks rapidly. “Uh…” He stutters as sharp teeth worry at this bottom lip and Bakugou hates the way he can’t help but follow that movement. Pink dusts Kirishima’s cheeks and Bakugou’s hand clenches into a fist as he tries to avoid moving over there to touch and see if his cheeks are warming with the color. The bottle crackles in his hand as he squeezes it. “Sorry, Bakugou. I’m really just a little distracted, honest.”

Bakugou looks at him, his expression gradually easing out of irritation. He feels like there’s something in his throat and he still hates it. “Tch. Just come get your damn food,” he says, stepping away from the fridge like an offering. And he hates that he knows that Kirishima will recognize that as Bakugou looking out for him in his own way – that it’s his way of saying eat something and maybe that will help.

He hates it even more that it works.

A knowing smile flits across Kirishima’s lips and he nods. He says something that Bakugou doesn’t register because all he can think about is that Kirishima is moving closer and stepping around him to take a look in the fridge. He stands back, watching the back of Kirishima’s head as he looks through what he could eat, and the proximity makes Bakugou’s chest feel full, and his hands sweat, and he hates it.

No. Fuck. He doesn’t hate it.

Bakugou, you obviously have feelings for him. This wouldn’t bother you so much if you didn’t.

Uraraka really got in his head. Because she was right. It did bother him. Kirishima was good with feelings. He was the one that was always encouraging Bakugou to embrace his emotions – shit, all the nights they’d spent staying up talking after Bakugou woke from nightmares to a panic attack and Kirishima could hear him through the walls. Kirishima vocalized his worries and his anxieties, he used them to talk and relate to their classmates and lower classmen, hell, even villains. Because Kirishima was good.

It bothers you that he hasn’t said anything.

Of course, it bothers him! Why should Bakugou have to take the initiative here? He was never the one who had to take the initiative before. Kirishima brought him into a friendship kicking and screaming, but that didn’t deter him. Even on Bakugou’s worst day, he knew Kirishima would still be there.

Are you in love with him too?

Fuck.

“Kirishima.”

Kirishima rights himself and looks back at Bakugou like he’s surprised to hear his name again. He turns around and he’s backlit by the light from the fridge like a goddamn angel and fuck if he isn’t the prettiest thing Bakugou’s ever seen. Bakugou’s brain feels like mush for the first time in his life and all he can do is glare at Kirishima’s confused face while he tries to decipher what exactly possessed him to say this stupid, wonderful, infuriating, amazing boy’s name.

Well, you’re the one that always says you do what you want.

Before he manages to catch up with himself, Bakugou finds himself stepping into Kirishima’s space and reaching up to hold the sides of his neck. He's never done this before because no one has ever caught his attention like this, no one has ever felt so close to him as Kirishima, but fuck if it isn’t perfect when he presses his lips to Kirishima’s, swallowing the small gasp that passes his lips.

Kirishima is still for a few beats, but he moves just before Bakugou begins to worry that he made a mistake. His hands find Bakugou’s hips, and he presses back, tilting his head into the kiss.

Bakugou might not know what he’s doing, but even to him, it’s clear that Kirishima does. The hands at his hips don’t stay there for long as they wind behind him to lie flat against his back, just under his shoulder blades as Kirishima bends and pulls Bakugou up into him – when did he get so damn tall? And he will never admit to the noise that he makes into Kirishima’s mouth when his tongue pushes gently into his mouth, or to the way his arms secure around solid shoulders as his fingers twist gently into red hair. He’ll die before he ever says he feels lighter and over the moon and like he’s having a moment straight out of those stupid American movies that Ashido likes so much.

The kiss is slow and sweet and everything like what he thought a kiss from Kirishima would be, because now that he’s actually kissing him, he will admit to thinking about it before. He lets Kirishima explore his mouth with his tongue, letting him lead and he’s never been so happy to follow.

As it slows to a stop, their lips press together in a lingering way and it’s Kirishima that finally pulls away. Despite the way he’d been so confidently and thoroughly kissing Bakugou, his eyes are completely full of questions and some uncertainty, wide and staring at him.

Bakugou looks back at him and realizes they’re still wrapped around each other and he’s a little out of breath. He doesn't know what he did with the water bottle he had in his hand, but it's gone too. No, right now, nothing else matters. So, he sets his jaw and tightens his hold slightly on Kirishima’s shoulders. Resolve. He’s full of resolve. He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki, and he goes after what he wants.

“I do what I want,” he says, his voice sure even if a bit winded. “And I want you.”

The way Kirishima’s eyes light up and a slow, blindingly happy smile creeps onto his lips sends Bakugou’s heart into fits and his stomach turns upside down with fucking butterflies.

“You want to do me?” Kirishima asks, a laugh tinging the back of his throat.

Moment ruined.

Bakugou’s cheeks warm faster than his quirk and he knows he’s turned the shade of Kirishima’s hair. “Fuck you,” he says, putting a hand on Kirishima’s face and shoving him away as that piece of shit laughs – and goddammit if it’s not Bakugou's favorite sound.

He pulls away, pushing off of Kirishima’s face as he goes and extracting himself from his arms. He storms away, hands balled into fists at his sides as he swears at himself because he doesn’t know how to fucking do this. The door to the fridge closes somewhere behind him and Kirishima’s laughter follows him to the elevator.

