#i don’t know how other people’s stomach lining can handle anything less than at least medium. i usually go for medium well

[goldensunset]

gonna write an autobiography called ‘i’m not a vegetarian i just think you’re a bad cook’

[wri0thesley]

thank you for infecting me with total naoya brain rot, nat. can i request a breeding kink scenario with him and curvy, thick reader that he thinks looks perfect for bearing him an heir 👀 feel free to make him as nasty as you want, i love to read about this absolute trash fire of a man

Covet - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.6k)

Naoya wants something from you - you see a chance to get something you want too.

warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. breeding. power imbalance (reader is a maid at the zen’in estate). talk of pregnancy, knives, misogyny, fingering, coming inside/creampies. the mandatory warning that this fic is about naoya.

You are fairly certain that Naoya Zenin does not know whether you exist. If he has ever noticed you attending to your duties, so much lower and less important than he, he probably doesn’t like you.

At least, you did not think he liked you before this moment. Even now, with his hands on your hips and your body pressed flush against the wall outside his chambers, you’re not certain – there’s a weight to the way he’s holding you, a twist to his lips that you can see from where your cheek has met cool wallpaper. He looks like he’s considering you; sizing you up.

Your cheeks burn as he sizes up your lower half, eyes tracing your hips and ass and thighs without even a hint of remorse, as if it’s his god-given right to look upon you like this even though you’ve barely ever spoken more than a cursory polite; ‘I brought you this, Sir’. That’s what you’ve been taught to do.

Be respectful, stick to the shadows, do what you’re told. It’s an honour to serve the Zenin clan, it’s an honour to be here in the estate – it’s an honour to get a brief moment of any of their time, even if they’re just making demands on you. You sometimes hate yourself, for not being born one of them - you want, you want, you want, like a physical ache. The luxury. The nice treatment. People to think that you merely blessing them with a look is an honour--

It’s an especial honour to be worth Naoya’s time – everybody knows that he’s going to be the next leader. There are always rumours buzzing around the grounds about him; about his power, about his temper, about his personality . . . about which pretty young woman he’ll make his wife and have beside him to rule the clan.

You’re brought back to what’s currently happening by his hands sliding down from where he is clinging onto your hips, generously tracing the curve, admiring just how broad they are.

“Pity you have to hide beneath that,” he says, smirking. Your cheeks are hot. “You’re pretty, you know. At least. . .” One hand moves from your hip, thumb and forefinger squeezing your cheeks to turn them more thoroughly towards him. He looks entirely unruffled by the situation, every inch of him at ease that you will bend to what he wants. “Your body is pretty.” Eyes scan over your face, and you’re suddenly aware of every imperfection, every feature you’ve ever scrutinised. “Hm. Not bad either.”

“I . . . I don’t understand,” You find yourself breathing. He raises one elegant eyebrow. The hand that’s on your hip moves, tracing the plush of your ass through fabric, his lip curling into a smirk. He presses a little bit forward and you feel something stiff press against your other cheek (the one not occupied by his hand) – and your throat goes dry as you realise precisely what he means.

Oh.

Oh.

You should run. Good girls do not do what Naoya wants you to do. You have duties to attend to! You have things that must be done, lest your seniors sigh and tut at you and punish you for neglecting your work. But your throat is very dry and your heart is pounding and there is suddenly a strange twist of heat low in your gut, as Naoya Zenin looks down at you with the air of a man who will devour you if you let him.

You can’t deny it’s thrilling to be wanted – more thrilling to be wanted by someone like him.

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” he says, and his tone is patronising. “If you don’t want me to take you to bed and fuck you, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

He says it so openly, so brazenly – you suppose that’s what comes of being born into this family. He has nothing to fear in these walls. Not like you.

You imagine yourself underneath him for a second, his hair in disarray, hakama abandoned, his perfectly composed face twisted in pleasure. You should not go to his bed. But . . . you want to. And don’t you deserve something you want, when you’ve spent your entire life watching other people enjoy it?

“You don’t need to,” you breathe, swallowing. Naoya pulls back in amusement, his eyes darkening. He seems so much taller and stronger than you. Even swathed in fabric, it’s clear that there is muscle and strength beneath the clothes. He has been trained to within an inch of his life since the day he was born. He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat. A thumb trails over your cheek.

“Are you sure about that?” The smirk in his voice says that he knows you are. “I won’t be gentle with you, you know. I don’t have all day to romance you. I just want to get you on your back . . .” His thumb slides over your jawline, past your earlobe, until he’s taken a hank of your hair and yanks it back roughly, exposing your throat and making you gasp. “And fuck a son into you.”

He must see the look on your face, because he laughs, the sound cruel even to your ears. He’s still pressed so close to you. Nobody who walked down this hallway would mistake the embrace the two of you were currently in for anything clandestine. You suppose he has nothing to worry about – but your reputation? He’d ruin you for marriage.

“Come on,” he murmurs, chuckling. “Have you seen yourself? You’re made for bearing a child, sweetheart.” The pet name is almost mocking, but your heart skips a beat anyway. “Don’t worry too much. You don’t think I could take care of you, if you carried my heir? You’re a servant, right? You already know how to behave.” His smile is like a wolf. “So, I give you my word that if it takes, I’ll take care of you. Sounds fair, huh?” He jerks on your hair again. “Ten seconds,” he reminds you. “If you want to get out of it. You don’t think there are girls lining up around the block to have me?”

(Judging by the whispers about him, you actually don’t think there are – but judging from Naoya’s eyes, he certainly thinks so.)

He lets go. He steps back. His eyes are still on you, but he raises his arms either side of him as if to show you that you’re free to go. And you do consider it – you let the possibility of running flicker through your head. It’s quickly replaced by the thought of Naoya on top of you, an end to the aching between your legs, and the knowledge of just how you might be treated if Naoya did succeed in his mission.

It’s fine to want nice things, every once in a while.

“Five,” he says, warningly, but his eyes are dark with hunger. “Four. Three.”

You turn towards his bedroom door and grasp the handle, and he laughs, the sound very loud.

“Oh,” he says, “so you’re going to be fun.”

The minute his bedroom door clicks behind him, Naoya wastes no time on being on you. He’s full throttle, immediately – hands pulling at your clothes, rough, his mouth on your neck. He avoids your mouth, like he doesn’t quite want to kiss you – but as you bite back a moan as he nips at your throat and he groans in response at the noise, you realise that he wants to hear you.

Figures a man like that wants the reassurance that you’re enjoying yourself. Figures he wants to crow over every whimper that drops from your lips. Hands pull at your kimono, almost ripping it in his hurry to have the fabric out of his way and on the floor. You barely even notice he’s been pushing you across the room until you’re pushed hard down, and your back meets pillows and sheets instead of the floor.

The way you fall makes a perfect tableaux; the material of your outfit pooling around you, your body in the middle of it, clad in only your underwear. His light eyes rake over you hungrily.

“Fuck,” he says. His hands immediately go to your hips, thumbs pressing hard into the soft flesh. You barely fit in his hands, the curve of you dramatic. “You’re going to be perfect for this, huh? Look at you. It’s a fucking shame you’re not knocked up right now--”

Your body reacts to his touch and his look, though you can’t help but be embarrassed by it – it’s one thing to be entranced by someone pretty, you think, but it’s another thing to be entranced by the idea of how pretty someone will look when their stomach is swollen and their breasts have swelled and their hips have filled out because they’re bearing your child.

He doesn’t bother with unclipping your bra. He reaches into his hakama and panic flashes before your eyes when he pulls out a knife, but he uses it merely to slice the gore between your bra cups, right between the cute bow adorning them.

“I—I liked that,” you say, but your voice sounds very wobbly in the room, under Naoya’s gaze, under his hands. He snorts.

“I like you better without it,” he says shortly, as if your likes and dislikes are not a consideration to be taken into account. For him, you suppose they’re not. “Besides.” Hands travel from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the meat of the mounds so that you groan and arch your back, desire pooling between your legs. “I wanted to see these. I wanted to touch them.” He grins. “I wanted to imagine how nice they’re going to look when they get bigger.”

He squeezes the point of each of your nipples, so hard that the pleasure almost becomes pain.

“I think I’ll leave marks on you,” he says, conversationally. He pulls an arm back and suddenly has slapped you, your breast stinging, a brief imprint of his hand showing on your skin. He admires how your breast moves with the force – you’re too surprised to even make a noise of pain. “Good girl. I want you to remember how I feel when we’re done.”

You don’t think you could forget. You definitely can’t forget the sting of the second slap, this one making you moan – it hurts, but part of it feels good to be marked by him. You definitely can’t forget his thumbs hooking into your underwear, dragging it past your thighs – the way that he drinks in the wet patch on the fabric. You definitely don’t think you’ll be able to forget the chuckle that leaves his mouth as he spreads your thighs and sees your sex for the first time, already slick.

“You like being treated rough, huh?” He asks you. There’s that grin again; a predator, a man who has never been told no, a man who doesn’t know what it’s like to not have everything he has ever wanted at his fingertips. “Good. I like playing rough.”

He still doesn’t kiss you. He dives his head down, though, his teeth once more nipping at your neck, at your breast, tongue lathing across your nipples. One of his hand delves between your legs, spreading the plump labia, fingers briefly stroking your clit and sending a hot bolt of lightning all through you.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, as he pushes a finger inside of you. You’re slick and tight around his digits, hot and silky – one of his fingers alone is like a vice. You’re going to feel so good. He doesn’t much care whether his cock hurts you or not – but he wants you to be so fucked out by the time he’s come inside you that you don’t care about him leaving your legs propped up so not a single trickle of come leaks out of you. He doesn’t want a whimpering little bitch in his bed – he wants someone who’ll lie there, patiently, prettily, and let him make sure it takes.

You’re going to be good for that, he knows it. With a body like that, and eyes like that, and a clear longing for something better than the shitty hand you’ve been dealt? Oh, yes. You might not know it, but Naoya likes you immensely.

That you’re a servant, who’s been taught your place - that you’ll look at the ground respectfully and walk behind him and agree to whatever he says, like women should? Even better. Perfect. Fuck any of those snooty young women of a clan who think that just because they were born with a name, they were somehow more than a cunt for breeding--

Two fingers. This one gets a cry from you, almost too full – Naoya clicks his tongue against his teeth. He’s not patient, but he slows down, scissoring you open. One of your hands seems to flex out as if going to grab his bicep – but thinks better of it, clutching for purchase on the bed instead. Cute.

He can’t help but watch his fingers dive in and out of you, already coated in your liberal slick. They already look so good – he can’t even imagine how good his cock will look, hilted so deep in you he’s all you can feel.

Three fingers. You’re making soft little noises, circling your hips – there’s a coil in your belly that Naoya’s fingers are stoking in a way you didn’t expect, one that you feel like you’re so close to getting to spring forth – he slides his fingers out of you as he feels you tightening and tensing around him. If you’re close enough to come on his fingers, he reasons, you’re close enough to take his cock.

He didn’t expect to be so entranced by how pretty you looked, all curves and soft on his bed – but there’s time for that later. Right now, his cock is driving a hole through his own underwear. The thought of fucking his seed into you, of having you coming around his cock . . . you moan in frustration at the lack of stimulation as his hands busy themselves peeling off his own clothes.

“What’s the matter?” He asks you, a little breathless. You don’t notice that – good. He hates people witnessing weakness. “You need to be filled up?”

“I—” your teeth dig into your bottom lip, and Naoya has the urge to kiss you that he pushes back.

Not now. Not yet. Not while you’re still scum. He can transform you, and maybe you’ll be worthy of that – but right now, you’re an empty shell, and Naoya needs to mould you into something fuller and better before he’ll lower himself to brush his lips over your own. That’s too intimate. That’s too much.

“You don’t need to use your words,” he purrs. “You’re soaking wet.”

You urge your thighs further apart as Naoya’s clothes slip off of him and you see his cock jutting proud against his stomach. You haven’t had much experience to know whether it’s a nice cock, whether he’s big – but Naoya grins when he sees you looking, ferocity sparking in his expression.

“You may as well look at it,” he tells you, “because it’s going to be buried inside you in just a moment--”

He’s on the bed, his body on top of yours. His hands are clinging to the hips he’s admired so much, his grip tight enough to mark. His face is close enough that you can see the sculpt of his lips and the fan of his eyelashes, the dark pupils. The wet head of his cock smears precome on your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance – and as he sinks inside, your body welcomes him.

He hisses in fluid pleasure as his cock descends inside of you inch by slow, inexorable inch – the stretch, the burn, the slick fluid pleasure. This time, one of your hands does find purchase on his shoulder – but Naoya is enjoying the feeling of your walls kissing his cock, embracing him tight and deep, too much to snap at you for being such an insolent thing. Your nails leave little crescent moon marks in his shoulder that he decides to forgive. After all – you’ll have bruises in the shape of his handprints tomorrow, he knows it. He doesn’t have a single crumb of shame about it.

If he gets his way, you’ll have more than just those as a mark of tonight. He hilts inside you, his skin pressing hot against yours. You’re so full – he feels so very deep, buried as far as he can go. All of your breath has been knocked out of you.

Your eyes meet his for just a moment.

“Better hold on,” he tells you. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle.”

The first pull out is swift, immediately thrusting back inside you with such force that your body rocks on the bed. He wasn’t lying about not being gentle; his hips quickly establish a punishing rhythm, helped along by the slick glide of your channel, the wetness leaking around his cock. He pulls you a little with every thrust, the hands on his hips assisting him being able to watch his cock drive in and out of your sex. It’s a mark of the strength he has that the only sign that you weigh anything at all is a huff of breath in between his thrusts – you’ve never exactly felt delicate  in your life, but something about Naoya’s way of handling you makes you think that he could break you in half if he tried.

That is, if his rough thrusts in and out of you don’t split you in two first. You give up trying to do anything other than hold onto him, your mouth dropping open in a series of wordless wails and moans.

(Naoya prefers quiet women, he has to admit – but there’s something endearing about you giving up in bed, giving yourself to him in voice as well as body. Perhaps he doesn’t mind a loud woman, as long as the reason she’s loud is because he’s fucking her silly).

His skin slaps against your skin. The sound mixes with your own whimpers and gasps, Naoya’s quieter breathing, the embarrassingly wet sounds of his cock plunging in and out of you. The release that was denied to you earlier with his fingers is creeping back up on you again, all hot pleasure and tight tension. With every thrust, Naoya is hitting a spot amongst your plush walls that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your body all hot and needy. He doesn’t care if you come, really – this isn’t about you – but . . . just another of those things he supposes he could get used to, as the ball of pleasure inside of you finally unravels and you feel yourself come.

And oh, he could get used to that feeling too – how your walls pulsate around him, pulling his cock tighter inside of you, practically milking him. His hips just get faster, snapping against you like a man possessed – heh. Isn’t that funny?

Your chest is heaving, but he’s enjoying the feel of your hips too much to play with your tits again. When they’re all swollen with milk and bigger and rounder, he’ll probably fuck you again, slower . . . and then, he’ll get his feel of touching them. Just like he’ll get his feel of your thighs even plusher, your stomach rounder, your hips even better in his grip--

It’s those thoughts that push him over the edge. Your body softened and rounded with his child – his son, his heir. You’re fucking perfect for it. He groans, his hips snapping and driving so deep inside you that you think he’ll break – and then, he’s groaning, and his cock is pulsing inside you as the sensation of his come painting your walls hot and thick overtakes your senses.

He pumps his cock a few more times inside of you after the initial release, as if he’s trying to push his seed even further within you. You’re shuddering, exhausted, your body aching – and so, you don’t argue beyond a soft noise of pain at the unpleasant prickle as he pulls his cock out of you. You don’t argue when he slides a pillow beneath your hips and says;

“Keep your legs bent like that.”

Naoya takes a moment to admire you. Your pretty cunt is darkened from his aggressive fucking, clit swollen, slick with your own desire-- he frowns as he notices a drop of something whiter and thicker. That won’t do. Two fingers roughly push his come back into you, pressing it deeply, making you groan and your hips weakly thrust against them.

It’s cute that you’re still welcoming to his fingers; that your sex still sucks them in as if it’s greedy to be fucked again. Your eyes are half-lidded, glassy – your lips bitten dark. He thinks he could fuck you again and you wouldn’t even complain.

Yes. He grins at you. Give it a little while, to make sure his come takes – and then, he thinks, he will fuck you again. There’s no harm in being thorough, right?

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 9 - FINALE)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: smut (oral f receiving), semi-public sex (in a parked car) angst, arguments, implied smut, sappiness, time skips, some alcohol consumption here and there, lots of talking about issues including bucky's ptsd, I really have no idea how to warn for this but IT’S THE END SO STRAP IN FOLKS

Since that night, it had been like a stand-off in a Western movie, none of you saying anything because you had no idea what to say. Whenever he tried to start the conversation, you brushed him off.

You took a cab home from the event. He slept in his own room for the first time in months.

Finally, suddenly, you were ready to talk about it nearly 30 hours later, knocking on the guest room door and entering to find Bucky on his bed, re-reading Flowers for Algernon. He sat up quickly and shut it, setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted softly, hesitant like you were a deer in a clearing and he was extending a handful of grain in his palm.

“Hey,” you returned, already fighting back your emotions. “I think I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m ready to listen.”

“I just… I want to make sure that you understand this is a really big deal.”

He nodded again.

“I had to do a lot of damage control to prevent being banned from all HFPA events— that includes the Golden Globes, you know, I can’t exactly skip those just because my boyfriend went fucking nuts at a party.” And there was the anger again— you had tried to wait until you could be neutral about this but it barely lasted, mainly because you were still embarrassed about the way you’d handled yourself that night. “You’re lucky not many people saw; you’re lucky no reporters were there! Can you imagine if someone had a fucking picture of this? There were cameras everywhere, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” he defended. “I saw you with him and he was touching you and I just… I saw red.”

You sighed slowly. “That’s not a good thing. That’s really, really concerning.”

“I know, I agree— you’re right. I need…” he trailed off, taking a breath before starting over. “I need to work on that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I just… I can’t really be a part of that. You need to work on that on your own.”

He stood up instantly, almost looking… afraid? Terrified, really, and heartbroken. “On my own, like what? What does that mean?”

“It means that I think maybe you should go back to your own apartment for a while. I just… need to be alone for a bit.”

“You need to be alone?” he repeated. “Or you need to be away from me?’

“Both.”

His head fell into his hands instantly. "Please don't tell me I fucked this up," he whimpered. "Please don't tell me I ruined this."

"I— I don't know."

"Please, please, please," he sighed, just louder than a whisper, suddenly stepping forward, grabbing your hand and clutching it to his chest. "Look at me," he begged.

You did, hesitantly, fighting everything in you that wanted to cry (and not doing so good of a job at it).

"Please, I lo—"

"Don't," you grimaced. "Don't say that."

"But it's true."

"It doesn't matter!" you yelped, surprising both of you with your volume.

“Are we going to have a chance to talk about this again? Am I going to get a chance to make it up to you?”

“You don’t make it up to me, you fix it. And that takes time.”

He shook his head, looking shocked and confused and completely blindsided which made you feel sick to your stomach. “How long?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“Am I not going to see you at all, for however long it takes?” he pressed.

“I… that’s sort of the idea.”

He shivered and pulled you into a hug. “Please don’t hate me forever,” he whispered against the top of your head.

“I don’t hate you,” you promised, doing your best not to hug him back even though all you wanted was to wrap yourself around him and feel safe in his arms again.

“Then don’t make me go,” he pleaded as he pulled back, clutching your face. “Let me stay and we can work through this together.”

“That’s not how this works,” you reminded him

“But I don’t know how to be without you,” he explained shakily.

“That’s not really my problem!” you yelped, and he turned away like he’d been slapped, dropping his hands from your face. A long, heavy silence fell between you as you watched him stand there, contemplating.

“If this is my last chance,” he finally spoke softly, barely breaking the silence, “to say everything I want to say…”

“It’s not,” you assured. “We’re going to talk about this again, but you need to go now.”

He nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow of nothing. When he looked at you again, you hated how much bluer his eyes looked when they were bloodshot and filled with tears. “Can I kiss you?”

You shook your head. He bit his lip and turned to walk away; you stared at your feet because you couldn’t watch him go.

You heard him grab his backpack, shoving a few things from the drawers into it; he set his key on the table, walked into the open hall, and as soon as you heard the front door open and shut you were plunged into solitude and silence. With a whimper, you crumpled to the floor and cried, the look of betrayal on his face burned into your mind.

It was obvious, to your horror, that he really hadn’t seen it coming; he hadn’t packed his things, or prepared in any way for the conversation going like that. He had been waiting for an olive branch and got a switch to the face instead. You didn’t know anything about working on relationships, repairing broken things… when something went wrong, all you knew how to do was bail.

You knew how to do a new take and say the line right this time. You knew how to take off your eyeliner and start over. You knew how to kick unsuspecting C-listers out of cars because you already got yours. But you didn’t know how to stay, and work, and frankly you were just too scared to try. Last time you tried to make it work, you got burned. And as much as a logical part of you knew that wasn’t Bucky’s fault or responsibility, your heart just couldn’t survive another relationship where you put everything into putting the pieces back together while the other person stood there and watched you just to pull them apart again.

It had to end at some point, right? It was you, it was him… and that’s just how these things go.

//

He knew it was too good to be true. He knew you were too good for him. Anybody with at least one eyeball and half a brain could see that. But still, he hadn’t been ready to let you go.

