#but that’ll lean more into an emotional side of things?! anyway many thoughts many thoughts

[eeblouissant]

This is a friendly nudge not a demand buuuut just saying if you ever wanna share your thoughts on Dorothy bottoming, as you vaguely mentioned before and more on your other blog.... I'm sure a few of us are listening

ohhh I have been dying to talk about it but I was unsure if anyone would be interested in a ramble on that topic ?!!! now that I know a handful of you are though 👀 let me get some thoughts together and move to my side blog

[mochikeiji]

Looking Like U Got Me

Request: "Prompt no. 56 and 55 for Gojo ＼(^o^)／"

55. "You look like my husband/wife"

56. "Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster"

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x Reader

↠ Warning: none! Simply fluff

↬ Word Count: 1.7k

↠ a/n: i accidentally mixed up prompts 55 and 57 ;-; but still hoping this turns out good!!

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event!

All he wanted was to wake up in bed, next to you— who would cuddle deeper in his arms even in slumber so he'd smother you with his kisses and tighten his hold around you and drift back to sleep longer, finally free of responsibilities for once and enjoy quality time with his only favorite person. But instead he wakes up with a groan passing through his lips, supporting his back side with his hand while shuffling to his side in a different position as the light sun rays shun through the window blinds, softly fanning his eye and forehead.

Gojo chuckles a bit before wincing. His lower back so tensed that he feels himself get older by the day. Pouting at the empty space next to him, he palms the cold sheet in wonder of where you are. Up so early in the morning when you could've just stayed in for him. How annoying. His eyes shut for moment when the scent coming from outside the room intruded his senses. Ah, you must be cooking breakfast. How sweet of you.

Thank goodness it wasn't another batch of dried crackers or cup of noodles that'll enter his mouth. He was never one to cook meals when he was on solo or when you weren't around. The very thought of not only the meal was awaiting for him outside, but also you excites him that it made him feel tingly inside. Call it dramatic, yeah, but it's not every day someone gets to wake up and immediately feel this full of love in the morning. You were the only and last love he's ever wanted to have in this world. It was so surreal even to him.

Sighing before pushing himself up, Gojo yawns out the remains of drowsiness in his system and stands. He didn't bother wearing a shirt since last night, claiming that he misses how his body rubs off yours in both comforting and suggestive ways. Plus it was just you and him home, he'd rather walk naked than wear the usual long sleeved uniform on a warm day.

The scent of coffee got stronger as he closes in his journey towards the kitchen. There was faint sizzling coming from the pan as you stood there in attendance. Stuck in your own little world, swaying to the sound of the radio playing, U got Me by Yung Heazy. It was one of the few songs that reminded you of Gojo back when you were both high schoolers. The exact song you remembered playing when you both hung out on a small cafe in Tokyo. Where he was so flustered, attempted to hide his blushes with his round glasses. The little things that reminded you of that memory never fails to make your heart race.

Of course Gojo knows this one as well. Because it was on that date as well he had call you, "his" after masking his embarrassment and from obviously checking you out every minute. How could he contain himself? He was a young man who was having trouble in the arts of love. Nevertheless he was glad to have grown up from those years. If his younger self could see him now, he'd be gagging at the sight of a softer version of his older self.

Snaking his arms around your torso carefully to avoid surprising you, he places his chin above your shoulder. Salivating at the sight of thick bacon in deep frying, shamelessly letting you know he was hungry from the sound of his stomach growling. "This is a nice way to greet me." you smile at the man behind you, who had his eyes closed in delight while rubbing his cheek against yours like a cat in need of attention. "Good morning to you as well, sweet cheeks." he says after  pressing a kiss on your skin.

"You got up early." whining softly, his hair and nose tickling the side of your neck and shoulder, "I was hoping to stay longer y'know?" trailing his hands underneath the his shirt you were wearing, mapping out on all the skin he could squish and hold with his large palms. Noticeably pressing himself closer to your body, the much needed space gone but you weren't complaining. After all, this was Gojo, a man who knows no boundaries.

"I wanted to make breakfast for you. We haven't had one together since we're both busy." you say as you grabbed the nearby plate, turning off the stove as the now cooked meal sizzles softly from the pan before sliding down to the porcelain surface. In attempt to lick his lips at the now prepared food, his tongue grazes upon your skin, sending you to jolt a bit, hearing the joyous laughter from him as he places a kiss on the spot as an apology.

"W-why don't you go sit down, there's rice bowls and cooked eggs prepared already." stammering, you quickly excused yourself away from his embrace to clean out the mess from the counter. Gojo sighs out the adoration but obliges to your command. Not long after you had finally settled down in front of him. Seeing him in all smiles as he scarfs down on his food made you smile as well. Thank goodness his blindfold was off, they looked adorable twinkling in happiness.

This felt nice. To have an opportunity to be a normal couple once again. So many times you could only daydream of scenarios like this. He could say the same as now that you were present on the usual spot he'd come home to empty. Often dozing off during meetings thinking of where you were or how you were, the multiple times Megumi has fed up with his whining about how he never gets to see or have more time with you. Nobara even pointed out a fact saying, "You act as if you're both married." and Yuuji, being the happy child of the three had said something that always ponder in his mind, "Why don't you marry each other yet, sensei?"

It was a statement he's been considering for a long time. Marriage. Of course Gojo wanted to marry you after years of torment love. To have his precious students say that you both already looked as if you were married got him all heart racing, and very very happy. He's had vivid images of a life with you. Not far from what it is today, but imagine. Unlimited happiness after so long of fearing it. Perhaps maybe even tiny legs running around, giving him such big love as his grows for the family he's craved, watching you smile beside the doorway and calling them in for a meal.

If marrying you means he can have that every day, then the hell with it.

"You look like my wife."

The spoon drop echoes. Slowly his face erupted into a faint blush while staring back at your widened eyes and opened mouth. "What?" gulping down the stuck food in your throat, Gojo bites his lips watching you maintain your composure. So cute. "Y-you know you say funny stuff when you're out of it. Maybe some daifuku would help? Yeah! Wait a sec." quickly getting up from your seat and rummaging in your fridge, you breathed out the heavy puff of air from your lungs.

He did not just say that so directly towards you. Maybe you were dreaming? You wouldn't be if your heart wasn't practically being forced out. Gojo is always fun and games, right? He doesn't mean that.

Sad to think of it that way.

"Ow!" thumping your head above the fridge as you grabbed some of the take outs of Daifuku you got yesterday, closing the fridge back before returning shortly to Gojo, who seemed as out of it as you were. "You did say your brain functions best when you eat sweets. Luckily for you I bought these yesterday. That's why I cooked earlier now because I wanted to try it out with you!"

Gojo can't tell if he wants to be offended at the fact that you think he was joking or just now, cover his half of his face to hide his laughter and igniting squeals. God he wished he had his phone right now, the moment was just so priceless and precious as you were.

"...ter"

Muffles from behind his hand was heard. Tilting your head to the side, trying to process what he said but no avail. "What was that?" you moved a little closer next to him, tapping his hand away almost eagerly. When he does, you spot that knowing smile present on his lips and the uncharacteristic blush still painted on his cheeks.

"Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster, honey."

You've gotten more shy when his hand held yours in the most loving way while drawing patterns. Searching through his eyes if he was playing around, but you were met with ones you know of when they were full of sincerity. "I-i. You know, they were so cheap anyways and I figured you'd want them." he snorts before leaning his head on your arm and laughs hysterically. It was painfully obvious that you were in state of shock that you couldn't even process his words.

Up until now the effect he has on you was still there like before.

"Sweetie." he turns his body away from the table to face you, pulling you so that you were standing in between his legs looking down shyly on the floor. "I'm serious." his fingers reached for your chin to pull your head up to meet his features. His other hand still holding your smaller one; index finger tracing your ring finger in circular motions as if he was creating a make believe ring.

He should thank himself for falling in love and be trusting once again.

Because now, staring back at your eyes filled with the same amount of emotions as his. Reciprocating the exact thing he was feeling. Waking up just to start the day already wanting him to be there. Knowing all the littlest things he's shared. Hearing the erratic sound of both of your heart beats.

He knew he's made the right choice.

"You really do look like my wife. My future."

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing xiv.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 5, 690

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hello!!!! we’re here at fourteen chapters omg ✨✨when i first started this series it was mostly self-indulgent and now there are people who actually enjoy reading it??🥺 it almost doesn’t seem real T.T 

thank you so much for the love and support!!! just so I don't give too much spoilers for this chap - I apologise to my fellow geminis for the potential slander 🤣 this is more of a self-drag lmaooo 

anyway, I hope you enjoy this chap!!!

“Ah. I’m getting allergies.” Yena sniffs, scrunching her nose.

You furrow your brows in concern, “Are you okay? Do you need any medicine?”

“It’s just the seasonal changes,” She brushes you off.

You nod in understanding, “I get it. My mom has horrible reactions towards pollen so—”

“I’m not allergic to flowers.” She blinks.

“Then what—?”

“It’s Gemini season. It’s like—literally the worst time of the year.” She blinks.

You gawk at her, taking a whole ten seconds to process her serious tone when she doesn’t waver under your scrutiny.

“I’m a Gemini,” You inform her slowly.

“I mean …” She shrugs all as you scowl at her, opting to throw the closest object you had, which was your favourite pen so you decide against it; simply shooting her the meanest glare you could possibly muster.

“Look, it’s not you,” She sighs, and you’re half-expecting her to finish with an it’s me to make you scoff, “It’s me.” And there you go. “I mean, it’s Gemini’s in general because they’re two-faced bitches who have the worst emotional attachment issues. Like they’re literally what the opposite of glue is. And they’re so over-analytical. How is it like psychoanalysing every person you meet only to hurt your own feelings and sulk about it?”

You blink.

“I mean it’s not you but if the shoe fits.” She says casually, plopping a grape into her mouth that you’re tempted to slap away.

“You’re so mean!” You pout indignantly.

She cackles, throwing her head back as you continue to sulk. You weren’t that bad. You just … you were risk-averse! You liked having the freedom to observe everyone and anyone and package them into tiny compartments in your head so you could understand them better. You weren’t … that Gemini.

“You’re so cute,” She coos pinching your cheeks. “No wonder Beef One and Beef Two like you so much.” She teases.

Your first reaction is to blush because you know who exactly she’s talking about, but you have more pressing matters, like—

“You have nicknames for them?” You ask, baffled.

“Hey, I wasn’t friends with many girls in high school. Don’t girls usually have nicknames for their crushes?” She says through a pout.

You stay expressionless as you try to gauge the level of seriousness you can extract from her tone.

You realise she’s dead serious.

“Yeah, but we’re in college,” You argue, scrunching your nose, “And sides’, it’s not like they’re strangers. We know them.”

She rolls her eyes, waving you off like you were the inconvenience here. Then she leans forward, her eyes twinkling as she takes a complete one-eighty that you try to adjust to.

“So … you Gemini hoe, what’s your plans?” She nudges you.

You raise a brow, “Did you just call me a—?”

“Plans, ___. Stay on track.” She scolds.

You sigh, still fond but you pretend to be annoyed. You really couldn’t get annoyed with Yena. After all, the more time you spend with her the more you realise how much life sucked before you had her in your life. You spent each moment learning more about her quirks and habits, her choice of words that made you giggle or laugh until you were crying.

And you realise that this is how she loves, a little rough but welcomed nonetheless.

“If you’re talking about my birthday then … not much. I’m probably stuck doing admin work for the college’s charity programme.” You shrug, stabbing a fork into your soiled salad.

Yena gapes at you, “Not much—excuse me? It’s your birthday! You’re turning twenty-five!” 

You look at her dryly, “I’ve been twenty-five since the year—”

She groans, “That’s not the same! You’re like—officially twenty-five. You’re literally hitting the mark for a quarter-life crisis. Isn’t that something to celebrate?” 

“Me going through an existential crisis at the end of my degree is not how I want to celebrate my birthday but okay,” You blink.

She rolls her eyes at your realism.

“That’s not the point. Point is, this is our first birthday together and I want it to be special.” She points out.

You snort, “What? Are we doubling my birthday as our monthsary or something?”

She shoves you with a brute force that has you snickering but she continues to pester you anyway.

“You’re so dumb. So smart, but so dumb,” She shakes her head, “You’re always studying or doing some form of work that requires the use of more than one brain cell. You deserve a break. Besides, you have two dudes to pick from on how you’d like to be wined and dined and—”

“Yena!” You whine.

“—it’ll be like an episode of the Bachelorette! But just with a super cool and smart best friend that’ll make the decision for you. It’s not your birthday. It’s ours.” She emphasises towards the end.

You stare at her for a long second, before the two of you are bursting into laughter at the absurdity of her statement. 

It was nice, just to laugh about things without having your heart feel so heavy. Even if it was a mild distraction, it was still wholly pleasant to be able to just talk about mindless things that didn’t require much mental gymnastics to navigate the conversation with.

“What are the two of you laughing about?” Taehyung and Jimin arrive at impeccable timing, sliding into the booth with their own packaged food. It’s very college-student-esque, a cute paper (because no plastic) container filled with an array of assortments.

“None of your XY chromosomes business.” Yena retorts.

Jimin blinks, “You are literally so hostile.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to be.” She sticks her tongue out petulantly.

You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder, “Be nice.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but manages to keep a civil smile on his face. Always the more rational one between the two. 

“Anyway, Yena definitely isn’t going to answer me so, what’s up?” He turns to look at you.

You roll your eyes but it’s half-hearted, “She wants to celebrate my birthday like we’re on the Bachelorette.”

“Like you’re on the Bachelorette.” She corrects.

“Oh my God, our baby’s turning twenty-five!” Jimin coos at the reminder, pinching your cheeks as he coddles you. You scowl and weakly shove him away, even if you preen under the attention.

“I’m literally older than the both of you.” You huff.

Yena blinks, “There’s no way I’m the oldest person at this table.”

Taehyung furrows his brows, “Wait—how old are you?”

She sends him a scathing glare that has his arms raised up in defence.

“Jeez, okay. Don’t answer.”

“I’m going to answer because you told me not to.” She clips. “I’m twenty-seven.”

Jimin blinks, “No wonder you and Yoongi hyung are so alike.”

You almost miss it, but as Yena so eloquently pointed out, you were a sucker for psychoanalysing people (even if you didn’t want to admit it yet) that you notice the way she flushes ever so slightly as she scoffs.

“Him? How dare you compare me to that sorry excuse of a—!”

“Okay, everyone is beneath you. I’m sorry your highness.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

You make a note to ask her about it because you know for a fact that Yoongi ‘complains’ about Yena every hour he can. It’s almost as if he can’t go long enough without mentioning her.

You smile to yourself as you duck your head.

“Exactly,” She flips her hair over her shoulders before turning to face you. “Anyway, back to you—our baby.”

Taehyung nods, “Exactly, the baby.”

You scrunch your nose, “Don’t coddle me.”

He pats your head before cooing at you like he would to an actual baby, “But you’re just so cute. You’re too good for this shitty world. Too good for the likes of mere mortals like us.”

“Not me.” Yena blinks before gesturing to their bodies, “You.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out in retaliation as you sigh at their never-ending bickering.

Somehow … it felt right. You think it most of the times but you don’t know any other way to describe how it feels to be back with your friends, laughing, bickering and just appreciating their presence.

When you and Jungkook had your issues, it was like you made the conscious choice to avoid everyone and anyone as much as you could, and any interaction you had during that period was purely out of coincidences and not the intention. You remember actively avoiding Jimin and Taehyung because it felt too draining to pretend like you didn’t have a battle in your head. Even studying or spending time with Namjoon made you feel guilty, the thought of Jungkook lingering in your mind. Yena was there through it all, but even then you saw her as much as you did with any of your classmates you so happened to share a class with.

In fact, if it weren’t for Yena you’d probably have zero social interactions as a whole because she just knew. She somehow picked up on your internal conflicts but never outwardly shamed you or confronted you about it. All she did was be there for you, offering you her presence and you were grateful.

So, yeah. Things were better, but your heart was still at its core—confused. Your feelings for Jungkook didn’t disappear overnight and you knew that you were the one that asked for space.

You forgave him … you did, honestly. But there are things you can’t forget, and those are the things that you wished you could. The words he said in principle, was outright shitty. But the fact that it came from him only poked at every single one of your insecurities that you developed over the years.

You knew it wasn’t healthy to compare yourself to other women when they were living vastly different lives than you were, but it’s proven difficult when you’re forced to see these type of women every day, at college, in your community work or on the media. 

Believing Jungkook’s apparent feelings for you was harder because, well. Jungkook was Jungkook. He wasn’t just another guy, and despite his shortcomings, he had more merits than he’d let on and you knew that people saw that. It was also the fact that Jungkook had a charm that drew all types of people in. He was soft-spoken but passionate, and people loved a quiet achiever.

You … knew about the women. Way before Jennie and way before the thing between the two of you happened. Jimin and Taehyung would always update you about the new fling or girl he had tied to his hip just as he was in his final year in high school. You had to force a smile every single time they’d snicker and joke about how your Jungkook suddenly became a man overnight.

And you noticed the trend with the women he liked. They were … captivating. Beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe them because they looked like they could carry the world on their shoulders and spark immense change with just the movement of their lips. They were confident and charismatic, outgoing and just the right amount of flirty. You were anything but.

It sucked, majorly, because you spent years agonising over the fact that you were already coined with the older sister title in the group because of the way you acted—just a little more uptight than the average woman your age. You were quiet but loud in the right company; you didn’t like crowds, socialising or mingling around with people you didn’t know and based on your observations it seemed like that was the only thing that Jungkook’s been doing ever since he made it to senior year in high school, and even in the first years of college.

You don’t resent him, you think. You couldn’t blame him because you weren’t honest either. You consented, to all of the kisses and touches even if he hadn’t officially had sex with you. You wanted to, but you were terrified. Not at the prospect of penetration but at the prospect of not being enough and the fact that Jungkook was the only person you wanted to have sex with while he had options that were far more attractive and experienced than you were.

That’s why you needed time because at least you could get your shit together even if it was an uphill battle.

“Earth to ____?” Taehyung waves a hand in front of your face with a concerned expression.

You blink, snapping out of your daze as you offer a meek smile and an apology.

“We just asked you if you wanted a small get together at Tae’s and I’s place for your birthday?” Jimin asks.

“Really?” You beam. That was exactly what you preferred.

“Yeah, we know you don’t like clubs and stuff. Just a small and intimate gathering with all your best buds.” He grins.

You nod your head, but Yena beats you to a response.

“By best buds you mean the three friends she has, which is us and the two meatheads duelling for her affection.” She snorts.

You flush, “Y-Yena!”

Taehyung snickers at your embarrassment.

“It doesn’t help that both of them are literally the biggest dudes on the football team. It’s literally like watching King Kong and Godzilla getting into a fight for world domination.”

Jimin throws his back in laughter as you fold your arms across your chest at post at the way your friends are practically crying in laughter at the image. Jimin was clutching onto Taehyung for his dear life because if he didn’t then he’d fall off the chair.

“Stop,” You whine, “you guys are being mean.”

“Oh my God, you’re literally the only person on this earth that would take two people fighting for your attention as an offence.” Taehyung groans.

“I-It’s not that!” You deny exasperatedly, “I-It’s just … awkward …”

Jimin sighs with a small smile, patting your head.

“If it’s any consolation I think it’s offensive that Jungkook thinks he even has the right to breathe in—”

“Jimin!”

“Wow. It really is like King Kong and Godzilla.” Jimin whistles lowly, eyeing the scene before him with amusement lingering in his eyes.

“Do you think they’re gonna start slamming their chests soon or …?” Taehyung trails off in a whisper, leaning into Jimin so that the two other men wouldn’t notice.

“I can literally hear you.” You say dryly.

Jimin offers you a plastic smile, “You’re meant to hear us, babe. How about you try to tame them like Jane did with Tarzan?”

Jimin nearly shrieks when you shove him so fiercely that he topples over into Taehyung’s grasp as the second part of the duo only catches him in the process. 

You sigh, completely ignoring the way that Jimin’s muttering curses that were directed to you under his breath. Instead, you were transfixed on the scene before you—which specifically is Jungkook and Namjoon staring each other down through the mirror of the gym. You were lucky that it was just the five of you since Namjoon was able to use his captain privileges to book the gym because you had no idea how to explain the fact that two big-sized men were attempting to outdo each other in their circuit reps as if they were on a suicide mission.

“Listen, when I agreed to help you out with your sets I thought I was meant to help log it in for a report.” You exasperate, but the two men continue their manly lift-off as they huff and puff their exertion away.

“Trust me, you are helping. Being the motivation is more than—”

This time it’s Taehyung who faces your wrath as you thwack him upside the head. 

From where Jungkook and Namjoon were, Jungkook can only deliver death stares into the direction of his captain who returns it tenfold. He wasn’t even sure why they were doing this but something a flicked definitely switched in Jungkook when Namjoon (purposefully) revealed that you were helping out with something. At the gym. Supposedly alone.

Jungkook’s primitive side came out because the next thing Namjoon knew was that Jungkook managed to drag himself, and Jimin and Taehyung as a diversion. He still feels his chest swell with pride when recalling the scowl on Namjoon’s face when he entered the gym, all fake smiles and a pep in his step.

“____, could you help me spot?” Namjoon breathes, sitting up from whatever the hell he was doing with the barbell. You weren’t fixated with gym language and you weren’t even sure why he was asking you when there was an entire Jimin and Taehyung right next to you.