“Oh, come on, that was funny and you know it!” He says, catching Bakugou’s upper arm and letting himself get dragged onto the elevator as the doors pull open.

“No, it wasn’t,” Bakugou snaps, but all the fire there is just to mask his embarrassment. “I take it back. I hate you.” He shrugs off Kirishima’s hand and jams his finger against the button to their floor.

It doesn’t deter Kirishima in the slightest. It never does. “No, you don’t,” he laughs brightly. He takes his hand back, but steps back into Bakugou’s space as the doors close. “You like me.” His hands find Bakugou’s waist, and he turns Bakugou to face him, his lips pressing warm against flushed cheeks.

Bakugou turns his head slightly away, his hands grasping Kirishima’s forearms, but he can’t find it in him to pull away. “The worst,” he mutters, but still leans into the kisses pressed along his cheekbone.

A low chuckle rumbles through Kirishima’s chest – oh, oh that’s a new one and Bakugou doesn’t know what it means and he’s a second away from worrying about it because he’s gotten to the point where he can recognize Kirishima’s laughs or nonverbal cues and that’s new, but then Kirishima is stepping forward and pushing him back slowly. He presses against the wall of the elevator and it’s cold through his shirt but Kirishima is warm at his front and oh okay, fuck. There’s a little huff that works its way unbidden from his throat and his arms are moving without thinking as he clings to Kirishima.

“The worst, huh?” Kirishima grins, nudging his nose against Bakugou’s cheek for his attention.

And he gives it to him, turning his head back and letting Kirishima kiss him silly again. He feels hot all over, in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with his quirk. The cold at his back is exhilarating, somehow, as Kirishima presses him against the wall. He’s vaguely aware that the elevator has stopped moving and the doors are opening but he doesn’t care because Kirishima’s tongue is in his mouth again and it’s such a weird feeling but so, so right when it’s Kirishima.

Those lips trail away from Bakugou’s and he grunts at the loss, but then bites down on his bottom lip as Kirishima makes his way over his jaw and mouths at this throat. That’s when a whine – a fucking whine – forces its way past Bakugou’s tongue. His hands drop to Kirishima’s shoulders and he grits his teeth. “Fuck,” he growls, forcing his voice lower.

Then this mother fucker giggles and pulls away – and Bakugou honestly doesn’t know which one he’s more pissed off at – smiling at him. It’s blinding. “You’re so cute,” he exclaims. “I like you so much.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou groans, digging his fingers into Kirishima’s shoulder and ducking his head as he feels his cheeks redden again.

“Say you do what you want again! Say that you like me!” Kirishima pleads, laughing the whole time.

“Fucking—” Bakugou cuts himself off, not even sure what he wants to say. “You—” He growls unintelligibly again, and pushes Kirishima away from him, even if it is the gentlest push he thinks he’s ever given in his life. He slams his finger on their floor again, and the doors open immediately. He stalks around this laughing, amazing mother fucker and into the hallway, making a straight line to his room.

As always, ever since they were first-years, Kirishima follows. And he’s still laughing like an idiot, and there’s a section of Bakugou’s chest and stomach that is absolutely giddy, and he grinds his teeth instead of smiling. “Bakugou,” Kirishima calls, elongating his name and fuck it’s cute and he’s going to wake the entire floor up and if that happens Bakugou knows that he’ll die.

The door recognizes his fingerprint – a security measure that the school added in last year, but Bakugou knows it’s because some people just couldn’t ever keep track of their damn keys – and the door opens. Kirishima still follows him, stopping the door with his foot and a hand flat on the door. Damn, he is so lucky that Bakugou wasn’t slamming it because he didn’t even harden.

“I just want to talk,” Kirishima says, smiling sweetly at him. The laughter has mostly subsided, but it still shines in his eyes.

Bakugou’s heart thumps loudly in his chest, and he softens. He loves this boy and it’s so weird to think that so openly to himself now, but he likes it.

“And then, maybe you can cross a few things off your to-do list.” Kirishima waggles his eyebrows, that sweet smile turning into a knowing smirk.

Nope, nevermind, Bakugou hates him.

“You shithead,” he groans. But despite that, he walks away from his door and makes no move to close it again. A silent invitation for Kirishima to enter which is wholeheartedly taken.

It amazes Bakugou how relaxed Kirishima is in his room. He treats it like his own, acting perfectly at home and comfortable as he collapses on Bakugou’s bed. Meanwhile, Bakugou’s brain is reeling. It’s like there are red flashing lights in his head that are screaming at him, Kirishima is in your room and on your bed, as if Kirishima hadn’t ever been here before.

But it’s different now because he just had his tongue down your throat in the elevator and you’re hoping that he does that again, his brain points out.

And it’s fucking right, and Bakugou doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this unsure in his own space. At least not about something this stupid. Sure, there had been his first year where he was the reason that his childhood role model and reason he decided to become a hero had to retire because of him. And the fact that, at the same time, his childhood rival was starting to rise to his level and surpass him. Kirishima had been by his side then, though, and that made things just a little better. And it made him want to be better. But now Kirishima was in his bed and laid out like a fucking angel—

“I can hear you thinking, babe,” Kirishima said, looking up at him with that smile again. The soft one that Bakugou thinks is probably the reason he fell in love in the first place.

Wait. Babe.

Fuck, he’s on fire, he knows it.

Kirishima laughs and holds out his hand, gesturing for Bakugou to take it. “Come sit down. Don’t worry, I promise I just want to talk.”