Being in his apartment felt like stopping in a ghost town; there might as well have been a tumbleweed rolling through the living room. It was beyond a bachelor pad: it was more like an unfinished work site, considering his ‘couch’ was cinderblocks and a few two-by-fours, and his bed was a mattress on the floor.

One toothbrush. No books. A half-empty shampoo bottle in the shower and some hard water stains he needed to scrub away at some point.

This place didn’t feel like a home, it barely felt like a livable space. It was a three-dimensional homage to how empty his life had been before you, and he realized that was only his own fault.

Then again, this was all his fault.

But still, he had let himself obsess over you, turn you into his whole world and it made him into somebody he didn’t want to be. He had been working so hard to keep you happy, inspired more than anything by his fear to lose you, that he’d forgotten to give you space and now here he was… giving you so much more space than he ever wanted to, or knew how to deal with.

But he wanted to use this, if he could. As much as it was tempting to binge on junk food, drink too much and watch porn for an hour, as much as he wanted to run away from everything he was feeling, he owed it to you and to himself to face it all and learn from it. He wanted to be the man you deserved, if that was even humanly possible; he wanted to be who you used to think he was.

//

The next week went by in a blur: a blur filled with shitty romcoms, Ben & Jerry’s straight from the carton, and phone calls ignored.

It would all be fine with time, you knew that, but god, it fucking hurt now. It made you want to call him and at least apologize for having sex with him when you knew he wouldn’t have wanted to if he knew you were upset. More time and distance from the situation made you appreciate that it was manipulative, even if it by no means justified the way he grabbed you, or shoving anybody in the first place.

Truth was, you were scared of Bucky long before that happened. You were scared of how strong your feelings were for him; and, in turn, you were scared of how strong his feelings were for you. You felt loved by him, and you didn’t know what to do with that. So you self-destructed.

Just in time to tear you out of your spiralling thoughts, the intercom buzzed from the front gate. You furrowed your brow, wondering who it could be, and got up to check the camera feed.

You couldn’t see the face of the driver, just his arm, but you’d recognize that Rolex on his wrist anywhere.

“What do you want?” you asked coldly, holding down the intercom talk button.

"Let me in," Sam instructed.

"And why should I?"

"Cause if you don't, I'll press charges against your boyfriend."

BEEP BEEP BEEP! the gate announced its opening.

You took the time while he parked his car and walked to the door to throw out the wrappers from all your questionable “meals” (i.e., candy and ramen), change into slightly nicer sweats and splash your face so you looked slightly less dead. Just as you came downstairs from your rushed primping, Sam knocked on the door and you turned off the TV, tossing the remote aside. “It’s open!” you called out.

He turned the knob and stepped in with just one foot, peering around.

“Is the Terminator home?” he asked coyly. “Cause I actually think I’ve been assaulted enough for one week.”

“No, he’s gone. And don’t call him that.”

“What?” he shrugged, finally coming all the way in and letting the door swing shut on its own, taking his shades off and sliding them into the collar of his v-neck shirt. “It’s a compliment, and you really invite the killer robot comparisons when you’re part robot, look like a killer, and act like a thug.”

“He’s sensitive about the arm, okay? It’s one of the reasons he… it’s part of why we waited so long to go public.”

Sam glanced down to beside the door, where three pairs of your shoes were haphazardly lined up while his boots were noticeably absent. “And the fact that he’s moved out? When’s that gonna go public?” He always had an eye for these things, the bastard.

“I… I don’t know,” you sighed. “What do you want, exactly? Because honestly, I really can’t handle you right now.”

“I’m just trying to be a friend,” he explained, stepping closer again as you leaned against the breakfast bar.

“You seemed a lot more than friendly on Saturday,” you reminded him. “God, Sam, why did you have to do that?”

“So it’s my fault, then?” he rolled his eyes.

“No, of course not,” you assured, “but you knew I wasn’t single. I was actually happy… did you even want me back? Or did you just want to fuck with my life?”

“I did want you back, really.” He paused for a moment, more serious than he almost ever got. “I still do.”

You scoffed, looking away. “What happened to just being a friend?”

“That’s not why I’m here, this time. I’m just here to tell you that I’m worried about you.”

You took your weight off the bar and circled it into the kitchen, Sam mirroring you by following around the other side. “Do you want something to drink?” you asked, opening the fridge. He opened his mouth to answer but then leaned in as he stared at your hand where it was right in front of his face gripping the refrigerator’s door handle.

"He did that to you?" Sam pointed to the bruise on your wrist. You let go of the fridge and pulled your sleeve down to cover it again but that was answer enough. "Jesus, babe, this guy's fucking crazy."

"He's not crazy, and don't call me that," you frowned. "I don't think he meant to, really— his prosthetic is powerful and it was in need of a recalibration. He shouldn’t have grabbed me, but, he probably didn’t mean to do it so hard.”

Sam didn’t seem too convinced by that explanation, but didn’t say anything.

“Believe it or don’t, Sam, but either way it’s none of your business,” you frowned.

“Right, I know,” he nodded. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s you?” you pressed with an incredulous raised brow, opening the fridge again to grab yourself a green juice (because you were, again, trying to look like you had your shit together) and starting to walk away.

“I’ve changed, believe it or not,” he explained as he followed you out of the kitchen again. “Occasionally, people are capable of that.”

“If that’s true, then I owe it to Bucky to wait for him like I said I would,” you shot back. “I told him to leave so we could work on things separately. Not so I could entertain your come-to-Jesus moment.”

“It’s not a ‘come-to-Jesus’ moment, it’s just a ‘give me another chance’ moment,” he corrected as you took a long sip of the juice, “it’s a ‘maybe we ended things too soon’ moment.”

You looked at him in silent judgment as you kept drinking, and the way he was looking at you made you glad the glass bottle was keeping your lips occupied.

“It’s an ‘I’m still in love with you’ moment.”

Before you could stop yourself, you spit the juice right onto him, covering your mouth in shock just a moment too late.

For one of those indefinite moments, you were just staring at each other while you both contemplated that you had said he loved you and you had spat juice onto him.

“Okay, I was prepared to get shot down,” he admitted. “This is… worse.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you rushed, trying not to laugh, “I… I’ll get some paper towels, I can get you a new shirt, but it’ll have to be one of the ones Bucky left behind…”

“Oh god, it’s sticky,” he grimaced, as he tried to peel his shirt from his skin, “can I just use your shower maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you nodded, “upstairs and down—”

“I remember where it is,” he reminded you as he stepped past you to make his way to the bathroom. “I knew I should’ve waited to say it until she was done drinking…” you heard him mumble to himself before he disappeared and you heard the bathroom door shut.

But truthfully, it wasn’t really the fact that he said it, or the concept of Sam loving you at all that made you spit out your drink. It was that when he said it, you realized you were in love with Bucky. Which, yes, would’ve been obvious to anyone else but it came as quite a shock to you.

It made you realize that you wanted to make this work. You wanted to be vulnerable, you wanted to try, even if it ended just as badly as it nearly had last week; even if it meant dealing with all the shit that you’d pushed down for so long.

You wanted to have another chance, this time knowing how hard it would be to be without him.

Just as you pondered what to do with that realization, a knock at the door startled you. Who could have made it to the door without buzzing the intercom?

Somebody who has the gate code already, you realized, and your heart sank. You weren’t ready to see him again— specifically, you weren’t ready to be seen by him again. Sure, cleaning up the trash and splashing your face was enough for a guest like Sam, but you had been imagining that when you saw Bucky again you’d be all dolled up looking like you were doing better than ever, like you were thriving without him just to rub it in that you were the best he ever had.

Couldn’t he have just waited a few hours after your realization so you could go to him on your own terms, with your whole speech prepared and everything? As an actress, you were much more comfortable reading lines than improvising.

Another knock made you sigh and set down the half-empty bottle of green juice, running up to the door to answer it.

“Hi,” he greeted soberly when you opened the door.

“Hey,” you nodded back, “listen, now’s not a great time…”

“Listen, I’m not here to cause any problems, or ask you for anything, I just need some of my stuff back,” he explained.

“Okay, it would’ve been better if you had come at another time—”

“I know, I’m not trying to invade your space,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have used the gate code, I didn’t mean to surprise you, honestly it was just second nature but I realize now I should’ve called first— well, I don’t think you’re taking my calls right now—”

“Bucky, please, we can talk later,” you assured, trying to shut the door.

“Can we?” he sighed. “I mean, will we?”

“Yes, but I’m busy right now,” you explained.

“When?” he asked, voice full of hope. “Soon?”

“I— I don’t know, sure,” you shrugged.

“You’re just saying that to get me to leave,” he realized flatly. “I understand, I don’t blame you— god, I just hate how scared you are of me. I’m everything I never wanted to be. I just wanted to keep you safe and now I can’t even do that, now you think of me as a threat. You should have the gate code changed, if it’ll make you sleep better—”

“I sleep fine, just go and we’ll deal with all of this soon— really, I promise!”

“You promised before and this week without you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!” he returned, getting more emotional as he gestured with his hands. “I’m not saying this should all go away in a week, there’s so much more I have to do, but… but not being able to see you at all is killing me. And it’s not like I don’t see you, your movies are on every fucking channel, but you know, I don’t get to really see you, talk to you— that’s what I miss, I miss when we would talk for hours.”

“I miss that too,” you agreed, “it’s all going to happen, it’s just that I need you to go right now—”

And of course, Sam picked just the right time to come running down your staircase with only a towel around his waist.

Bucky tensed up as he saw Sam, jaw tightening. "Oh."

You had no idea what would happen. Was Bucky going to attack him again? Would Sam try to hit Bucky? Were you going to drop dead from sheer embarrassment?

Instead, Bucky just sighed a little and looked to the ground, almost laughing though he seemed anything but amused. “You’ve got a funny idea of what ‘being alone’ means,” he sneered.

“Sam was just—” you began to defend.

"No, it’s okay, I see how it is," Bucky informed you quietly, coldly. He didn’t even seem angry anymore, just defeated. "I'll leave. I'm sorry that I… I'm sorry."

And he turned to leave, you reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait, it's not—"

He shrugged your hand away as he kept walking, forcing you to chase him.

"Don't leave, please— Bucky, I love you too."

He stopped, but didn't turn around yet; you just stood behind him, staring at his back as it rose and fell with a slow breath. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red, brimming with tears and heartbreak. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I mean it," you promised.

“And what does that mean for us?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

“I don’t think I’m ready to come back yet. As much as I miss living with you— and as much as my apartment is so gross—”

You giggled a little, glad you could laugh with him again even if just for a second.

“I need more time. I’m not going to subject you to me until I know I can be… stable, again.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “Whatever you need.”

“But maybe we could… go out sometime? Somewhere where there aren’t paparazzi, ideally?”

“Uh, Vermont?” you offered jokingly. “I’ll find somewhere, though. We’ll talk this all out.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing a little. “Okay.”

With obvious hesitance, he leaned in slightly and gave you a kiss on the forehead. You wanted more than anything to get up on your tiptoes and kiss his lips, but it was probably too soon. He smiled down at you slightly before he turned to walk away, and you did the same as you made it back into the house.

“Hey, listen,” you began as you found Sam still waiting in a towel looking completely lost.

“That doesn’t sound like the beginning of good news,” he sighed.

“I’m so glad you were honest with me and I’m still really sorry for spitting on you, and for Bucky shoving you, and for everything awful that went down between us. And some part of me is always gonna love you, but—”

“I know,” he nodded, clearly disappointed but resigned in a peaceful way. “It’s okay. I had my chance, I blew it, and if this Bucky guy has his then I just hope he isn’t taking it for granted.”

You smiled a little. “He’s not.”

“Then I’ll get dressed and go. Please direct me to his favorite shirt, so that I may steal it,” he requested formally, making you laugh, but you weren’t ready to let it go just yet; instead, you stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“You’re a good friend, Sam,” you mumbled against his bare chest.

“Yeah, kinda wish I wasn’t though,” he sighed as he hugged you back.

“Kinda wish I’d made you get dressed before hugging you,” you admitted, the awkwardness of his nudity finally catching up with you.

“Yeah…” he agreed in a whispered sigh.

//

His palms were actually sweaty; well, at least one of them was. He hadn’t been this worked up about a date since high school.

But there was so much more riding on that now than there was then. If he blew this, you probably would dump him for good, and he’d become ‘that guy Y/N Y/L/N dated for a minute’ to the rest of the world.

And there was so much more to him than that— he was learning to really let that shine after three weeks of therapy on Mondays and Thursdays— and so much more to his relationship with you, but it would still be pretty humiliating. More importantly, he would be heartbroken if he never got a chance to hold you again, kiss you again, tell you he loved you not during a fight…

His eyes glanced to the door instinctively when someone stepped in, but it still wasn’t you. He checked his watch and closed his eyes: it was still a few minutes early, you probably wouldn’t be here until 6:30, since that was when you’d agreed to meet when you discussed all this over text. But the length of time between 6:27 and 6:30 just seemed to keep getting longer and longer.

When you finally walked in, it was like one of those movie moments where everything slowed down, the ambient noise and background music faded away, and all he could see was you. If this was it, at least he got to see you like this one last time.

He waved you over, watching you walk closer and feeling his heart race as you pulled him into a hug.

“I missed you,” he blurted out right away.

“Missed you too,” you mumbled back, pulling from the embrace as he moved to pull out your chair for you.

“So,” he began as he sat down, “do you… want me to go first? Or do you want to go first?”

“I love you,” you said instantly, and he couldn’t fight a wide smile.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” you grinned, “I think you should go first.”

“Well, now that you say that suddenly I forget everything I’ve been practicing in the mirror all day,” he chuckled. “I already told you I’ve been in therapy, and they finally got me on stuff for my PTSD… it feels weird to say it, to talk about it like I really have it… but I do, and I’m working on not being ashamed of that. What I am ashamed of is the way I treated you that day, how I let my anger get the best of me and how I hurt you when you’re the most important person in my life. You didn’t deserve that. And if I haven’t said it enough, I’m truly sorry.”

“I know,” you nodded, “thank you. I’m glad you’re getting help… I don’t want to see you like that for your own sake, too.”

“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean you have to forgive me. And just because you forgive me doesn’t mean you have to take me back,” he reminded you softly.

“But I do forgive you, and I do want you back,” you promised. “And I want to apologize, too, for the things I did wrong… obviously it’s basically impossible for me to hurt you physically, you’re so much stronger than I am, but I hurt you with how I handled some things and I regret that.”

“It did hurt, but I still reacted poorly at basically every turn. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous of Sam in the first place, if you and him have something going on then that’s none of my business—”

“Of course it’s your business, Bucky, you’re my boyfriend!” you laughed. “You don’t need to be jumping for joy when I talk to my ex, you just need to not be that aggressive about it.”

“Am I your boyfriend?” he asked sheepishly. “Is he your ex?”

"When you came over the other day, and he was there… nothing happened, really. He came over, I told him I didn't want to be anything more than friends, he asked to use my shower… I don't know how to prove it to you—"

"You don't have to," he shook his head. "If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened."

“I mean, we hugged,” you remembered. “And he took your Fleetwood Mac shirt.”

“He what?” Bucky yelped, but then calmed himself down immediately. “Whatever, it’s fine, the point is that I have a lot of shit I still need to work on. Because the truth is, you’re not mine—”

“No, I—”

“Really, you’re not. You’re your own person. That’s what made me fall in love with you in the first place, I love that you’re independent and strong and… maybe a little crazy, but you’re exactly who you need to be. You don’t belong to me.”

“I don’t mind belonging to you as long as it’s fair, Bucky; as long as we belong to each other.”

“Sweetheart, you always had me,” he laughed. “From day one.”

“Then let’s figure your shit out. Believe it or not, I’ve got shit too… commitment issues, abandonment issues, daddy issues—”

“Ooh, I have that one too!” he beamed, making you laugh. “You know, when I was talking to my therapist, she had me do this thing where I talked about my hopes and stuff and, I don’t know, maybe it’s dumb but I wanted us to do that. I want to know what you’re hoping for for this.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “well, I’m hoping that you’ll move back in soon but not right away, maybe in a few months? I want us to get better at being apart, it’ll come in handy when I have to go to far off places for filming and stuff.”

“Totally with you,” he agreed, “might have to start buying some real furniture for my place though.”

“What about you?” you prompted.

“I’m hoping that you still think I'm cute enough to put up with some of my crap," he smirked, "if not all of it."

"Definitely," you grinned.

“I’m hoping that in the future, if you’re upset, you’ll tell me and we can work it out, and then have make-up sex," he added.

“Deal,” you chuckled.

“And, if I’m being honest,” he continued, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, “I’m hoping that I can take you home tonight.”

It was so simple, but it made a shiver run down your spine. This distance had caused more than just your heart to grow fonder, and you were craving his touch more than ever. “Where’s home?” you asked coyly.

“It’s wherever you wanna go,” he purred. “Your place, my place, the back of your car—”

“That one,” you nodded eagerly, “definitely that one.”

//

You wanted to go right then and there but he made you sit through the whole dinner, with all the trappings of wining and dining, though for you it sometimes felt more like whining and dying because you needed him so bad you couldn't think. But he stayed patient, keeping up the conversation, asking more about a new project you were tentatively linked with, telling you more about the newest improvements to his prosthetic.

He picked up the check, which was absurd to you but he insisted, and escorted you to your car as if his intentions were just gentlemanliness even though you knew it was far worse than that.

He (gently) pinned you up against the side of the car, kissing you slowly, making you melt like it was no effort for him at all. As his lips made their way to your ear, he whispered to you darkly, "get in the back and spread your legs for me."

You were sure you'd never obeyed an instruction so fast, hopping in and happily watching him climb in behind you. He instantly knelt down between your spread legs, holding you by your thighs as he pushed your dress up, and you were already lifting your hips up to let him pull your panties down to your ankles.

"So eager," he whispered happily, kissing his way up one of your legs and never breaking his gaze away from yours. Your mouth fell slack as you watched him get higher and higher, closer to where you were already dripping with need. "Been wanting to do this since that night, however many months ago, where I had to watch somebody else do this to you," he admitted with a grin that nipped at your inner thighs. "I know I've tasted you a thousand times since then, but I wanted to do it here."

There was a lot you could say to that, but it was all lost to a gasp as he licked one long, thin stripe right across your entrance and over your clit. Already you were shaking and grabbing his hair— he'd grown it out just enough that you could really dig your fingers into it, but even so he kept his teasing pace.

He kept going, that slow and torturous cycle where just as your clit got some much-needed attention, he started back over at your leaking opening again.

"The fuck are you doing down there, trying to figure how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" you finally groaned, making him chuckle at how demanding you'd become.

"I'm just making sure I do this right," he dismissed. "Want more, baby?"

"Please," you shuddered. "Need your tongue inside me."

He grinned and put you out of your misery, really latching his lips onto you now as he pushed his tongue inside and curled it against your g-spot. It was enough to make your back arch dramatically and your fingers clench on his hair, a little growl echoing out of his mouth and into your body in response.

Your legs were accidentally clamping down on his head each time he sucked on your clit, but he didn't seem to mind, if anything it egged him on.

"C-close, so close," you chanted our warning as his hands tightened on your thighs he gave wide laps to your throbbing button.

"Say you love me baby," he mumbled his demand against your skin.

"Bucky, yes, I love you," you whimpered. "Love you so much, fuck, I'm gonna come…"

He nodded as he wrapped his lips around your clit and kept sucking, harder than ever, until your whole body was literally quaking and you weren't sure if you had closed your eyes or if your vision just went black for a second. As if that weren't enough, he kept going until you had to push him off of you by his forehead, shivering and catching your breath as aftershocks rocked your body.

"You're so amazing," he groaned huskily as he sat up and pulled you into a rough kiss, the taste of your pleasure coating your tongue as it tangled with his. Just as you were about to reach down and attempt to operate his belt buckle with your tingling fingers, he pulled back from the kiss a moment too soon. "And now you get to drive yourself home," he grinned, patting you on the cheek reassuringly.

"What? That's it?!" you squawked.

"You just came so hard you nearly blacked out and you're asking me if that's it?" he smirked incredulously.

"I just thought you would want to, you know… go all the way," you explained, cringing at the immature phrase.

"Hey, I'm a gentleman, and this is still our first date," he reminded you.

"But aren't you, you know…?"

"Oh, I am," he nodded quickly, leaning in to bite at your neck. "Don't worry about me, princess, I can take care of myself." He chuckled at your whimper and pulled back to look right into your eyes. "But it's not about me, is it? You want my cock all for yourself, don't you?"

You nodded, making him giggle sweetly.

"Well, you're just gonna have to wait," he cooed, poking the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing harder at your needy whine. "We'll go out again next weekend and maybe if it goes well, it'll lead to something more, alright?"

"Okay," you sighed, "I can wait a week. I think."

He smiled and kissed you again, helping you pull your panties back up and rubbing your thigh appreciatively. "Goodnight," he whispered against your lips, slipping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

You sighed and let your head fall back against the seat, watching out the window as he walked back to his bike. You hated to see him go, but you did love watching him walk away.

//

two years later…

“Will the Six Million Dollar Man be joining us?” Sam asked with a smirk as he glanced to the door of the bowling alley, checking to see if anyone had walked in.

“When he gets off of work,” you promised.

“Why do you call him that?” Natasha asked Sam innocently.

“You’ll see,” Sam promised, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek, but you figured there was a pretty good chance she wouldn't get the reference anyway.

Right on cue, Bucky appeared in the doorway and you and Sam waved him to the correct lane. “Hey guys,” he greeted, “hey babe,” he pulled you into a quick kiss. “And happy birthday, Sam.”