“Uh, okay sure—“

“Noona,” Jungkook calls.

You freeze.

“Jungkook … I thought we established that you don’t need to call me that anymore.” You raise an eyebrow.

You miss the obvious glare that Namjoon shoots his bitchass friend, as well as the snorts that leave Jimin and Taehyung’s mouth.

“Pay attention to me,” Jungkook pouts. Like, actually pouts. You somehow flush because he seemed so much like the younger version of Jungkook who used to always coddle you for attention.

“Okay but after I help—”

“Yeah. After she helps me.” Namjoon interjects, and you nearly jump at the way he’s suddenly behind you, more so—pressed against your back with his hands on your hips as he moves you aside to get to another piece of equipment.

Your breath hitches because while you weren’t exactly invested in Namjoon in the romantic sense, he was undeniably attractive and … big. You could salivate in private.

“Oh my God, do you see that?” Taehyung hisses in a hushed whisper.

“Hyung is petty,” Jimin gawks.

“This is Namjoon we’re talking about. Didn’t he steal all the umbrellas from your dorm because you ratted him out to the librarian when he broke a bookshelf?” Taehyung recalls.

Jimin pauses to retract his mind to that moment.

“He’s so petty and I’m living for it. Look at Kook’s face,” He snickers, nudging Taehyung with his shoulder.

Jungkook only can clench his jaw in return because he knew that you wouldn’t be a fan of him reaching out to strangle the shit out of Namjoon. But the older boy seems fine, if not pleased with how Jungkook’s fuming in his own spot.

“Let me just …” You cock a thumb to Namjoon, before releasing a breath of your own and going to help him with whatever he needed in the first place.

“Jimin can help him. I have a more pressing problem.” He complains.

You stop in your tracks before turning around, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook who finally sits up, still staring at you like you held all the solutions in the world.

“Literally wait for your turn,” Namjoon scowls.

“My arm hurts,” Jungkook says, raising his arm to show you. 

“I don’t … see anything?” You furrow your brows.

“Because my muscles hurt, Noona,” Jungkook emphasises with a flex of his bicep and you can feel yourself get hot in the way your eyes can’t stray away.

You’re momentarily distracted by the blatant display of muscle by Jungkook that you completely miss the way that Jimin and Taehyung are struggling to breathe because of how hard they’re stifling their laughter or the way that Namjoon is contemplating on throwing the nearest dumbbell into Jungkook’s direction.

You flush, “Okay, you know what? Wait here. Let me get the first aid kit.” You mumble, quickly scampering off to alleviate yourself from the situation.

The moment you leave the room, Namjoon takes two long strides until he reaches where Jungkook’s sat, before wrapping a hand around the arm that was supposedly hurt—and squeezes.

“Ow! What the fuck hyung?!” Jungkook shrieks.

“Don’t hyung me, you brat.” Namjoon seethes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook gapes, while Jimin and Taehyung watch in amusement.

“Me?! What’s wrong with you?” Jungkook retorts, equally as agitated, “Oh, _____, help spot me! Woe is me! Like she wouldn’t get crushed under you, you meathead!” 

“Like you’re any better,” Namjoon snaps, “Oh, Noona, pay attention to me. My arm hurts. You might as well have asked her to change your fucking diapers at the rate you’re acting like a damn child.”

“You’re the one that started all of this!” Jungkook exasperates, “With all due respect hyung, I love you and you’re my captain but I really feel like smashing your head into the wall right now.”

“That’s it?” Namjoon scoffs, “Well I’ll do you one better and let you know that every time you breathe in my direction I feel like—”

“Oh my God will you two idiots shut the fuck up?” Taehyung interjects, snapping at the two boys who pause, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Even Jimin is surprised at Taehyung’s intervention, purely because he was the type that usually let shit slide or let other people put problematic individuals into place. He was the mediator, the diplomat—not usually the aggressor.

“Wha—”

“Another peep and I’m going to smother your body under the dumbbells and leave you here to rot and die.” Taehyung seethes, staring straight into Jungkook’s soul.

That shuts him up.

“Both of you are acting like goddamn children, and for what? To battle out your masculinity to see who gets ____’s attention first?” Taehyung exasperates.

Namjoon clears his throat, “We were just—”

“—acting like a bunch of barbarians who’s never seen civilisation?” Taehyung retorts dryly, “Yeah. Because that’s exactly what this looks like. The two of you are so petty and for what? You two are literally rubbing the last remaining brain cells you have with each other but nothing is coming out from it. Like—nothing. Do you think she’d give a shit which one of you can lift more reps? That means absolutely nothing! She’s already freaked the fuck out at the prospect of her childhood best friend being in love with her and now we have Big Tit Number One and Two battling it out like you’re in the Greek Olympics.”

Jungkook blinks, and Jimin is mildly impressed.

“So before she comes back and tends to Jungkook’s hurt muscle,” Taehyung sneers, eyes narrowing at a guilty-looking Jungkook, “Both of you better sort your shit out.”

Namjoon flushes, embarrassed at the prospect of being called out, all while Jungkook is avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Oh my God, do you have a crush on each other or something? Apologise!” Taehyung gestures towards the two boys who awkwardly blink at each other, feeling much like reprimanded children.

It’s Namjoon who breaks the silence first, clearly the more mature one in the situation.

“Look … Jungkook,” He sighs, “I’m sorry. I didn��t mean to … drag it out like this. I don’t mean it maliciously and you’re my friend and teammate, so I’d really hate if a girl got in the way.”

Jungkook nibbles on his lips, eyebrows still scrunched; and the irrational part of him tells him to ignore the apology. But with the way that Taehyung is glaring him down, with Jimin’s expectant gaze, he knows that he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m sorry … too,” he winces at his own voice, “But just to let you know … I really …” He shuts his eyes, feeling his chest tighten when he tries to force the words out, “She isn’t just … a girl to me, hyung. I really, really like her. And—I know you like her too but … I fucked up and I really want to make things right and seeing you—”

Jungkook is flushing while he rambles on, fully aware that the rest of his friends are listening intently to him speaking his heart. But a hand rests itself on his shoulder, and when Jungkook opens his eyes he sees Namjoon offering him a gentle smile.

“I know,” He says, “I know I said I wouldn’t back off …” He trails off and Jungkook recalls the conversation he had with him in the very same gym just a few weeks back, “But I don’t think I can compete with a decade long love story.” 

Jungkook scoffs, though his ears are flushed.

“It’s really not—”

Namjoon waves him off, clasping a tight hand onto his back that tells him it’s okay, and whatever that was going on would get better. And Jungkook feels marginally better and allows himself to let out a sigh of release.

“So are the two of you gonna kiss or what?” Jimin asks in the midst of the silence.

Namjoon glares at the boy, “Don’t make me give you an extra ten laps.”

He backs down immediately, raising his hands up in defence. And at that moment, you return, all smiles and with a pant as you raise the first aid kit up.

“Your arm?” You smile sweetly, and Jungkook can only offer a weak on in return.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Depends. Will I have to run from the government if I answer you honestly?” Yena ponders out loud.

You roll your eyes but shake your head anyway. The two of you were meant to be cooking dinner but you’ve surrendered yourself to Netflix and Yena’s witty live commentary on horrible films you were scrolling through an hour earlier. Though, your head wasn’t quite in it, to begin with; your thoughts drifting to other aspects, ones that you thought too hard for and didn’t necessarily know the answer to.

It was frustrating, the way that you wanted to have a solution for everything but overthought every single case that happens to pass by your mind. 

“No one’s hunting anyone down, your anarchist,” You say, “This is a little … personal.” 

You didn’t have any girl friends prior to Yena, and that was your first mistake. You weren’t the person that actively avoided having girl friends because you thought they were dramatic or overly emotional but purely because you never knew how to befriend women. It was weird—being a woman yet being muddled with your own sense of femininity that suppressed your ability to form meaningful friendships with your women peers.

Throughout most of your childhood and teenaged life, you only had Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. While they were more than enough to keep your memories cheerful and filled with laughter, there were more personal things that you couldn’t quite approach them with. They had each other to confide in their ‘manly’ discussions, small talk that you’d often flush at—but you couldn’t ask them the same things you wanted to.

You knew, that on a fundamental level that your personal things were just … things. It wasn’t that deep, nor did it require a PhD in Gender Studies to fully understand the nuance of periods or apparent ‘girl’ problems; you just needed to listen. But you were timid, and you got embarrassed super easily—so that never boded well whenever you’d want to approach them with a question of your own.

But now, you had Yena—debatably the most open and understanding person you’ve met in your life; and you owed it to yourself, and her—to be honest, to live yourself vicariously in your girl best friends eyes—and ask:

“How do you have sex?”

Granted, there was definitely a smoother way of peeling off the bandaid, but you supposed if you were going to be discussing this one way or another, you’d go big or go home.

“I’m sorry,” She coughs, “What?”

You blink.

“Sorry, I guess I should’ve asked if you were a virgin first …” You mumble.

Yena stares at you with a stupefied expression as she gapes at you.

“Hey, repeat after me: candy, tree and cat.” She grabs you by your shoulders.

“I’m not cerebrally compromised, Yena,” you say dryly.

“Repeat,” She glares.

You huff, shoving her hand off your shoulder.

“Candy, tree and cat. There, happy?” You huff.

She eyes you weirdly as you sigh. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes!” You exasperate, “So like … how? Do you just? Penetrate?”

Yena blinks one more time, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as she asks for a higher being to give her strength before she returns her gaze onto your figure.

“Babe, that is literally the unsexiest way to approach sex.” 

“Penetration?” You furrow your brows.

She scrunches her brows, “No.” She gestures to you, “That.”

You scowl.

“I don’t know how to approach sex! That’s why I’m asking you. I literally don’t know who else to approach. If I went to Jimin or Taehyung I’m pretty sure they’d just stare at me and cry. Namjoon is out of the picture because he’d likely approach sex textbook style and I don’t need that level of detail right now. I definitely can’t ask Jungkook because he’s the guy I wanna have sex with. So yeah. I’m here because you’re a woman and the only person I can have a full conversation with without losing my will to live.”

Yena gawks at you, jaw slack as you finish your ramble; ears flushed.

“… you …” She begins, wracking her brain for the words that seem to fail her, “… okay. You know what, the fact that you’re here and putting your big girl pants on and asking me this is a feat in itself so I’m going to just ignore the fact that you said you wanted to have sex with Jungkook.”

You flush, “I was word vomiting—”

“Ah,” She holds her hands up, levelling you with a knowing glare, “If you want honest, you be honest too.”

You slump in your seat, sighing as you nod your head defeatedly.

“Firstly, I’m not a virgin. I could never be a virgin.” Yena declares, “Granted, I’ve slept with three people and two of them were women. But the idiot I lost my virginity to was, unfortunately, of XY chromosomes so … I guess I can answer your questions.”

“I mean … I know how sex works but … approaching it …” You mutter.

“And sex isn’t this groundbreaking act that requires Einstein’s IQ to partake in. It’s both intimate and not, and that’s definitely a personal preference. You can know the semantics of how people have sex, for hets in this case, which is just the classic ol’ penetration method where the penis enters the—”

“Your point?” You exasperate.

“—okay, I got a little carried away. But really, sex isn’t … difficult. It’s scary, I’ll give you that. But you don’t go into your first time thinking you’ll be great at it. Hell, you won’t even like sex that much your first few times unless your partner is a sex demon or something.”

“I mean when Jungkook …” You shudder, “When he … I … you know, did things … it felt …” You fiddle with your fingers. Your ears were undoubtedly on fire, and you were so embarrassed saying these things out loud because it was just so awkward!

“Good? You know I’m not going to judge you for it,” she says pointedly, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

You flush, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. You knew that Yena would never judge you for something as trivial and as unimportant as your sexual endeavours, but this was still a road you’ve yet to properly navigate yourself.

“I … came,” you wince at your breathy voice, “It felt good. And … he’s experienced, you know? I just don’t want to …”

Yena looks at you inquisitively.

“You don’t want to …?”

You sigh deeply, considering your next words with a soft murmur, “I don’t want to not live up to his expectations, you know?”

She frowns at you, “Jungkook’s made some mistakes but you said it yourself. He’s in love with you,” she says softly, “There’s no pressure to have sex with him just because it’s out in the open now, you know?”

You nibble on your lips.

“It’s … more than just that,” you tell her, “I told him I needed time, and really, I do. But it isn’t because I’m confused. I mean, kind of—but really it’s because I don’t want to walk into something and disappoint him … I’m just … scared.”

Yena holds your hand in hers while offering you a gentle smile.

“It’s valid that you’re scared. But there really isn’t anything that can come out of being scared right now. The two of you worked through an obstacle, and here you are creating another one that doesn’t quite exist yet. Trust me, when the time feels right, it does. And you’ll feel ready. Will you still be scared? Maybe. But it’ll feel like it’s meant to fit within your timeline.”

You nibble on your lips, “Is it bad that I’m overthinking this?” You wince.

Yena shrugs her shoulders, “Like everything else in your life?” She teases.

You whine, shoving at her shoulder playfully where all Yena does is snicker in response. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting out of the conversation, even if it was vaguely about the ins and outs of sexual exploration. And she was right, you’ll always be afraid of something, whether it’ll benefit you or harm you because that’s what change does. It shifts your comfort zone into a space that may be unfamiliar but necessary.

You lean into Yena’s shoulder, and a wave of overwhelming emotion washes upon you when you look at her. You really didn’t know how you survived a time without Yena in your life. And as if she’s noticed your glassy gaze, she raises an eyebrow at you.

“What are you looking at?”

You grin at her, all teeth and gums on display as you hug onto her arm like a koala.

“I’m just really happy you’re in my life.” You sigh wistfully.

She pauses for one whole second before she snorts.

“Wow, talk about sex once and suddenly you’re in love with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, “Tell Jeon and Kim that you’re mine now.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes.

“They’re not even competing in the same league as you are,” you assure her.

She smiles.

“So … does that mean I don’t need to get you a birthday gift?”

That earns a thwack on her shoulder.

[fruitcoops]

Hi Eve! Could you maybe write something like Sirius having a majorly stressful week and he's been on edge all day and he finally decides to go talk to Heather if only to just let it all out. By the time he comes home he's exhausted but Remus is all ready for him, and he's greeted with the sight of Remus in a nice little heap of blankets and pillows piled up on their sofa with a Disney movie ready to play and all his favourite snacks lined up on the coffee table. And Sirius of course just about dissolves into a puddle of affection and gratitude because Loops 🥰🥰🥰

It's honestly concerning how much fluff I write. Oh, well! This is such a cute idea and I'll never pass up an opportunity to write soft Coops <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“So, you’ve started baking?” Heather looked up as Sirius nodded, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. It still smelled a little like Remus from the last time he stole it, but not nearly enough to drown him in comfort. “That’s awesome. If you don’t mind, can I ask why you chose that as a hobby?”

“It’s—” Stupid. He bit the words back at the last second; Heather never liked self-deprecation, and they had been working on positive self-talk for…as long as Sirius could remember, really. “Uh, I helped Re’s mom make a pie over the holidays and I just have good memories associated with it, I guess.”

Heather jotted something down, her soft smile never faltering. She was wearing a sweater the same color as her name���it was distilled comfort, and Sirius felt some of the tension release from his back. “You said you do it when you’re stressed, right?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does the rhythm help, or is it something else?”

He stared at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the callus from his favorite spatula that was beginning to form. “I think…” he trailed off and bit his lower lip. Honesty always wins. Why do you like it so much? “The rhythm helps quiet my head down, yeah. And it smells like home. And—and if I do it right, I can’t screw it up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If I follow the recipe, it works. Every time. I can read the instructions as many times as I need to, and I can focus on that until everything up here—” He gestured vaguely toward his head. “—shuts up for a bit.”

Heather nodded; the room was quiet for a moment while she wrote before she settled into her chair and let out a slow breath. “I’m really happy you started doing this, Sirius.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. We’ve talked about finding healthy amounts of control and tethers in your daily life, and from what you’ve said, this makes you happy in addition to helping you calm down. What do you do with everything you make?”

He shrugged. “Give it away, mostly. It’s healthier than store-bought stuff, and the guys like it. Re and I can’t eat it all ourselves.”

“How often do you stress bake?”

“Oh, probably three or four times a week.”

Shit, shit, shit. Heather’s eyebrows crept upward. “Oh?”

“…yes.” Can’t take it back now.

“Okay.” She made a quick mark on her clipboard—for the hundredth time, Sirius wished he could snatch it and run. “Interesting. Why are you so stressed?”

“It’s not like that all the time,” he said quickly. “Just over the past couple weeks.”

“What’s been going on?”

“Everything?” he said. It sounded more like a question. Heather made another note. “It’s—well, Jules got the flu two months ago and Re wasn’t sleeping because he was worried, so I got nervous and started staying up later so I’d be tired, but then I got bored and worried about both of them so I texted Hope about her pie recipe—"

“Sirius,” Heather interrupted gently. He closed his mouth and tucked his hands into his sleeves, palms itching. “Deep breaths, then tell me what’s been going on these past couple weeks specifically that was stressing you out.”

He obliged, counting ten before speaking again as his brain stopped feeling like someone poured pop rocks into it. “Right. So, this whole habit thing started two months ago, and we’re getting closer to you-know-what—”

“The playoffs?”

He made a quiet noise of distress and tapped the wood of the chair. “Oui, that. There’s a lot of pressure from last year, and when my friends are stressed, I get stressed, and baking is easy and fun so I just…didn’t stop. A lot of things are happening right now, and this feels like the only one I can control.”

“There you go,” she said with a proud smile. “Thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You’re being more open and honest with yourself. It’s good to see.” She crossed one leg over the other and leaned slightly forward. “You’re a really, really good captain, Sirius. You are so in-tune with the other people in your life, but you’ve got to remember to step back and do things for yourself sometimes. Right now, baking is your stress relief because you can’t control your friends’ lives or emotional states. Try to find more things like that.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Are you diagnosing me with ‘needs a hobby’?”

“In a sense, yes. You have done an incredible job over the past few months of letting your world revolve around things other than hockey. Branching out to baking was an excellent choice. Now it’s time to find other things that give you similar comfort, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Fantastic. Let’s brainstorm.”

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

Sirius dropped his bag next to the shoe rack and immediately leaned back against the door, closing his eyes with a sigh. Therapy was always exhausting, but usually in a good way. Already, he could feel the weight of the last three weeks lifting off his shoulders. “I’m home!” he called.

Remus materialized from the living room and padded over in his fuzzy socks, planting a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks. “You look tired. Good or bad?”

“Good,” he assured him. “We worked on finding a hobby.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, baking every other day isn’t a great long-term coping mechanism.”

Remus kissed him lightly on the lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

Sirius pulled back with a frown. “I thought you liked my baking.”

“I do. I also worry about how much space we have in our kitchen, and how much you sleep.” He gave Sirius a squeeze around the waist and patted his hip. “Now c’mere, I have a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?” Sirius asked warily as he allowed himself to be pulled toward the living room. “Do we have company?”

“Does Hattie count?”

The dog in question barked when they entered the room, though she was buried beneath a mountain of blankets and only her nose and tail stuck out. In the hour and a half Sirius had been gone, the living room had transformed into a massive fort—the couch cushions were propped up around a nest of pillows and blankets, and low amber light fell over everything from the side table lamp. It radiated coziness and warmth; he felt the last bits of his exhaustion settle into contentment. “Wow.”

Remus beamed at him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He cupped his face in his hands and nudged their noses together. “And I love you. So much. I’m going to go rinse off and change, but can we cuddle afterward?”

“What do you think this is for?” Remus teased. “You took my sweatshirt.”

“It’s too big for you anyway.”

“How long until I find it in my laundry pile because it doesn’t smell like me anymore?”

Sirius pretended to think for a moment, though he couldn’t keep his smile down as happiness bubbled through every vein. “Tomorrow.”

“Go take your shower,” Remus laughed, then kissed him once again. “I’ll see if I have anything else that’ll fit you.”

[travellingarmy]

║Xiao║ Misunderstanding

Requested from Wattpad.

Gender-neutral.

Fluff.

Word count: 1.8k

---

A familiar sound of laughter could be heard coming from somewhere at the lower part of Wangshu Inn that had gotten the attention of the last surviving yaksha. A laugh that he found annoying, yet would miss if it weren't around. Your laugh.

He wasn't going to admit it, but he would always wait for you to come to meet him daily. He would rush in clearing the area for monsters, not wanting you or any other mortal getting hurt-- but you especially.

However, he notices that your laughter that grew closer from the stairs leading up to the highest part of the inn- where he was- was seemingly.. Too joyous, let's say. What were you laughing at? Were you talking to Verr Goldet on your way to him? No, she's always behind the reception desk during working hours; no way is she with you. And as rude as it may be, her humour was quite dry to have you cracking up that much.

The curious yaksha's golden eyes look towards the door, waiting for you to step on the last remaining stairs that'll finally allow him to see you and whatever- or whomever- was making you laugh. He knew that you weren't alone as he heard a second set of shoes. They were heavy. A man? Well, that was soon answered when he saw your figure peeking in his line of sight, along with the person you came with. Although he doesn't show it, what he saw was not a pleasant sight.

Who was the guy next to you?

His eyes narrow. Something in him made him feel.. Strange. He doesn't know what word (or words) to use to describe such mortal feeling but he knows that he hated it-- hated the sight with you laughing the way you did to another. You never laughed like that when you were with him.