Bakugou feels so tense. His shoulders feel like they have rocks on them, but he takes Kirishima’s hand and the sweat that’s layering his palm doesn’t seem to be a bother as he’s tugged forward and onto the bed. “I’m not worried,” he grumbles, crossing his legs under himself, sitting across from Kirishima and he knows that his lie is utterly unconvincing in his presence.

The reassuring look on Kirishima’s face is almost enough to make him actually not worry. “Yeah, okay, tough guy,” he chuckles, looking down at their hands and rubbing his thumb over the top of Bakugou’s. It feels nice. Really nice. Bakugou didn’t know he could like physical touch this much, but it feels so genuine coming from Kirishima, who’s one of the only people who’s never been afraid to touch him. And now he’s holding dangerous hands so gently and, fuck, lovingly.

Bakugou can’t decide if he wants to pull away because it’s overwhelming, or dive in headfirst and drown in it.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Kirishima tells him quietly.

Bakugou wants to say I know or That’s because you have good taste or something confident but instead, his throat feels too dry and he swallows, watching Kirishima’s hands stroke his own.

“I kinda… love you, actually.”

Bakugou dives. Kirishima’s not going to let him drown.

“Me…” He clears his throat when his voice comes out scratchy. Kirishima looks up at him and he looks hopeful, which Bakugou thinks is stupid. He doesn’t need to look hopeful, he should already know. Kirishima knows him better than anyone. For fuck’s sake, Bakugou had been the one to move first – for the first time in their friendship. Relationship? Shit.

“You?” Kirishima prompts him, and Bakugou realizes he’s just been staring at him like a dumbass.

“I love you,” he finishes because Kirishima deserves for him to actually say it, even if his voice is an embarrassed, low grumble. Not just say me too or yeah or some kind of quick exchange where Bakugou gets to leave it unsaid while Kirishima keeps carrying the burden of initiating everything. He doesn’t need Kirishima to initiate everything. He’s Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Kirishima’s smile puts every other smile in his arsenal to shame. This one is Bakugou’s new favorite. This is the one he’s going to think about every waking second. The one that’s going to get him to do whatever Kirishima wants, and he’ll do it happily behind a mask of annoyance because that’s just how he is and Kirishima accepts that about him.

He’s Kirishima fucking Eijirou and Bakugou is so damn in love with him.

It is weird to say, though. Bakugou has never said those three words together before. But it’s not a bad weird, and he still feels like himself. That’s how he knows that it’s true.

“I love you, too!” Kirishima exclaims, reaching for him and cupping his face gently at the jaw.

“Yeah, you said that already,” Bakugou replies, averting his gaze for a few moments for his own sanity before inevitably being pulled back in by the magnet of Kirishima’s pure joy.

“And I’ll keep saying it,” Kirishima insists. “Can I kiss you again?”

“I’ll be fucking pissed if you don’t.”

Kirishima’s lips are already on his by the end of his sentence, because he already knew the answer would be yes. It’s just as good as the last three kisses, and Bakugou wonders when he’ll stop keeping count.

This one is different though because Kirishima is pulling Bakugou closer but they’re sitting down. But he wants to be closer, too, so he moves and it’s strange. But this is clearly not the first time for Kirishima, because his hands are on Bakugou’s waist to help him move and arrange them in a mess of limbs where Bakugou sits on Kirishima’s lap. Now his hands are on Kirishima’s neck and he’s above him for the first time. Hand spread over his back and the tension in his shoulders melts away. His eyebrows are scrunched together, and he feels so helpless but safe like this.

Then laughter once again bubbles up from Kirishima but this time Bakugou ignores him. He’s just happy. That has to be all it is. But it doesn’t stop and increases a little when Bakugou experiments with his own tongue, sliding it over Kirishima’s lips.

Bakugou pulls back and glares down at him. The tips of his ears are red. It’s not like he’s ever kissed anyone before so, of course, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it confidently. “The fuck are you laughing for?” He frowns.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Kirishima says. One of his hands leaves Bakugou’s back and covers his face, pressing the pad of his finger under his eye, tears leaking out of the corner. “This is just crazy. I just went to get a snack.” He pauses, wiping at his eye and looking up at Bakugou with consideration. “Well, actually. I mean, I guess I did kind of get one.” He grins and his hands go back to Bakugou’s sides, looking him over appreciatively.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou groans, dropping his head onto Kirishima’s shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize how natural that was, so he doesn’t move, turning his head into Kirishima’s neck.

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

“Fuck off.” His voice is muffled on Kirishima’s skin and he fists his hands in the back of Kirishima’s shirt.

“You would miss me too much.” And fuck, if he isn’t right about that.

“Maybe,” Bakugou concedes, a little huffy.

Another bright laugh and this time Bakugou doesn’t try to stop the smile that creeps onto his face. “Alright, so now we can hold hands walking to class. I want to cuddle in the common room on movie nights too, okay?” Bakugou scoffs indignantly, but he’s ignored as Kirishima continues with his list, “You have to kiss me good luck before the big exams, too. And before we go on patrol. Oh! I wonder if Fat Gum would let you patrol with us, sometime!”

“You wanna be the one to ask Endeavor?” Bakugou retorts.

“Oh. No.” He feels Kirishima shake his head before he turns down and kisses Bakugou’s forehead. It’s so sweet and domestic and it’s a gesture that Bakugou doesn’t recall ever experiencing before. It makes him feel warm and he picks his head up to press a lingering kiss to Kirishima’s lips instead.