“Shh, keep it down, we don’t want any Hollywood people to find out that I’m aging,” Sam joked. “Are you gonna join the game or just observe?”

“I’ll join, if it’s not too late,” Bucky decided.

“Since when do you bowl?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since I got the prosthetic recalibrated to throw the perfect strike every time,” he winked.

Beers and turns went pretty quickly after that, light conversation interspersed in between, until the more raucous parts of the evening died down and you left Bucky for a moment to join Sam at the bar.

Sam nodded to acknowledge you as you leaned beside him, and you ordered yourself one more drink before you called it a night.

“So, Natasha,” you started the conversation, watching the way Sam couldn’t hide his smile. “She’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really something,” he agreed. “I wanted you guys to meet her sooner, but you were gone filming for so long and all.”

“Don’t fuck this one up, Sam,” you threatened.

“I’m trying not to!” he defended, before looking around like he was trying to make sure no one was looking. As you furrowed your brow and wondered what he was up to, he pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and showed you a picture: a ring, with a massive diamond and accents of citrine.

“Holy shit…” you sighed, pulling the phone closer to get a better look.

“Had it custom made, I’m gonna pick it up tomorrow,” he explained, putting the phone away. “I don’t even know how I’m gonna ask her yet… I just know I need to snag this one before she slips through my fingers.”

“You’re really like a whole new man,” you realized aloud.

“I’m telling you, this girl… she really changed everything for me,” he sighed wistfully, and you nodded because you knew what that was like.

“I knew you just needed a good woman to straighten you out, Wilson,” you joked, patting him on the shoulder, “my only mistake was ever thinking it was me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was you, too,” he smiled softly. “I really loved you, even when I was stepping out on you… and I think I needed to love you, and to lose you, to be here now.   So, thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome, I guess,” you laughed a little, taking a slow sip of your drink.

“And if she says yes, I’m gonna need all the marriage advice you have to offer,” he bargained.

“I mean, we’ve only been married for a month,” you chuckled, “I don’t think we’re far enough into it to really provide significant guidance.”

“And you’ve already gone through so much together.  Is he doing alright?  You know, his nightmares and stuff…”

You glanced over and where Bucky and Natasha were chatting, admiring how at ease he looked; he usually had a harder time with new people.  “Yeah, it’s been a lot better, he’s on new meds… how did you know about that?”

“He talks to me sometimes,” Sam admitted.  “And as someone who has played a PTSD-striken veteran in not one, but two major motion pictures, I’m sort of an expert,” he winked, but then got serious again.  “I would’ve asked him how he was doing myself but he wouldn’t let me ask him personal stuff on my birthday.”

“I bet he’d let you ask him for his opinion on the ring you just showed me.”

“Um, why would I want his opinion when he bought you that?” he grimaced, pointing at the ring on your finger.  “I mean, sapphires?  Really?”

“Cut it out,” you laughed, shoving him on the shoulder.

“Okay, fine,” he relented. 

“Are you coming to my premiere tomorrow, by the way?” you asked.  “I have it on good authority you were invited, since I demanded it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he nodded, “Nat really wants to go, too.  She’s a big fan of your work.”

“Well, tell her she was great in that one about the missing girl,” you replied.  

“I’ll be sure to tell her exactly that.”

“We should head home, you know how early premiere prep starts,” you sighed with an exhausted roll of your eyes, finishing the last of your drink before grabbing Sam on the shoulder.  “Good luck with however you decide to pop the question with Nat.  Let me know if you need anything.”

He nodded and let you go, and once you got Bucky’s attention and said goodbye to Nat, the two of you made your way out back to the car.

“I’m glad you and Sam get along,” you reminded him as you squeezed his hand.

“What gives you that impression?” he scoffed.

You shook your head and smiled, letting him walk you to the car in silence.

Less than 24 hours later, you held his hand in just the same way as you sat beside each other in the screening auditorium, watching your latest film fade to black and hearing the crowd at the premiere— mostly cast, crew, and critics— erupt into applause.

"I have a little surprise for you," you whispered in his ear as the credits began to flash.

"I am not gonna let you blow me in this crowded theater," he instantly scolded.

"No, not that," you giggled, although you secretly wondered how much less crowded the theater would have to be for him to let you try it.  "Just wait until my name comes up."

Written and Directed by Hope Van Dyne

A Paramount Pictures Film

In Association with Europa

And then there it was, in big white letters, just as much of a trip to see as the first time you saw your name on the big screen.  But something very important had changed.

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes

Everyone at the screening was clapping and cheering, but you were so focused on him that his whisper was the only thing you heard.  "Sweetheart," he gasped, and you smiled wide.  "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to."

"It's just a stage name, if you want to keep it the same—"

"Buck, really.  I want your name there with mine."

"But your credits…" he protested, though the break in his voice made it clear he was tearing up.  "You're an actress and you've established your career already and it's so important to you—"

"Hey," you soothed, reaching up to brush your hand over his cheek, forcing him to look at you.  "Your wife is the most important thing I've ever been."

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain, blurb 2

The Promise of Rain (part 2?? technically) 

A/n I was not originally planning a second part for this but some people wanted it and this idea came to me and it works better with the context of ‘The Promise of Rain’ but it can technically be read as a stand alone :))

Anyways this might turn into a small series of kinda connected blurbs that are all kind of canon with each other but aren’t necessarily connected except for the reader’s background (the reader is a very sunshine-y person and knows Kaz bc she’s a runaway princess that he was hired to bring back home but she managed to convince him to let her work for him instead)

--

The night air had left me with a chill that made me want nothing more than to have my covers draped over me as I read. I’m normally more sociable after a job, especially after such a simple and safe ending, but a lot of tonight had left me wanting to be alone. 

Well, not truly alone. The company of my books is always welcomed, but tonight I can’t seem to find much comfort within the pages. After almost every paragraph, I find myself distracted by gusts of wind and thoughts of the heavy, silver clouds that seem to make up tonight. A part of me longs for the rain. I know it’s ridiculous to expect rain each time I desire some sense of comfort, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Especially when the sky so clearly implies it. 

“This must be the fifth time I’ve come here and you’ve been reading.” Kaz’s sudden appearance is almost enough to shake away my lingering somberness. 

I roll my eyes slightly, turning my attention back to the page in front of me. “That observation is just a testament to how often you come in here.” 

His glare is half hearted, a look I’d find endearing if I was less annoyed. “Where else am I going to find a reminder that good people exist in Ketterdam?” 

I think he may have a sixth sense that warns him when I’m treading the line between being annoyed and displeased. Everytime I find myself mad at him in a way that makes me want to avoid him instead of yell at him, Kaz makes some ridiculously heart-melting comment. He steps further into the room. I don’t miss the way he eyes my stretched out legs. Ever since the conversation we had after he woke up after an injury, we’ve fallen into the unmentioned habit of silently inviting the other to stay by moving to make room for them. 

It had started the day after the conversation in which Kaz had admitted that he wanted me to stay with him. He had been sitting on the small couch while discussing the details of a job. Shortly after I walked in he made a point of shifting so that he was clearly on one side of the couch. I didn’t think much about sitting down, but Inej and Jesper exchanged a look. 

Now, though, I keep my legs stretched out on the bed. He eyes my position on the bed, something grim crossing his features. 

“It might rain tonight.” 

He knows me so damn well. I hate it. “I hope so.”

I turn my head, analyzing the way the world seems to be on the cusp of something. I stare at the silver clouds until I feel something hard tap my leg. The tap is firm but not painful. I’m quick to look at Kaz as he lowers his cane. The mention of rain had been a distraction. 

“You distracted me on purpose.” 

“The first rule of the Barrel is to always be prepared.” There’s a slight uptilt to his lips, something I’ve learned to interpret as a sign of teasing. 

How is he so easy to be around one second and so cold the next? I resist a smile. “I’ll take notes.” 

Kaz ignores my passive aggressive tone. His focus seems to be on my legs that have still not moved to offer him a place next to me. “You wear your emotions too openly.” Great, he’s going to make us talk about it. “What reason could you possibly have to be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” It’s a partial truth. 

His expression harshens. “Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not thrilled with you, but I don’t think that’s the same as being mad.” 

Kaz lets out a partial sigh. “No, they’re not the same.” Such an early concession feels like a trap. “With you, the first option is worse.” I don’t have anything to say to that. “Is this because of what I said to Jesper?” 

My posture straightens on instinct. “He wants your validation more than he’d ever admit and I understand that expressing praise isn’t exactly something you do, but would it kill you to not actively insult him?” 

“I didn’t say anything that was wrong. He thinks he’s a gambler but he’s just someone born for losses.” The look I give him must mean something to him, because Kaz is quick to tact on, “That doesn’t make him less valuable of an asset or less relatively dependable.” 

I eye him cautiously, the slightest bit of vulnerability playing at his features. “Don’t look at me like that--and don’t tell me that. Jesper’s the one who could use the occasional reminder from you that you hold him to any regard with positive connotations.” His lips press together like he’s thinking about scolding me for scolding him. “It’s only because I know you care more about Jesper than you’d ever let on.” 

“Jesper’s esteem can handle the blow.” The curtness of his voice is a blow in its own sense. “And he didn’t exactly deserve to be in my good graces after what he did tonight.” 

My sigh is not weighted enough to match Kaz’s newfound fountain of emotion. “We were successful--”

“He left you.” I didn’t know Kaz’s voice was capable of such harshness. “I paired him with you, and he left you--and you almost didn’t make it.” I let the weight of his words take up all the available space in the room, keeping the silence that follows them until some of the heaviness has dissipated. “He could have cost me one of my best people.”

Oh. His harshness, his unwarranted coldness, had been a manifestation of his concern. For me. Guilt knots my stomach. Potential words that may offer Kaz some sort of support raise and die back down in my throat. Kaz turns towards the door. 

“Kaz.” He pauses. There’s a long moment in which I think he won’t turn around, but finally, he does. I tuck my legs beneath me, forcing myself to sit up a little straighter. “I told Jesper to leave because I knew the job would have failed if he had been trapped in that room with me.” I drop my gaze towards the window. “I was right, the job was successful, and I got out in time so it was worth it.”

“You risked your safety?” The harsh facet of his being is making its return in full force. 

“For the job,” I’m careful to keep my words factual, “It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Kaz’s jaw locks. “When I said that keeping you near me would ruin you this is what I meant.” 

Is it really this big of a deal? I made it out. “Kaz.”

“This wasn’t my best idea.” His words are leached of anything. “You’re going back home. Tomorrow I’ll arrange the voyage myse--” 

“Kaz Brekker you may get to live your life doing anything you want but you don’t get to control mine.” My chin raises an inch, an instinctual act of subtle rebellion. “I am not going back there, even if I’m technically indebted to you because you didn’t return me to my father but that does not mean I’ll--”

“I’m not trying to control you.” His words are sharp, boarding on a yell. “A job like that one wasn’t worth you.” 

From Kaz, I know those words are heavy. There’s a lot of things I could say to that. I could tell him that I wanted to do something for him. I could say that I appreciate him telling me that. I could even say that in his own way, Kaz giving Jesper a hard time because he left me, is kind of cute in a misguided way. The thing is I think all of these responses will make things worse. 

“Kaz,” I keep my voice as steady as possible, “I’m fine, you’re fine, it all worked out.” Scratching the back of my arm, I exhale gently. “I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.” 

I watch him carefully, there’s a slight slump to his shoulders as he exhales. Is the fight leaving him so easily? He walks further into the room. “You better.” He sits down in the space I provided for him slowly. “If you’re not you’ll have worse things to worry about than anything that can happen to you on a job.” He moves his cane forward easily, tapping my knee in a swift motion. 

I roll my eyes at the mock threat. “They do say that there’s nothing to fear in the Barrel like the Dirtyhands.” 

“Remember that.” Any edge in his voice is forced. I fight against a smile that seems to always want to break across my face whenever I think I see something resembling lightness in Kaz. 

“I don’t think I could forget anything about you.” 

He turns his head slightly. “You should.” 

“Too bad.” 

Kaz leans his back against the wall, untensing slightly. “I think you just like disagreeing with me.” 

There’s no point in lying about it. “Only because when you argue with me you give me this really particular look.” 

“A look?” 

Adding insult to injury, I smile. “Sometimes you look like you’re too focused on being angry, like you’re compensating for something.” 

Kaz lets out a bitter sigh. “Maybe if you were less of a puppy I wouldn’t have to--”

The laugh that escapes is most definitely a mistake. “Did you just call me a puppy?” I don’t give him a chance to reply, laughter taking over again. “I mean this in the least argumentative way possible--but you’re so weird sometimes.” 

He rolls his eyes, tensing. “I’m leaving.”

I stifle the rest of my laughter. “No. I was--I was kidding!” I keep my eyes on Kaz, expecting some type of annoyed glare, but his expression is a lot more weighted than that. Odd. “Kaz?” 

“You need to be more careful.” I understand Kaz’s pause as something he does before saying something outside of his nature. “I’m not asking you this as a Crow or a Dreg.” 

On instinct, my posture straightens. “I promised and I meant it.” 

“Sometimes I wish I could believe in Saints,” his voice has taken off a distant quality, almost fragile, “That way I could believe something existed to help what matters.” 

Oh. “You never fail, even if I didn’t believe in Saints I’d believe in you.” 

“You’re wasting your faith.” The sound of lightning cracking is almost enough to make me jump. The rain finally came. 

I know I’ll never convince him that that’s not true. “I don’t think so, but that’s why it’s called faith.” 

“I have faith in some things.” His expression is far off. 

“Like what?” 

Kaz’s eyes find the window. “People that find meaning in the rain.” 

Something in my chest swells. “You’re like the rain.”

We sit there in silence, watching raindrops glide down the window. “What were you reading?” 

The question has me dropping my gaze to the forgotten book on my lap. “I stole this book from the palace before I left. It was my mom’s favorite, she’s read it so much the spine’s completely cracked and the cover is practically falling off.” 

“Hm…” He mumbles. “Read some, the books read in a palace must be worthwhile.” 

A part of me wants to tell him that elitism has no place in literature, but his request leaves me frozen. I nod once, turning to the first page of the book. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife--” 

“Your upbringing makes sense--” 

“You can’t judge it off the first sentence,” he’s insufferable, “It’s setting up irony, and if you’re going to complain--” 

He lets out a conceding sigh. “I’m listening, I’m not interrupting.” 

I keep my eyes on him for a second longer than I should. “Okay.” Dropping my gaze back to the book, I adjust my grip on the worn paperback, “Good.” 

And then I keep reading. 

--

@theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag 

[angry-geese]

Alien Blues

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: none! sfw. romantic/platonic(interpretable). mainly fluff. mentions of overworking and death, but nothing graphic. gn!reader

Notes: touch-starved Gojo

Word Count: 2.3k

Gojo doesn't get a lot of downtime in his line of work.

It comes with the job. Sorcerers don't exactly work a 9 to 5. This line of work is far from a normal one. Curses don't exorcise themselves, nor do they pick convenient times to show up. He usually has his hands full; be it taking down curses, or dealing with his students. A guy like him really can't take a vacation.

Despite going to the same school—and being only a year younger than him—you didn't meet Gojo until well into your adult life. After graduating, you went off on your own. The typical way of life for sorcerers wasn’t for you. You really didn't want to work with—or under—any of the major clans. At that point, you just wanted to do your own thing. To hell with the school; you’d be fine on your own. And you were.

You spent much of your time exorcising curses across the world, traveling from place to place, not staying in a single town for very long. A lot of it was freelance work. Such jobs were typically frowned upon, or at least looked at strangely. But it really didn't bother you. On your own you were powerful, and an impressive fighter, but you were working in a world that didn't accept you.

So you said to hell with fitting in.

Doing your own thing was the best decision you’d ever made. To this day you’ll stand by that. The jujutsu world is meant for people like Gojo. It demands so much more from you, and in return gives a whole lot less. It demands perfection from you—maybe even more—while he’s the set standard for this perfection. You hold no ill will towards him for it. He didn't make things this way. But it's hard not to envy him at times.

When you came back to the school, you were first assigned a teaching job.

Although you were a talented sorcerer, it was clear from the beginning you weren't meant to be a teacher. Your teaching style was viewed as a bit harsh, as you tended to just throw your students into a situation and let them figure things out for themselves, correcting them where needed. Overall you weren't a bad teacher, but your students got sent to the infirmary often. And by often, it was nearly every day. You just wanted them to be capable. You wanted your students to be prepared. To be the best of the best. How are they supposed to improve if they don't have experience?

To be fair, your students were some of the best in their grade.

For the most part you substitute if needed.

Upon first meeting, he was too eccentric for your tastes. Really, you found him annoying. Your first impression of Gojo was that he was full of himself and out of touch with the world around him. His first impression of you was that you were stuck up and a bit of a bitch.

There wasn't one thing that changed. Maybe he wore you down to the point where you tolerated him. He likes to think it was because of his charming personality. You know otherwise. His charms rarely work on you; if ever. Over time you found yourself less and less repulsed by him. The two of you bonded over harassing Nanami. On your own you weren't much trouble, but when paired with Gojo, Nanami learned to stay out of your way. If you let him. Usually you tracked him down. Your sweet tooth was just as insatiable as his. When you first took up baking, he was always nearby, wanting a taste. You’d drag him along to see new movies or shows or anything you’d think he’d like. He likes co-existing with you. The two of you don't have to even be doing anything. He can sit for hours with you by his side, doing absolutely nothing.

You've gotten to the point in your relationship where you show up unannounced. It's payback for all the times he’s come to your apartment, claiming he has some work for you, only to stay and raid your fridge, conveniently forgetting what he had to tell you. Yes you have scared the absolute hell out of Megumi on several occasions. In Gojo’s defense, he likes your cooking.

He’s not used to having you stay in one place for so long. You’re not used to it either. It feels strange sticking around Tokyo for so long. You hate feeling trapped more than anything. Maybe that’s why you moved around so much. Maybe you’re getting sentimental the older you get. For the first time in years, you feel truly at home. Gojo is one of your closest—if not your closest—friends, and there’s not much you wouldn't do for him.

You guess this is home. The end of the line, or whatever. You don't see yourself leaving for a while.

It's well after dark by the time he gets home.

The place was empty when you got here. Megumi must be out with friends. He's a strange kid. Strange circumstances lead to strange adults—or almost adults in his case. You try not to judge him too hard. You don't have a whole lot to say on his… situation.

He notices your form curled up on the couch, your face illuminated by your phone screen. The tv plays some horror movie you’ve long stopped paying attention to. Your face lights up when you see him.

His hand briefly touches your head, messing up your hair. He looks tired. There's dark circles under his eyes. He was gone for a while this time.

“I brought takeout,” you say, gesturing to the fridge, “I wasn't sure when you’d get home so I put it in there.”

“Did you eat already?” He asks. He makes a note to pay you back for the food later.

“No, I wanted to wait for you.” You say.

A bit of guilt hits him. You really didn't have to wait for him. You know his habit of being chronically late. He says he’s fashionably late, to which you reason he is never fashionable ever. He actually seemed a bit bothered by that one, which only made you tease him more.

Momentarily he disappears into the kitchen, returning with your food. You have his order memorized. There's only a handful of things he’d get anyway. He’s not a picky eater, and usually gets what you get. Pick one of about three things and he’ll probably eat it.

The food is still good even while cold. Gojo talks about his recent job while you eat. He says it was nothing special. But he called Nanami for backup, so you know that’s a lie. He hardly touches his food. Since when doesn't he want to eat? The guy has a pretty impressive appetite at times. Seriously, he could eat you out of house and home.

“Are you done?” He asks.

You nod.

He clears away the empty takeout containers from in front of you, returning the leftovers to the fridge.

When he returns, he sits next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. The leather is an ugly shade. You’re sure if it weren't for Megumi, he would have bought something much worse. His taste—in everything, really—can be tacky. You make sure he knows this. Always have to keep him on his toes. Nanami is right about some things. You never take Gojo’s side for too long.

“You were gone for a while this time.” You say.

A smug looking grin spreads across his face. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes and groan. “Sounds like you were worried about me.”

Really, you could worry yourself sick thinking about him. It's hard not to. Everyone has their limits, and you constantly wonder when he’ll hit his. Strongest or not; he’s human after all.

“Of course I worry.” As much as you hate to admit it, you care about him. You won't say it. It feels like bad luck to say it out loud.

He knows. He feels the same way. Over time he’s grown jaded and angry with the way things are. He tries not to worry too much about you. This life isn't an easy one, but you can handle yourself. He knows that. Years on your own have proven you're not only a capable sorcerer, but a talented one. The strongest doesn't need to worry about himself, so much as the people around him.

In a weird way he’s proud of you.

You open your arms, instinctively he goes into them.

You pull his head to your chest. He does little to fight against you. Hell, he practically leans into your touch. You take his glasses, setting them on the table beside you. His eyes close when your hands move to his hair, gently pulling it out of his eyes. He’s not quite sure what to do with his arms. Eventually he settles on resting them at his sides. One snakes around your stomach, coming to rest on the fleshy part of your hip. You're awfully comfortable to lay on, he notes.

Your movements are familiar, and oddly comforting. He makes note of the way your heartbeat suddenly drops off, before picking up in pace. From the smell of your shampoo, to the sound of your breathing. He can only describe it as home.

Lots of people will die in this line of work, but he has faith you’ll always be around. You’re too stubborn to die.