You looked away from the person with who you had such a wonderful conversation with and to Xiao who was leaning against the railing. You didn't notice that something was off with him; he looked annoyed just like every other day you met with him so you greeted him with a smile. "Xiao! Hey, sorry to keep you waiting," you said. Xiao did not reply to your greeting and focused his attention on the taller male beside you. Then, "Who is he?" His head nods to the stranger, arms crossing. The guy seemed shady but nowhere in his perfect appearance could the yaksha pinpoint what was off with him.

"Oh, right. I should introduce you guys to each other. Xiao, this is Childe. Childe, this is Xiao-- the one I was talking to you about some moments ago," you said. "Hey, it's good to meet another of (Y/N)'s friends." Childe smiles, a hand rest on his hip. "Likewise," Xiao replies, although he didn't really mean it. All he wanted to know was what this Childe guy's relationship with you as you had never mentioned him in your guys' one-sided conversation before.

"Anyway, (Y/N), when are you finally going to accept my invitation?" Childe looks towards you with eager eyes. "What invitation?" You raised a brow at the ginger. "Eh? Did you forget? How could you, (Y/N)?" Childe dramatically clutches his shirt over his chest. "I thought you loved me!" Xiao's ears perked. "Just hurry up and tell me," you said.

He chuckles. "For our date, of course!" Childe leans closer to your face, giving you a close-eyed grin. Xiao, who had no choice but to listen, unknowingly tightened his grip on his arms. Date? So, you guys are..

Xiao clicks his tongue. "I need to go," he said briefly before disappearing into thin air with trickles of black and green smoke. You couldn't even ask where he was going. "Uh, weren't you gonna give him that?" Childe points at the tiffin in your hand. "Ah, you're right! Darn it.." You finally perfected how to make almond tofu and wanted Xiao to be the first to try your cooking so it was truly a shame that you weren't able to give it to him. "Well, since he left, can I have it?" Childe asks. "No! This is for Xiao only!" You glare at him. "And can you please stop calling our sparring sessions a date?" Childe only laughs at that.

"Well, I guess I'll leave this with Verr.." you said to yourself, eyeing at the tiffin. It was a shame that you won't get to see his reaction but you can always ask tomorrow. You wondered what it was that he needed to tend to but shortly concluded that he probably needed to take care of monsters around the area.

-

Tomorrow came but he didn't show up which was odd since even though he may look like he doesn't want you around, he never really pushed you away. In fact, there wasn't a silent agreement for when you two would meet up at the highest part of Wangshu Inn. You asked Verr if Xiao ever had the chance to eat your almond tofu but she said that he rejected it and that he would be turning in for the night.

A day turned to days until it was nearly a week. Again, you went to Wangshu Inn and again, Childe wasn't with you that day so it was a bit quiet. You didn't have anything else planned for today, wanting to spend today with Xiao since you didn't yesterday and the days before that.

It became the waiting game long ago and before you knew it, you could see the sun setting on the horizon yet again. Where was he? Yeah, he may be the conqueror of demons but you couldn't help but worry. After all, it was still possible for him to get hurt.

You waited a bit more until the sun was fully out of sight. Another day has ended and he still hasn't shown. Sighing defeatedly, you stood up from the chair that Verr had brought for you. However, before you could take a step away from the chair, Xiao appears before you at the centre of the balcony.

"Xiao!?" One look at him, you gasped at the state he was in. He still had his mask on and was covered in blood and scratch marks, using his spear as support. He was unaware of your presence, unable to focus as he was lightheaded.

You rushed to his side and that's when his head looks up from the ground to you. "(Y/N)? What are you doing here?" he managed to ask, sounding so weak and tired. "I was waiting for you.. But never mind that-- what happened to you?" You reached your hands for him and just when you made contact with his shoulders, he collapsed in your arms. "Xiao!"

Your voice was loud enough to alert Verr, Huai'an, and Yanxiao who rushed upstairs, all worried for the yaksha that protected Liyue quietly. "Xiao? What happened?" Verr asked, equally worried as you were. "Let's get him to his room first and patch him up. Save the questions after he's healed," Huai'an said. Agreeing, you brought Xiao to his room that was unoccupied for most of the time while Verr fetched the aid kit.

After giving you the kit, you were left with the task of bandaging the male, knowing that he would most likely refuse help from them. You sat on a wooden chair while he sat on his bed, things needed to patch him up were spread on the nightstand. It was quiet for the first couple of minutes since you were too busy cleaning his bloodied arm. It was only when you wrapped his upper arm nice and tight did you talk. "Uh, can you take off your shirt..?" you say softly that one would need to strain to hear, but not Xiao as he always had keen ears.

"Why are you here?" he asks coldly which caught you off guard. Sure he spoke with a seemingly cold tone but this time, it really sounded as if he didn't want you here. His eyes never once looked at yours when you were wrapping his arm.

"X, Xiao..? What's wrong?" You felt your heart squeeze itself. He remained tight-lipped. That day, when you brought Childe along, he felt a mix of emotions of jealousy, anger, and sadness. "Nothing is wrong. Just go.." he said. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Somewhere to be? No, I was waiting all day for you to come back," you said. "I was beginning to worry ab--" "I don't need your concerns. I have lived longer than you and fought many monsters. I can handle everything by myself," he cut you off, sharply. "Why don't you put those silly feelings of yours on someone else?"

"What wrong with you, Xiao?" you asked, not once raising your voice. "I told you, nothing is wrong with me--" He finally looked at you, but what he saw next made him stop and all those feelings he had previously dissipated. You weren't crying but tears were certainly threatening to fall as you bit your bottom lip. "I.. (Y/N).."

You shook your head, wiping the tears with your arms before you stare at him right in the eyes. "I was worried, Xiao. I was worried if you were hurt or worse!" you raised your voice, but not in anger. "What did I do to make you mad? Please, tell me!" Your eyes reflected desperation and sadness.

He looks away. He felt bad, knowing that it was wrong of him to lash out at you for something as stupid as feelings.. Feelings that you won't reciprocate.

"It's nothing.." he said, this time, in a calmer tone. "Why won't you tell me?" you asked, reaching your hands to cup his face so that he had no choice but to look at you.

He hesitated. He wasn't sure if it was right to tell you since you were with someone else, and he didn't want to ruin what friendship you two had. But the sadness in your eyes made it hard for him to keep it a secret. "I.. Was jealous.." He confesses, looking down at his lap, face feeling hot in embarrassment.

"Jealous? Of who?" you pushed on. He gulped before saying, "Your.. Boyfriend."

You blinked, confused. Then, "Boyfriend? But I don't have one.." you voiced. Xiao looks up at you, face showing surprise. "What? But that guy with you.. He said.." It took a while but you now soon know who he was referring to.

"Ah, we aren't in a relationship, I promise! When he said date, he was asking for a sparring match really," you explained. "A, and actually, I like you, Xiao.. I have always liked you."

Hearing the confession, Xiao did not wait for a second longer and put a hand behind your head, pushing you closer to him until your lips met with his. It surprised you at first but soon melted into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. What felt like hours was actually just a few minutes and you two pulled away.

Looking at him, loving his golden eyes that were filled with love for you, you smiled. "Well, let's finish fixing you up."

---

[drabbles-mc]

Take Care Of It

Kozik x F!Reader

Request by Anon: Kozik x f!reader with a similar scenario to the Juice and spider incident? One that sparks a relationship. (Referencing This Juice fic)

Warnings: language, mentions of spiders, nudity

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I’m blown away by how much people have loved the “spider in the shower” scenario. These have been so fun to write! xo

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You stopped by T-M after your run, hoping that they would have finished working on your car by now. However, as you slowed down to a walk as you entered the compound, you instantly saw that your car was still on the lift. You let out a sigh as you slid your headphones down so they rested around your neck.

“Still not done, huh?” you asked as you walked over to Juice, who was digging through the tool chest for something that he clearly couldn’t find.

He looked up at you, shaking his head, “Sorry. Should be done soon.”

You shrugged, knowing that complaining about it wasn’t going to change the situation, “No worries,” you paused, looking around the lot, “Kozik around?”

Juice nodded towards the clubhouse, “Rolled in a few minutes ago.”

“Great. Thank you,” you glanced over at your car, “Give me a shout when it’s done?”

“You got it.”

You flashed him a smile before turning and walking towards the clubhouse. When you walked inside it was fairly quiet, just a few of the guys hanging around with a few women who didn’t look like they had even left the night before. None of them were the person you were looking for, though.

“Half-Sack,” you called to get his attention as he wiped down the bar, “You seen Kozik?”

He gestured towards the back hall, “Dorms.”

Without another word you made your way to the back hall. You heard him shuffling around inside his dorm and you gently knocked on the door. Immediately he called for you to come in and you pushed the door open.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed and he looked up at you with a smile when he realized that it was you who had just walked in. His smile made your heart speed up inside your chest and you tried not to let it show.

There was a special kind of comfort between the two of you. Ever since he had come back from Tacoma, the two of you had been close. You considered him to be your closest friend in the club these days—he was the easiest and most fun to be around. He made you feel safe. Too many times you found yourself letting your thoughts get away from you and you had to rein them back in. You were never quite sure about how he really felt about you. He was kind, and flirtatious, but that was as far as it went. He had never tried to take things any farther and you respected that, but it didn’t stop you from still wanting a little bit more.

Despite the fact that you’d had feelings for him for a while, you were able to stay close friends with him without letting your emotions muddy the waters. The two of you spent a lot of time together, both with and without the club present. On more than one occasion you had let yourself into his dorm after a particularly rough day, just needing someone to sit and talk with until you felt alright again. He never made you feel like a burden about it, and he never mentioned it to the other guys, either, knowing that they wouldn’t leave you alone about it if he did.

But every time that you walked into his room, whether it was first thing in the morning, or incredibly late at night, he always had the same smile on his face whenever he saw that it was you. It was what made you comfortable enough to keep coming back.

“Hey, you alright?” he stood up off the bed and walked over to you.

You nodded, “All good. Just figured I’d pop in and say hi. They’re not done with my car yet.”

“Seriously?”

You chuckled, “Seriously. Maybe you should get out there and tell them to get their shit together.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “Yea, that’ll go over real well.”

He stepped in for a hug but you held your hand up to stop him, “I’m disgusting. Just did five miles. Was hoping they’d be done with my car so I could just go right home and shower but now I just gotta wait and be gross,” you laughed and shook your head.

“Just use my shower,” he gestured towards his bathroom.

You shook your head, “No, that’s alright. They should be done soon.”

“C’mon, it’s fine. You got some shit here anyway. And besides,” he nudged your shoulder, “I don’t wanna hang out with you if you’re gross.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, “None of you boys should be criticizing anyone. But fine. Thank you.”

He grabbed a towel from his closet and tossed it to you, making you laugh as it landed on your back while you grabbed your spare set of sweatpants and one of his shirts. You reached over your shoulder to ball the towel up in your arms with the rest of the clothes. You turned back around and saw Kozik standing there, watching you from the doorway with a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Yea?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

You shrugged, “Just looked like you wanted to say something, that’s all.”

“Oh, uh, no,” he shook his head, “Just, there’s not a ton of hot water. So. Try not to take too long.”

You nodded, “Got it.”

You walked into the bathroom and lightly shut the door behind you. You blindly reached and turned the shower on before peeling the sweaty clothes off of your body and letting them drop to the floor. You reached your hand in to make sure that the water temperature was alright, and when it was you immediately stepped into the shower, letting the water wash over you. It flowed through your hair and down your back as you kept your eyes closed, facing the showerhead. For a moment you thought to yourself that it didn’t seem fair that Kozik had a showerhead with better water pressure in his tiny little clubhouse dorm than you had back at your apartment.

You turned around and opened your eyes to see what he had for soap or bodywash. However, when you leaned to reach for a bottle, a spider came creeping over the top of it. You screamed as you immediately jumped back out of the shower and booked it out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. It was a small miracle that you didn’t slip on the tile and crack your head open.

Kozik came bursting back into the room when he had heard you scream. His eyes continued to grow wider as he took in the sight of you. He had no idea what was wrong, though, and that was the only thing that stopped his eyes from lingering.

“What the hell is going on?” he quickly walked into the bathroom and grabbed the towel and draped it around your shoulders.

“I went to grab your bodywash and there was a fucking spider on the bottle!”

The tension instantly melted out of his body when he realized what had freaked you out so much, “A…spider? This,” he gestured to your body, “is over a spider?”

You shoved him, “Don’t be a dick!”

He laughed, “Sorry, sorry. I just, I didn’t think that spiders would bother you considering everything else you’ve gotten dragged into around here.”

You shook your head, “I don’t like them, I don’t trust them, I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

“Want me to go kill it so you can finish your shower?” he offered.

“You can kill it, but my shower is finished either way,” you shuddered, “I’m not going back in there.”

He chuckled and gave you a hug, “I’ll be right back.”

He walked into the bathroom and the first thing he did was shut the water off, something you hadn’t thought to do in the midst of freaking out. He pulled the curtain to the side and within moments you could hear him taking care of the issue. He flushed the spider down the drain before gathering up your clothes and bringing them back out to you. You had effectively wrapped the towel around yourself, no longer wearing it like a cloak. Heat was rising in your face as you took the small pile of clothes from him. Now that your initial wave of fear had subsided, you realized what position you had left yourself in with Kozik.

“Sorry about that,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“No need to be sorry,” he chuckled, “Sorry you didn’t get to finish your shower.”

There were a few beats of silence as the two of you stood there in front of each other. There were so many things that you wanted to say to him. You’d spent so much time trying to stifle your feelings and thoughts but with the way that he was looking at you, it was hard to have any self-control. His eyes traveled up and down your body and you could see it on his face that he was trying to fight the urge to say something.

“What’re you thinking?” you chanced asking him, hoping that he would say something so that you wouldn’t have to.

“You’re beautiful,” his voice had a touch of laughter to it, “I mean, you are all the time. But. Right now, something about—”

“Me being scared out of my mind?” you offered up with a laugh.

He smiled, shaking his head as he stepped in closer to you, “Maybe that’s what it is,” he reached forward and gently cupped your face in his hand. You felt your face get hot as you leaned into his touch. He traced his thumb along your cheekbone, “I’d gladly kiss you if it helped you be less scared,” he chuckled, but you could see it in his eyes that his words weren’t empty.

Your ears were burning as you smiled at him, “I mean, spiders are pretty terrifying. But you’re welcome to give it a shot.”

He laughed as he leaned in to kiss you, the clothes instantly falling from your hands. When his lips met yours the only thing you could think about was how you couldn’t believe that the two of you hadn’t done this sooner. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against him so that your chest pressed flush against his, the two of your bodies meshing together perfectly. You cupped his face in both your hands, desperate to keep his lips on yours for as long as possible. You could feel him smiling into your kiss and you had no choice but to return the gesture, both of you feeling how this was long overdue.

You finally pulled away, letting both of you catch your breath. Kozik didn’t let your body separate from his, though, as his arms remained snug around your waist.

You laughed, “You know what this means?”

“What?” he beamed at you.

“You’re on spider-killing duty for the foreseeable future.”

He laughed as he pulled you tighter to him, your head resting against his chest as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “That’s a small price to pay.”

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 1

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x reader

summary: spencer makes a confession as you’re doing dishes together. this is from a prompt list but i can’t find it :( 1633 words. part 2 

a/n: this was originally a poe dameron thing but i started thinking about it with spencer and then there were tears streaming down my face then i wrote it

Your favourite memories with the team are always those where you really feel like a family. Most days these are only fleeting moments, less than five minute conversations filled with banter and affectionate insults, but there are times, like now, where you’re all sat around Rossi’s dinner table with too much wine and too much pasta (although there is no such thing), and you feel like you might cry from happiness.

You’re a family.

The downside to being a family is you get treated like a family member, meaning when you and Spencer are assigned to clean dishes, dry them and put them away, you sulk to the kitchen just like you did when you were eleven and your younger sibling got out of helping by claiming he has too tired.

At least you can stare at Spencer as you do it.

In the kitchen, you’re working in perfect harmony – you, elbow deep in somehow tolerable hot water, scrubbing away at the bowls and plates stained with pasta sauce, and Spencer who methodically dries said bowls and plates with a worrying amount of scrutiny.

Right before you open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, Spencer speaks.

“What do you think of love?”

Huh. Didn’t expect that.

“Love is… is good, I guess.”

You’re not sure what to say, or what he wants you to say. There’s obviously an answer he’s looking for, but you’re not sure you can provide it.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your brows furrow. The question catches you off guard and your hand freezes mid-wipe. Why is he asking you this? It’s not that you’re not close with Spencer, cause you are, but you feel ill-equipped for this conversation. You wish you could somehow swap positions with Hotch, or Rossi, maybe Derek. Or Emily! Anyone, except you.

“I don’t think so, no, Spence.”

He grimaces.

“Why?”

“Well, because-cause…” He pauses and grits his teeth, as if the words are painful to force out, “I want to love someone and be loved.”

The confusion shines brightly in your eyes, “You are loved, Spence. Everyone in our unit would do anything for you, you know that. I’d go so far as to say you’re the favourite, probably the most loved person in the BAU.”

“No. No.” He shakes his head, “I want someone to love me. Romantically. Not Dr Spencer Reid of the BAU, notorious rambler and know-it-all who’s exceptionally good at pissing people off. I want them to love me – Spencer – the guy who is a technophobe, a pretty bad shot, and secretly wants to be a cowboy. The guy who has a recurring dream that Morgan forces me into a room where I’m plunged into darkness and Doctor Who is playing but it’s in a language I don’t understand. I don’t.. I don’t want someone that’ll make me feel like a baby, like the team sometimes does, you know? I think I’d be a great partner and I just… I just want someone to share something with. Something good, something pure, in this job where we face evil and demise every day.”

You’re in stunned silence when he makes eye contact, hands stilled mid-air as you gape at him.

“Sorry. Totally unloaded a lot of emotional stuff on you there – my bad. Uhh..” He clears his throat.

The air becomes awkward as you figure out how to reply. You flounder. You don’t know what to follow that speech with. It almost feels like the right time to admit your feelings for him, but a second later you realise this conversation sounds a lot like one you’d have with someone you definitely do not have feelings for. You’re just a consultation, you’re not the end goal. Suddenly, you wish you had been assigned to clearing the table rather than washing up.

Swallowing what feels like pure acid, you begin, “That’s sweet, Spence. Genuinely. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” You want to reach out and touch him, but your hands are now submerged in water, and touching him might break you. “So what’s stopping you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s stopping you from getting that?” You ask. “I’ve seen you. When you put your mind to it, you can be preeeetty smooth with the ladies. Remember the magic trick you did for that one girl?” Spencer gives a small, shy smile, “Exactly! So what’s stopping you?”

Spencer looks like a deer in headlights. What is stopping him? He’s proud to say his confidence has exponentially grown since joining the BAU. When he started, his self-esteem was non-existent, but times passed and he’s grown to accept himself the way he is. It helps that you’ve been there, cheering him on and showering him in compliments whenever he starts to doubt himself. Initially, Spencer thought you were doing it just to get on his good side, maybe build some good karma, but somewhere along the line he started to somewhat agree with you. The compliments never ceased.

“Well,” He starts, “I’m picky.”

You scoff, “Yeah, if I was you, I’d be picky.”

You turn and squirt some dish soap into the sink, smiling when Spencer laughs, “What does that mean?!”

“You know what it means! I always say you could be a ladies man if you truly put your mind to it, and I stand by that. You’re a ten out of ten on a bad day so, yeah, you should be picky. I’m tempted to say no one is worthy, but I’ve already inflated your ego too much.”

He grins at your teasing and licks his lips, “There is one person.”

“Oh?” You ask, interest piqued. You ignore the pang in your heart.

“Yeah. She’s really cool. It’s kind of terrifying.”

You giggle at that. There’s a warmth to Spencer’s words, and you realise whoever this girl is is super fucking lucky. He’s completely and utterly smitten and she doesn’t even know it. You kind of hate her.

“So are you gonna tell her?” You ask.

He shrugs, “I guess so. Should I?”

Finally done with the washing up, you move to put the dried plates into their cupboards. With a quizzical look, you say, “You’re really asking me that? Yes, you should tell her.”

“Would you tell her?”

“God, no.”

“What?!”

“I’m shy when it comes to that stuff! I’d rather ferment my feelings and then tell myself to get over it and never think of it again.”

“Sounds healthy.”

You grin, turning to lean against the counter next to Spencer, “I would tell her if I was you, though. You’re sweet, attractive, and you have more than just your looks going for you. If I was you and got rejected I’d be like… okay, cool. I’ll just go bang every one of your friends, then.”

Spencer guffaws, “You’d what?!”

“I’m kidding!” You laugh, a hearty laugh at his expression. The pure shock and borderline disgust makes you oddly proud. It’s a rare reaction from Spencer.

He rolls his eyes but still smiles. His eyes lock on your face and you can’t pinpoint what emotion is pouring out of them, but it’s so strong that it shoots panic through you. You quickly turn and pick up as many glasses as you can, manoeuvring to the opposite side of the kitchen.

You can’t be thinking about him like that if he’s about to admit his feelings for someone else.

“So, you gonna tell her?” You try to sound nonchalant, but you can’t deny you’re unbelievably curious.

Spencer hums, but still sounds unsure, “I think I will.”  

“If she’s as great as you think she is, no matter her response she’ll handle it well. Otherwise, she wasn’t worth your time anyway.”

Behind your back, Spencer barely contains a gentle smile and thinks, yeah, you are pretty great.