“I will, maybe, do some of that,” he says, knowing full well that he will do all of it if it means Kirishima will keep smiling like this at him, about him, for him, because of him.

“Can I tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend?” Kirishima asks, brushing a gentle hand through Bakugou’s spikes.

Wow. He really likes the sound of that. Kirishima’s. His. Boyfriend. Which also means, Bakugou’s, mine. It means he’s Kirishima’s and Kirishima is Bakugou’s. He doesn't mind being someone's if that someone is Kirishima.

“…yeah,” he agrees, nodding.

The smile. Yeah, that’s what he wanted to see.

“Can I call you Katsuki now?”

“You’re a menace.”

“You can call me Eijirou.”

“Get out.”

Bakugou isn’t sure how long they stay in his bed. They switch between kissing and talking for hours, and he knows it’s getting late because he’s exhausted and falling asleep on Kirishima’s shoulder. He vaguely realizes that he never studied more, which means Kirishima didn’t either. But they were distracted. He’ll make them study tomorrow and hold kissing hostage until Kirishima passes his practice exams.

To avoid Aizawa’s wrath, Kirishima eventually picks himself up to leave and Bakugou finds himself following him to the door. More lingering kisses by the door and Kirishima complains that he doesn’t want to leave and makes another joke about a to-do list. Bakugou pushes him out by his shoulders, Kirishima cackling and holding up his hands in surrender.

“Goodnight Katsuki,” he smiles, kissing him one more time as he leans back in the doorway.

“Goodnight,” Bakugou insists, mostly closing the door.

“Hm?” Kirishima hums, followed by another peck on the lips.

“Goodnight Eijirou,” he says again and receives a very triumphant look from his boyfriend. Fuck, he really likes that. Kirishima’s beaming like he’s won, but Bakugou doesn’t feel like he lost.

“I love you!”

“…yeah, yeah, you too. Go to sleep!”

It takes a few more tries, but he finally gets his door to close. He can practically see the heart emojis coming off of Kirishima as he leaves.

Finally, he collapses in bed, curling up under his blanket. He stares up at his ceiling blankly for a few minutes before he smiles, biting down on his lips to try to stop it. Then he finds himself laughing quietly, barely a breath and mostly out of his nose, but he’s laughing and he’s so happy.

No. No, he doesn’t hate this at all.

[svartalfhild]

The Mirror is in the Eye of the Muse

Rating: T

Genre: Gothic Romance, Fantasy

Words: 2,284

Summary: Vrae is forced to confront the fact that Caspar Arden is more than just a Kargat agent she manipulates for information.

A/N: This is a small story that covers an important moment in the life of my new DnD character, a drow bard who is from Ravenloft, but ends up in a homebrew setting for our campaign.

Previous stories: The Oracle and the Officer, (Un)bearable, Shattered

~ ~ ~

One early summer night, Vrae awoke to find Caspar sitting up beside her, hugging his knees and staring out into the darkness of her flat.  She’d never seen him do this before, and that alarmed her slightly.  In all their time together, she’d seen him lie awake a few times, but she’d never found him sitting up in the middle of the night looking so obviously troubled.

“Caspar?” she called softly, propping herself up on her elbows.  “Are you alright?”  There was a pause and he looked back at her over his shoulder.

“No.”

“What’s the matter?”  Vrae fully sat up and put a comforting hand on his bare back.  He closed his eyes for a moment before answering.

“There are things required of me in my duty to king and country that are…difficult.  Things that often linger with me.”

“Things you can’t tell me about,” Vrae prompted and he nodded.  This was the first time he’d ever made reference to the terrible orders the Kargat undoubtedly had him carry out on a regular basis.  Vrae was no fool and had always fully expected that his employers had him hurting and killing people, but somehow it was different to hear him confirm it by implication.  The fact that the memories of such work haunted him told her that he felt guilt, and she had never expected that from someone as loyal to Darkon as him.  What if she could turn him away from the Kargat?  She’d had the thought in the past, but never with any serious consideration.  But if he felt guilt?  That meant some part of him knew the Kargat was evil, and she could have a glimmer of hope for him.  With a sympathetic sigh, she put her arms around Caspar from behind and pressed her cheek to his shoulder blade.  “I know a thing or two about being haunted.  It’s a heavy burden.”

“Does it ever get easier?” he asked, laying his left hand over the one she held against his heart.

“Only if you find a place to put those feelings.  I put mine into my music.”

“I see.”  Caspar fell into silent contemplation again after this, and Vrae gave him a few moments before making an offer.

“Would you like me to ask the cards for guidance?”

“Yes.”  At that, she kissed his shoulder and pulled away to grab her tarokka deck off the nightstand.  As she shuffled, he turned and watched her, reaching out to brush her long white hair away from her face.  She gave him a brief smile before drawing three cards at once and splaying them out in her fingers.

“The Dictator.  The Shepard.  The Seer.”  Hope flared again in her heart with these cards.  They were telling her that she was right; he could be saved.  If she was careful and clever enough, she could do it.  She couldn’t tell him that directly, however.  “Your heart is heavy with the demands of your position, but you’re not alone.  As long as you’re true to yourself above all things and rely on your intellect and talents, you will find what you seek.”