Touch in a sense like this is almost foreign to him. Touch in a non fighting context is just bizarre. He never de-activates infinity long enough to get hit. He's had his fair share of one night stands. Hell, he could have anyone he wants. He’s had everything and anything in between. Men and women across the world either want to be him, or be with him. But this—intimacy like this��is strange. The others get kicked out the morning after. But you’ll always be around. He likes to think he’ll be around for you too.

Maybe he’s more touch starved than he thought.

He’s Satoru-fucking-Gojou, a man like him doesn't get touched starved. He feels a wave of shame at his reaction. His face burns. His pride won't allow him to admit how much he enjoys this.

It's the first time you’ve held him close like this. The action is so oddly intimate and it’s not even in a sexual way. Your movements are familiar. He fits so nicely against your chest, he notes.

He practically purrs in delight as your fingers brush a sensitive spot towards the back of his head—where his neck and shoulders meet—sighing softly. Goosebumps rise along his exposed flesh. You take note of his reaction, and focus on that spot more, dragging your fingers across his skin. Your nails are getting long, and feel nice against his scalp. His eyes close as he leans into the crook of your neck.

"Do you want to watch something different?" You ask.

His heart nearly stops when your hand moves to cup his cheek. His face is warm. He's a wimp when it comes to horror movies. He says they don't scare him. They do. You’ve spent plenty of night sitting next to him, watching his body tense with terror.

He wasn't paying attention to the tv until now. He shakes his head, but his eyes remain fixed on the ground and not the screen.

"This is fine." He says.

"You sure?"

He nods.

He fights sleep as long as possible, but eventually he'll have to give in to it. You’ll be there long after he’s fallen asleep. Maybe even after he wakes up. His head nods, his eyes struggling to stay open. His breaths even out, his chest rising slowly.

You're not really sure what to do once he falls asleep on you. Your position isn't the most comfortable, but you suffer through it so as to not wake him up. If he’s fallen asleep on you, then he definitely needs the rest. He’s a light sleeper anyway. Any movement would be sure to wake him up.

It’s not long after that his body heat—and the sound of his steady breathing—lulls you to sleep.

You wake up to a blanket haphazardly tossed over the two of you. The tv is off. Two glasses of water are set out on the coffee table, condensation collecting on the outside. Megumi must have come home. Gojo's drool collects in a small pool on your collarbone, which is a bit gross. You use the corner of the blanket to wipe it away. It’s a bit odd seeing him so at-peace. It's rare he even lets his guard down. You rest your chin on the top of his head. His hair is soft, and tickles your neck. The sight of him makes your chest swell with affection. The intimacy of it all is enough to overwhelm you. It's been a while since you’ve cared so much about someone.

It's nice having him home.

He stirs, stretching out a bit like a cat. You card a hand through his hair. He grumbles something in response. Probably a weak “what?” Your joints are a bit stiff from staying in the same position for so long.

“Do you want coffee?” You ask.

He sleepily mumbles an answer—one which you don't understand. It's just as legible as the first. His eyes don't even open. You take it to mean he wants to go back to sleep. You pull the blanket up around his shoulders, tucking it under his chin. The sun is still barely up. You’re not in a rush to get up. You don't have anything to do today anyway, work can wait. If Nanami calls, you’ll just ignore him. You could stay in all morning if you wanted.

And you just might.

Come hell or high water, you’re staying on this couch.

In a bit you should get up and start breakfast. Most of the food in the house is for Megumi, but there should be enough to make something small. Pancakes sound nice.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale part 2

Mermaid!Shinsou x reader x Kirishima x reader

Warnings: adult themes (minors DNI)

Author’s note: sorry to those of you who have asked me to put on the tag list! I don’t do tag lists! But if you don’t want to lose this story, you can always bookmark it on AO3.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Original image by @maewoahoah

Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

The thing about being hungry is that you can sometimes convince yourself that you’re full. You can sip water, swallow your breath, pop a few mints in—hell, you could even pretend to eat. However, even if you might trick your brain, your stomach will still be empty.

By the time you finally get some real goddamn food in your stomach, it will be aching from being teased.

It feels like this is exactly what Hitoshi Shinsou has done to you. Teased you. He’d mentioned being one of Ryūjin, which you can only assume is something religious or magic. You know he’s a fish, and that he makes people’s skin glow when he touches them, and apparently his lips or his saliva can heal wounds. But he’s not yet given you any real goddamn food.

The jerk has been swimming circles around the pool, commenting on how disgusting it is being stuck with all the trash, and complaining about your poor hospitality, but has not yet told you what the hell he’s doing here.

It’s not like you ever asked for some creature to crash into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool. Maybe some people would be ecstatic over finding an actual merperson, but life isn’t all about singing songs and talking to seagulls. He’s definitely not an Ariel, unless he is in fact looking for a prince. With all his sass, you think he’s much more of an Ursula than a Disney princess. If he is a sea-witch, he refuses to tell you.

It won’t matter much by the time Denki gets here anyways. You had been honest when you said you wouldn’t put it against him to call some news station when he sees Hitoshi. You figure that after some science lab’s helicopters carried your intruder away to run tests on him, the fish-man will be out of your hair and a thing of the past.

Despite the cynicism crawling through your head, the thought actually makes a guilty pit form in the bottom of your stomach. A life is a life, afterall.

“At least tell me why you tried to…to…” Your mouth flattens when you recall Hitoshi leaning into you, his lips a whisper away from yours.

“To?” Hitoshi asks while he observes the wayward bra that blew into the pool with notable repulsion.

“To kiss me!” You bark out, ears warm.

“Oh, that?” He purses his lips, spinning the bra around in the water. Then, he’s contemplative for a moment, as if he’s thinking of an excuse that won’t make you angry. Or will. He seems to get a kick out of frustrating you.

“I suppose I should’ve considered that it’s not a social norm for humans to greet other humans with their lips,” he says with a cocky, probably lying smirk. “My bad.”

“You expect me to believe that mermaids kiss each other to say hello?”

“Not a mermaid.” The fish is all teeth as he regards you. “I’m one of Ryūjin. And I’d like to think that you’d believe anything I tell you, since you seem to know nothing about my people.”

“Because you won’t tell me anything about your people,” you mutter right before the house bell rings. Your heart jumps with a spike of panic. You haven’t thought about what you’re going to say to Denki yet. You begin thinking about science labs again, and that knot in your stomach tightens.

“Okay,” you say in a warning tone, “I’m gonna let Denki in now…”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s gonna see you…”

“That’s the plan.” Hitoshi lifts a brow. “You’re not worried for me, are you?”

“I just think you should be more worried about yourself,” you say. “Humans aren’t…” There’s a pensive pause when you try to search for the right word. “Humans aren’t good.”

“Would you say that you’re a good human?” He asks.

What a question. You’d like to believe that you are, but you can’t kid yourself. Never one to be very self-sacrificing, you utter your next words with confidence. “Nope.”

“And yet, you haven’t done anything malicious towards me. Nothing, besides that half-assed attempt to kick me away from you, anyways.”

Rolling your eyes to keep your couldn’t-care-less facade up, you left the smirking merman to wade around in the murky pool. There’s not another second to think about what you could possibly say to Denki about your surprise guest, because when you enter the house, you see his face peeking through the side window next to the front door. You could see a drink holder and a Tiki Burger bag in his hand. His smile is bright, while yours is grim.

He pouts, seeing through forced body language, and proceeds to make a funny face. You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. You might not be a good person, but Denki is. He’s an idiot, but you don’t think he’d ever do anything to harm another creature, mythical or not. This could even be fun to him. Exciting. Something extraordinary happened, and you’d been too scared to react to it appropriately, but Denki would be different.

Your changing emotions grow palpable when you finally reach for the handle.

“Heard you had some thingies that needed twisting,” Denki says as you open the door. He’s wearing his company’s shirt, a brown thing with the PoolPros logo on it, though it’s cut raggedly short to show off his midriff. He’s been particularly confident ever since he’d gotten his navel pierced, and happily showed off the topaz stone that Kirishima had given him. It hangs right above his buckle. It forces onlookers to look at his abs…or maybe his groin. He says it’s lucky, and you haven’t argued with him about it. You would probably call something Kirishima gave you lucky too.

In a flash, you’re grabbing him by his shirt collar and guiding him in and against one of the hall mirrors.

“Something’s happened.” The words immediately spill out, even while you still do not know what you’re going to say. You hope that if the right things tumble out of your mouth, Denki will get the picture.

“Uh…” Denki’s cheeks are red hot, reacting to your close proximity. “Was it a spike in your libido?”

God.

“No, shut up!” You smack his chest and glance down the hall towards the back door. The pool isn’t in your line of vision, but just knowing what lurks there gets your blood pumping. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to keep an open mind.”

He bobs his brows. “For you? Always.”

After an exhale, you gather your composure, and tell Denki everything with as much eloquence as you can muster.

“There’s something living in the pool!” You bark out, erratic. “It’s big and it has zero impulse control and it’s rude! It talks! When it touches me, my skin glows. Then it tried to kiss me, Kaminari! And it’s rude!” You add that in again, because you cannot stress it enough. Hitoshi Shinsou is as unrefined as a piece of driftwood, and he had the audacity to make comments on behalf of your decorum. “It won’t tell me what it’s doing here, either. I offered to get it back into the ocean, but it said it wanted something else, but it won’t tell me what, and I don’t know what to do!”

Denki blinks rapidly, like his eyelashes are repelling every word you toss at him. There’s a beat, he swallows, then his lips tilt up into a knowing grin.

“Alright,” he says, “I see you.”

“You do?” Maybe you had to give Denki a little more credit. That hadn’t been your best description of a nightmare scenario.

“Sure do, little lady. This is some kinda belated birthday prank, huh? Thought you could slide one past me when I was least expecting it! I was thinking that maybe you just forgot about it, but now you’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t ya! Well cutie, I might be dumb, but I’m not stupid!”

Striding into the house, Denki places the shakes and burger bag onto Shuzenji’s kitchen counter. Shoulders deflating, you follow him while he fishes a few fries out of the bag. If he doesn’t get it now, he will soon enough.

“What could it be?” He ponders, tossing a fry into his mouth. He nods towards one of the cups and mumbles about a shake for you, then towards the back door. “Couldn’t be a party—it’s too early for a party. And you don’t talk to many people…”

Ignoring the slight burn, you front Denki, and extend your hand out to his. His eyes widen for a moment, he wipes his hand on his pants, and takes yours.

“I need your help, Denki. Seriously.”

“Yeah,” he says, a touch more reformative. “Okay.”  

What should’ve been some grand reveal, however, turned out to be anything but.

The pool being clean is the first thing you notice, as absurd as that is. It’s now half-filled, with only sprinkles of algae leftover by some miraculous clean-up. There’s no more silver fish swimming around, and all the trash that had previously taken sanctuary in the pool now lays on a mountainous pile with the bra sitting at its peak. Your guest is no longer in the pool—the very clean pool.

Denki chuckles and says, “well, this doesn’t look bad at all. By how hysterical you were on the phone, I was expecting something much worse. Oh! Hello!”

Your jaw drops as Denki waves at Hitoshi—a very comfortable-looking Hitoshi who lounges on one of the reclining pool chairs, head turned back like he’s sun bathing, one leg crossed over the goddamn other. Legs. Attached to feet—feet that definitely were not there when you’d met him.

Tricky, magic fish-man.

“Oh,” Hitoshi says, carefully considering Denki. “We have company?”

The ‘we’ in his statement doesn’t sit right with you anymore than his appearance does. He stands, and both you and Denki gasp when you see his new outfit in its entirety. It’s all royal blue, fine silks, and sheer fabric that only covers the places that would make Denki blush. Puffy, yet flowing sleeves connect to his now two golden cuffs. A heavy gold necklace hangs around him, and he’s got a light sash thrown around mostly his bare chest. A golden, v-shaped belt holds his deep blue harem pants up.

They are the gaudiest goddamn pajamas you’ve ever seen.

Hitoshi moves like water to face Denki, then firmly grasps him by the forearm, yanking the boy forward so that their lips are mere inches away from each other. Noting that there’s no glowing from their contact, you watch as Hitoshi’s indigo eyes slide from Denki’s lips, to you, and shows off a dubious glint.

“Whoops,” Hitoshi murmurs basically into Denki’s mouth. “I almost forgot that you don’t greet people like this here.” He takes a step away and smirks. “Forgive me. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou. You must be the pool guy.”

“Um, yeah. ‘M Denki Kaminari.” Denki laughs nervously. His cheeks burn red, and he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Grabbing onto your hand tightly, he starts back towards the house, towing you along, saying, “excuse us, we just have to—uh. Talk.”

In a tick, you’re whisked right back inside, in the land of private conversations.

“It didn’t look like that before, Denki. I swear to god.” You’re insisting as soon as the door is closed.

“It?!” Denki balks, his cheeks turning even more red. “Do you mean the pool or that hunk of a man hanging around your backyard?!”

“Both, I guess, but I wouldn’t call it a man! It had a giant purple tail before you showed up!!”

“That’s very rude, y’know.” Denki peers back at Hitoshi who’s lackadaisically cleaning his fingertips. “What are their pronouns?”

You imagine Hitoshi surrounded by others like him, all either screaming or clicking to communicate with each other in an inhuman language. “I don’t think pronouns matter wherever it’s from!”

“Hmm.” Denki slides the door open and pops his head out. “‘Scuse me, Hitoshi, what are your pronouns?”

Without missing a beat, Hitoshi answers him. “As in titles? You can call me Shinsou, but if you’re so inclined, I’ll allow you to call me lord.”

“Lord, of course.” More nervous laughter as Denki closes the door. “Lord. That’s a kink thing, right? It’s gotta be!”

“It’s not!” You bark, but Denki doesn’t hear you. Instead, he rushes towards one of the hall mirrors and begins fussing over his hair.

“I honestly can’t believe you did this. I mean, you, of all people. You’re braver than I gave you credit for. Coulda given me a heads up, though. I would’ve worn somethin’ nice. Or not come at all. I do feel like I’m intruding.” Denki’s eyes light up. “Unless this is for my birthday and you’re…you want me to join you?”

“You’ve lost me.” You're too busy trying to figure out what you can do to convince Denki that Hitoshi is a mermaid. You’ve considered pushing him back into the pool, but you don’t know if that would change him back to his sea-man state, or just make you look like a jackass.

“This is so weird. I haven’t seen that guy on the island before, and believe me, I know everybody. It must’ve cost a pretty penny to get him here. On top of everything else-“ He clears his throat- “how much is this costing you? Does Shuzenji know what you get up to while she’s away?”

It hits you like a freight train. “Oh, Kaminari…No…”

“The jig is up!” Denki stomps his foot defiantly and points towards the door. “You’re paying that man for sex!”

“God no!” The very idea that you’ve paid Hitoshi to be here, to touch you, flusters the hell out of you. If anything, you’d pay for him to leave. “You’d honestly think I’d hire a prostitute?!”

“Escort is the term they are using nowadays, and no, I wouldn’t think you’d hire an escort until now!” Denki scoffs, then moves his hand through his hair, exasperated. “The thing is, babe, you don’t need to. You’re cute and fun! If you got out every once in a while…”

“Fish!” You yell, cutting him off, because you’re not about to have another conversation about your hermit lifestyle. “He’s a fish, Denki! I didn’t fuck a fish! Nor am I planning to!”

Denki blinks at you. Not like before—not like he’s reflecting your words. This blink is more like a blink one would offer someone who’d been having an otherwise normal conversation, until they started talking about the earth being flat, or homosexuals burning in a lake of fire.

I’m not crazy, you think and will Denki to believe. I’ll prove it.

Before you can give Denki a play-by-play of what happened—properly this time, and not just your rambled recall—the door slides open, and Hitoshi steps in.

“May I enter?” The regal-looking man asks.

At the exact same moment you say, “no,” Denki says, “of course.”

“I was just hoping to find something to eat.” Hitoshi stops in the kitchen, arms crossed and expectant.

“You haven’t fed your hooker?” Denki whispers and it blows your mind that he can say hooker and you can’t say prostitute. “You can have half my burger!”

“Burger,” Hitoshi repeats the unfamiliar word, and looks around, probably wondering what it could be. Denki takes the hint and proceeds to fish his meal out of the bag. Overly familiar with Shuzenji’s kitchen, he finds a knife to cut the sandwich in two, then hands one half to Hitoshi.

Hitoshi frowns.

“I’m sorry, are you a vegetarian?” Denki asks, and you can tell he’s being overly hospitable in a house that is not his. When Hitoshi doesn’t answer him, but doesn’t stop frowning, Denki asks, “do you not eat meat?”

“This is meat?” Asks Hitoshi, shaking the burger in the air. Some mayonnaise-covered lettuce falls to the kitchen floor.

“I have to clean that!” You yip and wet a paper towel. When you’re on your knees, Hitoshi gives you a smirk of indifference.

“What, do you not have hamburgers where you’re from?” Denki asks, and when Hitoshi refuses to answer him again, he says, “the meat is the patty. It’s beef.”

“Beef.” Hitoshi begins dissecting the thing, throwing the bun halves, pickles, tomato, and lettuce all on the floor. You continue to curse at him while he sniffs at the patty. “What animal is this?”

“Beef is cow, dude.” Denki sounds more skeptical now, which you’d be grateful for if you weren’t already on your hands and knees, scrubbing ketchup out of the tile. “Man, throwing food on the floor is rude no matter where you’re from. Babe, you shouldn’t have to clean that up.”

“If I don’t, who will?” You ask, sardonic.

“There’s not really a floor where I’m from,” Hitoshi says once he swallows his first bite. He places the patty back onto the burger wrap, and steps away from his mess. “At least, there’s no floor when it’s meal time. We just let shells and bones float around until they go down to where they’ll eventually break down and decay.”

Denki asks, “where did you say you were from?”

“He’s a fish, Denki.”

“I didn’t.” Hitoshi gets down on his knees with a wetted paper towel of his own. He swipes at the places you’ve missed, then looks at you. “Tell me, would a not-good person clean up a mess that isn't their own?”

“It’s kind of my job,” you retort and stand so Hitoshi can finish cleaning. Instead, he stands with you.

“And what is his job?” Hitoshi nods towards Denki who looks more and more fretful by the second. “I assume he’s here to provide services. If you’re paying him, shouldn’t he be the one to clean for you? Prepare meals for you? Bend to your whims?”

Denki says, “I’ve got a couple jobs, but I’m not a housekeeper, no.”

“No?” Hitoshi gives out a terse laugh and hands the towel off to Denki. “Clean.”

Denki looks to you for an explanation. You’re about to chew Hitoshi out, when he again says, “clean,” but this time, there’s something attached to his voice. Something that is nothing, but also more. It sends goosebumps up your arms and compels Denki to fall to the floor and obey the command.

“Yes, my lord.” When Denki finishes cleaning and throws the rest of the mess in the bin, he looks at Hitoshi, eyes glossy, waiting.

“Fetch me some water,” says Hitoshi, and after another yes, my lord, Denki begins searching for a glass.

“Quit it!” You shout and very nearly grab on to Hitoshi’s arm, stopping only when you remember the glow and the prickles that accompany his touch. Decidedly, you hurry after Denki and grab the glass from his hands and snap your fingers in front of his face.

Denki blinks, and this time it’s not because he doesn’t hear you, and it’s not because you’re spouting crazy nonsense. He blinks, and it’s a revelation.

“Hypnosis!” Denki says the word like eureka! and you want to shake him, because he should be angrier than he seems.

“I’m surprised you understand or even remember that much,” Hitoshi drawls. “You’re more in-tune than you’d like people to believe.”

And I’m Mother Teresa, you think bitterly. The fish is contemptuous as hell, but he doesn’t read people well. To him, you’re good and apparently Denki’s a genius.

“How did you do that?” Denki asks with growing excitement. “When I was a kid, I was really into magic, but could never get any of the tricks right. You didn’t use any triggering noises or images or anything.”

“There is a bit of magic about you,” Hitoshi says like he’s thinking out loud. “Not enough to pull something like what I just did off unless you have the proper tide jewel. But you do have enough power to utilize a tide jewel.”

“Don’t do that again,” you warn, and pour water from the sink into the glass. There’s purified water in the fridge, but Hitoshi hasn’t earned it. “To Kaminari or to me. The difference between a house guest and a home-invader is who does and does not use hypnosis on other guests.”

“I wasn’t aware that hypnosis is a common occurrence in your residence.” Hitoshi reaches for the glass, but you hold it away from him. Casting out a withering look, he says, “I wouldn’t be able to hypnotize him again, even if I wanted to. Not for a while, anyways. Not without my tide jewel.”

“What’s a tide jewel?” Denki asks. “Is that, like, sea glass?”

Eyes flicking from the glass of water, to Denki, then to you, Hitoshi says, “he knows how to ask a question.”

The questions that you ask get ignored! But instead of saying that, you continue to withhold the water, and say, “then answer him.”

Mildly peeved, Hitoshi turns his attention back to Denki. “You say you have a couple of jobs. What would they be?”

“That’s not answering his question,” you mutter.

“I’ll decide whether I should answer him in a moment. Denki, if you will.”

“Oh, well…” The sheepish Denki brings his hand to the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “I’ve got the PoolPros gig, and sometimes I pick shifts up at The Salty Barrel. I sort of got an affinity for making drinks…and cooking…and fixing things, so they like to keep me around.”

Unamused, Hitoshi pries. “Anything else?”

“Sometimes I pick up odd jobs. Fishing and delivery. I guess I’m pretty dependable because of the boat.”

This catches Hitoshi’s attention. “You have a boat?”