“What did you say?” You swing around to face him.

Spencer straightens up and furiously dries the last bowl, “What?”

“You mumbled something.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

You’re visibly bemused but don’t say anything. Spencer opens his mouth to speak, maybe tell you what he should’ve a while ago, when Emily comes sliding in.

“Garcia has had too much wine and I’m one glass away from joining her. Y/N, are you ready to head home?”

You roll your eyes and nod. In hindsight, you’re glad that you refused the big glass of wine Rossi initially offered you because you knew this would happen and you’d be taking drunk girls home. “Yeah, all good. Spence, is it okay if I leave you to put the last few dishes away?”

Spencer nods eagerly and glances at Emily when she sways, “No problem. Drive safe.”

You mumble a thanks and move to the living room to collect your bag. Garcia is splayed across the biggest couch and you can’t help but aww at her sleeping form. Just an hour ago she was giving a sermon on why Hotch is the best dad and how that translates to the bedroom (why did no one stop her), and now she looks at peace with the world in the fluffiest pillows you’ve ever seen. Then she chokes, snorts, and springs upright with a loud “Derek!” and you jump back at her volume. When she sees you, she looks like she’s found the cutest kitten and makes grabby hands, asking for a hug.

Yeah, it’s time to go home.

Just before you leave Rossi’s house, you turn to Spencer and shout across, “Good luck, Spence!”

Morgan turns to Spencer and silently asks what? And Spencer barely acknowledges him, “I’ve got big plans for tomorrow.”

“Big plans, huh?” Morgan teases.

“Yeah. Big plans, big payoff, and all that.”

Looking over your shoulder, you give one final wave after tying Garcia to her seat.

Spencer wonders if you realise you’re his big plan.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Canary, Part 16

First

Previous

So… fighting people while injured, even if it’s not a particularly long or difficult fight, is apparently a bad thing. Marinette didn’t feel it until the adrenaline wore off, but the moment it did it hit her like a freight train. She’d had to lean against a nearby building, her hand cradling her ribs, trying her hardest to keep her breathing under control.

When that didn’t help as much as she would have liked, she called Danielle.

“Hey, so, hypothetically… what do you think would happen if I ignored the bedrest thing --.”

“The fuck?”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“Hahahaha anyways so what I did was... so, like, I may or may not have, maybe, sort of, um…” She swallowed thickly. Her mouth tasted of copper, which was never a good thing. “Scaled a two-story building, crawled through some vents, flipped a guy that’s over a foot taller than me over my shoulder, lifted said guy back to his feet, and then jumped off the roof? You know… as you do?”

“You do not get to say ‘as you do’ what the fuck that is not a normal thing --.”

“How long do you think it’ll be?”

Danielle sighed and she could hear her count to ten under her breath. When she finished, she said: “... can you afford an extra few weeks? Because that’ll at least set you back half a month. I’d say an extra month and a half but...”

“I hope I can,” Marinette said, biting her lip. Had Emma told Joker how long the doctor had prescribed she took time off? Because if she already did that then there was no way Joker was going to allow the extra few weeks.

Not that Marinette thought she would be able to go that long without doing anything at all, she supposed, but she would love an excuse not to see his pasty face.

“I’ll have to prescribe painkillers if you don’t --.”

“No.”

Danielle scoffed a little but didn’t press it. A lot of Gothamites had seen what painkillers could do to people. And, from what Marinette could find about the woman, Danielle was a perfect example -- she’d struggled with the workload of going to med school and having a job at the same time, she’d gotten hooked, and it had promptly ruined her life. Of all people, she wasn't going to question why someone wouldn’t touch the stuff.

“At least try and stay out of trouble this time, okay?”

Marinette huffed a little (and then winced when her ribs protested it). “I do! The job really hadn’t been that bad today. Trouble just has a way of finding me.”

The doctor only laughed.

~

It was late at night, but it was cold in her apartment (the heater was broken, which was a surprise to absolutely no one considering how cheap the apartment complex was) and she couldn’t fall asleep. So, Marinette had been making macaroons for Tikki when she’d heard a knock...

On her window. She knew the distinct sound of gloved knuckles hitting glass by heart thanks to the occasional vigilante dropping by her safehouses for help with wounds they didn’t want the Big Bad Bat to see.

But they didn’t know that she was Canary, bats wouldn’t be coming by for her first aid capabilities.

Unfortunately, she could think of one other person that wore similar gloves that had already gotten into her apartment through the window. And he probably wanted his miraculous back, so there was a motive for his sudden appearance.

She didn’t want him in her apartment again. This was her house. It was supposed to be safe.

(Not that her houses have been feeling all that safe ever since Cobblepot had figured out who she was.)

She could hardly breathe -- a feeling she was getting far too used to for her liking. She brought a shaky hand up to the hollow of her throat, pressing on the tiny indent in her collarbone. It was a pressure point, she thought she remembered, it was supposed to help calm her down.

It wasn’t working.

She pulled a knife from her knife block and slowly crept around the wall that cordoned off her bathroom.

Her eyes scanned the apartment for anything that was off. Nope, it seemed that he’d stayed outside… she looked out the window...

Oh. It was Red Robin.

This was… marginally better. Maybe.

Marinette put the knife back and walked over. She bent down to unlatch the window lock and let Red Robin in.

He clambered through the window once she had moved out of the way. He closed it behind himself and, though she knew that was just so it would be harder for eavesdroppers to hear their conversations, it made her skin crawl.

He noticed, apparently, because he didn’t even lock it and he kept a wide berth as he walked around to stand in the middle of the living room part of the apartment, by the couch.

“You should have checked to make sure that it was really me,” Red Robin said and she fought back a wince. That was his work voice.

“Well, no one else would wear an outfit that awful.”

Her voice came out flat. She was still anxious and it was throwing her off. She picked at the fingers of her gloves, pretending to be very interested in a nonexistent loose thread as she tried her hardest to push down the emotions that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

He was there to interrogate her, sure, but that was fine. She’d faced far worse interrogations before, had interrogated people in far worse ways before. This was nothing new, she could handle this.

Knowing she would be fine, though, wasn’t enough to relax her.

She took a deep breath to get herself under control then cringed. Broken ribs shouldn’t be so hard to remember. She brought her hand up to rest over the injury.

“Are you alright?”

His tone had softened a little, but that only made her bristle. She didn’t want his pity. Not when she could see a burn she had caused poking above the neckline of his suit.

“I’ll be fine in a month.”

(Okay, actually it was closer to a month and a half to two months since she had irritated the injury, but who cares about those kinds of technicalities?)

“What about you? Are you…?” She couldn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to know if it wasn’t going to get better. She knew they were on opposite sides, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea of them getting hurt. They were…

Well, they weren’t friends.

They were like rival football -- sorry, soccer -- teams. On opposite sides, but they held little actual malice for each other.

He seemed to sense the genuine unease she felt at the idea of him being hurt because of her, because he gave the ghost of a smile.

“I’ve had worse.”

She picked at her gloves again. She wanted to take them off to pick at her nails but even the idea of taking them off in front of someone was enough to make her feel a little sick.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to but I needed to make sure you wouldn’t come and arrest me or my friends immediately and I thought that would distract you but it was kind of a dick move and --.”

He cut her off with a chuckle.

Heat rose to her cheeks.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, the point that I was trying to get to was that I didn’t actually want to hurt you… it was just...”

She didn’t have the words to excuse what she had done. She could only shrug lamely.

Some of the amusement faded. “It’s fine. Like I said, I’ve had worse. It’s an occupational hazard. For both of us, apparently.”

“I -- yeah -- I’m sorry about that, too. I honestly didn’t think we’d all become friends and I felt kind of bad about not telling you but -- but I just couldn’t.”

“I get it.”

She raised her eyebrows just slightly.

He sighed lightly and leaned back against the couch. “I do. You couldn’t tell me. I’m the textbook definition of a narc. You were just looking out for yourself.”

She managed a stiff nod.

But now she didn’t really know where to go. Why was he there? Why hadn’t he told the other bats yet? Was it that they were also narcs and he was protecting her? Why? Sure, he said it was fine that he had blown her up, but she doubted that it was really fine. People were like that, saying things that they didn’t mean because they didn’t want it to be awkward.

The questions swirled around in her head, each one clamoring to be the first one to be voiced. But she still couldn’t seem to come up with any one question to ask.

“I don’t get it,” Red Robin said when it became clear she wasn’t going to be saying anything for a while without prompting.

And, wow, that sentence was exactly what she had needed to pull her out of her thoughts. Because what?

“You just said…?”

“I don’t get why you’re a henchman,” he clarified. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Her frown deepened. It wasn’t all that hard to understand, she didn’t think.

“... because I need money to live, and I don’t really have many other options when it comes to getting it,” Marinette said, her tone making it obvious just how stupid she thought he was. Which wasn’t fair to him, Red Robin was a born and bred rich kid (she knew this fact in her bones, though he would never admit anything like that for fear of her finding out his secret identity), but it was simply obvious.

He shook his head. “It just doesn’t line up. You look up to heroes so you clearly have morals, why would you give that up for money?”

She scoffed at that. Because the real Marinette Dupain-Cheng had done more than looked up to heroes -- she had been one. But even that hadn’t been enough to keep her from becoming Canary when push came to shove.

“Morals are a privilege, Red.”

The lenses of his domino widened.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I drew a line in the sand and, when it became clear that line wasn’t going to be enough for me to survive, I stepped over it and drew a new one. You say you’ll never break a law, and then you say you’ll never hurt anyone, then you say you won’t hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it, and then you say you won’t hurt kids… and then one day you wake up and you realize that there isn’t that many more lines left to cross and the first line you’d made is so far behind you that you can’t even dream of getting back to it.”

Marinette swallowed thickly. She was too close to this, this was way too close to real for her. She hated the old feelings that this case was dredging back up. She hadn’t felt this awful -- this helpless -- in such a long time and she didn’t want to feel this way.

Red Robin didn’t seem to notice, at least, far too stunned by what he was hearing to notice the tears brimming in her eyes.

“But -- but you haven’t even been here that long!”

And he was right. The process had gone fast for the fake Marinette, she’d gotten a job not that long after she had officially arrived in Gotham… but she had an explanation for that:

“I don’t have any other options. You can look up my name and find article after article talking about how I stalked a hero. There goes all the legal options, no one wants someone like that representing their company. And, since Canary exists and has no problem going undercover, most of the Rogues don’t hire Asian women if they don’t have a Rogue vouching for them, saying that they’re a real person and not just someone trying to give information to their competitors. So, I’m stuck with Joker.”

He reached a hand out like he wanted to hug her. She didn’t make any moves to stop him, but he still thought better of the action and let his hand fall limp at his side.

The silence in the room was deafening.

And then, he broke it: “Let me help you.”

That simple sentence had nearly broken her.

Because those were the exact words she had been longing to hear.

They were just many years too late.

Why now? She wanted to scream.

“Why me?” She asked instead.

“Because I care about you,” Red Robin said softly.

The tears in her eyes were getting harder and harder to hold back and she needed to channel that into something more productive.

Anger. Anger was productive. Usually.

“Your job means you’re supposed to care about everyone. Why me?”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said: “You clearly want out.”

“Everyone does. Why me?”

He looked a little frustrated. Marinette knew the feeling.

“If everyone wants out then why are you so mad about it?”

Why would she be mad about it?

Marinette found an answer with ease: “I don’t know, Red, probably because I almost had to fight a kid to the death in order to get a job with Joker -- and the best option I could give was to send him to Scarecrow instead. Or because there’s two sixteen year olds working with me… and Benny is smart, he was in honors classes, he skipped grades, he got a full ride scholarship, so it’s not a lack of potential. They’re all good people -- and, above that, they’re kids. If anyone deserves out, it’s them. So, for the last time: why me?”

He couldn’t seem to find an answer. His mouth hung slightly open, as if he was shocked at the outburst.

“Say it. Say the quiet part out loud,” Marinette dared him.

She didn’t actually want to hear it, though. She didn’t want him to say that ‘I care about you more than them’. Marinette liked to think that she’d ended up the way she had because she was inadequate in some way, that if she had tried a little harder or that if she had been just a little more skilled maybe she might have gotten out in a legal way. It was what kept her sane. It was a personal problem, not a systemic one. Personal problems could be fixed, systemic problems never would be. But this entire job challenged that very ideal. Because this ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ she had created was close to the one that had existed ten years ago, but this Marinette was getting so many more opportunities... she was friends with a Wayne and the bats. It had only been three and a half months and she had already found two different ways that she could have gotten out, but if she could do it now then that meant she had always had the capability. It meant that the thing that could have saved her -- no, that the thing that had doomed her was nothing more than bad luck and a lack of good connections.

Maybe Red Robin knew that she didn’t actually want to hear it, or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to say it… but, whatever the reason, he turned around and made his way towards the window.

“I know I’m a bad person, Red. We both can see that. And that’s fine. But you don’t seem to know that you’re not a good person, either.”

He glanced back at her, lips drawn in a thin line, but didn’t say anything. He simply slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.

She let herself sink to the floor and bury her face in her knees.

She’d gotten what she’d wanted.

So, why did it feel so awful?

~~~

SpoilerAlert: canary totally has a knife kink

TheBetterCanary: what the fuck

SpoilerAlert: why else would you use knives almost exclusively

TheBetterCanary: because theyre quiet

TheBetterCanary: and stabby

SpoilerAlert: you’re so right i’m so sorry

~~~~~

Next

Taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje @mystery-5-5 @flyhighdreamer @starlit-dreaming @aespades @lowhangingtreebranches @twsssmlmaa @queenz-z

[pfreadsandwrites]

Kakashi NSFW Alphabet

18+ CONTENT AHEAD - NO MINORS - ANY MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED

Okay, attempt 2 - That’ll teach me to try ever posting from the mobile app. This is a rewrite from scratch and I’m way too tired to reread and see if it makes sense or if there are typos, it’s probably not a good thing this is longer than the original though.

No one asked for this, no one at all, and I know everyone’s done these but hey, it’s Kinktober, and you can never have too many Kakashi headcanons, right? Right? Right. I hope you enjoy these!! Goes without saying that these’ll be smutty. It’s also about 6.4k words. There is some real filth ahead, very nsfw, seriously, the thirst is so real. (I hate myself), so, this is 18+ only!

Also, I'm tagging @allthingskakashi​ because she asked me to (i really hope these aren’t disappointing)

Side note: This is all written from the view of an established relationship. I can kinda remember most of what I said, so these will be still be very long despite being a rewrite from scratch. Apologies for any rambles and tangents I might go on, since I was rewriting this, my brain got weird and tired, but I wanna take you through my thoughts. I’m also very concerned about keeping things in character and not self-indulgent/self-projecting of what the writer’s personally into so I won’t be doing that here... You’ll see what I mean as I go on. But I still wanna make it hot so i’ll try lol. I’m new to writing but I’m even newer to writing dirty stuff so i’ll try my best. And with this post goes my dignity

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Straight after sex is one of the rare times where Kakashi feels completely at ease and relaxed. He’s pensive, often quietly mulling over what you two have just been doing and trying to come to grips with it, his hands gently running through your hair or along your back. He’s probably at his most affectionate here too. Expect gentle, lazy caresses, little kisses here and there, soft, easy conversation. He might not always be the most talkative, but post-coitus is where you’ll most likely hear him say something earnest and romantic compared to other times. You’ve gotta understand, you’re a miracle, and you being in his arms is like heaven, but he can’t really believe it? But he’s also overwhelmed and tired to let it bother him too much, so he’s able to let his doubt and restraints go a little easier and just breathe. He feels safe, he feels at home and that’s a rare thing, so he’s really just happy to bask in the afterglow and the quietude of it all. It’s the safest, easiest thing in the world for the both of you.

If he’s been on the rougher side, he’ll definitely make sure you’re alright and be more gentle in comparison. and he’s generally more attentive than usual. He’s usually nice about cleaning you up, too, a gentleman lmao.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kakashi quite likes his upper body, or his torso more generally. He’s lean and broad, but not in an overbearing or obvious way, and he really likes the reaction he gets when you actually do get to see him shirtless. He’s also a little sensitive on his back (and he doesn’t mind if you end up scratching it). But if you rub his shoulders or massage his back or chest, he’s putty in your hands.

When it comes to a partner? So the fandom seems to be consistent in thinking of Kakashi as an ass man, and I’m inclined to agree. He just loves to grab it, slap it, just look at it tbh or whatever, but even if you don’t think your ass is that great, there’s very high probability that he does anyway. But honestly I think he’d have a hard time picking a favourite part of your body.

Some other body parts he definitely loves that don’t get mentioned though: he just loves your waist and how it curves in and out into your hips. He’s mesmerised by it.

plz imagine Kakashi’s nice big hands running gently running along your waist while he thrusts into you deep and slow, your back arching and then they settle on your hips?

Also, he loooooves legs, how they feel wrapped around him, the soft thighs omg. When you wear stockings or heels or other things that accentuate them, ahajhfkaj have mercy on him. Also, wrists and ankles? They’re so pretty and delicate he’ll just grab them where he can. If you both are in some kinda position where he can, he’ll definitely give you lil ankle kisses. also wear an anklet to see him blush

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

So uh, I’m really doing this, huh?

Soooo hear me out. Kakashi’s diet is impeccable. I don’t take criticism here lmao, it’s been mentioned multiple times how much he hates deep fried stuff and sweets (yeah yeah he’s one of those weirdoes that enjoys healthy food most, Kakashi we get it) and he’s always feeding Naruto veggies (or trying to). My point? His cum would taste good, okay? Or at least, not strong or bad at all, very neutral if not good. (You have zero problems swallowing)

Also, he cums a pretty good amount. He tends to try and hold back his orgasm so when he does come it does build up. Coming inside you is his favourite, just the intimacy of it, of filling you like that.

But…. he’s pretty ashamed of it at first, but he does love coming on his partner. Whether it’s on your face (ughhhh when you lick up some of his cum around your mouth after a blowjob), or your breasts, or your back, or wherever tbh. He doesn’t know whether it’s the visuals, the eroticism of it or even a territorial aspect? He doesn’t wanna ponder it too much it’s just hot okay.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

So this one was hard… because, unpopular opinion, I don't see him as into anything too crazy or depraved?

But here’s what I came up with: he’s totally fucked in the Hokage’s office. It’s only a dirty secret because of how improper that is, how inappropriate it is that the man in charge of the whole village is having sex in the very epicentre of where he’s supposed to be doing that, when other Hokage have been in that room before him… but it’s also why he’s into it.

Also, he’ll die before he ever admits to you exactly how many times he’s jerked off to the thought of you. And after you got together into a pair of your panties when you were away and he missed you too much

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Short version: Kakashi’s not as experienced as you might think, but this doesn’t translate into lack of skill in any way.

The long version: Ahhh so I go back on forth on this but I’ma attempt to think this through here. Okay, so, fandom has generally two sides when it comes to Kakashi and this topic. He’s either the completely suave, smooth ladies’ man who has all the one night stands or on account of his issues he’s a passive, stuttering virgin who’s constantly flustered.

Neither of these are that accurate. So I do get ladies man Kakashi to a point. It comes from the fact that he is quite smooth? And women do seem to like him quite easily in the series. And Kakashi definitely has the capacity to be a charmer, and is quite good at flirting when his job requires it or it’s a stranger etc. He’s good at reading people and winning them over. This is more complicated when he’s faced with someone he’s attracted to, or that has the potential to mean something to him. He still might be charming, but he’s very good at using this to keep you further from him, so you can’t really get to know him or get close to him so it’s not quite the same. It’s his way of controlling the distance between you.

Now, when it comes to experience, I don’t think Kakashi’s incapable of using casual sex as some kind of a coping mechanism (it’s not the healthiest), but if he was going to do this, it’d be during the latter part of his ANBU years. I can see him having sex as just a means to forget and remember he’s alive, and quell an urge, with basically faceless partners, or maybe complete strangers on missions. This does make him feel even lonelier after a while though, and it’s not really what he wants. Eventually having sex with women he’ll never see again serves to make him more miserable, and I think by the time we see him at the beginning of the series he doesn’t really do this anymore. So I wouldn’t say he’s completely inexperienced sexually at least, though he definitely is romantically.

Generally after that, Kakashi’s gonna reserve sex for someone who he has a deep emotional and physical connection with, but God forbid he ever calls it what it is - a relationship. Basically, if he’s sleeping with you, he pretty much loves you whether he knows it or not. And if he’s comparing that to his past experiences, he really feels the difference and cherishes it all the more (but it still scares him and he won’t admit it to himself.

So here’s how I see it. There’s always been a sexual chemistry between him and you, and a physical and romantic attraction. But of course Kakashi is Kakashi so he does absolutely nothing about it and doesn’t want to let you do anything about it. Still, you’re surprisingly persistent, and you do become close to each other in a friendly capacity, in whatever way Kakashi’s able to participate in that. Eventually, ( I haven’t thought this through quite yet) you do end up fucking and Kakashi tries to convince himself that he can just do that, that he can keep up having great sex with a great friend and that you don’t mean the world to him. You try to do the same, for his benefit, but you’re in deep and neither of you can’t deny there’s a bond and your connection is so strong that you’re basically in a relationship - and you kinda are by the time you start having sex - but he doesn’t really have the balls to actually call it that till after the 4th shinobi war. (I have some thoughts about how the war impacted Kakashi’s psychology but it’s generally then when he’ll genuinely feel comfortable enough to fully commit himself to you and see a future for himself, which he’s never really had before, and a future with you to boot).