“I see,” he said again, and he visibly relaxed.  She returned the cards to the deck and put it aside so that she could wrap her arms around him again.

“You may not be able to tell me about your work, but you can tell me when you need me,” she murmured, and he held her tightly in return until they both fell into a resting trance against each other.

~ ~ ~

At the end of the following week, Caspar appeared in Vrae’s shop seeming significantly more at ease than he had previously.  Clearly whatever coping mechanism he’d turned to as a result of her advice was working, at least for the time being.  In fact, he seemed particularly eager to see her.  There was a liveliness to his demeanor that he didn’t often display, as evidenced by the fact that after she returned his greeting, he kissed her and lifted her up to sit her on the shop counter.

“Did you miss me?” she teased with a small laugh, crossing her ankles behind Caspar’s back.  He smiled up at her, his dark green eyes brimming with affection, and leaned in close.

“Very much.”  He kissed her again, more deeply this time, and she hummed in delight.  “I’ve brought you something,” he told her upon pulling back, the excitement finally coming through in his voice.  He reached into his pocket, but Vrae put a halting finger to his chest.

“Ah, not before we see what the cards have to say about you today.”  With a bit of sleight of hand, she appeared to draw a tarokka card from thin air.  The Beast.  She laughed and flipped it to show Caspar.  “It seems you’re missing me even now,” she purred, making the card vanish as quickly as she’d summoned it.  Ever the master of self-control, however, he remained unflustered.

“It can wait,” he replied, and she was tempted to trace a finger along the long point of one of his ears, just to see if she could get a reaction from him then.  He pulled a small package from the pocket of his long black coat and handed it to her.  She could feel that it was a book of some kind, and she raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued.  Unfolding the cloth wrapping, she found it was a novel entitled The Pale Muse at the Edge of Forever by someone named Eodred Wolfram.  The cover was dark blue and was embossed with gorgeous silver lettering and intricate swirling designs.  She flipped it open to discover that it was printed on high quality paper with some of the crispest lettering she’d ever seen.

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful.  Where did you get it?”

“This novel has only ever been published in Mordentish, and I know you never learned much of the language because you couldn’t go to school, so I had a Darkonian translation commissioned for you.  I think you’ll quite like the story,” Caspar explained, and Vrae was suddenly reminded how terribly rich he was.  She had to admit that she was more than a little pleased that he had taken to spending so much of that vast wealth on her.  He might be Kargat, but he sure knew how to treat a girl right.

“If you went to such lengths for me, then I’m sure I will.  Thank you.”  Vrae hugged the book to her chest, doing her best not to give in to the urge to flail with excitement.

“You deserve nice things,” Caspar responded softly, and she fixed him with an inviting smirk.

“As do you.”  Setting the book aside, she leaned back on her hands, as if to put herself on display.  Taking this cue, he placed his hands over hers and pressed himself up against her.

“Izil dos telanth,” he whispered to her in Drow, accepting all that she offered, before proceeding to remind her how voracious he could be when he let his stoney bearing fall away entirely.

~ ~ ~

The faint sound of a hand brushing against paper reached Vrae’s ears, stirring her from her trance, and she opened her eyes with some effort to see Caspar sitting by the nearest window, still undressed but for the blanket he had wrapped around his waist.  He held a leatherbound book in the crook of his arm and appeared to be drawing in it with a charcoal pencil, glancing up occasionally at something out the window between the heavy curtains.  His expression was focused, but peaceful, and she watched him admiringly for a moment before speaking.

“I didn’t know you were an artist.”  She’d rifled through the pockets of his coat during the night many times over the past couple of years, looking for scraps of Kargat intel, but she’d never found any drawings, so this was a genuine revelation.  At the sound of her voice, he looked over at her and let out a small huff of a laugh.

“‘Artist’ is perhaps too generous a term.  I sketch.  A habit I picked up at university to help center myself.  When I came to Vradlock to serve Lord Dremneth, I no longer seemed to have much time for it, but after your advice last week, I’ve decided to make time,” he explained and she grinned.  Draping herself in the bedsheet, she rose and approached him.

“May I see?”  When he nodded, she came to stand behind him and peer over his shoulder at his sketchbook.  He seemed to have been in the midst of drawing the front of the pawnshop across the street.  He had an exacting style that appeared to focus on capturing things just as they were with no embellishments, edits, or exaggerations.  It fit perfectly with his personality and revealed a side of him that found beauty in simple things.  “You are an artist,” she insisted, and he gave her an appreciative but self-conscious sigh.

“Perhaps look at my other work before being so sure in your assessment.”  He handed her the sketchbook, and she carefully took it, sitting herself down on his lap before opening it from the beginning and flipping through.  The first few pages of sketches were rougher and more incomplete, but she could see that he had improved quickly.  He clearly had always preferred to draw from life, and these early sketches depicted places and people she’d never seen before.

“Where was this?” she asked, pointing to a drawing of wisterias hanging from a trellis.

“That was at the university in Il Aluk.  They have some very lovely gardens there, although nothing quite as extensive as those at the university in Sidnar, where most of the programmes are focused on natural sciences.”

“What did you study?”

“Law and diplomacy mainly.”

“Ah, yes, that explains this drawing of a man in magistrate’s robes.”  Vrae flipped the page and pointed at a sketch of a rather bored looking human man with a pair of spectacles perched on his broad, dark nose.  There were a several more pages of scenery from the university before there was a marked shift in subject matter, fewer people and buildings and more plants and natural landscapes.  One piece stood out to her in particular: an enormous tree covered in Ancient Elvish runes.  She knew what it was just from having heard stories.  “Is this the Nevuchar Shrine?”