“Sure, yeah. It’s nothin’ too special yet. I’ve been working on it, and it’s coming along, but it’s not ready for what it’s truly intended for.”

“Which would be?”

Denki looks at you and winks, making your ears warm. You know exactly why he got the boat.

“Romantic rendezvous.”

“I see,” Hitoshi says pensively. Then, his eyes go sharp when he notices you fiddling with the ties on your shorts. “Are you two mates?”

Denki lifts a conspiratorial brow towards you, before throwing his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his body. “Sure, yeah—we’re mates!”

You push away from him, and bite, “not those kinds of mates.”

Although nobody disagrees with you, you sense Denki sulking.

“Ah,” Shinsou muses. “You haven’t yet fought for her hand?”

Before you can groan at the idea, Denki laughs quietly, but his laughter quickly grows uproariously as he considers the idea. Soon, he’s gripping his stomach to stop himself from doubling over. You glare at his feet.

“As if there’s another guy to fight for her,” Denki bellows, wiping a tear away from his eye. “Maybe if she ever went out, but for now, the only person I gotta fight for her hand, is her!”

“Oh, I understand,” Shinsou says, eyes on you. “A battle to assert domination.”

Denki hoots loudly at the idea. “Looks like I’m screwed!”

To your growing agitation and embarrassment, Denki continues to laugh. It’s as if you’re not constantly shooting him down. You’re not pitiful. Not helpless. And you think you’d have some game if you put your heart into it. You just have a type, and the pool guy just doesn’t fit the bill, whether he’s handy or not.

There’s no humor to be found in Hitoshi’s eyes, though. He’s glaring at you, like before, only now he’s looking at you more like you’re a piece of meat—like he’s some kind of predator and you’re his newfound prey. You inadvertently step closer to Denki, as if he could be used as some sort of defense shield, then elbow him in the ribs, pretending that you’re not at all intimidated by this fish-turned-man.

“Nobody’s fighting anybody,” you say, keeping eye-contact with Hitoshi. You’ve been told before that the fact that you’re never the first to look away is a little off-putting. Hoping to have the same uncomfortable effect on your guest, you don’t even blink when you say, “I just have my eyes on someone special.”

At the same time Denki stops his laughing, Hitoshi narrows his eyes—not out of malice, but what seems to be curiosity. That’s as far as you’ll go with revealing any more personal information. You might not be physically spoken for, yet, but at least you’re emotionally unavailable. You vaguely wonder if those kinds of ideals are acknowledged by sea people.

“Yeah, Kiri,” Denki says with a roll of his eyes. So much for keeping things personal. “He’s not interested in dating anyone, though. In fact, he’s pretty much married to the ocean.”

“At least there aren’t other girls,” you say, and with a quick glance at Denki, you add, “or boys.”

Denki exaggerates a woeful, hand-over-forehead pose and cries, “at least we have each other!” Then, he places his hand back around your shoulders. Again, you scoot away from him, and this time, you catch Hitoshi’s lips quirk up, just a bit.

“Alright,” Hitoshi says. “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” You ask.

“That the two of you are going to help me.”

The fish-man moves to flatten the burger wrap down on the counter like a map, and proceeds to decimate the other half of Denki’s burger. Denki says, “oh that’s fine…I wasn’t that hungry anyways.”

“Help you with what!” You bark, practically starving for details. Despite Hitoshi and all that he’s done, your interest is piqued, and you feel as though you’re finally going to get to the meat of his situation.

Lining a few fries on the paper wrap, Hitoshi finally says, “a few of my worldly possessions have been stolen from me. They’ve been missing for quite a long time now, and I now plan to take them back. Four of the six items happen to be tide jewels. I figure those will be the easiest to locate and extract.”

Denki snaps his finger. “Tide jewels! That’s what we were talking about! What are those?

Dabbing his pinky into some mustard, Hitoshi says, “artistry…” He dips his ring finger into the ketchup and says, “reign…” he tears a piece of lettuce in half and says, “tide…” and finally, he rips some of the patty and says, “soul.”

“Artistry, reign, tide, soul,” Denki repeats, peeking over Hitoshi’s shoulder. “You don’t happen to be a musician, do you? A magician musician!”

“I’m a connoisseur, but not a practitioner.” Hitoshi breathes. “And you’re too close to me.”

“Well, you’re certainly not an artist,” Denki huffs, taking a few steps back. You move in to see what Denki saw.

On the wrap, the French fries have been warped to look like some sort of three-pronged fork. On the left prong, there’s a dab of ketchup, in the center, mustard, and the right has a piece of lettuce sitting on it. Connecting the three prongs is the bit of hamburger meat Hitoshi had ripped.

“Is this supposed to be a fork or a trident?” You ask, then kick yourself, because it’s obviously a trident. Duh. Mermaids. “Is that one of the things that have been stolen? A trident?”

Hitoshi says, “yes. All four of the tide jewels connect to the trident. With them, the trident could very well be one of the most powerful blessed objects on this planet. If it falls into the wrong hands, the results could be catastrophic.”

“Now, hang on,” Denki begins, brows curved into a frown. “What?”

“So good at questions,” you murmur.

“Each tide jewel has its own magical property. The names speak for themselves, but since the two of you are a little slow on the uptake, I’ll explain.” Hitoshi points at each different spot on his fries-trident, explaining what each point represents.

“The yellow jewel is for artistry and skill. Whoever wields it, whether in its natural form or attached to another object, will learn trades quickly, can craft almost anything at a master’s level, and they’ll have a more creative way of thinking.”

“The red jewel is for reign and rule. Whoever wields this can command any audience. Wars have been fought, kingdoms taken, and women stolen by the power of this gem. It’s almost the most violent of the four, but it can also be used to keep peace.”

“The blue jewel is for the tide. They used to be two jewels, one for tide-ebbing, the other for tide-flowing, but they’ve been molded together after another theft mishap. With the power of this jewel, one would be able to control not only the water of the sea, but water itself. This gem can create storms you couldn’t dream of. This is possibly the most dangerous stone if placed into the wrong hands.”

“Sir, that’s a piece of lettuce,” Denki says.

“Your burger didn’t have anything blue,” Hitoshi growls, “nor did it have anything purple, which brings me to the last jewel. This would be the soul jewel. It aids people with wishes, can offer good dreams, and can allow the wielder to see people’s auras, or souls. This jewel has stopped many malevolent unions in the past.”

Finally, Hitoshi turns back to you and Denki. There’s nothing content about his expression now. If anything, he looks grave.

“The fact that the trident is not in my possession has already had a cataclysmic influence on the world you know now. I need it, and the jewels, or else there may be dire consequences.”

Throat dry, palms sweaty, you swallow thickly, and allow yourself a moment to process all that he’s saying. It may be idiotic, but you believe him. Maybe if you hadn’t seen him in the water earlier, things would be different. You’d be more skeptical. But since you’ve already seen one impossible thing today—two if you're counting the fact that Hitoshi grew legs and magically poofed himself an outfit—you don’t think he’s lying.

However, Denki did not see him in the water. Which is why he’s the first to speak.

“Right,” he says, looking down on you. “Sorry, babe, but the marvel universe did it first with Thanos and his gauntlet. If this is supposed to be a scavenger hunt of some kind, can we skip the game, hints and all, and get to the dinner? I expect there’ll be candles and such for nighttime, so maybe you and I can hang out at the beach, sans the mean magician?” Denki looks at Hitoshi. “No offense, buddy. You could join us if you cheer up a bit. I’d never say no to a threesome with two equally attractive people.”

The water in the glass you’re holding begins to shake. It shakes, and then it moves, and then it lifts up into the air, snaking around like a gelatinous worm, and slowly makes its away to Hitoshi’s mouth. Never before have you seen anyone swallow menacingly, and this has changed it.

“I am not your buddy,” Hitoshi hisses between his teeth, “and this is not a game.”

“He just…” Denki begins stuttering. This isn’t something he can chock up to something as mundane as a magic trick. This is pure magic, and you feel less like a giant dork for how you reacted to Hitoshi showing himself to you, with how distraught Denki seems to be.

“I told you,” you say under your breath, “he’s a fish!”

“I am Hitoshi Shinsou. I am one of Ryūjin, and you will not desecrate my name or my people by belittling me or my power.” It hadn’t occurred to you until now that he’s not only speaking to Denki, but to both of you. The thought makes you shift with unease as Hitoshi’s eyes slide from your friend to you. “Not without consequences. I’ve been burdened with this purpose, and the two of you can choose to help me and reap the rewards that follow, or you can return to your miserable lives, loligagging and ogling the things you know you want, but are too lazy to obtain.”

At this moment, Hitoshi Shinsou seems ancient to you. Trepidation crawls up your spine, chilling you to the bone. You regret most of what you’ve said to him, even the things you’d thought he deserved. You have an inkling that if Hitoshi really wanted to harm you, or Denki, he would. Easily.

“Okay, well-“ Denki, again speaks first, thank god. “You didn’t say there would be rewards.”

Maybe don’t thank god yet. But before you can apologize on Denki’s behalf, the air that you hadn’t realized had got heavier, thicker even, lifts, and Hitoshi eases up, lackadaisical smirk back on track.

“You both wish for something,” he says. “If you help me retrieve what’s rightfully mine, I will graciously return the favor by granting your wishes.”

“We do?” Denki asks. It’s wild to you how easily he could jump back into conversation like this, although, when you look closely at him, you can see that he’s trembling faintly. “What do I want?”

“You wish for a boat,” Hitoshi says, “so I will give you a boat.”

“I have a boat.”

“I’ll give you a better boat.” Hitoshi seems to be enjoying himself now, even going so far as to lean on the table, picturing exactly what he’s describing. “A captivating boat that both women and men find irresistible. It will sail smoother and faster than the other vessels out on sea. You will never want or need for an upgrade for it will never wear or tear.”

“A super boat,” Denki muses, beguiled by the idea. It’s your turn to be skeptical now, because you haven’t wished for anything. At least, not aloud for Hitoshi to hear.

“Then, what do I get?” You ask, arms crossed. You can admit that you’re interested in what he might have to say.

“Oh darlin’, that’s easy,” Hitoshi purrs, and moves from the counter over to you. Slowly, like he’s savoring your anticipation. Lifting a finger to your arm, he slides it across your skin, watching as both the glow and the tingles return. You have to hold your breath to yourself from sighing.

“You want to be loved,” he says, “adored even. And not just by anybody. You want to be with your soulmate, isn’t that right. That may be why you came to this island to begin with.”

There’s no way he could’ve known that you’re new to the island. Nobody said anything about it. But he’s not wrong. Though you can’t say he’s right either. You came to the island in hopes to find…yourself. And though you haven’t yet found yourself, you sure as hell found Kirishima. And soulmate has a nice right to it.

“So if we help you find these gems—“

“—tide jewels,” he intervenes.

“Tide jewels-“ you roll your eyes- “then you will give Denki a super boat, and you will unite me with a soulmate?”

“Exactly,” Hitoshi confirms. “Easy peesy, isn’t it?”

“How do we know you’ll uphold your end of the bargain?” Denki asks, finally out of his super boat daydreams.

“I said you were good with questions.” Hitoshi smirks. “You don’t know. You can’t know. But you can either do this with me, and probably get a super boat and a soulmate out of it, or you can not, and get nothing.”

Denki side-eyes you, and you him. You hold each other’s gazes for a brief moment, and you already know how this would play out if you refuse. Denki would convince you to do it. You don’t do anything, he says with his eyes. Might as well hang around and see how this plays out.

“Fine.” Even though your good conscience screams at you to do otherwise, you let up. “We’ll help you.”

“Excellent.” Hitoshi beams, or at least, he beams in a way only someone who was just threatening two other people can beam. “Then we should start our search today. We’ll probably need to go into town and see if there are any supernatural occurrences or old folktales to check out.”

Going out to town is the last thing you’d planned on doing today. Or maybe the second to last thing you planned on doing. You have to ask, because if you don’t, you’ll go batsy.

“We won’t be getting wet, will we?”

Hitoshi scoffs, which isn’t an answer. Maybe you really don’t ask the right questions because when Denki asks, “you said there were six things you need to retrieve. What’s the sixth thing?” Hitoshi winks at you, and grins. And when he grins, your stomach aches.

[plush-rabbit]

Coping with Homelessness

Request: So I'm homeless now aaaaaand to cope, can I get request Shigaraki, Dabi, and Mr Compress finding out their boyfriend is homeless?

A/N: Please take care of yourself! Im sure there are places you can go and people you can ask for help! Agencies, family, friends, just take care of yourself and one step at a time! (this is written before they met the league (dabi and compress) and shig’s is written after the kamino since thats when they lost their main base/house

-

Dabi:

A big part of his life was shaped from how he survived for so long. Dabi has faced homelessness and he knows about all the little things that could prove to be helpful. Being homeless isn’t easy- especially in a country where it’s looked down upon and isn’t like in other countries. There is no begging for money, there is no sleeping under a highway or behind a building; it’s sleeping by the river, staying hidden and trying to not inconvenience the working class. He faced homelessness when he had absolutely nothing and no one on his side, and because he cares for you, he’ll help you out.

There’s a big shift that comes from having a home and knowing that you’ll have a roof over your head, to nothing, to the fear of not knowing where you’ll sleep, the shame that fills one in having to know that wealth can be so easily taken away. He understands coming from wealth and having it burn at your fingertips. He understands your first few days of panic and dread and will be by your side a large majority of the time, not wanting you to be alone if this is your first time. He’s done this all before and he’ll help you out. He’ll find places for the both of you to crash where you can sleep without the worry of school children throwing rocks or the elements from the outdoors. Finding a place first, is the most important step in his eyes.

Due to quirks and the arise of people using them for bad, it’s common to find a few places that don’t discriminate based on who you are. Of course, it can only go so far, so when you bring in a man who has a body count, he has to stay behind or hide his appearance the best he can. He knows quite a few places where the food is edible, and the people are nice. You can’t be picky when you don’t have a home and it might take a bit of getting used to, but it’s manageable for the most part.

You’re his partner, he’s going to keep you around and take care of you. It hinders his ideals a bit to make sure that you’re safe, but he doesn’t mind. You both stick together and that’s what matters. Joining the League is a new home and with the promise of knowing that you all protect each other and handle difficulties together, it’s easier to handle the weight and shift of becoming homeless. He doesn’t want you to go through it alone, not like when he had to at such a young age. Plus, you’re young, and you know more than he did when he first left his home, you’ll have an easy time getting back on your feet. He’ll support you from the sidelines and make sure that you have everything that you need- or at least most of it.

It isn’t easy, and it’s all so new to you, but Dabi is there. He can act like he’s indifferent to the entire situation, but he cares. Your needs will always be met before his. He’ll let you sleep for a long time, not wanting for you to wake up and protect your stuff from going missing. He’ll let you take the bigger portion of a meal, and get in line before him when you go to gather supplies from social workers. He can go a day without eating if it means that you get to eat most things. There’s a bright side to a lot of things, and being with him, is a bright side of its own. He’s ruthless and has a flame quirk that will keep you both warm and provide light. There’s hardly any attack from the others that you do run across, but just in case, he’s there.

Sako Atsuhiro:

There’s always a plus side to keeping your identity hidden from the public for so long, and one of those is that you’re harder to find. The world can know his name, but his face remains a mystery and because of that, it’s easy to find places to keep the both of you safe. He’s been homeless before, had his few run-ins where he kept having to move. He knows what to do, and where it's safest to go. Atsuhiro knows that it isn’t easy and that it can be scary, but you aren’t alone in the affair, you have him and he just happens to be a showman whose quirk is helpful in gathering items that you need. There may be a whole security system to prevent people from stealing, but he isn’t like the others. If you ever need something, he’ll go into any store and leave with marbles in his pockets. You won’t go without anything when you’re with him.

He’s been homeless before and certainly knows what it's like, but once more, his quirk proves to be useful. It’s easy for him to blend in and hide you with him. He can sneak somewhere without being caught and will gladly bring you along with him. People don’t know his face, and as far as he’s concerned, you haven’t committed any type of crime, so it’s easy for the both of you to still go out and receive supplies from people who work at shelters or even spend a night there.

It’s no surprise that people can be cruel, and in the community of those that are homeless, there are a few bad seeds, but most people are trying to survive and be kind. It’s the citizens that believe they are better than others that you have to watch for. He’ll do his best to protect you and oftentimes, it means having to marble you away to avoid you getting mugged or at least protecting your things.

When the weather gets colder, he’ll offer to marble you for a bit so you aren’t exposed to the cold. Worry will consume him when you’re tucked away in his pocket, your marble pinched between his index and thumb as he stays up. He’s careful with you, so delicate as to not accidentally break you or release you from your glass entrapment. When you’re in there, it’s harder to protect you, but at least you aren’t in any danger from the outside and he already protects you when you’re so big, so this is nothing. He doesn’t want you to be out here, to worry and panic when you don’t know when your next meal will be, he’s got you right here, in his fingertips.

If you rather not be trapped inside of a marble, he only shrugs. He has a smug grin on his face and he acts hurt, but he understands. However, it’s still cold and you need to be protected before him. He’ll pull you close and wrap his coat around your shoulders and give you his gloves. The cold affects Atsuhiro a bit worse given his injury, but he won’t say anything about it; his main goal is to protect you. He’ll hold your hands in his and breathe war air against your palms as you try to fall asleep. It’s difficult, but you’re with him and he’s going to protect you for as long as he can. He doesn’t want this life for you, and he’ll always encourage you to take any opportunity that falls on your lap. He can be damned, but you deserve to have a home and a life.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Surprisingly, it’s Tomura that knows very little about being homeless. There was a point where as a child he wandered the streets, but that is such a distant memory that he can barely recall it. It’s only after the Kamino Incident, that he experiences being homeless. It’s new to him, and he doesn’t know what to do, but he’s a fighter, and he’s survived it. He had the League with him, and you not only have him, but you also have the League. He’s going to take care of you and try to give you what you need.

It’s a lot more difficult for him to blend into society given his quirk and appearance, but you aren’t like him. In his free time- before any of the League activities happened- he would frequent internet cafés where it was common to find people sleeping on the couches for a low fee. It might be scary, but you just have to hold onto your possessions as tight as you can. It’s warm and safe from the elements, and it’s better than what he can provide. He has run down buildings, but you can at least have air conditioning where you aren’t dying from the heat. If you rather not, then he understands, He won’t push for you to sleep or stay where you don’t want to. He’ll take care of you and will keep you with him at that point.

He tries to not care, to be apathetic to you, but he cares so much. He’ll tell you that being homeless isn’t rare, and that it is a very real possibility that people rather not think about, but he never expected it to happen to you. He understands that it’s difficult to not have the things that you normally had at your touch, after the incident he lost a lot of his belongings, so he gets it. It takes him a bit of getting used to learning how to be nice and empathetic rather than telling you to get over it, but he learns, and he’ll nod and offer some words of encouragement that when everything is done, he’ll get you better versions of what you had before. At the end of he say, he cares, and he'll show his true colors after a sad look.

You will come first for him- always. He’ll give you a share of his rations, will make sure that when you two go and look for food, it’s you who gets the biggest cut. He’ll do his best to put you first for whatever he can get a hold of. Food is difficult to come by after a while and with his notoriety, you can’t really be picky. However, the amount of effort he will put in for you to look for food that he knows that you like or can stomach, is outstanding. He wants what is best for you and will always give you that. Whatever he can get a hold of, will be yours before it can be anyone else’s.

With you being one of the few people that he cares for in the world, he tries to do a lot for you. There is hardly a time where he will not fight with and for you. It’s you that he puts first, even before himself, and he’ll always make that wherever you sleep for the night, you have the soft side of the bed, or the softest couch, or the one with less springs. Tomura isn’t a romantic by any means, but he really does care a lot for you. He won’t show it in the traditional sense with flowers or sweets, but he will show it by giving you what he can. Once he has the Paranormal Liberation Front, he gives you so much. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time where he couldn’t give you everything.

[forever-rogue]

Can you do one where reader (who's partners with them) goes on a date and Javi happens to already be at the same bar the date takes place and at one point the reader doesn't feel good so she seeks out Javi and he quickly realizes she's been roofied?

I love protective Javi, but then again, don’t we all?

Warnings: drug mention, mention of violence, mentions of sex but nothing descriptive, language, 18+ only!

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier was a lot of things. A walking contradiction as much as he was steadfast in his ways. When you’d first met him, you’d been severely tempted to punch him right in his smug handsome face with that stupid charming grin, and that singular dumb dimple that already made your heart flutter.

It was your first day on the job, a fresh, brand new agent and the bastard had the nerve to ask you to fetch him a coffee. Not only that, but the way he had the balls to end the request with a slow, drawn sweetheart.

You’d exchanged a wry look with Steve, the golden haired man you already decided you liked much better. He had shrugged innocently and turned back to his papers with what you were positive was a smug little grin on his face. Back then you’d been annoyed, but looking back on it now, several years later, you realized it had been a sort of pseudo-test; to see if you’d meld into Javi’s advances or hold your own.

“No,” you’d told Javier firmly, watching as surprise look slowly crept into his features, “go fuck yourself and get your own coffee, old man.”

You’d never seen Steve laugh harder or Javier more in shock than that morning. To say you had proven yourself to both men was an understatement.

To say you ended up developing feelings for that stupid, dark haired, motherfucker was a gross understatement. Fallen in head first and through stuck in lust love with him was a much more accurate sentiment. Although you would never admit that to him or anyone else, let alone yourself.

Instead you settled on other things.

I love your cock. I love when you fuck me like this. I love when you use your mouth on me.