To bring it back to this (I’m sorry what a fucking tangent), Kakashi’s maybe not had sex with a large amount of women, but he’s a quick learner and has natural skill. He also learns your body and what you like quickly. So whilst he’s not as experienced as he seems, he’s definitely more skilled than he has any right to be.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

When it comes to positions there’s very little he wouldn’t enjoy tbh. He does have an affinity for positions like doggy style, just the visuals and the power it gives him. It’s easy for him to get a bit carried away though, but that’s his go to when he’s feeling rougher.

When it’s more romantic and slow and sensual, he also loves variations of missionary, because he loves the intimacy of the eye contact, and how your body is so close he can hear your heartbeat but his absolute favourite positions are missionary variations where your legs are on his shoulders, or where he’s spreading your thighs as perpendicular as possible and really testing your flexibility are probably his favourite cuz legs, and he can go even deeper and get an amazing angle.

But he definitely likes it when you ride him too, whether you’re facing him or away, it just feels too good when you’re bouncing on him like that. Also it’s nice to relax a bit and not have to do more of the work… plz take care of him from time to time…

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely has the capacity to be a fucking dork, as we know, and this has the potential to translate to his sex life. It’s a sign of complete ease if he can laugh and joke with you during, and he loves to have fun and play around with you, but at the same time, he does prefer to be serious most of the time. This means a lot to him and he’ll make sure you know that. He’s also gonna get a bit exasperated if you don’t seem to be taking it as seriously as him, or if you’re too into jokes and giggles for his liking that day. Probably will try and shut you up one way or another.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

(Ughh okay so the idea of Kakashi with a silver happy trail leading to a messy shockwave of hair down there really does things to me okay, I’m sorry, I’ll see myself out)

Okay so… Have you seen how Kakashi manages his hair? Spoiler alert: he doesn’t. I don’t even know if this man owns a hairbrush. So I can definitely see him not being assed about shaving his bush. It’s probably kind of wild, or at the very least more on the unkempt side.

But then again he’s assed enough to keep his face clean shaven so he can wear his mask, so maybe he does, like I do head canon that he’s a very clean person and he probably feels like it is a *bit* cleaner that way but I’m leaning towards nah he just leaves it alone, but will trim it from time to time when it gets too wild or if it bothers you. I do think he probably has slightly more body hair than you’d expect tbh, but his hair is so light especially against his complexion so it’s not really noticeable. Oh and obviously, the carpet matches the drapes. (Idk why this made me imagine Kakashi with a ginger bush..  LMAO there’s a thought)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It does depend on the mood between you, what kinda day he’s had, what position you’re in etc but he places a lot of value on sex in your relationship, for the intimacy and emotional bonding, not just the physical pleasure. So there are a lot of times where he’d be super intimate. Kakashi’s a man who chooses his words and actions very carefully in normal life and during sex he allows himself to let all that go. His actions really convey the depth of what you mean to him, what being with you like this means to him. He’ll hold you close to him, running his hands all over your body just to feel you everywhere, kiss you everywhere you can whilst he moves, bury his face into your neck, breathe you in - he just is very overwhelmed by this and there are times during your most intimate moments where he’s so in awe and so happy that he could die right there.

That being said, if he’s fucking you over his desk in the hokage’s office and it’s rough and fast, it’s a little harder to feel the intimacy and the romantic connection. Still, it is underlying every moment between you too. You’re the only ones that see these sides of each other, and make each other feel that way, and he really values that. He’ll still make it feel tender somehow and not just mindless fucking (no matter how blank he makes your head feel)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don’t see him as being a particularly frequent masturbator tbh. He strikes me as disciplined and he can probably go a while without it, especially if he’s busy, but more than just that, he kinda sees it as an inconvenience he just has to do sometimes? To blow off some steam, or when he’s not had sex in a while or something got his mind racing and it’s a distraction because he literally can’t think about anything else. He’ll probably use his books, but he prefers to use his imagination tbh, though the books can start as a seed for that.

He also doesn’t like having to put too much effort into jerking himself off? He doesn’t like to overcomplicate things when it comes to his sex life, and especially when it’s just jacking off.

He just kinda wants to get it done so he can move on to something more productive or fall asleep or something. So he’s just happy to pump himself off until he gets there.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Okay here’s where I’m gonna lose some of you.

Kakashi’s just not that kinky. Or maybe not kinky by tumblr/fic standards. Like I said in the previous head canon, he just does not see the appeal of making his sex life more complicated than it needs to be and his kinks aren’t gonna be too crazy. He just wants to feel good with you and he’s not that difficult to get going. With that in mind, here are some things he likes:

Spanking ;)

Teasing

Face-fucking

Dirty Talk (to a point, anything too stupid sounding or too dirty might make him laugh or take him out of it…)

clothed sex (where you are so horny for each other you can’t even wait to get undressed properly)

semi-public sex (he would hate the idea of actually being seen but the idea of *almost* being caught is kinda hot to him, not that he’ll ever let that happen if he can help it),

body worship (is that a kink)

LIGHT dom (I’ll mention it more later but he’s not too extreme into this stuff, but if you call him Hokage-sama or captain he might get a little too into it… not that that’s bad) I heard someone call him general during the war arc and that shit SENT me

he maaaay do a a threesome with shadow clones (either two of his if you want that, but two of you seem kinda hot… that being said, this might delve into that ‘making things too complicated’ so Idk, this might just be hot to me cuz I would like two Kakashis to rail me and I do think he’d enjoy it if two of you focused on him),

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bed is fine but that’s really what he associates with either morning sex, or romantic, intimate lovemaking type stuff. When it’s more raunchy and playful, he really likes bending you over stuff tbh, his desk, kitchen counter etc most surfaces work well. He likes the shower too. Also, one time you both were just so hot for each other and didn’t make it to the bed and went at it on the hard floor and it was so wild and rough.

But he really loves fucking you up against walls, doors, mirrors, etc, Wall is his favourite, it’s just so intense and he gets animalistic and yeah it’s so good.

WAIT, how did I forget, sex in front of the mirror?! This is something he enjoys more with a more flustered or shy s/o who’s not used to looking at themselves. I have been thinking about writing something for this

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Kakashi’s more on the traditional side in terms of what he likes but it’s really not that hard to turn him on. He loooooveeees when you wear lingerie for him, anything pretty and lacy but also stockings and all that. But then there’s something about when it’s simplistic too, like when you’re just wearing his shirt and nothing else? That’ll get him going too. But yeah, plz surprise him with a sexy outfit when he comes home from a long day of work and he’ll love you 5ever.

I dunno why I’ve always thought this, but I also think he’s turned on by subtle, understated signs of femininity? It’s just such a contrast to what he’s used to and he really appreciates it and is just mesmerised by you tbh. It’s things that are natural, the way when you sit down your hips get that crease where they meet your thighs, you might sometimes look down when you smile softly, the way you walk, pretty hair. If you have a really classical, elegant/sophisticated kind of style he loves that. Kinda hard to explain what I mean with that but like, say a dress or skirt that shows off your curves but isn’t too revealing? It really gets his mind racing. That make sense? (No worries if that’s not your style either, like I say, it’s not that hard to turn him on) But I also think he kinda likes when you wear jewellery? Like nothing too ostentatious but if you’re naked beneath him and the only thing you’re wearing is a necklace or some fancy earrings he just thinks you look so beautiful.

He also likes the comfortable, gentle teasing and flirting in the conversations you have, the jovial aspect to them, the connotations they carry. You could say one comment and not mean a whole lot by it and it might get his mind racing. He’ll think about you all day.

I mentioned before but offering to massage his back/chest/shoulders is his favourite, and if you kiss his jawline or neck even innocently it might not be innocent for very long ;) just when you’re generally affectionate and gentle with him.

He’d definitely enjoy it if you were confident, but I also feel like he’d like a shyer s/o too? If you were a little easier to fluster than he is, he finds it much easier to be confident and make you feel that much better ;) he likes making you blush.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Okay, here’s where I’m definitely gonna lose some of you. But hang with me.

Short version: He doesn’t really like BDSM, be nice to him and let him be

Long version (I’m sorry guys):

By the time Kakashi’s in a loving relationship with you, he’s shown you his vulnerability and he trusts you, and he’s happy to try things within reason, but he has boundaries. And he expects you to respect them, just like he respects yours. You’re gonna frustrate him and make him close off if you’re wanting to push him to try new stuff or go out of his comfort zone. He can be set in his ways. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to. So if that’s not cool for you, that’s a turn-off.

He’s not into role-reversal. This is a tricky one to explain (and I’d explained it better in my first version of this that got lost to the void but alas this is where my memory is getting hazy), but though he’s a man with a lot of power and responsibility and control, these things aren’t necessarily things he’s insecure about or that come unnaturally to him. They’re not a persona or things he’s necessarily putting a lot of effort into being. He just is. He’s self-aware of his own abilities and strengths and he’s very a-matter-of-fact about them. I guess what I’m saying is, the more masculine attributes of his personality and demeanour that make some people say he’s DaddyAF and others say he’s probably not like that sexually, are just who he is naturally. He’s not putting effort into being these things and does not see the appeal of working to reverse this in the bedroom, or better yet, doesn’t really understand it. It’s way more effort for him to do that than it is for him to just be who he is. I could go way more into the psychology of this but this thing is long enough already but part of that accepting him for who he is is just letting him be. I’m saying he’s in no way a sub, basically.

But he’s not a huge dom, either. He’s actually really not into anything hardcore when it comes to dom/sub or bdsm stuff like at all. Like he’s not gonna be your daddy or your master or anything like that. He really values ease above all else and is happy to just enjoy the two of you and your body without adding extra layers of extreme power dynamics and kinks on top of it. He’s happy to be more on the authoritative side, which is why I say light dom, and it’s more natural for him to take the lead, but he’s not thinking about it too hard. I also don’t think he’d be averse to some mild power play - in that mean he likes it when you get a little cheeky, tease him, you can make fun of him, there’s a bit of cat and mouse between you, but if you’re too much into control or power that actually might bring out his rougher dominant side a bit more than normal. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not incapable of lying back and letting you do your thing.

…But he is still a bit of a control freak at heart and he doesn’t want to feel like something could go wrong, so if you make him feel like he can’t do anything about the situation or having no control at all is likely gonna be a bad experience for him.The other thing is that Kakashi doesn’t feel like he’s had control over his life where it counts, and he still feels pretty shitty about himself a lot. He’s not gonna wanna relinquish all control during his sex life, no matter how much he trusts you. He’d hate feeling completely passive, and if you humiliate him you’re just gonna make him feel shitty. He doesn’t wanna humiliate you either. So what I’m saying is, he’s just not into femdom or extreme male sub stuff or anything like that, sorry not sorry. He’s felt shitty enough in his life for you to turn it into a kink. He’s a pretty chill guy, but he still has his comfort zone, and he trusts you enough to be vulnerable, don’t take advantage of that. Be kind to Kakashi Hatake 2020.

With everything I’ve said so far, he’s never gonna let you peg him. It’s not something that really appeals to him visually or psychologically, plus any kind of receiving anal stimulation is just not really his thing. Leave Kakashi Hatake’s asshole alone 2020. Also, he doesn’t like the plastic/artificialness of toys in general, he’d much rather genuine skin on skin contact and feeling your body and you his, and just yeah you having to use toys on him will turn him off or seeing you in a way, that’s you know, not you, with an artificial appendage is just, a big no for him. Probably has the exact opposite effect you’d want. 

He’d also never wanna hurt you, or be into you hurting him. If it doesn’t trigger his PTSD or his tendency to self-loathe like all the other things I mentioned, he’s been getting hurt his whole life so he’s likely not gonna enjoy this in the bedroom, it’s either banal to him or a complete turn-off at the least. He’s self-aware enough to know it’s not gonna be the healthiest thing for him to sexualise it. He’s also hurt too many people to do something that could potentially hurt you, so no weapons, ninja techniques, things like that. I don’t think he’d even be into choking you. He just wants to relax, and enjoy himself and being with you in a way where he can feel safe, but not passive, and he loves having a partner that can allow him to do that.

So a partner being too dominant to the point of making him feel shitty and weak would be a turn-off, or just generally one that’s impatient or unkind. You’ll need to be empathetic and warm to get anywhere with him anyway, or at least you’ll struggle otherwise. Also, he wouldn’t ever want a threesome. It’s taken so much out of him to build up trust and intimacy between you, he’s sure that introducing another person, even if it’s only a one time thing, would ruin it. He also doesn’t want anyone other than you to see him in that way, or vice versa.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

So I don’t know why but I feel like Kakashi sees eating you out as such a special, intimate act? It’s a big deal, and this is something he probably wouldn’t do with someone he doesn’t have a strong connection to, or not as much. But when he does love you, your responses and the whole act are just mesmerising to him. Maybe it’s how vulnerable delicate you seem, how your moans are more gentle and delicate compared to when he’s fucking you, how he’s up and close against your most private parts, how he’s the only one that sees you like this… It really gets him going tbh, but it also takes a lot out of him? It just ends up meaning more to him than a blowjob might mean to you. So he might actually end up receiving more than he gives, despite the fact that he enjoys it and is very good at it. I don’t mind I’ll suck his dick 25/8

Like most men, he’ll be putty in your hands if you give him a good blowjob. It’s one of those things that never cease to amaze him or drive him crazy, no matter how many times you’ve done it, the sight of you on your knees, sucking him down. He’ll feel guilty but he face-fucks you sometimes, and it feels amazing, but he honestly might let himself get carried away. So he’ll sometimes grab your hair or clench his fist instead, otherwise he’ll just try to gently guide your ahead along sometimes. His moans during blowjobs are also damn hot as well. Like guttural groans and moans, he’s louder than normal.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends with Kakashi! Whether it’s a quickie, the position, where you’re doing it. He has a penchant for slow and sensual though. He wants to savour you, the sensation, the moment, the sights, everything. He really wants to bask in the intimacy of what’s going on and go as deep as he can and take his time. He likes taking it easy.

But there’s always gonna be moments where he can be pretty damn animalistic and rough and he’s pretty good with that too. Though, where he has the time to do so, he likes to build up to it? Occasionally he’ll be too pent up/frustrated or too short on time to really do it but like if time and space allows he doesn’t wanna start ramming into you like right away, he wants you to adjust, and will slowly fuck you until you’re really want it as crazily as he does.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He likes a good quickie, or rather, they’re his only option sometimes. He’s a busy guy who can’t always plan his schedule, and this goes tenfold when he becomes Hokage. So whilst his favourite will also be something longer where he can take his time and enjoy your body, you’re gonna have to accept that there will be periods where all you’ll get is quickies in his office, or in the morning before he has to leave.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

So despite all that stuff I listed about all the things he won’t do, he’s willing to try a lot of stuff with you. He does enjoy experimenting and he thinks it’s fun and brings you guys closer together, but within reason. He doesn’t wanna do anything too complicated or too strange by his standards, but he’ll be up for new locations, new positions, and he is risky in the sense that he won’t mind doing some stuff in public, or semi-public at least.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

So it’s definitely better when he doesn’t have his sharingan constantly sapping his energy anymore, but not to the point that you really noticed there being a problem before. He just puts a lot of effort and concentration into not cumming before you, and he’s pretty good at that. Depending on how pent up he is, he can last a decent amount of time. But if he has lasted quite a long time, when he finally does cum, he might not be in the mood to go again.

I see him going for like, one short round and one long one. Or if it’s shorter his recovery time’s pretty decent. But if you get ever happen to get three or more rounds of him in one go you should definitely praise him or take care of him cuz that’s pretty difficult and his dick might be broken for the next few days.

The only time his ability to hold back his orgasm goes to shit is when you’re having his way with him by riding him or sucking him off. You’re just too good have mercy on him But he’s better able to control that stuff and slow down and take breaks when he needs to when he’s the one leading things.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Nah, this harkens back to the whole thing about him not wanting to overcomplicate things and just have fun without thinking too much. He can’t be assed with toys and won’t use them on himself. I also mentioned earlier that he doesn’t like the fakeness/artificiality of toys, just the gimmicky-ness of it, the plastics... Nah. He wants to feel something real. Besides it’s canon how crazy this man’s physical skill is, his hands, his fingers… He’s completely satisfied with just his hands. And you are too

If it means a lot to you, he can use toys on you. But let’s be honest I really don’t think you’ll feel the need.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Kakashi is a little shit, we all know this. He loves to tease and edge, and he just loves seeing how frustrated you get, your scolding, knowing that you still can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, your annoyed little whines and huffs… But he always more than makes up for it later.

He is so bad at receiving teasing though, he cannot withstand as much as you can, which is lame, considering how much he can put you through.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not that loud, though there are times he can be. When he’s getting close to cumming, when he finally does are probably his loudest. But generally, his noises are so so nice. He makes soft little grunts and pants mostly, but he’ll growl and groan, whisper your name.. But sometimes you can get a semi-loud moan out of hiim and omg it’s so so hot.

He’s a little louder when he’s tired, or first thing in the morning? He’s more sensitive. When he’s not having to concentrate so much or think too much about what’s going on, he’ll get a little louder. He’s also louder when you’re riding him than in other positions.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You know what I’ve gone in so deep with this head canons that I can’t think of a random one and I can’t remember what I wrote yesterday.

So Kakashi really appreciates just physical contact with you, wherever it might be. It doesn’t necessarily need to be sexual either but it makes him feel at ease. I said this already too, but Kakashi loves the comfort of just being vanilla. Nothing special, nothing elaborate, no gimmicks, just him on top of you, with your legs around his hips, as he drives into you. It’s literally just you and him in the world and that’s all there needs to be and nothing’s ever felt more right than that.  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s canon Kakashi is big need I say more. Okay I’ll say more. So it’s pretty long and thick. It’s not like monster huge but he’ll definitely take some adjusting. Probs uncut, and the same girth all the way down. Also kinda veiny, there’s some big ones on the underside. You’ll definitely feel him throb inside you.  But his body is nice too, but we been knowing that. He’s lean, and muscular, but in an understated way. He also has really nice legs? Like his thighs are good. The only time I saw his legs was in ep 101 of og Naruto but I was very pleased tbh. Like they’re well-trained but not crazy muscular like those men who work out a lot get… do you know what I mean? The round calves and stuff? He doesn’t have that. He also has a very nice ass. Gets flustered if you stare at it or slap it. Please do though his reaction is so cute.

Anyways, back to his dick, the colour is slightly darker than the rest of his body and the tip a tad darker than that. I remember seeing a picture on twitter and omg I couldn’t like it cuz I need some semblance of keeping my twitter professional but omg I saved the link, this is it though, the artist gets him perfectly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s high but nothing ridiculous. He’s controlled enough where he can go a while without it, but this is harder once he has a partner.

Once you guys have settled into each other and grown comfortable, he’s probably up for it 3-4 times a week, but depends on you and both of your schedules too. Sometimes it’s more, sometimes less.  But he’s a busy guy and has tons of things going on so as much as he’d like to, he can’t think about having sex extremely frequently. He’s also gonna have periods where he physically can’t see you that much, so the times you do see each other might be spent having sex so it might feel like it’s crazy high, but it’s more that he’s making up for lost time.

As he gets older his sex drive does decrease slightly, but not by much tbh. He’s very adaptable to your needs too. If you wanna fuck a lot that’s all great but if it’s like twice a day every day then calm down dang you might need to satisfy yourself. But if yours is a lot lower than is, he might struggle, but eh, he can manage.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sex definitely depletes him and makes it easy to sleep, but he’ll normally wait for you to fall asleep. It’s a control thing and a protective thing, but he just feels a lot better about sleeping once you’re already there dozing off in his arms, and after sex is one of the rare times where he feels relaxed enough and his mind is empty enough where he can get a good night’s rest without any issues.  

[pyroclaststan]

CW: This is the softest shit I’ve ever written

You’d asked Kingsley to come over and do your hair as a joke [mostly]. You knew they were hesitant to be in your space on the best of days, and almost always avoidant of any kind of touch or personal interactions on any given day. It was made very clear very early on in your friendship how high Chrysanta’s walls are but it’s always made you try harder, tease more, push often—never too much.

Not out of disrespect for their boundaries, but because it was also made very clear early on in your friendship that they had no friends, and if there was one thing you could say Kingsley needed in this world it’s friends. Maybe also someone to pry the stick up their ass loose, too, but even your hero self can’t work miracles.

And here they are: ringing your doorbell, hood up over that ratty cap you’re dying to throw away, feet shuffling, and a bag over their shoulder. Maybe the look on your face as you opened the door shouldn’t have been such a cross between excited and shocked, because they flinch immediately upon seeing you stand in the doorway, arms held wide.

“Do you want me to w-wait until you get dressed to come back?” they ask, looking pointedly away towards the bottom of the stairs for someone tailing them.

A mental note to figure out what’s up with the ‘who’ of that situation one day, but for now you take a look down at yourself. Gym shorts and a tank top: who knew they were such a prude? You that’s who, but only when they are outside of their uniform and around you it seems. That’s why you chose to ditch the sweatshirt you’d had on before answering the door… and it’s also the height of summer in this godforsaken city.

“What do you mean?” you cross your arms and tilt your head, playing innocent, making sure your braid falls over your shoulder. “I’m in my own home, firstly, and secondly: I am clothed. Not all of us need to be covered head-to-toe with eighty layers in this heat.”