“Yes.”  There was a fondness in Caspar’s voice with this answer.  Vrae had rarely heard him speak of his home town, and when he did, it wasn’t generally with a positive bent, so this was unexpected.  Looking at the other drawings in this section of the book made her realize that they were likely all sights from Nevuchar Springs, and these were the things he loved about home that he never talked about.  Based on his art, he had grown up in a breathtakingly beautiful city; she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave such a place.

“Do you miss home?”

“Sometimes.  But there is very little I’d like to return to.  I consider Vradlock my home now.”  As he said this, Vrae flipped the page again and found art of very familiar places until she was back at his half-finished sketch from just this now.  After having seen his older work, she could see the difference, not just in quality, but also the tone of the material.  There was something particularly loving about the new drawings that was absent in the old ones, and that brought greater truth to his words.  She smiled, handing the book back to him.

“My assessment stands.”

“Given that creative expression is part of your trade, I suppose I must respect your professional opinion.”  There was resignation in Caspar’s tone, but deep fondness in his eyes, and Vrae kissed his cheek in response before getting up from his lap.

“Vrae?” he called, and she turned back to look at him expectantly.  There was an odd shyness in his gaze which took her a little off guard.  “Would it be alright if I drew you?”

“Of course.”  His shoulders relaxed slightly with this confirmation, and he turned the page of his sketchbook.  “How do you want me?” Vrae asked upon returning to the bed, putting herself on display again.  He gave her an exasperated but amused look at her teasing.

“No need to pose.  Just go about your business.”

“Well, my business right now is catching a bit more rest, so I hope that’s sufficiently interesting subject matter.”  Without even waiting for a response, Vrae closed her eyes and let herself fall back into trance, tuning out the sounds of pencil against paper.

When she awoke later, she was alone and morning light was peeking through the curtains.  Glancing around, she spotted a drawing and a note on her nightstand.  The drawing was of her in trance, and she looked so…peaceful.  She’d never seen herself so relaxed.  There was a sort of elegance about her appearance as well, even as she lay tangled among the sheets, and she realized that this was how Caspar saw her.  Grinning to herself, she opened the note, and it read:

“Sorry to vanish on you.  Couldn’t be late for my meeting with our lord mayor.  Wanted you to have this so you can always be reminded of how beautiful you are, even when you’re not trying to be. - Caspar”

Vrae was so moved by this that she put her hand to her heart and fought the urge to cry.  She had to save this man.  She had to.  She only wished she knew how.  Or whether she could justify the cost to the resistance.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 55

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,953

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

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Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Testing Boundaries

When you arrived at the kitchen a few hours later for dinner prep, you were surprised to find Ben conspicuously absent. At first you worried that he was afraid to show his face after being caught with Simon last night, but the staff member named Andrew informed you that he had temporarily stepped out when one of Negan’s men came in and said he needed Ben’s assistance with something. When Andrew verified the man’s identity as “the big smiley one with the mustache”, you had a feeling you knew just what kind of “assistance” had been needed. You weren’t even upset about it, because truth be told, Ben deserved some breaks from the kitchen. And you had a feeling that Simon possessed just enough carefree attitude and allure to make sure Ben got them. 

With the rest of the staff busy at their various tasks, and without Ben there as a distraction, you quickly became consumed with thoughts of your earlier conversation with Maria. She had made it seem as though Amber had been subdued, at least temporarily, and the rest of the wives weren’t in an uproar over the lack of attention from Negan, but the fact that a conversation about you had occurred at all put you a bit on edge. It was now obvious to the wives that you were the reason for Negan’s change in behavior, and you wondered how long it would take for that to leak to the rest of the community. And when that happened, people were sure to wonder and speculate, right? Hell, you had a bunch of questions still, and you were the one personally involved in the situation! 

By the time the first round of food was exiting the kitchen and being served to hungry patrons, your brain was starting to ache from how much that padlocked box of unanswered questions was jumping around, screaming to be opened and explored. You knew it couldn’t be ignored for much longer, but were terrified of what you might find if you let it loose. You already knew you were developing an emotional attachment to Negan, but if you opened that padlock and really took a look at the items inside, you might realize just how strong the emotions waiting to be uncovered really were. Hell, you had almost stupidly blurted some of what you were feeling out in the woods yesterday, and had barely caught yourself in time. 

Besides, the scariest part of opening that box wasn’t just looking at your own emotions and asking the tough questions, it was then also having to see what his responses would be.

Well the unknown is almost worse, so it’s time to suck it up and have a serious conversation with him about where all of this is going. Ask him about if he’s keeping his wives, admit you know he hasn’t been sleeping with them, and see what he says. Worst case scenario he laughs in your face, sends you away, and never speaks to you again. Easy peasy. 

Just as you were about to work up to a full internal panic attack at the thought of discussing it with him, the doors to the kitchen swung open, and Ben appeared. To anyone else he’d probably look the same as usual, but as he headed in your direction you could see a slight flush to his cheeks and a couple pieces of hair that were suspiciously more disheveled than usual. 

“I’m so sorry for missing prep,” he said by way of greeting, looking a bit tense, as if unsure how you’d treat him after the previous evening.