Yeah...it had quickly turned into that.

But Javier reciprocated in kind.

I love your pussy, just like you were made for me. I love when you get on your knees. I love how you look covered in my cum.

It was a lot of lust turned into love, but neither of you would ever admit that. Besides, it was never going to amount to anything; it was just some stress relief between two coworkers that understood each other more intimately than anyone else. No one knew the horrors of what either of you when through on a daily basis. But the two of you knew, and took solace in that fact.

You weren’t sure when the lines became so blurred, but you were almost positive it was around the same time that Javier made your relationship trysts an exclusive thing. No one else, just you and Javi. And damn. You liked that more than anything else.

But it wasn’t going to last forever; no, you knew that well from the start. What started out a one time thing that slowly stretched into more was never going behind that. You were sure of it, despite how good, how alive and protected and safe he made you feel, it was never going anywhere besides your dirty secret. Even the brightest stars burned out at some point.

Which is why when an agent from another department, a non-noteworthy average man, asked you out for dinner and drinks you said yes. It wasn’t an enthusiastic yes by any means, and the way your eyes had flicked to Javier before you agreed to go wasn’t lost on either of you. But he remained still and said nothing while you offered up a small yes.

Before the end of the day, you’d wandered over to his desk, ready to explain yourself, but he was quick to cut you off, not even looking up from his papers. You’re free to see anyone, Dulzura, he insisted in a gruff tone, have fun.

The part that hurt was the most was the fact that he didn’t bother to stop you as you walked out, even lingering for a moment at the door. The light bit of foolish hope you’d clung onto was for no reason after all. But at least you had an answer now. Javier was nothing more than a release.

»»————-　♡　————-««

All this nodding and smiling was going to give you a sore face and a headache, you realized. For a man that seemed so unassuming, he sure did love talking about himself. At one point when you drifted off from the conversation and let your mind wander, you’d looked across the crowded bar, and noticed him.

Of course he’d decided to come here to unwind after a long. Typical. Part of you momentarily wondered if he’d overheard you making your plans in order to come and watch you, but you weren’t going to flatter yourself that much. Chances, coincidence, mere happenstance. Besides that, it was a popular bar, and not an unsurprising place to find anyone on a Friday night.

But when you’d caught his eye, he offered you only a stiff little half smile, and you could visibly see the muscles in his neck stiffen as you raised your glass lightly in a mock salute. It didn’t a genius to figure out he was in a bad mood.

After some time, when you’d downed your greasy bar food, and finished off yet another drink, you still found yourself unable to handle your date. You couldn’t just sneak out, no that would be too obvious and awkward, especially come Monday when you were all back at the office. Instead, you settled on excusing yourself to use the restroom, hoping that if you spent long enough there he would take the hint.

Slipping off the stool, you almost dashed to the bathroom, making your way through the crowd and brushing against past Javier. He watched you bolt away with a curious expression, wondering what had caused the sudden escape. Internally sighing, he studied the man that was your date and frowned. You could have chosen anyone in the world, preferably him, but you’d chosen David of all the people. The man was a joke, a downright fool, and yet you’d said yes.

Fuck. But he could only blame himself. He’d never made a move, and every time he wanted to, especially after you started falling asleep in his arms, he talked himself out of it. It was just sex and companionship, he was sure of it. And now? Well, he been a fool and missed his chance. He narrowed his eyes at your date, wishing it was socially appropriate to go and beat the shit out of him. But he had reason to, and didn’t need to stir up anything. Instead, he decided to silently simmer, and told himself that he’d cut things off with you soon.

It was the right thing to do. Or so he thought.

He watched as you slowly flounced back and downed the rest of your drink, pretending to be engaged in conversation. He knew that face anywhere; the one you used when you feigned interest. Usually it made him laugh, but no? It caused a pit in the bottom of stomach.

But Javier was determined to stay, to keep an eye on you. Something in his gut was telling him that was something was off. And although he knew his instincts were clouded by his overwhelming feelings for you, he always knew that his feelings were rarely wrong.

So he stayed, long after his own companion had left and watched. Watched as you started acting more odd and more strange as you consumed another drink. It was a dramatic shift from your previous demeanor but your date was unphased. At one point, you swayed dramatically in your stool and almost fell to the floor.

Javier almost jumped to his feet as you straightened up and excused yourself again. He could see you mumbling something as the asshole man in question nodding, giving you a grin not unlike that of a wicked wolf.

Slowly stumbling through the crowd you knew something was off. Nothing felt right and the world seemed woozy and far away. You did however, recognize one thing...well, person. Javier. You wobbled over to him on unsure legs as he leaped to his feet, large, strong hands going to your waist to steady you.

“Javi,” your mouth felt heavy and dry and his name came off more than a whimper, a pathetic plea, as you met his dark eyes. His expression was somewhere between intense concern and furious anger as he helped to sick you down in the both, shoving a glass of water at you, “I don’t feel good. Feels weird...wrong. I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Look at me, Dulzura,” he gentle took your chin in his hand as he tried to study your face, but your head kept wanting to lull around. He gritted his teeth as he quickly put two and two together. A growl, primal and instinctive sounded deep in his throat as he look back at your date. Your date that was suddenly mysteriously disappeared.

The rat bastard had made a hasty escape as soon as you saw go to Javi.

He was a dead man.

“Javi,” you mumbled softly, “can you help? Please? I know you hate me now, but I dunno what to do.”

“I could never hate you,” he insisted as he held up the water for you to drink. You made quick work of downing it, feeling slightly less parched than before but still as miserable. Javi easily scooped you up in his arms, clutching you tightly to his chest as you mumbled incomprehensible things, “we’re going home. I’ve got you now.”

“’s okay Javi,” you managed to get out as you buried your head in his chest, “‘iloveyou.”

He stiffened at your words, unsure if you’d actually said those words, or if he was just a hopeful fool. Either way, that wasn’t his name concern at the moment. Getting you safe and into bed was top priority.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“J-Javi?” your voice cracked on his name as you realized just how dry your throat still was. Blinking the bleariness out of your eyes, you studied your surroundings, only realizing after a few moments that you were in his bedroom. A tall glass of water was on his bedside table, along with some pain killers. You took both without hesitation.

On cue, almost as if he could sense you were awake, a soft knock came on the door before he slowly opened the door. He let out a long exhale of relief when he realized you were awake and seemingly okay. Your eyes were wide and worried with your lips pulled into a small frown.

“How are you feeling?” he came in and sat at the foot of the bed, studying you with those eyes you swore you could see right into your soul. You shrugged as you set the glass down and tried not to cry.

“Alright I guess,” you sighed, feeling like an idiot, “I’m a fool. I can’t believe I let that happen. I don’t know I didn’t see it last night...I’m a fucking DEA Agent and I can’t tell when I’m getting drugged. I should be fired and sent right back home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he reached over and gave your knee a gentle squeeze, “it could have happened to anyone. Please don’t blame yourself for it. That guy was a fucking asshole.”

“Javier,” you leaned forward and reached for his hand, taking it gingerly in yours as you studied it. His dominant hand, as well as the other was covered in cuts and bruises, all sorts of colors already and swollen. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as your mouth dropped open, “what happened....Javi. Oh, Javier, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is...”

“He had it coming,” was all he said as he held your hand in his, holding onto it protectively, “he’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I thought about it...”

“What if he tells-”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Javier-”

“Listen,” he stopped you gently, “I had been thinking about doing it all night. From the moment I saw him with you. This just gave me a reason to do it.”

“What do you mean?” you bit your bottom lip as you met his eyes, the two of you watching each other with a silent intensity as you tried not to let your hopes get the better of you. Javier reached up and gently touched your cheek, brushing his fingers over your soft skin and stopping at your lips, “please don’t say something you don’t mean. Please.”

“Why do you think I won’t mean it?” he asked as you dropped his gaze, playing with your hands as you tried to keep your heart from beating out of your chest, “god, I’ve fucking meant it for years. I just can’t ever say it, but when I saw you with that piece of shit, I knew. I should have just-”

“I love you,” and just like that those three words the both of you had danced around for years were out in the air. And it had been so easy, so simple - effortless. But it didn’t stop the nerves, the fear of rejection, the fear of the unknown. You chanced a peek at him, watched as a look of sheer panic crossed his features before settling into the softest expression you’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a slight nod of head, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, “that’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“Say it then, asshole,” you laughed lightly, feeling your heart settle as your normal rapport started to bubble through, “or you can kiss my ass.”

“I’m not opposed to that-”

“Javier,” you jokingly groaned as he pulled you forward, but just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, “some things never change, huh?”

“Nope,” he laughed, “but it’s true.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

[loveofafangirl]

A Promise

[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist]

Pairing: Baron Zemo x F!Reader/You  (no race or body type described)

Synopsis: You accompany Zemo to the Sokovia Memorial. *Hurt/Comfort*

Background: After protecting a child in Latvia, Zemo offers you his services to assist with tending to your wounds. You invite him to stay the night at your home.  This is a follow up to The Right Thing. It can probably be read as a standalone, but it is the same reader/character from that story and picks up the next morning. 

Word Count: ~2,000

TW: mentions of previous character death/death of a child; grief centric; angst with uncertain ending. 

A/N: I know my fluffy Zemo stories are more popular but in my HC, you don’t get Soft!Zemo without putting in the work and helping him through his deep-rooted grief. So it’s important to me to explore this side of him too, as there is no redemption possible without it. My HC is that you can read this reader throughout almost all of the stories. 

The floorboards in your old apartment creak in the quiet of the morning, you strain your ears, listening to your guest's movements. You continue preparing breakfast, hopeful that he might join you, but the footsteps lead away instead of nearer. 

You follow the sound, noting how the area where he had slept had since been tidied. 

"You don't have to leave," you offer with a subtle shrug as you approach the entrance. "Stay...at least for breakfast."

His lips pull at the corners as he nods in contemplation, but you can tell by the strained expression he had already decided to go. "Thank you for the hospitality, but I must depart." 

His hand taps almost subconsciously over one of the inner pockets of his long dark grey coat. Your mind drifts back to the previous night when he had offered the garment to you. You had noticed a small bear tucked inside. You had been curious but hadn't wished to pry. 

"There is something I must do," he stated solemnly.

You nod your understanding. You knew he wouldn't stay; why would he? Nevertheless, something inside of you begged you not to let him go. You watch as he continues toward the door. At the last moment, you take a quick step forward.

"Wait!" You blurt out with more volume than you had intended. "Do you want company?"

"Where I'm going, I don't anticipate having much time left." He turns back toward you. "I have a promise to keep and then—" he pauses, knowing what he has to do, knowing his freedom was only ever a short-term gift, one he would exchange when his work was complete. He continues, "—I have an agreement to honor." 

You look away, trying to school the disappointment on your face until you realize he hadn't entirely said no. You feel a slight rise of hope as you study his features. You sense the heaviness in his heart in his sunken gaze, despite the mischievous smirk toying on his lips. "I could use some air, even if it isn't that long." 

He inhales, considering your offer. Neither of you fully understand the curious feeling growing inside; yet, both of you are reluctant to ignore it and part so soon. He nods thoughtfully. "I've called for the car. It will take us where I need to go."

Your eyes grow inquisitively at his words. You had assumed the place was nearby. But more so, the ease in which he mentions such a luxury takes you by surprise. Not many from your neighborhood could afford such a thing. 

You grab your coat and follow him out into the streets. You pause as you near the black car, questioning for the first time if this is a wise decision. Your thoughts are pulled back as he opens the side door, motioning you inside. 

Your face warms at the gesture. It wasn't often you encountered manners such as his. He was different, and that intrigued you.

He closes the door carefully behind you before walking around and joining you on the other side.

"The memorial, if you please." These are the only words spoken for the duration of the trip. 

You watch your city fade away to the countryside that eventually gave way into a bareness. Despite the years since the battle, the land had yet to recover fully. Some new growth highlighted the landscape, but much was still bleak and lifeless. 

Every now and then, you stole a glance at the man beside you, deep in contemplation. Occasionally, he would record his thoughts in a small notebook that he kept guarded.

As the car arrives at the memorial, you wait, watching for him to take the lead, not really knowing what to expect. 

His hand pauses as he reaches for the door handle. You watch his deliberate movements, almost forcing himself forward. 

The grief drawn on his face pulls your own features down in reply. You wonder for the first time whom he had lost.

He nods to himself as if willing his body to continue and leave the car.

You linger with the intent of giving him a moment. However, to your surprise, he opens your door for you and gestures you out. 

You take in the expansive memorial to the fallen country. A lake to the right had formed as the land resettled. A monument at the center with a serene trickling fountain welcomed you quietly.

But what caught your attention most was the wall of names. The Avengers had saved a lot of people that day, but the list of the dead was longer than you expected. Your stomach drops at the realization as your gaze scans the seemingly endless wall. The news covered the victory and the destruction, but it did little to prepare you for this truth. The cost of human lives should have outweighed any other press, but it didn't. 

You whisper a silent prayer to honor the dead, knowing so many of them may no longer have anyone to remember them. 

He stands beside you, his gaze distant.

"It's beautiful." The words slip from your lips in reverence. The memorial was simple yet powerful. You couldn't help but feel the weight of the loss standing before the massive wall in the distance, but the fountain and the lake helped ground you. "I wonder who designed it."

"I did," he replies, his voice marred with pain. "I may be a man without a country now; but, it is still my duty to care for the ashes of my beloved land and all those who were lost... and those I failed to protect." 

The more he talked, the less you realized you knew about him. He spoke of Sokovia with deep admiration as though he were once a significant member of its ruling body. You wonder how a man who seemingly had so much ended up hiding in the shadows of your city. The sorrow in his expression answered your question. Loss. Loss cuts more deeply than any physical wound ever could.

"It's beautiful," you repeat quietly. You know that no matter what you offer, it will never be enough to satiate his loss.

He doesn't acknowledge your reply; instead, he continues forward, heading toward the end of the list of names.  

You stay near the fountain, giving him space and privacy to mourn. You try to turn away, but you can't help but continue glancing in his direction. You want more than anything to understand him. 

You watch his body grow rigid, the color draining from his face. He leans against the wall for support, his fingers tracing a line of names. He reaches in his pocket and retrieves the small bear. His hands shake as he looks between the toy and the wall. 

You press your fingers to your lips, wondering what memories the token holds for him. You could practically see this man's heart breaking in front of you. 

His knees buckle under the weight of his grief until he crumbles to the ground, clutching the bear tightly in his hands. Despite being hidden by his jacket, you see his body rock as he weeps silently, his suffering too great to bear.

This man who confidently came to your rescue, who despite his mysterious nature had offered an air of self-assuredness in all that he did, was now broken in a way you realize only the loss of a young child could cause.

You move silently behind him, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The two of you might be strangers still but, you knew he needed to know he wasn't alone. 

"I'm sorry," he cries quietly, though you know the words are not meant for you. "I failed you. I should have been there. It should have been me."

He had spent years grieving in silence, throwing himself in his mission to avenge their deaths and later in prison, reading philosophies to justify the actions he had taken. He had never given into the sorrow, not in a meaningful way. It was easier to stay angry and to hate those responsible than to let the weight of his grief suffocate him as it did now. But, he had made them a promise that they would never be forgotten—that no one loss that day would be forgotten. He promised to remember them and then to visit once the memorial was complete. And now, he could keep that promise, even if it meant little compared to the one promise in his life that he had failed to keep—to protect them above all else.

You remain silently at his side, letting him grieve. He didn't recoil under your touch, so you kept your hand on his shoulder, knowing it would do little to quell the sadness of the loss of a child—the ultimate tragedy. 

As his grief quiets and his body relaxes, you give his shoulder a gentle squeeze and retreat, offering him time alone with the family he had lost.

He kisses the crown of the bear's head and rests it against the wall. He remains a while longer in silent vigil. You keep watch from the fountain, admiring how the sun sparkled on the lake, offering a promise of hope for the future amongst the wreckage. 

When he returns to you, his mouth opens in gratitude, but his words fail. He nods simply, and you understand all of the unspoken meaning it held.

"What will you do now?" You question softly. 

"Wait," he replies, sitting stoically beside you.

"How long?" You had already been away almost a day and were curious where this was leading.

"As long as it takes?"

"For what?"

"I made an agreement. As easy as it would be to go on my way and accept this freedom, I must honor the vow I made. What would a man be without his word?"

You don't understand what he means, but you sensed his peace in his decision. "Okay."

His gaze meets yours. "The car will take you anywhere you wish to go."

"What about you?"

"I trust other means of transportation will have been arranged."

You take this as your cue to leave, so you stand, despite your reservations. "Thank you... for your help last night."

"It was my privilege to do the right thing."

"Will I see you again?" The question slips from your lips before you can stop it.

The corner of his mouth twitches up momentarily. He reaches in his pocket, retrieving the black notebook he was writing in earlier. "That is entirely up to you."

You shake your head in confusion as he hands the book to you.

"This is who I was and who I am." His head tilts to the side, reflecting on the time you'd spent together. "It also holds what events I trust will transpire in the coming days and where to find me should you wish to after you've learned the truth."

"I don't understand."

"I know. You will if you read this." He offers a halfhearted smile. "If we don't meet again, I understand, but if we do,  I'll know—" he goes quiet, choosing his words carefully. "I'll know there is more work to be done. That you have seen what I could be, and I'd like that chance."

You stare blankly, wanting to understand but sensing you can't.

"Thank you," he paused, his voice rising, searching for something more.

"Y/N," you whisper. You had both decided the previous night it was best to keep your identities concealed.

"Y/N," he repeats, reaching for your hand. He brushes a kiss on your knuckles. "It's been a pleasure."

Your eyes mist over, even though you're not sure why. You wait, hoping he might return the sentiment with his name, but his lips press together, and his only reply is to gesture toward the book he handed you. 

"Go," he encourages.

You feel yourself walking away even though that's the last thing you want to do. You hold the book—his book—a little closer, not daring to look back. Despite the slight promise in his words that this wasn't the end, you couldn't help but feel like this was an unspoken goodbye. 

A/N2: I started writing after episode 4 when Zemo first mentions the memorial. The original ending wasn’t angsty/uncertain, but I wanted to make it work with canon so I wanted him to decide to stay alone so he could return to prison, keeping the agreement he made to Sam and Bucky in the beginning. There may be a third part in their story... just saying 😉 

Marvel Perma(til the end of the line): @the-soot-sprite​​​​; @fandomxreaders ;  @moonstuffsteve​​

Zemo tags: @montypythonsholysnail​​​​ ; @killsandthrills​​​ ; @noavengers​​​​ ; ​@nalabarnes1031 ; @trelaney​​ ; @willowtheewisp​ ; @marchingicenotes7 

[supraveng]

Informant

this is my entry for  #fireflymovieinspo challenge by @firefly-in-darkness​

A/N:  my chosen movie is the Devil Wears Prada, so in this fic the reader is using some of Miranda Priestley's best lines, quotes are bold in the story.  this is also my first gender neutral fic.  

My Masterlist

Summary: Reader is questioned by SHIELD and Avengers, reader is uncooperative and a little shit, but justifiable 

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Being left, in what you could only refer to as an interrogation room, has you on edge.  You hadn’t done anything wrong and you were being held against your will, handcuffed to a table.    When the door finally opened, two people entered, neither one apparently knew how to smile.  

“Y/N L/N, I’m Director Fury, this is” You cut him off before allowing him to continue his polite little introductions 

“I don’t care who you are, I want to know why I’m here”  Both Fury and the woman he came in with stopped and looked at you before sitting in the chairs across from you.  

“So, let’s get down to business then” the woman opened the folder she placed on the table, and pushed a picture toward you.  “We want to know everything about Mr. Curtis Everett”  

Looking back and forth between the two you assumed they had the wrong person and would realize it at some point.  “I don’t know him, can I go now?” pulling on the handcuffs keeping you seated at the table.  

“The faster you cooperate, the faster this will be over” he tells you, acting as if he is annoyed and bored at the same time.  

“Curtis Everett is a dangerous man, we all know that, so if you are refusing to talk to try and save yourself, don’t worry, we can protect you” the woman reaches out to softly touch your hand as a sign of reassurance.  Scanning the two faces across from you, you almost start laughing.  

“So is this the ‘good cop/bad cop’ thing I see in bad dramas?  I never would have guessed that was real” shaking your head at the whole situation. 

“Look, we know he visits you at the diner at least once a week.  And then you visit his office every night for several hours.  What we need from you is cooperation in taking down his illegal activity.  How many offices does he have?  How many people does he have around town?  Who is his second in command helping him stay under the radar?” good cop asks you question after question like she’s about to break open the case of her life.  

You look at her, lean in slightly and give her a small smile “Please bore someone else with your questions” before sitting back and returning to your previous stoic expression.  

There was a knock at the door, causing the two to leave the room, but leaving the folder in front of you.  You assumed this was some sort of intimidation tactic, but you really couldn’t care less.  

This whole situation was a joke, but you weren’t about to let them see how scared you were from all of it.  It was only a minute before the door opened again and in walks Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.  

You tried your best to not provide any reaction, but realizing you had been detained by the Avengers put a knot in your stomach you weren’t sure how to handle.  “Hi, we brought you some water” Steve Rogers placed the bottle on the table, next to the pictures. 

“Thank you, but what I would prefer is to know what charges I’ve been arrested for and to request a lawyer or my phone call” you try to remain calm and ask nicely, maybe they will get you outta here, they are the good guys after all.  

“You aren’t under arrest, so no phone call, no lawyer.  We just need some info and you are free to go” Tony Stark states as if it was the simplest option.  