They shuffle again, and you know the hand that isn’t holding the strap of their duffle bag is in their jacket’s pocket doing their tell: the clenching and unclenching of long, strong hands; vascular and calloused, often bloodied or bruised at the knuckles but still beautiful in their rough way. You squeeze your eyes to cut that random thought right there, disguising it as a reaction to the intense orange-toned daylight bleeding into your cool apartment.

“Chrysantamum, get the hell inside: looking at you is making me overheat,” you chide playfully, pulling them in by the strap of their bag and catching them off-guard, so much so they half-stumble through your front door, ducking lower than even they need to.

Jodidamente gigante…

Pink cheeks are quickly hidden as they reach up to pull their hat down lower, head bent in attempted irritation. Closing the door and setting the lock as they walk past, you watch as their back hunches so much that it makes you worry about their spinal health, and not for the first time.

“Jules, you can, uh, you can just say ‘come in’ like a normal person,” they huff, removing their bag from their shoulder but keeping it in hand.

“I could, but when have you ever accepted an invitation of mine?” The gaze you direct at them is cutting: visual representation of all the times you’ve extended your courtesy and company only for them to shut you down, cold and completely.

And speaking of cold, is that a bead of sweat on King’s face? You figured they were immune to the heat: they’ve never been about anything but dark colours and multiple layers.

Maldito lagarto gigante. You know, you didn’t curse nearly as much before you two became friends. Not as creatively either.

“That’s… fair,” their shoulders sag, defeated by their own admission and unaware of their agreement to your internal insult. You win two in one. “I should’ve expected you to get h-handsy anyway. You’re tactile.”

“I’m tactile? How many times are you gonna squeeze that hand of yours?”

They freeze at your smug face, hand immediately retreating from their pocket and down to their side like they’ve been caught red-handed. Anathema used to keep a tally of how often they did that but the whiteboard turned black.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you step past them to head towards the couch: neutral territory that keeps you from crowding King until they relax. You know the drill by now. “Oh! And you know the rules: no hats on indoors.”

“W-what?” it’s almost a whine. “I always wear a hat when I’m with you guys.”

“That’s at HQ—this is a home, Sidestep, it’s basic etiquette. Were you raised in a barn?”

“On a farm,” they murmur, giving in to your request. They’re a little bit of a shit from time to time, but they’ve always been respectful of basic manners in private—raised right by someone at some point, you suppose. You’ve always noticed how well they set a table, pull out a chair, take a coat. Classic manners instilled young, that much you can tell.

There’s a coat hook that you put up on the wall recently—for them—and after setting their bag by their feet, their top two jackets adorn it. A bomber and an all-weather? They had to be boiling walking out there. That ratty cap is pulled off and placed over them, too, so you watch as they take down their thick curly-coily hair, swiftly collecting strays back into the bun to no avail. Fidgeting begins once they’re done and realise there’s nothing to thread their hair through, unused to being uncovered.

“How do you not melt out there?” you ask in disbelief, fanning yourself dramatically. “Can you seriously not just put on a single t-shirt, like a regular person?”

“I like the weight.” It’s a short tone that tells you that string of questioning is closed, and instead their focus goes to taking off their shoes and setting them down neatly below their jackets, heels against the wall as a sign they’re staying.

Deliberate motions, unsure emotions.

“Sure, okay.” Leaning far to your left you pat the seat of the couch three times, signalling them to sit their ass down which they do slowly, taking their bag back into their hands.

It settles into their lap as you sit back and watch them: eyes running all over—casing for exits—and hands fidgeting nervously. Inviting them over always feels like entering a kennel pen with the way you have to sit back and wait for them to settle into your space with you, but you’re used to it. It’s kind of endearing, really… in some kind of vigilant way you can’t quite explain. Or at least, it’s become endearing. Traitorous eyes once again find themselves settled on Kingsley’s hands.

“What do you want?”

You startle, face flushing at the thought that they caught you staring and got annoyed, but when you look up they’re still staring straight ahead. This is an opportunity to take in their profile, always having been drawn to their sharp jaw and the pronounced line of their cheekbone since they’ve been unmasked—tracking the cloud of freckles on their skin and some faint scars here and there. Counting the numerous ball hoop earrings that cover the entire edge of their ear, you’re reminded of your old therapy tricks, the calm helping as you quickly gather your composure. Keeps you cool and sane while they become a ball of unrest.

Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste—or whatever combination works best for your surroundings. It’s been a long time since you’ve needed that trick.

Realisation hits that they’re still expecting a response.

“What are my options?” you tease in a soft flirty tone you can’t fight; teasing them is just so second nature nowadays.

King sits a little straighter as they pick up your double meaning, then cover their face by leaning forward into their propped-up palm as if bored—fooling no one in the room. You know they’re anything but bored by how their fingers tap, and soon the leg starts bouncing just as you knew it would.

“That’s up to you th-this time. Just don’t pick anything that’ll have your PR team suing me or breathing down my neck. Remember when, uh, when you dyed it blue?”

“It was temporary!”

“And they still freaked.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you concede with a pout. Not as much freedom as you’d like has came of your stint in the Rangers so far. Sure, you can walk, you can fight, you can muck around to your heart’s content, but you’re still on a leash. One that you’ll be expected to pay off. “I don’t know—I didn’t really plan on you actually showing up.”

A quick frown in your direction. “Gracias por el voto de confianza, polla.”

Okay, geez, so you both rubbed off on each other.

“No offence!” you put your hands up as a gesture of peace. “You just don’t like coming around.”

“I’m not used to coming around,” Kingsley corrects, looking at you, “I like coming around...”

As they trail off your heart leaps at that; your stomach flips, you’re about to respond when—

“…you’ve got A/C” they finish, turning their head, smiling that dammed crooked smile at their own joke.

There’s a quiet huff from you that mimics theirs as your ego deflates a little. That was a jab in true Sidestep fashion, sure, but you can’t help but feel a little… disappointed.

Sidestep—Kingsley, King, Chrysantamum—is looking at you expectantly now. “Well?”

“Dealer’s choice,” you get up, looking anywhere else as you pace. Can’t stand sitting this still this long much less with their gaze on you.

The sound of them lifting off the couch quickly stops you in your tracks.

“What? Y-you’re just gonna let someone do whatever they want to your hair?”

“Not ‘someone,’ you—I’m letting you do whatever you want to it. It’s just hair.”

“It’s not just hair!” they exclaim walking fiercely up the edge of your personal space, surprising both of you. They take a long step back, a pause of quiet as they collect themself and stand straight, making them taller. “Hair is… it’s personal. It’s…” a look of discomfort as they trial off, “intimate.”

You didn’t expect this: for them to get some up-in-arms about hair of all things. Looking at theirs, for the first time you start to think about all the work that goes into those long curls. The care, the maintenance, the time. Cultural and personal significance as well, you assume.

You smile with a softness that melts through you, “That’s why I asked you to do it.”

The look that passes over their face is the closest thing to affection you’ve ever seen. There is sorrow in their brow, but the tiny smile on their lips and the way they hold eye contact with you says… everything. Then it’s gone as quick as it came, eyes averted, hands pulling at the sleeves of their hoodie, their feet shuffling. Those tiny little things that they consist of, live by, exist with. It is always about the little things with them: it occurs to you that this may be a big thing. Maybe they need more time to—

“Alright,” a cracking voice cuts you off before you can ask the question that was still building, “grab a dining room chair, a tall one, and meet me in the kitchen.”

Kingsley’s already moving, mechanically yet fluid in the way they walk over, picking their bag, and navigate around and past you as you’re walking in their path. Nervous muscle and hyper focus—so like them it makes you smile. You diverge by the dining room, heading over to pick up a chair as directed, confused as to why you’re taking it to the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we be in the living room or bathroom?”

“Living room has nothing we need, bathroom’s too small—I uh, take up most of the space as is.”

You avoid imagining the two of you crammed into that private space.

Looking at them again as you approach, you watch the way they deftly unpack: eyes locked on the contents, right hand grabbing items and tossing them to the left without a single shift in their line of sight. Thinking. These little pieces of themself that Kingsley leaves around your apartment always make it hard to resist inviting them.

It’s too much, too fast for them, sure. But there is something about Chrysanta’s presence in your home compared to anywhere else. It is quiet—it always is despite their size—but it is rooted, in a way they never are to any thing or place or moment. Their steps are slower, their movements more eased, the calm they feel reflected in how little they stutter or panic because they can’t feel you in their confusing telepathic way.

“Where should I set the chair?” you ask softly.

“At the sink.” Not bothering to look at you to respond.

As soon as you set it down, facing the sink, Kingsley’s hand reaches out and turns it around.

“One more, please,” absently said as they set up all of whatever it is they’ve brought, set to boiling water, and wash their hands at the sink.

You muse on how they’ve always reminded you of a surgeon, the way they wash up or are exacting in their ministrations. Absentmindedly, you ponder if they’d have made a good med student, leading you to wonder if they’d ever had plans of what they wanted to grow up to be when they were young—outside of a vigilante. You nearly bump into them with the chair during your daydream before their hand quickly snakes out to catch you by the shoulder.

“This one is for me later, we can leave it over here.”

As swift as they stopped you, the chair is out of your hands, and you realise you’ve never seen Kingsley so… in charge. The way they move through this small space like it’s their own world in yours.

In charge of Charge, you chuckle to yourself at such a dumb joke. Sounds like a tag line to one of those adult movies they make about the two of you. They spare a glance your way.

“Alright, I’m just gonna g-grab some towels. Go ahead and sit.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal, sir,” you call out cheekily as they walk out, following orders with a small laugh.

There is a small well of feelings that has been bubbling in your stomach and you’re not quite sure what to call them. ‘Sir’ sent a small ping of questioning to the back of your mind. The two of you never quite discussed what kind of words Kingsley likes being directed at them. Masculine or feminine, in the way words are gendered. They’ve told you they’re not a woman, but they’ve also expressed that they’re not a man either, or maybe they’re both—it’s new to you, in the sense that you’re not sure where you stand without pre-conceived societal notions as a guideline between the two of you.

Would they like to be called handsome? Or beautiful? Is there something else that fits? Would attractive be a safe word to use? Does anyone compliment them? Should you do it more?

You shake your head, focusing on undoing your braid instead, settling your face back to a small smile as soon as they walk back in. They move the saucepan of hot water off the burner, setting a jar of oil in the centre, then busy themself with a small box they pulled from their bag.

“Shall we?” they ask, looking at you as they put on a pair of tight black nitrile gloves.

“Is this an examination?” you joke nervously, pointing at their hands.

There’s a cringe when you think of your last mod check-up, invasive and impersonal. Your brain can’t help but carry on, thinking of hospitals and your various stays in them. You don’t like them as is, but Kingsley’s proximity to you has made you even more wary of them; the panic they show when you bring up medical attention sometimes is sobering.

“No? I mean… uh, I’m not calling you dirty, but I don’t know how clean your hair is, and you d-don’t know how clean my hands are.”

The look on your face must have been either offence or murder because they take a step back, hands up.

“It’s a health precaution! I’m just being careful,” they croak.

“I wash my hair!” Your tone is indignant.

“I know! I’m just being safe!”

“I feel like I’m going in for a pap sm—“

“Alright alright!” they yell to cut you off, face red up to the ears at your unfinished sentence. “I’ll take them off as soon as I’m done washing your hair.”

“Thank you,” you give their hands one last nervous glance, only eased by the thought of how attractive the gloves makes them look. You sincerely hope the sudden mortification at that is not showing on your face, but they’re already turning their back to you.

“Wait, Kings,” you interrupt, “take off your hoodie.”

“W-what?” You do not miss the look of absolute panic on their face.

“It’s gonna get soaked handling all my hair,” you clarify.

“And my sh-shirt is gonna get wet if it isn’t on.”

“But your shirt will dry faster.”

“You have a dryer—my sweater can be dried.”

“Well… about that...” your exasperated laugh and a wiggle of fingers from your raised hand tells them all they need to know.

“Julia. How the hell did you break your dryer again? I just fixed it!”

“It wasn’t on purpose this time—there was a static build up!” Your hands slap you in the mouth as soon as the sentence finishes. Your eyes widen as Kingsley’s narrow.

“This time?” their voice is low, their eyes sharp.

“I uh, may have broken it to get you over here for dinner that time…” The half-hearted chuckle you let out is fake even to you.

“Julia.” A stern glare.

“…Kingsley?” Utter avoidance of eye-contact.

“That’s incredibly dangerous, first off. And I’m not a maintenance worker. You don’t pay me for that.”

“I can absorb any electricity that comes my way and I pay you in food,” a quick retort, regaining composure. “And I got you to stop avoiding the simple notion of a meal together as if I were threatening you with a gun.”

There is a specific face they make at that, and for the umpteenth time in your life you wish you knew what it was they were thinking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever—just sit down and shut up.”

From anyone else that would sound rude, but that’s simply Sidestep’s tone. The impact is also lessened by the movement of them removing their hoodie, leaving behind a loose long-sleeve that briefly reveals a long-sleeved compression shirt tucked in beneath. The upper layer had lifted while they were pulling the hoodie over their leaving the outline of Kingsley’s back muscles and bra lines on show before they fixed it.

Just a friendly look at your friend’s back. Friendly-ly.

Mouth not at all dry.

“So what’s on the menu? What are we doing?” you cough as they position themself in front of you, looming even more than usual now that you’re sitting.

They reach behind your head and your heart skips; they gather all of your hair carefully and lift it with the gentlest touch, moving a hand to guide you to sit all the back by the shoulder.

“Luckily your sink is low enough that I can lean you back for this to work,” they hum, setting your hair into the sink and tilting your head back, “I’m uh, only used to doing my hair texture… I’ve never done someone else’s hair.” They swallow hard, suddenly nervous. “First: shampoo, maybe a deep cleanse. An oil or deep treatment mask, heat treatment to that for thirty minutes. Rinse it out, then moisturise, comb, and braid.”

“You’re gonna give me braids?” you smile up at them, the orange light of outside slipping through your blinds against their skin and yours. They look bronzed in the lighting. “Like yours?”

“Not quite,” they laugh. “Something more l-like French braids or not-quite-cornrows. I don’t think your hair could support the protective styles I do. I don’t… think so at least? My curls are much tighter than yours.”

“You don’t know?” Teasing.

“I’m not a, not a fucking aesthetician or cosmetologist or beautician, Ghoulia. I’m a vigilante—I don’t get paid the big bucks to make people pretty, I’m usually the one fucking ‘em up. For free!” They sigh heavily, pulling at their gloves to make a loud slap noise as they let go to shut you up.

You giggle quietly, only for it to grow louder and your shoulders to start to shake as Kingsley pulls you forward to set a towel around your shoulders, then let’s you fall back into place before they lean over to turn on the water and pull out the sink hose, adjusting your hair once more.

“What are you laughing about?” they ask, looking down at you, smiling softly and holding you by the back of the head with one hand.

“Did you just… did you just call me fucking Ghoulia?” you burst out laughing uncontrollably.

“You literally call me Chrysantamum—that’s not a worse pun?” they ask, spraying the top of your head with water playfully before setting to work rinsing the rest thoroughly.

“I mean… yeah! That’s so much worse!”

The laughter carries on for two more minutes, much to Kingsley’s displeasure—and your abs’.

“Sidestep Spa… you could make good money with this.”

“No,” they cut you off. “Hair is… like I said, I’ve never done someone else’s. Hair is personal. It’s trust.”

You stare silently at them, considering their words. Is this you showing trust? Or them? For you, this had been a joke but… not anymore. You understand now, as their fingers carefully and dextrously work through your hair: you feel the mutual connection, respect and trust. It feels like a ritual; some kind of magic never really touched on by most.

A thoughtful look at Kingsley. You think of the things they share with you, and that seem to mean something to them. Food, space, and hair. Those must be their love languages: how swiftly they make sure you’ve eaten and how careful they are right now. How often they sit with you on rooftops for a sunset and a beer. The light pulls and parts; the way their fingers massaging into your scalp threatens to make you melt into your chair, and the rinsing calms you.

You think, suddenly, to your mother. The days of your youth spent sitting between her knees as she pulled your curls and waves into a neat braid before you ran off to cause a ruckus. Of her styling your hair the ways her mother styled hers. Hair that connected to your culture, your roots, your family. It dawns on you that this is what that must be for King, too—especially having grown up viewed as a woman.

Time flies by while you’re lost to the memories and motions.

Even now, as you sit in the chair with a warm towel wrapped around your head and with the hot oil they prepared working it’s magic, they don’t sit still. Instead their hands are busy with small bowls, a brush, and a fork, mixing things together into a larger bowl.

“Making your hair mask,” they comment absently, feeling your gaze on them. “Fresh ingredients are better. It’ll help repair what your stylist’s constant flat-ironing damaged.”

Pelo malo, you remember unkind neighbours saying to you. You remember your mother yelling at them in turn, before pulling you close on your walk home, petting your hair.

You think of your mother’s hands as they mix with a fork. It takes you back to a different kitchen, to the sounds and smells of pancakes sizzling on the cast iron griddle. The ingredients they mix reminding you more of a meal than a hair product: honey, avocado, yogurt, brown sugar, banana, apple cider vinegar. You don’t even bother to ask how they came across some of those ingredients here in the west, you know they have more tricks than they let on.

Chrysanta’s movement back into place directly in front of you drags you back into the present fully, tracing details of their face in the rarest moment of absolute openness. No shields, no walls, no topics. Just their hands as they carefully unwrap the towel, taking great care not to pull your hair or have anything drip onto you instead of the towel.

As they rinse your hair, once again focused on threading fingers gracefully and massaging your scalp and hair, your eyes close.

You wonder what Kingsley’s life is like, outside of you and the Rangers. What their childhood was like. What their youth was like. What their teen years were like. You’re not even sure how old they are now. You wonder about questions you know you can’t have answers to, because you know they won’t tell you. Questions you think might hurt them if you asked.

More so, you wonder what their family was like. Your eyes open and you wonder if Chrysantamum ever sat in a chair like this, with their mother lovingly washing her daughter’s hair at the kitchen sink like a right of passage. If kind hands cared enough to catch every curl, with kind eyes at her child like they were the sun—the light of her life. If she’d smooth down King’s baby hairs with the same long, swift fingers and small smiles, or brush them down just-so. You think she would have been beautiful: both young Kingsley and her mother. You look at them again, while they’re focused, and wonder if their grandmother is in their features like your’s is in yours.

You think about how Kingsley can’t cook: was she not there to teach them? Was their mother not there either? With their hunger now, you bet they needed to eat so much as a child, and it hurts to ponder if they ever went hungry from the way you see them ration their leftovers.

You close your eyes as they part sections of your hair, cool bare skin on your scalp now, and the occasional rat tail of a comb catching stray hairs. Part, a dab of oil, a clip to hold the section: you can practically hear the steps light up in their head. As careful and precise with hair as they are with machines.

You think maybe they like machines because they don’t muddy the waters with feelings. Feelings—accepting or giving—do not come easy to them. And you have learned by now that what they feel is best determined by their actions, not the words they use as sword and shield against others. You wonder how they feel. Looking up at them does not make it any clearer, but…

They rub the mask between their palms to warm it, and you know somewhere in you this is love. This is as close to love as they know, and that is enough for you.

There may be lingering confusion in your feelings: you have always been attracted to men, and they are not a man—but they are also not a woman. There may be some hesitation to take a step from friendship with someone who means so much to you. But whatever you both have to give, when you’re both ready, will be enough for you.

You can imagine that little girl: too tall and lanky and active for their own good. Bruised knees and scratched arms and torn dresses every time they came back into the house in the evening, like you when you were young. Maybe the two of you would have been good friends back then, too. Maybe the world wouldn’t have gotten to Kingsley so much if you’d been there with them. It’s nothing you can change now: you know better than anyone that the past stays behind where it can only hurt you if you try to go back to it.

They look down at you now, the mask application finished, and survey the soft look in your eyes, the light smile on your face with a mirrored one of their own. You too, see the small traces of confusion flash by, but it melts away. The eye contact held as their bare hand comes up, brushing against your forehead softly as if to move stray strands away you know they’ve collected, then down the side of your cheek as if to catch some oil left behind they never dropped. Excuses for intimacy that does not come naturally to them. And right now that is enough.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” you ask softly, hoping they see in your eyes how much their opinion truly matters to you. More than anyone’s ever has.

The question brings a sharpness to their brow, eyes still soft and searching.

“Do you want to? If you want to, do it—I’ll help. However I can.” Their face hardens. “Don’t ever let those stylists tell you what you can and can’t do for yourself. Don’t ever let them make you their doll.”

The last sentence is spat like venom; there’s a deep bitterness in those words, in that choice of words, but you know that’s a question you cannot ask.

You reach up and gently pull a curl that freed itself from Kingsley’s bun. You watch it stretch, far longer than it looks, and let it rest again, pushing it from their brow. You wonder what Kingsley looked liked with hair as long as yours, or what they’d look like with it even shorter. You wonder what colour they’ll braid in next, what length of braids, and if anyone ever gets to help them.

Their soft gaze breaks, reaching for the hose one last time to rinse the mask from your head. There is a new kind of quiet blossoming between the two of you as they rinse: a maybe, an almost, a sort of. An electricity even your mods can’t match, a feeling in the pit of your stomach even hunger couldn’t touch.