“Don’t apologize for things if you don’t actually regret them,” you teased with a smirk and playful shake of your head, voice low enough so that only he could hear. 

He choked on a laugh, shoulders visibly relaxing when he realized that nothing had changed between the two of you, and there was zero need for formality or awkwardness. 

Nudging you with his shoulder, he said, “Thanks.” It was one simple word, but the slightly shaky and whispered tone let you know how much emotion was behind it. 

A surge of protectiveness surged in you. If it hadn’t been apparent before how willing you were to Ricardo death-stab anyone who tried to make fun of or harm Ben, it definitely was now. He was one of the sweetest humans you had ever met, and Simon better treat him right or else he’d be dealing with you and your pointy sidekick.

“So, uh, what kind of ‘assistance’ did he need your help with?” You tried for cool and casual, but couldn’t totally hide a teasing grin.

“Oh, nothing much. He just needed a bit of a hand with something, if you know what I mean.” 

At the look of surprise on your face, he started laughing loud enough to draw a few curious gazes from the others. “Besides that, he was letting me know he wouldn’t be around for a day or two.”

Brows furrowing, you asked, “Is Negan sending him back to an outpost?”

“No, he’s joining the supply run tomorrow.” 

At this, you jolted with a different kind of surprise. “They’re going on a run tomorrow?”

“Yea, but I think it was a spur of the moment decision. He didn’t give me any details, but I got the sense that it hadn’t been planned in advance.” 

You nodded, “That makes sense.” If Negan had planned this run before today, he’d have most likely told you...right? 

“I’m sure he’d have told you if he knew,” Ben said, as if he were reading your thoughts. 

“Yea, you’re probably right,” you said, deciding to make that the one thing you didn’t need to overanalyze to death. Instead, you felt a pang in knowing that he wouldn’t be here for a couple of days. You had really been enjoying all this one-on-one time with him, even though it was unrealistic to expect it to last forever. 

You wanted to ask Ben more questions about Simon, but didn’t want to risk any other staff overhearing. Vowing to sit him down outside the kitchen and get all the details in the near future, you refocused on serving dinner. Both brain and body were kept busy for the next few hours with making sure everyone got a serving of food, including the staff and yourself, and then helping with the clean-up. 

It wasn’t until you were back upstairs, lounging in your own bed, that you returned to the dilemma of what to do next. Originally, you had planned to start a conversation with Negan about the wife situation, but now you didn’t think the timing was right. If he was going on a run tomorrow then he needed a clear head and to focus on staying safe, not be preoccupied with your concerns and questions. Especially since you didn’t know if asking about the wives would lead to an argument, and you definitely didn’t want to be on bad terms when he left.

Seeing him tonight and trying to act like your brain hadn’t been a whirlwind of confusing thoughts all day sounded exhausting as hell. But not seeing him and then something potentially happening to him on the run…

You had stood from the bed and headed towards the door before the thought could even finish itself. Nope, there was no way you weren’t gonna go see him, even if it was just for a little bit before returning to your own room for the night. Your watch said it was almost 8:30, so you had a little time before he’d probably be winding down for the night, since chances were good they’d leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow. 

No community members paid you much attention when you headed to the stairwell, but when you got to the top and entered the hall leading to Negan’s room, your stomach dropped at the sight of a small group of Saviors walking down the hall in your direction.

You guessed that they were the group going on the run tomorrow, and had just come from a meeting in one of the unoccupied rooms on this floor. While you were unsure whether to turn around and hightail it back downstairs, your subconscious kept marching forward, no fucks to give that you could be accused of trespassing on a level where community members weren’t supposed to wander. 

When they got closer, you saw a couple of the Saviors give furrowed looks, and one even opened his mouth as if to reprimand you.

“Hey, you can’t just be-“

He was interrupted when another man clapped a large hand on his shoulder, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. Relief flooded through you at the sight of Simon.

“Now now, Ryan. Don’t you know that this little lady here gets a free pass? Negan’s orders, so don't forget.”

Face instantly becoming less hostile, the man gave a nod of understanding and a quick, “Apologies, Miss,” as they passed. Simon gave a signature wink and grin, and you forced a smile in return, brain still preoccupied with his words.

Had Negan really told them that you were to be allowed up here? If so, did that mean he didn’t care if they knew you and him were...whatever you were? Your subconscious was now skipping with glee rather than marching, and your brain gave an exasperated sigh and glared at you while tossing yet another question into the padlocked box.

Arriving at Negan’s door, you gave a soft knock and then opened it at his muffled, “Come in.” He was sitting at his desk with those nerdy, yet also sexy as hell, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he shuffled through a stack of papers.

He looked up, and your heart rate accelerated when he smiled in welcome and said, “Hey, doll.”

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, smiling back. 

He pulled off the glasses (lord, why was that move so damn attractive?!) before rubbing at his tired eyes. Pushing the chair back a bit, he gave you a slow once over before clapping a hand to his knee expectantly.

Unlike when he had last made the gesture, the evening you ate lasagna together, this time you didn’t hesitate. Rounding the desk, you settled onto his warm lap and tilted your head back with a satisfied hum when he placed a possessive kiss on your lips. 

Glancing at the papers strewn across the polished wooden surface, you saw that they were full of lists and numbers, most likely of supplies. He nuzzled at the side of your neck, the friction from his beard causing a little shudder to go down your spine. Your brain rattled the padlocked box in annoyance, narrowly avoiding the tomato thrown at it by your subconscious. 