“Then tell me why I’m handcuffed to this table?” you almost yell, your frustration getting the better of you. The two look at your hands, the handcuffs, then at each other, before Tony turns to the mirror with a questioning look.  

A two way mirror too, it’s like you are in a crappy cop show.   Just then you hear the familiar voice of ‘bad cop’ come through a speaker, “The handcuffs are for our protection, she assaulted several of our agents”  

Your humorless laugh was enough for both Avengers to turn around with the disapproving parent look “I’ve been kidnapped, I have every right to protect myself”  you yell loud enough for everyone on the other side of the mirror to hear.  

Before you can continue, ol Cap looks at you confused “kidnapped?  What are you talking about?” before taking a seat directly in front of me.   

“When you haven’t done anything wrong, taken against your will, and handcuffed, what else would you call it, Captain?” shrugging at his confusion.  

The two Avengers looked at each other again before Tony sighs and leaves the room, returning a moment later with the key to the cuffs.  You were tempted to thank them but decided against it, keeping your stoic expression you gave them a slight nod in appreciation.  

The following few minutes consisted of Iron Man and Captain America explaining to you what important part you are playing in this take down of this Everette guy.  You rolled your eyes and leaned over the table “I don’t know anything, and frankly the details of  your incompetence do not interest me”.  Sitting back in your chair you crossed your arms over your chest “when are you going to let me out of here?”  

"It might not be the safest to go back home just yet" Steve trying his best at getting you to cooperate.  "If you are willing to stay and help us, we can get you a room in the residential area, have some dinner and work through this situation as quickly and easily as possible" he gave you a small smile, oozing with charm and you wondered if he's ever been told no.  

You shrugged "I could eat."   Standing and following Steve out of the room, you could hear Tony arguing with someone, you assumed it was good cop and bad cop but couldn't care less at this point.  

Stepping on the elevator, the two of you were greeted by an automated voice referring to you as Captain and guest, you chuckled before whispering "guess that's better than prisoner."  

Steve tensed up next to you immediately, guessing he heard you and wondering what to do next, but he surprised you by turning towards you.  “I don’t know what transpired to bring you here, and I apologize on behalf of all of SHIELD, but we do need your help and I’m glad you are here” he was so sincere that you couldn’t remain mad even if you wanted to, so instead, you mumbled a weak thanks and followed him out of the elevator once it reached, what you presumed was the residential area.   

There was music playing, people chatting and incredible smells coming from the kitchen.  Everyone seemed to sense your presence and quieted down when you stepped in the room behind their captain.  “We have a guest for dinner” Steve announced, trying to ease your mind of the situation.  “This is Y/N L/N, they are here to possibly help with some information on the Everette investigation.” 

[shozto]

⏤ wounds.

ask: Hi if requests are still open could I please request a Dabi(Touya) x civilian reader? Where she finds him badly injured and unconscious then she drags him back to her apartment to treat his wounds and when Dabi regains consciousness he finds her sleeping next to him in her bed. 

pairing: dabi / f!reader

wordcount: 3.4k

genre: angst, fluff, strangers to something more(?)

warning: brief descriptions of injuries and pain, swearing, a makeout scene, suggestive but literally nothing happens, dabi is kind of ooc? but not really

+ summary: dabi is extremely hurt, and you are the only one there to help him. 

note! this is the first thing i’ve written on here since my hiatus almost 2 years ago! i hope you like it

Music thumped through the brick wall and into the narrow alleyway. This club was pretentious to say the least, but it provided a loud, pounding wall of safety from the dangerous streets. The darkness of the city after dark only brought the stench of danger and death, something Dabi didn’t prefer, but knew well. He still went out anyway.

Dabi is always careful when he goes out. Sure, he gets hurt sometimes, but never anything too serious or life threatening. It’s a habit of his, one he is extremely determined on keeping. But, no matter how careful he is, something is bound to slip through at one point or another.

Blood seeped through the gash on his side. It leaked past his white shirt, staining it a deep red and dripping onto the ground as he leaned against the wall of the alley. His scarred hand pressed against the wound and he groaned, falling to the ground letting out a sputtered cough. 

So much for being careful. 

“Those bastards,” he grunted. His legs pushed against the ground before he hunched over and heaved for breath. He felt his mouth fill with saliva as he hyperventilated and squeezed his eyes shut. 

They stabbed him with a knife. He killed them, of course. Burning them to a crisp in one glance. But that didn’t help the gaping wound in his side.

This isn’t an often occurrence for Dabi; he hardly ever got hurt, and when he did, it was always on his own accord. He could deal with the pain from burns, at least those didn’t make him feel like he was dying from the inside out. Being stabbed was a different kind of pain, though. Dabi felt like he was really about to die. 

But then, his saving grace.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” A voice came from his left. Your voice was panicked and shaky, but oh so gentle. 

You came into view and his vision blurred. Your hand was warm against his cheek and cool against the wound on his side, a fresh relief. You pulled the purse off your shoulder and sifted through the items before pulling out a cellphone and dialing something on the keypad.

Dabi’s hand grabbed your wrist and he shook his head. 

“What?” you looked at him. “I’m going to call an ambulance, you need to go to the hospital.”

He shook his head again and grunted, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. “No hospitals. No police.”

His voice was rough and deep, it took you a moment to process what exactly he was saying. When you did, you felt your heart fall in your chest. 

“Okay, okay... no hospitals or police...” you sucked in a breath. “I can take you to my apartment, it’s just up there.” you pointed to a window above them on the other side of the alley. 

Dabi nodded and felt his vision blurring once more. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay conscious much longer. 

“Come on, stay with me please,” you spoke softly, trying to pull him up on his feet. “I need you to walk, I’ll help you just please try and stand up.”

Your arms pulled him up to his feet and he stumbled, falling on top of your smaller frame. You grunted at the weight and tried to drag him to your apartment building.

One step, two steps. A few more through the door when your entered the digits on the keypad. Finally into the apartment building. 

Dabi collapsed. 

Dabi woke up with an ache in his side. He let out a groan and shifted his body, turning to his stomach and running his hand through his hair. His eyes fluttered open and, much to his surprise, sleeping beside him was a girl.

You looked familiar, but he didn’t know why. Did he sleep with you? No, he shook his head. You were fully clothed and looked far too peaceful for having spent the night in bed with him. 

Then, another sharp pain in his abdomen. He sucked in a breath and let his hand drift to the ache. He was shirtless, a white bandage wrapped around his waist. Oh, right. He got stabbed. So your were the one who helped him then.

your sudden movement caught his attention. You stretched your arms out and your eyes opened slowly.

“Good morning.” you smiled, looking into his cerulean eyes. Intimidating yet warm, and very, very confused. “Did you sleep well?” your voice was gentle, just like before. But this time it was calmer, more comfortable. 

Dabi lifted his arm and tucked it under his head. “Care to explain why ‘m sleepin’ in your bed, angel?”

Deflected your question with his own, of course. That was what he was best at. 

You shifted and turned your gaze away from his own. It felt like they were burning holes in your eyes; scary and understandably so. He must’ve been a villain. You weren’t sure if you could hold eye contact with him for more than three seconds. “You were hurt badly. Like, really bad, and you didn’t want me to take you to the hospital so I tried my best to patch you up here. You were also running a high fever, probably from the loss of blood. I let you sleep in my bed, and I was going to sleep on the couch, but you kept waking up from these... nightmares? I felt bad leaving you so... I just came to sleep here in case you needed anything.”

Your hand found the bandage on his waist and you brushed your fingers against the white fabric. Thank god the blood wasn’t leaking through anymore. “What’s your name, anyway? And how did you get hurt so badly? Don’t tell me it’s the reason why you didn’t want me taking you to the hospital or calling the police...”

He felt you finch when he grabbed your wrist. 

“I’m Dabi, angel face. You have a name? Or do you prefer me calling you ‘angel’?”

You laughed a little out of sheer awkwardness. “My name is y/n.”

Dabi hummed and pulled you closer to his body until your chests were touching. You were cold. “You okay, y/n? You seem a little shaken up.”

You pushed him away and got out of the bed. “What are you trying to do?”

He sat up and leaned against the headboard, a slight smirk on his lips. “Just trying to repay you for helpin’ me out last night. Want me to make you feel good? Tell me what you want, princess. I’ll give it to you.”

“We literally just met, Dabi. I only learned your name two minutes ago. Stop being a creep and have some human decency, for god’s sake. I just saved your life.”

You slipped out of the bedroom door and walked toward the kitchen. Dabi frowned and got out of the bed, following behind you. 

Dabi was not a creep. Well, not in the sense that you were getting at; he was a villain. He assumed it fit his image and it was easy to assume such things, but it wasn’t fair of you to say that. But then again, he did just try and make a move on you... maybe it was warranted. 

Who could blame him, though? You were alluring in your own right. Pretty skin, cute smile, bright eyes. You helped him when he thought he was going to die. Now that was something he didn’t quite process. Who was he kidding? That was horrifying; but then again, nothing was ever as horrifying as what happened when he was a child. Either way, he really was grateful for your help. He just didn’t know how to show it. 

You knew he was following you, but you didn’t speak. You would make him some breakfast, then kick him out. So much for the butterflies fluttering in your stomach whenever he spoke. 

“Sorry about that,” Dabi said after a few minutes of silence between the two of you. The sizzling of rice being coated in oil and vegetables was loud. It smelled way too good to be considered fried rice. 

You hummed in response and tapped your fingers against the handle of the spatula in your hand. “It’s okay.”

Well that wasn’t much of a surprise, but it still took him aback. You were too kind for your own good.

“Thank you, though. For real.”

“It’s the least I can do. Even though you’re a villain, and if the police find out I helped you, I’ll probably get arrested and then lose my scholarship and fail at my dream of becoming a doctor. But it’s okay.”

Now that, that was a surprise. 

“You wanna be a doctor?” not the doctor part. (he was honestly not surprised about that, it only made sense. you actually knew what you were doing and how to help him). he was surprised that you were this open to him. 

“Yeah,” you paused as you pulled out bowls to put the rice in. “It’s technically my parents’ dream for me. But I’ve realized I enjoy it a lot more than I thought I would. I like helping people, it makes me happy.” You handed him his bowl and sat beside him. “I just realized that’s probably the last thing you wanna hear. Don’t villains find the idea of helping people disgusting?”

Dabi laughed. 

It was a warm, gravely laugh, probably due to the fact he just woke up. It made your heart feel like it was being coated in thick honey and you felt heat rise to your face. You liked his laugh. 

“I don’t know about other villains, but I really could not care less. But no, the last thing I would want to hear is you being a hero. That would be terrifying.”

You felt a smile creep up your lips and a tight feeling grew in your chest. “Yeah, never. I have too weak a quirk to do that. And putting my life on the line? No thanks. I have way too much to lose.”

“Too much to lose, huh?” he said. He ate some of the rice. “What’s your quirk? Some healing shit?”

You shook your head. “No, but that would be ideal. I have a simple nature quirk. Like I can grow flowers and make the leaves change color.”

“Sweet quirk for a sweet girl.”

You flushed. “What’s yours?”

Dabi held out a single finger and in a split second, a small blue flame emitted from the tip. “Just fire. I’d show you more but I might burn your apartment down and you’d murder me. Plus I’d feel a little bad.”

“Blue fire?”

“Yeah.”

“What were your parents’ quirks? I’ve never seen anyone have blue fire before.” you asked innocently. Dabi gritted his teeth.

“Fire and ice, i guess. I don’t remember too well, though. Haven’t seen ‘em in a long time.”

You were about to ask another question, but realized it might be a little insensitive. Besides, it was none of your business.

“Sorry,” you murmured. Then, you ate. 

You weren’t quite sure what had happened, but you saw Dabi quite frequently nowadays. 

After you told him you had a night class, you would often see him outside the campus waiting for you so he could walk you home. Other times, he would bring you little things like food or candy. 

You assumed it made him happy; bringing you things or walking you home. It would be a lie if you said it didn’t make you happy as well. He was sort of a dandere type; he let you do most of the talking and sometimes it seemed like he didn’t care, but he proved that he was listening when he brought you the snacks that you told him you liked, or when he gave you a little nightlight after you told him you were afraid of the dark. 

He was sweet; unbelievably so. And over the past few weeks, you realized that you might have a major romantic connection to him. It was almost like you were in a relationship together, but not really.

You had never gone out on a date or anything like that, but you could tell he liked you in a certain way. The way he teased you or called you cute. The way he slept over in your bed often. At first he said it was because he didn’t want to go back to his place since his roommates were annoying. 

It was the way he hugged you when he said goodbye or the lingering gazes when you would cook him dinner. One time you kissed him on the cheek when he was pretending he was asleep. You swore you saw him blush.

Tonight felt different. You hadn’t seen him in a few days; he was away, he said. He told you not to worry, but you did. How could you not? He was like your best friend.

There was a knock on your door. It was loud and hard, and you felt your heart stutter in your chest. You walked quickly to the peephole, and much to your surprise, dabi was standing there. You flung the door open.

“Dabi,” you ran into his arms, hugging around his waist tightly and burying your face into his chest. You let out a shaky breath and you felt tears well up in your eyes. 

“Hey, angel,” he said softly and rested his face on the top of your head, breathing in deeply. “Missed you,” he muttered. He kissed your head gently and hummed. “We should go inside, baby.”

You sniffled and nodded, pulling away from his warm body and interlacing your hand with his own before leading him inside and closing the door behind you. 

“How was it?” you asked. You never asked about his ‘work’. You knew it made him a little upset. Not that he didn’t trust you, he just didn’t like you hearing about that side of himself. He had his own motivations and drives, as did you. You didn’t question them, because you knew they were valid. 

He sighed and sat on your couch, leaning back and running his hands down his face. “It was fine, just tiring,”  he said. 

He closed his eyes and tossed his head back, resting his arm on the back of the couch, his long legs spread wide. Sometimes you forgot how tall he was. You never forgot how attractive he was. 

You fiddled with your fingers as you stood by the coffee table. You were worried about him... how could you not? He was one of the most important people in your life right now. You don’t know what you’d do with yourself if he died.

He let out something between a sigh and a groan. You felt your insides twist. 

Cerulean blue eyes opened slightly and caught yours. “C’mere, angel,” he said, opening his arms. 

You complied and walked over to him, standing in between his parted thighs. He quirked a brow at your shyness and his hands found your hips, pulling you forward onto his lap so your legs were on either side of his thighs. 

Your hands gripped the front of his shirt and you leaned forward, burying your head in his neck. He was so warm, obviously a result of his quirk. He smelled like campfires in the rain... a rare experience in itself. It wasn’t until Dabi started rubbing your back that you realized you were crying.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay,” he breathed in your ear. “I’m right here, you don’t need to worry.”

You sniffled and rubbed your face against the rough skin of his neck. You kissed it gently; it made your heart drop whenever you felt his burns. You knew they didn’t hurt. It was just scar tissue. But you felt so sad whenever you thought about them, he had so much pain buried in his heart. These burns were a result of his bad past.

Dabi pulled your body closer to his own so there was no space in between. His large hands held your shoulders and pulled you so you were facing him. His long fingers grazed your cheek and settled for threading through your hair and cupping your jaw. 

“Look at me,” he whispered, his burning blue eyes searching your face. You sniffled again and hesitantly looked up into them. “There she is,” he smiled and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. You let out a small laugh when he nudged her nose with his own. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and looked down again.

“Hey, what did I say? Look at me, y/n,” your name dripped from his tongue and you felt your stomach twist. You looked up at him again.

“I’m just worried about you,” you said with a shaky breath. “And... I know you don’t want my pity but I just feel so sad when I think about what you’ve had to go through. It hurts me, thinking about it. I just want you to be happy, and I know you’re trying to accomplish your goal by working with the league, but I just...” you trailed off and looked down again. His thumb brushed your cheek again. “I just want you to be okay and safe. I know you’re doing what you have to do, but I love you and it hurts so bad seeing you in pain.”

“Angel...” he kissed your forehead. “I’m not in pain.”

You shook your head. “You are. I can tell.”

“I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry about me, okay? I didn’t get hurt.”

he was always so gentle when it came to you.

“Not physically. I mean mentally,” you sighed and brought your hands to his cheeks, mirroring his actions from before. He let his hands drop to your hips, rubbing soft circles in the dips. “Your past, the hurt you have in your heart. These scars may just be old burns, but they’re wounds. They are proof of your pain. Even if it was a long time ago.”

You kissed under his left eye. Then his right. You noticed he let out a small sigh when you kissed his jaw, then his ear, his neck, his collar bone. You looked back up at his face; his eyes were closed. You smiled softly and held under his jaw again, pulling your face closer to his. He felt your breath on his lips, but his eyes remained shut. Your thumb hesitantly traced his bottom lip and he hummed. You slowly leaned in and captured his lips in your own. 

The kiss was slow and warm and sensual. It was kind of surprising that you had never kissed him before, but you realized it might have been because of what happened on the morning you met.

His grip tightened on your hips and he let out a small groan when you pulled your lips away from his own. Your hands slowly dragged down to his shoulders.

“Was that okay?” you whispered and he opened his eyes slowly. 

Instead of responding, he grabbed the back of your head and kissed you again, fervently. It was hot and it made you feel like your breath had been knocked out of you, but it was slow and tight and it made your mind go fuzzy. You whimpered when his tongue traced along your gums, your grip on his shirt growing tighter and you realized you were shaking. 

He moved to kiss your jaw below your ear and you swore you couldn’t breathe. He whispered something about breathing before continuing his trail of kisses down your neck, sucking at the skin there. You struggled to breathe in and you found Dabi rubbing your arm with one of his hands. He squeezed you lightly and stopped his kissing, pulling away and holding you close, pushing your head into the crook of his neck.

You whimpered when he rubbed your back again, and you were now in the same position as you were before. 

He felt your hot breath on his neck and he kissed your shoulder. 

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded and moved so you were facing him again. You smiled and ran your hands through his dark locks.

“I love you,” you said once more. He smiled and pecked your lips. 

“I love you too.”

[mermaidenisaacs]

isaac is a soft warm husband pt. 2

isaac unwittingly becomes a househusband to his high-functioning workaholic wife. and he’s a little salty about it.

romance/humor

warnings: graphic sexual language

“You know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex.” 

“Isaac,” I sighed. “You’re not listening to me.” 

Isac reclined further back against the pillows on our bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am listening, honey. You’re upset. You’re upset because you think I’m trying to control you. Just because I said I wanted you to stop working so much, you think I’m trying to turn you into an obedient little housewife.” 

“Stop saying ‘you think.’ It’s dismissive. I know these things to be facts.” 

“Do you, love?” The corner of his mouth turned up in a subtle smirk. “I love it when you act like a little know-it-all. It’s such a turn on.” 

“I-saac, stop flirting with me like we’re teenagers. I’m being serious. You knew when you married me that I wasn’t going to be a typical housewife for you. Now all of a sudden, you want me to stay home and stop working?” 

Isaac shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, and I feel like you know that. Will you just come back to bed?” 

It was a tempting offer. The covers were up to Isaac’s waist, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and normally I’d have zero reservations about climbing into bed with my husband, but he was trying to distract me and it was not going to work. Not this time.

“No,” I muttered, regretfully tearing my gaze from his sun-kissed chest and the light smattering of hair that covered the hard plane under his stomach, the treasure trail that led to happier places than this conversation. “I’m not getting back in bed until you apologize.” 

I was standing at the foot of the mattress, my hands on my hips. I probably looked like a stern vice principal or something. I felt a little ridiculous but I had to hold my ground. This wasn’t about me. This was about feminism. This was about my right to live my life how I wanted. I was standing up for women everywhere. That’s what I told myself. 

“What exactly do you want me to apologize for?” Isaac asked, too calmly for my liking. “Fine, I’m sorry for noticing that you're basically a workaholic. That you’re always tired and frustrated after you come home from work. Baby, all I did was suggest you should cut back on work, delegate some of your responsibilities to other people.” 

I shook my head. “No, I can’t. I don’t want my boss to think I can’t handle all of it. He already makes sexist jokes about how I’m the first woman he’s ever promoted to my position. Besides, you said you wanted me to stay home, not work less.” 

“That’s the same thing.” 

“No, it’s not.”

“Okay, fine, it’s not. Is it so bad that I want to spend more time with my wife?” 

“We spend time together...” I mumbled, sounding unconvincing even to myself. 

Isaac laughed. “Oh yeah, I get to talk to you five minutes before bed because you pass out right when you get home from the office, which lately has been about 10 pm. Oh, and if I’m lucky I get to talk to you on the weekend in between your 15 minute breaks because you bring the office home with you.” 

I groaned and paced to the other side of the room. “Well, what do you want me to do?! I’m sorry I care about my job!” 

“I get that! I care about my job too, but at least I’m here. And you’re not. I feel like all I ever do is cook and clean and wait for you to get back, holding out some small hope that you might stay awake for just a minute longer so I can share maybe two words with you--that’s if you’re not too tired from crying into my shoulder because you had a bad day at work.” 

“W-well,” I stammered, aimlessly grappling for another line of argument, “so, that’s what this is about? You’re tired of comforting me when I have bad days?” 

“No, of course not--”

“So then, you’d rather I cook and clean, have the house spotless and dinner ready on the table when you get home from work?” Isaac didn’t say anything. A knowing grin spread across his face, accompanied by a playful twinkle in his eyes. He didn’t even have to say anything; at this point, his facial expressions were pissing me off. “Well? What the hell are you smiling about?” 