And when they begin to carefully dry your hair you ponder what it will mean in the future—what it means now. There is a soft tap on your forehead, twice, and you know that means to lift the mask but you’re not the one who wears it, so you turn your gaze upwards instead. Chrysantamum is leaned down, far enough to be close to your face, and their face is soft and their ears are red. That bright green gaze looks to your lips and back to your eyes, the tilt of the head a question, one you know well: may I kiss you? Your question. Just as you know the answer as you smile softly like they do, and lean in for them to catch your lips, always soft and questioning—never wanting to lock you in, never asking for more than you’re willing to give, never staying long. You part slowly, smiling softer than you have all night.

They suddenly knock the towel off your head and flee to the living room cackling, knowing you’ll give chase. Always one step ahead. You don’t disappoint, throwing the towel after them and bolting over to catch them in a kiss as they turn around. Charging in. For just a few minutes more you stay entangled, hands at the back of each other’s necks—another small intimacy with grand connotations.

When the two of you settle back into the living room— King on the couch and you between their knees—you wonder if this will one day become a memory you can fondly look back on. If you will remember the sepia tone streaming in through the window, the feeling of their fingers as they separate your hair—moisturising and combing, and of the soft pulls as they carefully weave braids along your scalp.

“Think PR would be pissed if I p-put a teal ribbon in your braid?” they ask with a surprising cheekiness.

“I’m a hero, not a cheerleader,” you complain with no actual objections. “Put a piece of jewellery or something instead.”

You hear their hands ruffling in their pocket, so you turn to look, curiosity piqued. They remove a few small charms, the kind you’ve seen in their own braids, twists, and locs. Pumping their brows at you cheesily, they put the hair tie in their hand between their teeth, moving to get a better grip on the braid they’re working on.

A few pulls you don’t quite feel later and you hear a little “Ta-da!” as your braid falls over your shoulder. You lift it up to get a better look and you see a charm woven in seamlessly: a small piece of turquoise more teal than blue.

You lean forward a little, drawing your knees to your chin with an arm around them, fiddling with it as the two of you fall into silence. The sensations of their hands on you, and the comfort of your home around them.

Right now, this is more than enough for you.

[dadsbongos]

Insert Coin - 3.e / Series Masterlist

“I’m glad to see you’re doing better than yesterday,” (Y/n) murmured, “I was really worried about you, you know?”

“You should be, I’m obviously the only person here that actually matters.”

“Don’t say that,” she leaned over, testing his temperature with a slight frown, “You’re a valued member of the group, Nagito.”

Nagito looked up at his forehead where (Y/n) was touching, a brighter blush on his face as he did so - making no move to remove her from his space, “Get your hands off me. I hate you. You’re vile.”

“Well,” (Y/n) giggled, admittedly flustered, pulling back, “I can’t touch your forehead all day, so how about,” she locked their hands together tenderly, even through the tenseness of Despair Disease - the moment felt somewhat serene with Nagito. Moments with Nagito usually felt that way - calm, safe, peaceful.

He was calming as much as he was conflicting. His past violence not forgotten but instead… understood - in a strange way.

He was dying, much faster than the others, before being accepted into Hope’s Peak and finding out he lost years worth of memory must’ve taken a toll on him. Who knows when he could just… drop dead? Besides, his brain was deteriorating and his cancer progressing and he’d already survived much longer than most - who knew what that was doing to his thought processes?

The very thought made (Y/n)’s heart drop. Any dead classmates were terrible, but a dead Nagito felt like… misery in another category. An agony unknown - an ache in the chest and twist of the guts just at the mention of the possibility.

“You’re such a bitch, I really can’t stand you,” Nagito pursed his lips, clearly displeased with the abuse he slung at his caretaker.

(Y/n) chuckled at the poor boy’s predicament, “Thank you. I think you’re very sweet as well and I enjoy your company.”

“I can see why, I’m certainly the best person here,” he looked to his lap, clenching his eyes at a sudden wooziness. He rubbed at his eyes, “I’m very alert and awake right now.”

“I’ll let you rest then,” the mediator stood as her lucky counterpart laid down, “Want Mikan to check on you when you wake up or should I?”

“Mikan.”

“Okay, bub, sleep well.”

“I won’t.”

Exiting to the hall, (Y/n) spotted Fuyuhiko standing out beside Akane’s room silently. His arms crossed tightly to his chest and staring straight ahead at the plexiglass display across the way. Well, not staring more like…

Zoning out.

Looking at the display while his mind looked elsewhere and, to be honest, (Y/n) was pretty sure she knew what it was about. Peko Pekoyama, the Ultimate Swordswoman, and apparently, Fuyuhiko’s closest friend. Possibly more.

“Hey, slackin’ off too, I see?” (Y/n) teased upon her approach.

Fuyuhiko jumped slightly at the unexpected voice before settling down and letting out a, “She wanted to cry alone so I stepped out. Still pretty beat to hell about Nekomaru.”

“I would be too,” (Y/n) empathized, settling herself on the wall as well, “They were super close so it’s not like we can expect her to be okay with all this, especially with this new disease.”

“I get how she feels, at least somewhat,” he muttered, “I wouldn’t want someone fuckin’ staring at me while I cry either. That shit’s weird,” as if suddenly remembering, Fuyuhiko looked up to the mediator, “What about him?”

Him being Nagito Komaeda - the unmentionable man in Fuyuhiko’s book.

“Better than before, thankfully, he gets dizzy fairly often and easily so it’s rare to find him up and standing out of bed. Sleeping a lot and Mikan hasn’t said anything about it so I choose to believe it isn’t a bad thing.”

“You know, I don’t like the guy, but, I wonder what’s got him so fucked up? Ibuki and Akane seem relatively fine other than gullibility and cowardice but it’s like he’s dying or some shit.”

“Don’t say that,” (Y/n) immediately cut in, shaking her head and softening her tone when she realized how sharp she’d spoken just seconds ago, “He’s not dying… he’ll be okay.”

Nodding slowly, Fuyuhiko seemed to sense the emotion in her voice - quickly catching onto the fact that the peacekeeper had grown attached to their resident lucky student. “He’s not dying but he’s sicklier than the others, that’s all I meant.”

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. But- " she reached out to any hope possibly available to her and took it fully in her grasp, pulling at hay straws that broke in the wind as she clung desperately to any reassurance she could, “Mikan said he’ll be fine so he will be.”

“Right,” Fuyuhiko didn’t agree, that much was obvious, but he also didn’t feel like upsetting the girl more than she already was, “He’ll be fine.”

~~

It was after the sick had fallen asleep for the night that the trio of helpers met under the cover of nightfall in the dusty, musty, dank “breakroom” that clearly hadn’t been tended to in years. At least. Mikan had to perform a final round of check ups on the patients before retiring to bed, and nobody questioned it. She was the nurse, she was the one working the hardest. They didn’t want to pressure the poor girl into exhausting herself by hanging out with them when she really should’ve been in bed.

From caring for Fuyuhiko to the diseased, she must’ve been stressed to hell and letting her get well-deserved rest was the least they could all do.

“How’s Ibuki?”

Hajime quirked a brow at the question as well as the two faces aimed at him, “Why are you asking me?”

Fuyuhiko and (Y/n) looked between each other before the girl spoke up, “Well, I’m caring for Nagito,” she jabbed a thumb in the blond’s direction, “Fuyuhiko has Akane. I guess we kind of assumed you would be with Ibuki.”

“No,” he shook his head, running a hand through his hair, “I was going to but Mikan said it’d be best if she didn’t interact with too many people, since she’ll believe whatever they say. I’ve mostly been following Mikan around honestly, holding things and writing things down for her.”

“Aww,” the girl of the group cooed, “You’re like a little nurse’s assistant, that’s kinda sweet. I never knew you were such a gentleman, Hajime.”

“It’s not much, actually,” Hajime waved off, hoping to end the teasing while it was early, “Mikan is still the one doing most of it.”

“Even so, it’s nice to help.”

Fuyuhiko pursed his lips, running a hand over his buzzcut, feeling the tickle of his short hair against his skin, “I wonder how the others are doing,” before either part could suggest it, he continued, “Not that I’m going down to the lobby, they’re all probably asleep by now anyway.”

“I bet they’re fine,” Hajime nodded, mostly to himself, “Sonia’s there. She’s usually pretty good at keeping everyone in check.”

“Even so, I can’t help but worry,” (Y/n) sided with Fuyuhiko, “When we’re all split up like this… there’s no telling what could happen. I think it’s what Monokuma planned for, when we’re divided we’re weaker - it’s what he wants.”

“We shouldn’t think that way,” Fuyuhiko sighed, pushing himself up from his seat, “I don’t want to think about what could happen,” he gave a small wave over his shoulder as he left the pair, “G’night, bastards.”

“Goodnight,” came the pair’s reply.

After a beat of silence, (Y/n) looked to Hajime, “I should get back to Nagito, he does this weird thing where before I leave, he wakes up to tell me about all the clones in the room.”

“Right, and I’ll…” Hajime paused, feeling a wave of uselessness crash over him, “go to sleep, I guess.”

“Hey, good rest is the first step to progress. Don’t pressure yourself into doing more than you know you can, that’ll only make things worse, you know?”

“I know,” he sighed in defeat.

“Good, then I'll see you tomorrow,” (Y/n) nodded before stalking off to Nagito’s room.

As she opened the door, she spotted Mikan standing over the lethargic boy. Murmurs falling from her lips as she brushed her fingers over Nagito’s pale, flushed cheeks.

“Mikan, are you okay?”

The nurse suddenly stopped, pulling back and turning to the other girl, a sickeningly sweet smile playing at her lips, “I’m fine, (Y/n). Just fine.”

(Y/n) watched the nurse leave, eyes following her figure as she went before going to take her previous spot at Nagito’s bedside. He looked so on-edge even in his dreams, brows furrowed tightly and fingers gripping tight at the bedsheets in a white-knuckle grip. She hated to leave him like this, she really did… but Monokuma’s ridiculous rules prevented her from staying the night.

“Goodnight,” she whispered with a small smile, knowing he wouldn’t hear her.

It was sad, she wished she could do more for Nagito. More for the group.

No, if she started thinking like that then it’d only be a burden to the rest of her class.

Closing Nagito’s door, (Y/n) looked upon the identifying nameplate before hesitantly leaving to her cottage just as Hajime and Fuyuhiko had.

[weallsimpfordabi]

Switching Sides (Part Four)

Find the other parts here

A/N: Guuuys it’s about to get so good, you don’t even know! Also, soft Dabi is so tragically adorable 🥺

Pairing: Dabi x Reader, Ex!Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 1,893

Warnings: Fluffy feelings, soft Dabi, teasing, flirting

Tag List: @platinumbelle @sweet-bunny-writing @bunbunsblog @kimyona-san

———

“Where are you from?” You asked quietly, looking over at him. He met your gaze, his brows folding his face into a confused expression before he chuckled, looking away from you. You tilted your head, a small smile pulling at your lips as well. “What?” He laughed softly again, looking back at you from across the couch.

“Of all things you could have asked, you wanna know where I’m from? It’s just not what I was expecting, that’s all.” You shrugged, giving him a face that told him to answer your question anyway.

“I never really stayed anywhere for a long period of time other than here. I used to live in Musutafu, but that didn’t last long.” His voice seemed to waver ever so slightly at the end of his statement. You found yourself moving closer to him, something deep inside of you wanting to console him. You didn’t, but he noticed you scooting over to him. “Alright, little mouse, my turn.” He ran his fingers over your neck, right where the bruise was. “Who did you let give you this?”

“Dabi, that’s not any of your business.” You frowned, moving his hand away from you. He hummed, putting his hand right back where it was before.

“Now now, baby doll, I was honest with you, so I expect you to show me the same kindness.” You considered what he said, but you didn’t want to just give him Katsuki’s name, scared his life would immediately be on the line.

“My ex. Don’t ask his name because I’m not gonna tell you, I don’t want you to hurt him.” He nodded, leaning back and opening his legs to stretch. You found your eyes wandering a little, wondering if his burns go all the way over his body or not. He lifted your chin with his finger, smirking at you.

“Don’t get too distracted, baby doll. It’s your turn.” You bit your lip, wanting to ask about his burns. You didn’t know if it would bother him though. Your curiosity started to peak, and you moved even closer to him. His eyes widened a bit as your hand started to reach out to his stapled cheek. He flinched, grabbing your hand quickly. “What are you doing?” You tried to pull your hand back, but he kept it where it was.

“I-I was…Can I touch your face?” Your voice was so soft that it made his heart skip a beat. It was the sweetest sound to his ears, like the song a bird sings in the early morning. He swallowed, his grip on your hand lessening as he hesitantly nodded. “It won’t hurt you, right?” You weren’t sure why you wanted to do this, but it was suddenly the only thing you wanted to do.

He smiled softly, shaking his head. You reached out, making sure your fingers were gentle on his skin. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing as you held his cheek in your palm. You took the opportunity to really look at him, taking in every detail. His skin wasn’t as rough as you thought it would be, in fact, it was really soft. As you did this, he leaned into your hand, almost as if he needed it. You frowned softly, the vulnerability that was being shown taking you aback and making you upset, but you made sure to keep that inside, just in case he wanted to use that against you or something. He reminded you of a sad child, the way he clung to your touch like it had been years since he felt another person's hand on him. And maybe it had, you didn’t know. You ran your thumb over his staples, his body suddenly trembling.

“Fuck, baby, don’t touch me there.” He opened his eyes, devouring you into his electric gaze. “That does things to me that’ll make me go crazy, and I don’t think you could handle that yet.” He turned his head, kissing your palm gently. You blushed, his gravelly voice making you melt. When you realized this, however, you pulled your arm back and moved to where you originally sat. There was no way you were attracted to him, you couldn’t be. He only had you here to get information to kill everyone you care about. He noticed the change in your attitude, shifting back to his original position as well. “My turn.” He snaked his hand to your thigh, resting his rather large hand right under your hip. “What’s your quirk?”

“I can manipulate the humidity in the air around me. If there’s enough, I can use it as a weapon if needed. Like a jet stream of water.” He raised a brow, intrigue setting in. His mind raced with ways he could use that to his advantage. You rested your arm on top of the couch, turning your body towards him as you thought of more questions you could ask him. “Why do you want to attack UA?”

“I don’t necessarily want to attack, I just have some personal business that I don’t care to share with you.” He leaned in close, lingering his lips close to yours, his eyes drinking in how soft they looked before looking up into your eyes. “We don’t know each other well enough for that yet, you said so yourself, pretty girl.” Your breath caught in your throat, looking down at his lips, which were still so very close to yours. You leaned back, but he just followed suit, your back now against the armrest. “Tell me, doll, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is that your question?” You raised a brow, seducing a smirk to pull at his lips. He nodded, one of his hands snaking up your side. You shivered, instincts telling you to run. But, for some reason, your body wasn’t hearing it. “I’m not looking at you in any sort of way, Dabi. You must be seeing things.” He hummed, ducking his head to bury it into your neck. You blushed, thanking whatever gods that he wasn’t looking at you to see your cheeks turn red.

“So, I’m just imagining that your heart is beating faster? Or that your breath keeps getting caught in your throat whenever I get close and touch you?” His voice got gravelly as he spoke, and you cursed quietly as you realized he was right. You had no idea when it happened, but he got you. “Admit it, baby, you want me. Was your ex not enough to satisfy you? Deep down, you know I can make you cum like you never have before.” You scoffed, gently pushing him off of you. You needed to change the subject, fast.

“Tell me a secret that you’ve never told anyone before. It’s not a question but if we’re gonna trust each other, you have to open up.” You knew that meant you would have to do the same, but if it meant keeping your friends safe, then it was worth it, right? He gave you a suspicious look, then racked his brain for an answer that would satisfy you.

“I have a Jacob’s ladder.” He shrugged, and you just looked at him in confusion. You had no idea what that was, and that just made him laugh. A genuine laugh, at that. It was something you never thought you would hear, and it definitely wasn’t something you thought you would enjoy hearing. “It’s a piercing. Well, many piercings.”

“Where?” Your question made him laugh again, but then he got that flirty look he gets with you quite often.

“You’ll find out soon enough, kitten.” He then checked the time, sighing softly. “Looks like our time is up today. I’ll ask a question, then you can get one more in before I get you back.” You nodded, readying yourself for whatever he would throw at you. “Might be a bit forward of me, but,” he paused for a few seconds, “can I kiss you?” You blinked, not prepared for that at all. You bit your lip, surprised you were even considering it. He kept his eyes on you, waiting for you to answer. You weren’t sure why, and it just made you even more suspicious, but a very small part of you might have...wanted to?

“Dabi, why would you want to-“ he cut you off with his lips. They were so soft against yours, almost uncertain, like he didn’t know if he should. His hand held your face, his lips not moving at all. You wrapped your fingers around his larger hand as well as you could, keeping his hand there. He lingered, but not for too long. He pulled away quickly, standing up. Your head felt as if it was short circuiting as you tried to think about what had just happened. He held his hand out to you, offering to help you up. You took it, and he led you to a warp gate.

“Wait, I still have a question,” you pointed out. He nodded, letting go of your hand. You looked away, trying to think of one before you went through the gate. “Why did you want to kiss me?” He suddenly pulled you close, nudging your lips with his and hovering his hand over your neck.

“I told you, little mouse, you’re mine.” It wasn’t completely true, but you didn’t have to know that. He hadn’t been touched so kindly in so long that he let his emotions get the best of him in the moment. But, again, you didn’t have to know that. “Now, go before you get in trouble. I’ll let you have a day away from me tomorrow. Unless you just can’t resist coming back to me, of course.” He smirked, making you roll your eyes. There’s that cockiness again. You shook your head, pulling out of his grasp.

“Bye Dabi.” You walked through the gate, touching your lips. It felt like his lips had never left. You shook those thoughts out of your head, making your way home, Dabi being the only thing you could think of the entire way. When you got to the dorms, you saw Katsuki and All Might talking in front of the front door. You ignored the pang of panic in your stomach as you walked past, both of them suddenly getting quiet as you got near.

When you got into your room, you finally checked your phone, noticing two texts. One was from Dabi, and the other was from Katsuki. You opened Katsuki’s first, your stomach dropping.

Suki: I don’t know what exactly is going on, but I can tell you’re in trouble. I’m gonna help you whether you want it or not, Y/N. You can hate me forever, but it’s whatever as long as you’re safe and away from that bastard.

Asshole: I can’t wait to kiss those soft lips again, baby. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.

You let out a string of curses as you started putting pieces together. Katsuki was probably telling All Might everything he knew. You were about to get busted, and if you were being completely honest, you were terrified. Not only were you scared of getting caught, but also by the feelings swirling around in your mind as you read Dabi’s text. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

[lunatens]

since we’re alone

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst + fluff

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

requested by...too many people to count ksjdfbskg 

a/n: im so sorry this took so long, i think like 10+ people asked for me to write a sequel (which is kind of a lot considering tmta has like..less than 100 notes lmao) but i really struggled to find the motivation til now ;-; i really hope you guys like the direction i decided to take this!! also yes i did name this series after niall horan songs what about it

*this is a sequel to “too much to ask” so if you haven’t read that, you probably should read it first!*

-

confusion hits you as the rosy glow of the morning sun lands on your face. why the hell is it so bright? you groan as you pry open your sleepy eyes only to see the sunrise blazing through the large windows of your living room, and the memories of last night’s events come back to you. your head hurts a bit; probably a mixture of the morning light, the alcohol you had last night, and then crying yourself to sleep. 

you rub the sleep from your eyes, surprised to see a blanket you don’t remember using falling to the floor as you stretch. you reach for your phone on the coffee table to check the time—too early to be awake, dammit—only to notice a glass of water right there. yeah, that definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep. picking it up, the cool condensation leaves your fingers wet to the touch, and the icy water feels nice on your throat. 

your eyes begin to water as more and more of what happened last night comes back you—in particular the words you said to him in your drunken state. a tsunami of guilt washes over you, mixed with lingering waves of anger and hurt. taking another sip of the water, you try to calm down and think about things. maybe it’s best to talk to hyunjin about this and tell him everything that’s on your mind now that you’re sober. yeah, that’ll work. 

you groggily stand up from the couch, pulling the blanket over your shoulders like a cape and letting it drag along the floor as you tentatively walk to the bedroom. the door swings open with a quiet creak, and you bite your lip nervously. 

“hyunjin?” you call into the darkness, voice loud enough to wake him but gentle enough not to startle him. you’re met with silence, and you frown as your eyes adjust a bit to the darkness only to see an empty bed in front of you, cotton sheets carelessly thrown aside. your heart sinks deep into your chest, the small rays of hope and forgiveness quickly fading. gone to practice again, you’re not even sure if he’ll be back until later and even then he might not return at all, considering what you said to him last night. your heart feels like it’s been torn in two; you were ready to talk things out with hyunjin and work towards a solution, already ready to forgive him, so seeing him leave just like any other day sends daggers through your heart. 