The reminder helped you refocus on how you had earlier decided not to have sex with him tonight. Not with all the questions and uncertainty floating around your head, and especially not when he needed to be well-rested and undistracted, in preparation for the run. But then the self-doubt creeped in and whispered, What if he decides to go find comfort elsewhere, if you won’t give it to him? He’s already had you and the chase is over, so what makes you think he’ll stay if you backtrack into more platonic interactions?

Your brain picked up the tomato and chucked it at the self-doubt, while the subconscious screamed in excitement at the prospect of a food fight. You tried to ignore all of them and refocus on Negan. Besides, while a risky move, you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be when denied sex, something you bet he never had worried about with his wives.

“I heard you’re going on a run tomorrow,” you stated, trying not to let all of the conflicting emotions racing through you bleed into your tone.

Giving a sigh, he lifted his mouth from your neck, and you instantly wanted to take back your words at the loss. “Yea, gonna leave at 5 in the fucking morning to make a surprise trip to fucking Hilltop and see what’s up with that motherfucker, Gregory.”

Hearing the irritation in his voice, you asked “Has he been giving you problems?” 

“You could fucking say that. Didn’t fully meet his quota the last two times, so this is his third time’s the fucking charm chance to make up for it.”

Worry shot through you at this, remembering in the past when Negan had said Simon got a weird feeling about Gregory. You weren’t sure if the man was conniving or just plain dumb to be fucking with Negan’s supply rules like this, but it put you on edge. 

“Well, just be careful,” you couldn’t help but say, looking up into his handsome-as-hell face. 

He chuckled and bent down to kiss you again, murmuring, “Don’t fucking worry, doll. Nothing could keep me from coming back now.” 

You wanted so badly to give in, to respond to the kiss in full and let it escalate. His words warmed your chest at the thought of being his main reason for returning safely. You wanted to be his main everything, the way he was quickly becoming yours. You were falling for this man, but were scared to completely let go until a serious discussion was had...after he returned from the run. 

With one last lingering peck, you pulled back and reluctantly stood off his lap. “Well, it’s getting late so I should probably get back to my room.”

“What?” he asked, voice instantly stern and brows lowered in confusion. 

“You need sleep before the run, and I’ll just be a distraction. I could set an alarm and come see you off in the morning, if you want.” 

The hope that he’d be placated by what you thought was a logical argument was quickly dashed when he replied, “I think fucking not.”

“Negan, you need-”

He abruptly stood, and before you could even process what he was about to do, you were hoisted up and over his shoulder, head hanging down his back and ass in the air as he strode across the office and into his dark bedroom.

“What the hell!” you shrieked, lightly smacking his back with the palm of your hand. 

Kicking the bedroom door shut behind him, he took a few steps into the room before putting you down. The room was only lit by a few stray moonbeams, but you swore there was mirth dancing in the shadows of his amber gaze, which only made you more flustered. 

“I cannot believe you just did that!” you exclaimed, readjusting the bottom of your shirt where it had ridden up. 

“Well, maybe now you’ll fucking learn not to try and tell me what I need, doll.”

“Everyone needs sleep,” you fired back with a glare. You were just miffed enough at being manhandled to act petulant, even if the move had also been kinda hot, in a primitive sort of way. 

“What I need, is for you to get in the fucking bed,” he growled. 

A wave of heat poured over you at the words, and your brain stopped working in full sentences due to the amount of blood flow that had rapidly traveled south. 

“But...sleep,” you tried one more time, frantically trying remind your body of the ‘no sex tonight’ rule. 

Giving a ‘holy mother of god woman why are you like this’ level of sigh, he said, “Yes, doll, I’ll fucking sleep. But I can still do that with you here. So get in. The. Fucking. Bed.”

Realizing resistance was futile, you threw your hands in the air and muttered ‘fine’ before stripping off your shoes and jeans, and crawling between the covers. You pointedly left on your underwear and shirt, a nonverbal reminder that sleep was on the menu, and no more...no matter how much your body was screaming that it hated you for denying it. 

In unspoken agreement, Negan stripped down to just his boxer briefs, rather than his usual bed attire of naked, and crawled under the covers. Pulling you into his body, back to his chest, his head rested a few inches behind yours. He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck, and biting your lip was all that held back a whimper. 

“You better fully wake me up in the morning, so I can say goodbye,” you mumbled, the decadently soft mattress and pillow quickly putting you into a drowsy haze.

The hand he had rested lightly on your hip gave an affectionate squeeze, and he whispered, “I will. Now stop talking, doll. I need sleep, remember.”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his tone, you snuggled back tighter against him, and sighed in contentment. “Good night.”

His voice lost all teasing and became lower and softer when he replied, “Night, doll.” 

Smiling, your muscles relaxed into the mattress. It wasn’t until you were cocooned back in this glorious bed with him that it became apparent just how exhausted you were. The mental gymnastics your brain had gone through today had thoroughly worn you out. However, a part of that persistent self-doubt had now broken off and shriveled up to dust when it saw that Negan was perfectly willing to have you in his bed like this, with no sexual expectations. If you could stay awake long enough to fully think it through, you’d be shocked as hell that he hadn’t pushed. The fact that he hadn’t even brought up sex, that he still wanted you here with him, even just to do this…

Your last coherent thought was maybe he’s falling for you too, and then sleep took over.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~