“he could’ve at least made the bed,” you grumble to yourself, haphazardly throwing the sheets and pillow back to where they belong. as you do so, you can’t help but wonder if maybe it really is for the best if you just end things with him. sure, there are lots of great moments with hyunjin and you have so many special memories together, not to mention the fact that you’re completely head over heels in love with him, but as high as the highs in your relationship feel, the lows are just as extreme, if not even more so. you check your phone again, the lack of any sort of message from hyunjin helping you make up your mind; when he hopefully comes home tonight, you’ll break things off with him.

you shuffle back out to the living room, now brightly lit by the fully-risen morning sun. flopping down on the couch, you grab the remote so you can look for something mindless to watch; maybe it’ll help take your mind off of the impending doom that ticks ever closer to you, since you’re too antsy to go back to sleep. you’re about to turn the tv on when a loud thump at the door startles you into dropping the remote. you turn to look at the door, peerings over the couch wide-eyed as you hear keys fumbling in the lock before the handle clicks and the door swings open. when hyunjin’s tall frame quietly enters the room, you think your heart must’ve stopped beating for a moment. your emotions are in turmoil as a million questions and thoughts race through your mind; what’s he doing back so early? do i still break up with him? where did he go if not practice and schedules? and what’s in that box??

hyunjin gently places a white box on the nearest surface before putting his jacket and mask away. you don’t think he’s noticed you’re awake yet, as he seems to be trying his best to be silent. you almost giggle at the thought, but then you remember you’re mad at him and you just continue curiously watching his actions. he finally turns to peek over at the couch, expecting to see your still sleeping form, so when his eyes meet yours he’s a bit taken aback. 

“oh, um, goodmorning y/n,” he greets, a little bit awkward. you can tell he’s having trouble reading your emotions and he’s trying to tread carefully, so you remain quiet to see what he’s up to. he picks up the box in both hands and walks over to you, placing the box on the table beside your empty water glass and sitting down beside you. you turn to look at him, expression neutral as he furrows his eyebrows and takes your hands in his. 

“y/n, i am so, so sorry for what happened yesterday. i-i know that doesn’t cut it, but i can’t even describe to you how sorry i am. i love you so so much, and i really don’t want to lose you. i understand if you don’t feel the same and you’d rather just en-end it, but i want to do whatever it takes to keep you in my life.”

you didn’t even notice you were crying until his thumb is swiping away a tear on your cheek. he leaves his hand up against your face, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. 

“you’ve been so supportive of me following my dreams and being an idol, and i’ve been awful at showing you how much you mean to me. so i’m taking today off, i’ve told chan what happened and he said he’ll cover for me, so now i can be here with you. is...is that okay?” hyunjin asks, eyes searching yours to try and read what your tears mean--are you sad? do you hate him forever? 

all you can think to do right now is lean forward to capture his lips in a deep kiss. as soon as your lips touch you can feel the relief wash through both yourself and him. he pulls you closer and wraps his arms tight around you as if he’s never letting go. you pull apart with a soft giggle, wiping your tears away and gently smiling.

“i love you too, jinnie. we can make this work, just please-please don’t make promises you can’t keep ever again, ok?” you ask as you squeeze him in a tight hug, breathing in the welcoming scent of his sweater. he kisses your forehead and lightly caresses your tear-stained cheek.

“deal,” he says, and the two of you just lie there in each other’s arms in silence, your arms wrapped tightly around hyunjin’s torso and his fingers tracing circles on your back. you’re overwhelmed with emotions right now, and you hardly know what to think, but you’re relieved to have hyunjin back in your arms. suddenly, you remember you still don’t know where he went this morning.

“what’s in the box?” you ask as you pull away to examine it, reaching out to touch the white cardboard.

“ah, i mean it’s nothing really, i mean it’s a day late anyways and it’s so early i could hardly find anywhere that was open, let alone actually had something decent,” hyunjin rambles as you open the lid to see a small cake inside with “happy birthday y/n! sorry i ruined your birthday” written in purple icing. the sight makes your heart swell with happiness and you can’t hold back the smile in your face. 

“you got up this early just to get me a cake?” you ask in excitement; if this is hyunjin’s way of making things up to you, it’s definitely working. 

“not just a cake,” he says nervously as he pulls a smaller white box out of his pocket and hands it to you. opening it, you see a delicate silver chain necklace with a tiny locket on it. inside the locket is a super dumb picture of you and hyunjin from back when your first started dating, and the word “stay” is engraved on the back. you blink furiously, trying and failing to rid yourself of the tears filling your eyes.

“i was gonna give this to you yesterday, but i felt like it might not have been the bets time...and i know it’s kind of cheesy, but i wanted you to always have something to remember me by when i’m away. i got one for myself too so you’ll be with me too, i’m gonna try to even sneak it with me on stage so you’ll always be by my side,” he says, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but that just makes the moment even sweeter. 

“i love it so much, hyunjin, thank you,” is all you can say in fear you’ll burst into tears if you speak any more words. you lean in to press another kiss to his soft lips, this time lingering so you can savour this moment. hyunjin helps you put the locket around your neck, and you do the same for him, smiling shyly at each other.

“so what do you say we dig into this cake and get the day started?” hyunjin asks.

“but it’s so early to eat cake!” you respond, to which hyunjin shrugs his shoulders. 

“who cares, we have the whole day to spend together and we can do whatever the hell we want,” he says with a smile, and you couldn't be happier to have hyunjin in your life.

[elderbwrry]

The White Hound

When Hux becomes Supreme Leader, one of his first orders is to put Kylo in white. He didn't realise it would be quite so inconveniently distracting.

From discussions with @kyberkills about Adam Driver in white on the set of Gucci.

Tags: Mature audiences, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, assorted very minor ocs, Supreme Leader Armitage Hux, Hound Kylo Ren, some violence, kylo does do a murder, a TEENSY bit of Beheading, but it is not the focus, Denial of Feelings, Married Couple, Blood, sex mention, fashion of the First Order, one day that'll be a real tag i swear *shakes fist at god*, the first order have only heard of three colours ever

Wordcount: 1913 - also on ao3

Hux narrowed his eyes.

The Magistrate in front of him was droning on and on, and had been for the last half hour. Ordinarily, Hux enjoyed a bit of grovelling, but the issue of it was that she was notgrovelling, she was delivering a very carefully worded monologue about the lengths her government was willing to go to in order to comply with the First Order's expanding jurisdiction over the Galaxy. It was too well put together, and Hux could already tell that nothing she was going to promise – once she finally got to her point – would be comprehensive enough for Hux to accept. He demanded submission. He demanded absolute order.

Still, perhaps she would surprise him, besides which it would be better to hear her entire point before rebuffing her, and, as Supreme Leader, time was Hux's to command.

On his left, the Praetorian Guard swapped their spear from their left to right hand. The Magistrate's eyes flicked over to the guard at their movement, and both of her own guards tensed, though they had been removed of their ranged weapons when they arrived. Hux shifted to lean on the other armrest of his throne, his arm poised on its elbow, his hand lazily positioned in the air. The Magistrate refocussed, evidently understanding Hux's subtle message that he should be displeased were she to disrespect his gracious attention, but it was the first crack Hux had noticed in her collected facade.

Of course, Hux knew what she didn't; the guards were exemplarily trained, and that particular movement was the signal of disturbance on the surface levels of the vast mega-ship which served as Hux's seat of command.

Hux readied himself in case the disturbance grew more serious, the Magistrate's words becoming thinner and thinner to his hearing as he mentally constructed the likeliest cause for this correlation of events; she was merely a distraction, her escort ship a vehicle for whatever forces were acting out this misguided plan.

It was a pity – he really had hoped she would surprise him.

Another slight adjustment of grip on the spear of his guard told him Ren was on his way. The knowledge inspired in Hux a sense of satisfaction, which he put down purely to that of knowing his hound had swiftly dealt with the issue.

The Magistrate was still talking. Her government's armies would be powerful enough to cause a problem, which was why Hux had been hoping for a diplomatic transition of power, but now there was little choice other than to take the system by force. And here she'd given him the opportunity, Hux mused as he smoothed down his blood red tunic.

The door at the far end of the throne room swished open, and immediately Ren was marching his way down the central aisle, stormtroopers at his heels along with one of his own knights, and, for one glorious moment, they were a vision all in white. He looked serious, his chin lowered as he glowered forward, his dark hair sweeping back due to the speed with which he was advancing through the otherwise static climate-controlled air. His alabaster robes gleamed in the strip lights. Hux himself had approved the uniform redesign that placed Ren in his current long culottes and figure-flattering shirt, stripped of the cape, the helmet, the things he hid behind before Hux took power. Ren had complained – about the style and the unfamiliar colour and many other things besides – but eventually caved under Hux's pressure; after all, what was grander than a besuited knight in white?

Quite suddenly, Hux found himself surging to his feet. Red – blood red – red, all over Ren's right hand, shoulder, hem, boots. Was he hurt? What had he done to get so filthy with it?

Hux was distracted, so, when the Magistrate drew a pistol and pointed it directly at him, the first he knew of it was the clankof the Praetorian Guards' armour, the warning cry of “Supreme Leader!” and the growl of Ren and his lightsaber igniting. Hux had only time to stare down the barrel of the weapon and consider exactly what he might die from, before the electric flash of the sabre split the air between the Magistrate's head and body and everything in between.

In the background, two further sounds of blaster fire were directed at the Magistrate's guards, along with a buzz of trooper commands and heavy booted footfalls as they surrounded the enemy, who were variously stunned and dead. Hux allowed himself a moment to look at the bodies and consider what would have to be done. Then, he mentally postponed that consideration and turned to Ren, whose chest was heaving as he stepped around the body, closer to Hux, but without taking his eyes off what he'd done.

Hux descended a step, his cloak swishing behind him, but one was all that was needed before Ren was right in front of him, seemingly only reassured that Hux was safe by proximity. Hux paused, hoping Ren wouldn't pull him into some kind of unwanted embrace – he didn't want to get blood on his robes – yet bracing for it somewhat eagerly.

“What is the situation?” he asked.

“Resistance,” came the gritted reply.

Hux raised an eyebrow. “They weren't her government's forces?” The potential ramifications of this were reeling through his mind, so the question was more to himself, but Ren nodded anyway.

“I recognised some of them. They must be desperate, to send such veteran members on a mission like this.”

Ren's tone caught at Hux. It was pained, more so than usual. For someone who had killed so many people and betrayed so many others, Kylo could get awfully trapped in the emotion of some single, awful actions. His lightsaber was still crackling at his side, scorching a mark into Hux's immaculate stairs. “Ren,” Hux prompted, modulating his tone to be more compassionate. It still sounded canned, but at least he was trying.

Ren didn't respond.

Frowning, Hux reached his gloved hand out to Ren's bare, bloodied one, fingers trailing over his raised, tightly gripping knuckles. Something akin to concern found its way into Hux's throat this time as he repeated, “Kylo?”

The lightsaber died at the same time Ren's attention snapped away from where the stormtroopers were quickly moving the body, to Hux. “She almost shot you.”

Hux's head quirked; was that what this show of emotion was about? Ren had looked so furious when he'd attacked the Magistrate. The intensity of Hux's emotions did not match, either for his own life or for Ren, but something inside him felt off, like data buffering, at the reminder that Ren cared so much.

The memory of their marriage ceremony remained fresh in Hux's mind; he thought about it often for this exact reason. Ren had been draped in white then too, and gold and jewels and lace and rare flowers. He had been radiant, especially with how much more meaning had flowed through his vows than Hux had been able to inject into his own. At the time, Hux had absently thought that Ren deserved to say his vows to someone who actually loved him, but hadn't much cared. Indeed, for himself the whole exercise was one of cementing his claim to the throne via marriage to Snoke's heir, something which he thought Ren had understood, despite his eager acceptance of the proposal, but since then it had become increasingly, unignorably obvious that Ren loved him. He thought this was real, and that Hux, emotionally reserved with it as he was, loved him back.

Hux had to take some of the blame for that; he'd done nothing to dissuade the idea. He'd played into it, given Ren power and purpose, played the role of husband to it's fullest extent. He'd gone through all the motions – nothing that he hadn't done before, really – except that the act was getting harder. When Ren played with Millie, Hux had to stop himself from smiling. When Ren stepped unselfconsciously out of the shower, Hux had to avert his eyes and suppress a blush. When Ren lavished adoration onto his body, the shudders he sent through Hux felt all too real.

Now, too, Hux had to tell himself that he was acting out of expectation, because his subjects were watching, when he took another step down to Ren's level and, holding him gently by the elbows, looked over the blood splatters, asking with too much concern, “Are you hurt?”

Ren looked down at himself, at the darkening spots of a slaughter over snow, as if only now realising his state. “Oh, no, this isn't mine.”

“Well,” Hux chided, noting that the colour of his red leather gloves was not so dissimilar to the splatters on Kylo's right side, “it would behove you to take more care next time. You'll need new robes, now you've stained these.”

“You could always put me back in black,” Ren objected, but it was laced with something Hux had come to recognise as his flirting voice.

“Never,” Hux said with more vehemence than he intended. He wasn't sure why he was so against it, other than that he loved the way Ren shone in white. No, not loved. Adored? Not right either, both too strong for him to justify to himself. He settled with preferred. “Go get cleaned up,” he ordered, to avoid thinking about it.

Ren's clean hand raised to Hux's waist. Months ago, Hux had had to stop himself from jerking away at such a touch, but now he was used to it, had to stop himself from leaning into it, even. He'd learned Ren's touches well, just as Ren had learned that Hux would not tolerate being touched by his bloody hand, and as such kept it at a distance. “Come do it with me?” Ren asked, lowering his voice and whispering into Hux's ear, “You know fighting makes me horny”.

Hux shook his head. No, he had plenty to be getting on with; planning the offensive on the Magistrate's home star system, minimising the fallout and outrage from the remaining systems who had yet to join the First Order, tracking the origin of the Resistance members. Still, the head shake was more firm than it would have been if he wasn't thoroughly tempted.

Ren let out an annoyed exhale. “Fine,” he said, and, barely a moment later, Hux was tugged forward into a firm kiss which gave just enough of a taste of hunger that Hux was under no illusions as to what Ren meant when he pulled away and said, “I'll be waiting for you when you're done.”

And maybe Hux was tired, maybe he was shaken by the – rather pedestrian – attempt on his life, but he forgot himself. His hand threaded itself up into the hair at the base of Kylo's neck, thinking how soft it would feel if it weren't for the gloves and drawing him in for another, more lingering kiss this time, one that tasted of the surprised little noise Kylo let out. This time, when they separated, it was as if Kylo's gorgeous white robes had been tinted with the crimson of Hux's; his own colour, rather than the blood of their enemies. The image seared itself into Hux's retina, and promised to be the only thing he could think about until he next saw Kylo. The white really did make the red come out nicely.

“I'll be there soon.”

[thewritewolf]

Of Forts and Fairy Lights

Summary: Still the aftermath of the reveal, Marinette goes to Alya's house for a sleepover and to clear her head. But this sleepover is about to have an unexpected guest.

Hello! This fic was written for @kittylovezine - the second volume, where it was illustrated by the amazing @kaleidoscoperain. I've been sitting on it for almost a year now and I'm thrilled that I've gotten the go-ahead from the mods to share it with you all!

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

“Girl, I’ve got so much planned for tonight!”

As Alya began excitedly listing off all the sleepover games, Marinette let her mind wander.

The last two weeks had been… interesting. She and Adrien were still trying to navigate where they stood with each other now that there were no secrets left between them. This meant that they could barely speak to each other, and merely being in the same room had them blushing. Their best solution so far had been to tiptoe around the subject and avoid each other as much as possible.

Naturally, Alya had picked up on Marinette’s sudden silence on her crush. But what could she say? That things were a little weird between them now that they knew each other’s secret identities? No. So when Alya asked her what was going on...

Was it any wonder she blurted out that she had a crush on Chat Noir?

Marinette vainly hoped that would be the end of it.

Until she realized that Alya was looking through the window.

“Um, see something interesting out there, Alya?” Marinette pulled the curtain aside, trying to follow Alya’s eyes. She wasn’t familiar with the area Alya lived in, so nothing looked out of the ordinary.

“You bet I do, girl,” Alya said with a predatory grin on her face. Opening the window to step out onto her balcony, she let in a cold breeze that sent a shiver down Marinette’s spine. “Hey! Chat Noir! You got a sec?”

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

The past two weeks had been nerve wracking for Chat Noir.

Between his excitement at learning Ladybug’s identity, and his absolute joy that it was Marinette, he had so many emotions that he was almost nauseous. He’d been pacing in his room enough that Plagg, of all people, suggested that he go out for a run. He eagerly latched onto the idea, and soon found himself leaping from rooftop to rooftop, his mind empty of everything but the path ahead of him.

At least until he stopped to catch his breath, and the thoughts he’d been outrunning caught up with him. Underneath all the jubilation was the nagging worry that everything was going to end in disaster.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it however, when he heard Alya calling out to him.

“Hey! Chat Noir! You got a sec?”

While he loved chatting with people while on patrol, he wasn’t  in the mood for entertaining today. Before he could decline, he saw a familiar pair of blue eyes watching him at Alya’s side. Without even thinking he rushed over to Alya’s balcony.

“I suppose I have a few moments to spare for my favorite blogger,” he said. “What do you need, citizen?”

Alya snorted. “Just come in already, it’s cold outside.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Chat said with a shiver. He slipped past Alya and into the warmth of her apartment. With his hands on his hips, he let his eyes roam around the cozy looking space.

His heart skipped a beat when he finally got to Marinette, who was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, and pajama pants covered in lime green paw prints. Her face turned red even as a playful grin spread across his face.

He leaned down to her level and spoke in a smug voice, “I didn’t know you were such a big fan, Marinette.”

Their eye contact was broken when Alya shoved a hoodie into his hands. “Here - we’ve got a cozy aesthetic to keep up here and your leather catsuit doesn’t cover it.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Marinette protested.

“C’mon, girl, it’ll only be for tonight. You don’t want the cat to go cold, do you?”

Marinette huffed, but didn’t argue further. Chat Noir smiled to himself, slipping the hoodie on. After standing awkwardly for a few moments, Alya motioned him onto the couch where he sat a respectful distance from Marinette.

“So anyway, me and Marinette were going to do some sleepover games.” Alya smirked and raised an eyebrow at Chat Noir. “You in?”

“Sure!” His enthusiasm wavered for a moment. “Um… what sort of games are they? I’ve never done a sleepover before.”

Chat caught a momentary look of sadness on Marinette’s face before Alya gasped, scandalized.

“Well, we’d better stick to the basics then. That’ll make sure you get the premier sleepover experience. And that means we’ll be starting with...” she rubbed her hands together eagerly, “Truth or dare!”

Chat Noir and Marinette scooted closer together under Alya’s maniacal grin. It was going to be a looong night.

---------

“...And that’s where I’m going to back out,” Marinette said.

“Aw, come on, it’s only one kiss!” Alya complained, dropping her phone that she had stealthily pulled out. “Look at how disappointed Chat is!”

Marinette faced her partner. Stiff tail, flushed cheeks, panicked eyes - he was looking every bit as flustered as she felt. Disappointed? Maybe, but there was relief there as well.

“...Somehow, I think he’ll live.” Marinette shook her head and clutched her pillow tight. “So, what’re we doing next?”

“Well, if you don’t want to play any more games, then how about some movies?”

“Sounds good to me. What do you want to watch-” Marinette turned to Chat Noir, realizing how close they’d gotten in trying to get away from Alya. The same thought seemed to have crossed his mind too. They both froze.

“Hold on just a second there,” Alya said, pushing up her glasses. “If we’re going to be doing this the right way, then we need to go all the way.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to go make some snacks. Can you two make a pillow fort while I’m gone?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I think we can handle that.”

“Great. Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.” Alya winked at Marinette and ducked out the door as Marinette sent a pillow flying at her.

“So…” Chat said, breaking the ensuing silence. “How do we make a pillow fort?”

“Oh, chaton…” She said softly, patting the spot between his cat ears. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

She focused on setting up a makeshift mattress of pillows and blankets on the ground while Chat followed her instructions. Even now and again she’d catch him looking at her out of the corner of her eyes, as if he couldn’t help himself. It was a look she was used to getting from Chat, but never out of her spots. Not until tonight.

“I think that should do it, right?” Chat admired his handiwork. “Anything else?”

“Take a seat. I’ll just put up some fairy lights to complete the look.” Marinette smiled. “It’ll make everything feel that much cozier.”

“And we’ve got an aesthetic to keep up?”

“You better believe it, chaton.”

They glanced at each other and fell into a giggling fit. Still smiling, Marinette hung the lights,  feeling Chat Noir’s eyes on her the whole time. Their pillow fort complete, she laid next to him, but not nearly as close as she wanted to be.

“This is nice,” Marinette said.

“Mhm. I just wish we’d gotten to do this more over the years.”

“There were dangers. You know we couldn’t.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. It was all she could say as an apology. Neither of them had liked the secrecy, but Chat only went along with it for her sake.

“There was always going to be danger.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “But I’m more than happy we’ll be facing them together going forward.”

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she watched him press a kiss to the back of her hand, like he’d done so many times before.

Swallowing heavily, she said, “Y-you know, we never completed Alya’s last dare…”

His forehead scrunched in confusion for a moment before the realization struck. If it weren’t for her nerves she would’ve laughed out loud - he always did wear his emotions on his sleeve. Especially when he was Chat Noir.

“Well… we can’t have people saying the heroes of Paris back down from a challenge, can we?”

Then he was scooting towards her, his face taking up her entire field of view. Their first kiss - the first one that both of them would remember, at least - was soft and tentative, but full of love barely held back.

Blushing furiously, they pulled back before they slouched against each other and returned to the relative safety of idle conversation. There would be time later to work out their feelings and figure things out. For now, they were content in each other’s company.

Before long, sleep came for both of them.

---------

Alya poked her head into the room, smiling to herself when she saw Marinette and Chat Noir sleeping against each other. Reaching inside, she turned out the lights to let them rest in darkness.

She wasn’t sure what exactly had changed between those two, but if he made Marinette happy… who was she to argue?