“I’m not doing this with you anymore,” he said calmly. “I’m not engaging in this because we both know you instigate fights when you’re defensive. And you’re defensive because you know I’m right. You’re trying to spin this into a feminist issue, willfully ignoring my valid points. At this point, you’re just Fox News-ing soundbites to make me sound sexist.” 

I snorted. “Fox News-ing soundbites? Really?” 

“I thought I was talking to my wife, not Bill O’Reilly.” 

“Wowww. You really just called me Bill O’Reilly to my face. Have fun sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Isaac chuckled. 

I stared back, trying to appear unmoved, because it was at this moment that it occurred to me that I was kind of turned on. I was still angry, but now I was horny too. It was a biological response and completely out of my control. It was Isaac’s fault, the way he managed to keep a clear head and stay calm while calling out my bullshit. Not many people could do that. 

It was why I married him. He could put me in my place. I needed that sometimes. Still, I didn’t like admitting I was wrong. 

“You’re only hearing what you want to hear,” he continued. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying, so I’m not arguing with you anymore.” 

“Fine, whatever. You’re the one who brought it up.” I threw my hands up in frustration and headed towards the bedroom door, stopping when he called out my name. 

“Woah, slow down. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he said.

I turned the knob and opened the door. “Um, I’m leaving? Since you don’t want to talk to me anymore?” 

“This is true. I’m done talking, but you’re not going anywhere.” He tilted his head and looked me up and down. Five years married, I still hadn’t built up an immunity to The Look. 

“Why’s that?” I challenged. My defenses were crumbling with each passing second, my skin burning each time his eyes raked over my body. 

“Because darling, you’re really hot when you’re mad, and having it out with you always turns me on. And I know you’re turned on too, so why don’t we stop talking in circles, and fuck. Now.”  A few moments passed and we stared each other down, both waiting for the other to make the next move. “Come on baby, I can almost taste you from over here. And you look so good standing over there in nothing but panties and my t-shirt. Please come get in this bed with me, Mrs. Lahey.”

Shit. He pulled out the last name card. He knew what that did to me.

 “Dammit,” I muttered, and stormed angrily across our room. I crawled over the mattress to straddle him. I peeled off my t-shirt and his fingers wrapped around my throat, reeling me in for a kiss, gnashing together teeth and tongue. 

“You really know how to get under my skin,” I murmured against his soft mouth, weaving my fingers through his hair to tug on his curls. 

“That's exactly where I intend to be,” he said. 

Isaac’s hands traveled up my thighs and cupped my ass. He roughly squeezed it, then swiftly smacked my ass. I yelped at the unexpected contact, then moaned as he rubbed the stinging area. He spread apart my cheeks and moved aside my underwear. Isaac slipped a finger into my folds and spread my wetness over my clit, circling the bundle of nerves slowly. Whiny little moans started tumbling from my lips. I was mewling and riding his hand. 

“How about you ride my cock? Or are you still mad at me?” he mocked. 

I rolled my eyes, removing the covers from his naked body and putting my fist around his shaft, holding it steady so I could spit on the tip. I spread the slick saliva all over his cock while he fucked my mouth with the fingers he just took out of my pussy. He knew I liked sucking on his fingers. They were long and elegant and pretty and I loved the way they reached the back of my throat. 

I continued to stroke him, albeit needlessly. “Well, that didn't take long,” I observed out loud, staring at his very hard cock. “You must really like it when I'm mad. Do you just piss me off on purpose, honey?” 

Isaac smirked. “Like you’re complaining. You like makeup sex as much as I do. So why don't you stop messing around,” Isaac continued, gently extracting my hand from his cock and lifting my hips so he was positioned at my entrance, “and take me where you really need me?” 

I scoffed. “Me, need you? I think it’s the opposite way around.” 

“Is that so?” He removed his hands from my body altogether, sat back, smirked, and crossed his arms over his chest. I stared back, unimpressed. 

“Really.” I deadpanned. “You’re gonna stop now?” 

Isaac shrugged. “It’s not like I need you.”

I glanced down. “Your raging boner suggests otherwise.” 

“I can take care of that myself.” 

“What, and pass this up? You like your hand more than my body?” Isaac remained unfazed, challenging me with one raised brow. “What was it you were saying earlier? Something about getting under my skin?” I wound my arms around his neck and kissed along his jawline. “Don’t you want to be inside me, baby?” Positioning myself on his thigh, I rode him the way I did the first time we fucked.

It was a while ago, but I still remembered our first time, the way Isaac’s mouth tasted like champagne and vanilla icing when I shoved him against his car, pulled him down by his tie, and kissed him. 

“Remember the first time I rode you like this?” I asked. He grunted an affirmation. Isaac pressed his thumbs into my hip bones and guided my movements. His cocky pretense was gone, replaced by hazy lust. “It was right after Scott and Kira’s wedding. We fucked for the first time that night, and you made me come twice. In a fucking car.”

Isaac groaned. “You were incredible. I wanted you for so long and it finally happened.” 

I let out a heady moan as my clit brushed against his leg in that perfect angle. “You felt so good inside me that night. I love the way you feel inside me, Isaac. Please, baby, I want you so bad, please fuck me...” 

Isaac’s fingers weaved into my hair and he pulled me down to kiss me. “Are you fucking begging me?” In a flurry of movement, Isaac had me on my back, and positioned himself at my entrance. “This what you want?” He slid into me so fast and hard my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. 

My back arched away from the mattress, and he wrapped his arm around my torso as he slammed into me relentlessly. “Fuck, how do you always feel so good?” He grunted into my shoulder. Suddenly, he stopped. A whiny little noise escaped my throat. “Turn over. Good girl, now stick your ass out.” He slapped my ass again, leaving it stinging and aching for more. “Higher, just like that. Wanna fuck you just like that...” 

For the second time, Isaac entered me, sheathed hilt-deep in my pussy. Tthe new angle was making it hard to stay on my knees. He put his hand on my hip to hold me in place.

“Isaac, fuck,” I moaned, “I’m gonna come.” 

He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on my spine. “Good, me too,” he said.

Isaac snaked a hand around my hip and toyed with my clit. All the while he fucked me slow and deep, with his chest against my back, talking filth into my ear. My moans came out in silent mewls. Isaac’s pace was torturously slow. 

“You hate it when I go slow like this, don’t you?” he muttered. “It’s too bad since I like taking my time with you.” 

I could feel my orgasm bubbling up, so close to brimming over. 

“Please, Isaac,” I moaned pathetically. 

“Please, what?”

“Please let me come,” I whined. 

“Shhh, baby, you’ll come soon enough. You’re just gonna have to be a little patient--oh, shit,” he said in response to me clenching around him. “Your pussy feels so fucking good, you’re so wet.” Isaac grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled, tugged sharply the way I liked it. “Is this what you wanted?” he muttered. He rubbed my clit in quick circles and rutted into me fast and deep. He came before me, and my walls milked out his orgasm before he sent me over the edge. 

I dug my nails into Isaac’s shoulder as my body quivered. The jolts of pleasure continued for a good minute afterwards, and Isaac laid me on my side and cradled my body against him. He cupped my cheek and peppered soft little kisses all over my face. 

“Shh, I got you,” he said softly. 

When I finally came down from the high, in the clarity that followed, it occurred to me that I was no longer mad. 

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. 

“Don’t be. I told you angry sex would be good.”

I chuckled. “No, I mean that you were right. About all of it. I’ve been working too much. We barely see each other.” 

He kissed my forehead. “S’alright. I just get worried about you. You’re so stressed out all the time. And I miss you.” Isaac moved his fingertips against my back, tracing lazy, comforting circles. 

“I miss you too.” I snuggled deeper into his chest. “I’ll cut back on work. Wanna spend more time with you.”

“Is that right? You’re actually gonna listen to me?” He feigned shock.

I giggled and lightly punched his arm. “Shut up.” I pressed a contented kiss against his chest, right above his beating heart. “Love you,” I mumbled as I dozed off. Isaac’s fingers combed gently through my hair, lulling me into slumber. 

“Love you more.”

fin.

[janiedean]

Prompt. Book canon setting. Jaime can hear Brienne's thoughts.

*spins wheel* LET'S SEE WHAT HAPPENS WITH THIS ONE and sorry for the lateness anon!!

warnings: set during asos/the road trip so expect what canon offered including the attempted rape scene

--

buy me a coffee | commissions open

--

He doesn't hear her until -

Until sometime after they hack the hand off.

He doesn't know when he realizes for sure because he's too fucking out of it, but when Shagwell says that stupid fucking line about the two of them being lovers while they were chained to each other on the horse and wondering who out of the two of them is the knight and the maiden, he clearly hears her saying you wouldn't know a true knight if Arthur Dayne himself vouched for them and for a moment he wonders if she's gone mad, but -

But no one does or says anything about it.

Which - they hit them more than once if they tried to speak out of turn, or at least they hit her, he was entirely beyond it, so it's fucking weird, because that kind of thing shouldn't - it's too bloody forward, and then whatever I thought of him sure as the Seven Hells he's a better one than the whole bloody lot of them, and -

He wonders, deliriously, if she swears that much all the time, and then he realizes no one actually came up to them to do anything about it.

But he heard it.

Loud and clear.

Is he going mad?

He doesn't know.

He passes out a short while later, smelling the stench of his own rotting hand, and thanking his blessing that at least the wench is fucking warm, isn't she?

--

He had thought that was the worst he could smell in his entire life.

After vomiting the damned horse piss they gave him to drink, he decides that maybe he'll reconsider it, and - for a moment he can just taste the damned vomit on his tongue and he knows it's all over him and in between that and the remains of what he drank on his tongue he feels like retching all over again, and then he realizes in utter humiliation that it's not the only thing that smells foul on him as they laugh and laugh and laugh, and then someone tells the wench that they're not going farther if he smells like his own shit, too, and he's sure he hears her saying if only I could steal a sword, but - but he has to be making that up. She can't have said it. She can't have said it -

And they do nothing as she says she'll need her hands free and she comes close to him, and he can barely look at her but then she opens her mouth as she gently brings him close to the river and tells him to drink some water from her cupped hand before she starts cleaning the vomit off his beard, and he's halfway delirious with how much he wants to retch again -

No one deserves that, he hears the wench say, and he turns to her to ask her if she's gone mad -

No one deserves that and I can't even imagine how he's -, he hears, and she has her mouth closed.

He saw that. There is no way she actually spoke. And then she motions for him to lay down on the ground and oh fuck she has to change his smallclothes doesn't she and he just wants to fucking bury himself in the ground - he knows she's done that before, he sort of felt it even if he was passed-out half of the time, but now he's awake for it and he just wants to shrink away from her as she gently undoes his trousers and lowers him into the water -

I failed my vow, he hears, but if that's how I can keep what's left of it, fine. Fine.

She -

She thinks she did what?

And that's when it hits him.

If she's not speaking but he's hearing her and he hasn't gone mad -

Is he hearing her thoughts?

And -

And he was sure she loathed him. What is she even on about when it comes to failing her fucking vow?

He wishes he could figure that out.

It hurts too much, though, and he lets himself pass out, but the fact that she's holding him up as he does somehow -

Somehow makes it less worse than the other times.

--

No, no, stop, he hears when he tries to steal that sword and what a lot of good it did to him, and - is she talking to him or them, he doesn't know, but he can't waste time with it, not when he has to try and fight his way out - except that he doesn't, and then he trips over the damned rock while the others laugh, but Brienne doesn't, and Shagwell comes close and kisses him on the damned head and he wants to retch just at the feeling and -

Can't they leave him alone, just leave him alone, he doesn't deserve it, no one deserves it, he has more guts in him than you all and how dare you even do this Lady Catelyn trusted me with his safety and I can barely do anything what are they thinking what are they thinking he doesn't he doesn't oh but I'm watching them, let them think I'm harmless but the moment I can act I will I will I will I can't fail my vows like this not for the second time not now -

Rorge kicks the sword away from him.

He lets them throw him back on the horse.

There is no way he has hallucinated her thinking about fucking Catelyn Stark.

He closes his eyes and lets himself pass out - he can't deal with this.

He can't he can't he can't -

--

"Jaime."

He's halfway sure she did speak, now. Because she's not being loud and clear. She's whispering and he's looking up at the night sky wondering why would such pretty stars look down on such as him, and then -

"Jaime, what are you doing?"

Oh.

Yes.

She is talking to him. And - calling him by his damned name? What the -

Well, no point in lying now.

"Dying," he blurts, and then -

No no no he shouldn't not for this not because of them oh no no no I can't fail him like this I can't fail my lady like this I swore I'd bring him to King's Landing and it wouldn't - no no it's not fair it's not fair I can't I can't I can't -

She sounds pretty damn panicked, he thinks, and then -

“No,” Brienne on, “no, you must live.”

“Stop telling me what do, wench. I’ll die if it pleases me," he blurts, and -

No, no, that's not - he can't, he can't die like this, and no one - he might have slayed his king but not even he deserves this, that's beyond - I can't let him give up I just can't he shouldn't he shouldn't gods what will piss him off enough to do it what would -

What is she even -

"Are you so craven?" She blurts, and -

"What else can I do, but die?" He blurts back, and he's - he's not even - he would have been angered if he hadn't known but just the fact that she knew calling him a coward would have at least made him angry is making his head spin, and -

Oh yes yes good that's better -

"Live. Live, fight and take revenge," she says, and then Rorge hears them before he can answer -

“You will hold your bloody tongue if you want to keep it, bitch,” he shouts in her face, “or do you want it around your neck like his hand?”

He starts kicking her in the stomach and she moans in pain, but -

But -

I don't care I don't care I don't care I can take it I took worse I took a lot bloody worse than this as long as he lives I don't care and at least he's kicking me and not him I can take it I can I can I can -

He -

He swallows, closing his eyes while her pained moans fill his ears.

He doesn't go to sleep that night. Not really.

--

It's just -

He tries to think about it while she goddamned changes his soiled smallclothes so he doesn't have to look at her in shame and he can hear her thinking that it's the least she could do and she'll see him through it if it kills her.

She -

She was -

She loathed him. He knew she did. It was obvious. Maybe this is just... compassion or something like that, but - but she certainly isn't letting that stop her from making this entire fucking ordeal less bad than it could be, for what it's worth, and he can't help thinking, now for all she fancies herself a knight she's keeping her word isn't she, and he feels a lump in his throat as she ties back his breeches around his waist and helps him to the horse, again.

She's gentle, when she pulls him up on it.

Gentler than anyone else has been while handling him in - he doesn't know how long.

Please live until we reach safety, she thinks, and he almost falls off the horse at how sad she sounded. Please please please. I have to bring you to King's Landing. I swore I'd keep you safe. I can't do more than this. Please just live.

Fucking Seven Hells.

She meant it, when she swore her lady that dumb vows, didn't she.

Fuck.

Fuck, he is her damned vow, and -

His head spins just at the thought.

He's just - he's not going to go further down that road. He's not. But he can't lie to himself about how sincere she sounds, and anyway if he's hearing her thoughts because of some stupid weird strange magic then she couldn't be lying, could she?

Fuck.

Fuck, she really does believe in oaths, doesn't she?

--

He probably asked for it, ranting about Aerys the closer to Harrenhal they got.

He hears her wondering is there something he's not telling people, because this makes no sense, not with how he sounds, not with what everyone knows, why does he sound so sad, why oh I hope he's not going mad what if he does but could I blame him if he did, and then Rorge is back kicking him in the stump and making him scream and -

I want to kill him with my bare hands, she thinks, I want to kill him with my bare damned hands god stop it can't you see he's harmless and just because of you bastards stop stop stop this is just too cruel this is too cruel why why why -

Well, he thinks before he passes out again, the pain in his wrist too blinding, at least she didn't loathe him so much she'd be glad of this.

Oh, he knew, but -

But the idea that someone wants to kill this man just because he's hurting him just -

It doesn't -

People don't want to take revenge on anyone for him, he's the one who usually -

It just doesn't -

Everything goes black.

--

When he hears the whole lot of them talking about who's taking the front and the back, he knows what they're planning.

Thing is -

I knew it was going to happen. Very well then. They'll get a fight. I'm not letting them have me easily. Fuck all, maybe I should have just let that bastard Hyle Hunt have it when they did that bet, at least it wouldn't be with any of them -

He's -

He's not going to even think about what she meant with the bet, he's too out of it, but -

She wants to fight all of them? From what he's seen she would, but -

He thinks of Queen Rhaella screaming and screaming behind that door and he couldn't do anything and she didn't fight and survived enough to birth a daughter, but - but these pieces of shit will hack her into pieces if she does and for some reason he just can't -

Not when she cares enough to -

“Wench,” he tries, “Let them have their meat, and you go far away,” he keeps on. “It will be over quicker, and they’ll get less pleasure from it.”

What the hell is he up to? What does he even care? She shakes her head. Oh, fucking stubborn wench -

“They’ll get no pleasure from what I’ll give them,” she replies. If this is how I lose my maidenhead then I'm not just letting them take it. And what does he even mean? I can't go anywhere. Far away? What does he even mean?

Oh, damn it. She doesn't get it. She won't handle it. She might be good but it will break her and if she fights it it'll just break her more, he saw it happen, he fucking saw it happen, he can't let them do it again, he can't -

“Let them do it, and go away inside." What might convince her anyway? "Think of Renly, if you loved him. Think of Tarth, mountains and seas, pools, waterfalls, whatever you have on your Sapphire Isle, think…" He keeps on talking, but then she shakes her head again, and -

As if Renly ever wanted me like that. I know he didn't. And I don't know what does he care but I can't. I handled - I handled this all my fucking life, I'll live. I knew it could happen. I'll break a few noses before they even try.

He was about to press, but then Rorge shows up and tells her that she's the ugliest woman he's ever seen -

As if I haven't heard that all my life, she scoffs in her head, and Jaime's stomach is curling on itself and he realizes he's going to have to watch them do it -

“But don’t think I can’t make you uglier. You want a nose like mine? Fight me, and you’ll get one. And two eyes, that’s too many. One scream out o’ you, and I’ll pop one out and make you eat it, and then I’ll pull your fucking teeth out one by one.”

And then he hears the thought, so clear, so fucking loud that he almost screams at hearing it -

not my eyes, they’re the only part of me other people seem to not think ugly

- and then she shakes her head and glares back at him, and when Shagwell talks about fucking her up the arse she thinks well, at least I won't have to see him while he does, and -

Oh no no no no he can't watch it happen, he can't watch it happen by sitting here and do nothing not like this not when she sounded like she was about to cry thinking about losing those pretty eyes of hers -

Maybe -

Maybe he can -

“There’s a funny fool,” he says, his own voice sounding so calm it almost freaks him out. “I have a riddle for you, Shagwell. Why do you care if she screams? Oh, wait, I know.”

No, no, no, you are a fool, what are you doing, he’s going to kill you — he hears Brienne think, but he can't care less, not now -

“Sapphires," he shouts, and -

Well.

The pain in his wrist when Rorge kicks it is entirely worth knowing he won't have to watch her being raped in front of him without even a door in the middle.

--

She's quiet for the rest of the day, but not to him.

No one else ever did what he just has, she thinks.

No other man ever -

Those bastards at Renly's camp wanted to - and he was the one -

How could I have misjudged him so badly -

What is he even hiding it makes no sense he can't be as horrible as he likes everyone to presume -

He saved me he saved me he saved me -

How could - I was supposed to keep him safe and he saved me oh gods he did -

When she finally talks, and asks him in a thin voice, calling him by his name, why did he do it, he lies. Makes up something about wanting Vargo Hoat to say thappireth, about it being a repayment for her helping him escape Riverrun at the end of it, and he can only hear what she's not saying.

I could have handled it, I always have, he was a true knight oh gods he was one, and -

I have a debt to you, too, she thinks, and his stomach lurches, but not in the bad way.

Gods.

She really is... everything she looks like, isn't she?

--

He does try to goad her in the tub.

If only to not think about how she's thinking something about having completely failed all over while she scrubs herself, but it's so angry and garbled he can barely make sense of it, and then she shrinks back from him, and -

"Does the sight of my stump distress you so?" He asks, attempting to goad her more, and then she flinches and -

I can't look at it because it's - the proof I failed you, I said I'd bring you back whole from King's Landing and here's what happened and I could barely - I mean, I did what I could but I said I'd keep you safe I swore I did I swore Lady Catelyn I would and is he trying to make me feel bad about it, is it how he's taking revenge on me, not that I can blame him but I tried oh I tried please -

He was abut to tell her something about Renly to goad her further.

He -

He can't.

"I'm sorry," he says, and when she looks at him like she can't believe him, he shrugs again. “I’m a maimed man, and bitter. Forgive me, wench. You protected me as well as any man could have, and better than most.”

What is he apologizing now why would he it makes no sense gods I don't know what to make of him anyone else wouldn't be meaning this does he mean it I don't know I don't know -

"Do you mock me?" She replies, feebly, and -

He can't even be angry at her after that. She really.... is that guarded, is't she? And if - if people bet on her maidenhead, presumably, from what he gathered, can he even blame her?

"No," he says, "I want a truce. And I meant it."

"Truces are built on trust. Should I trust -"

"The kingslayer?" He finishes for her.

I meant different - she starts thinking, but then -

Then he can't shut his mouth and before he knows it he's told her everything when he never told anyone else and he can hear her thinking oh oh oh it makes sense oh it adds up oh but why hasn't he told why hasn't he said oh gods oh gods I knew he was hiding something, and -

And when he almost faints and she catches him, gently, gentler than Cersei ever was -

I couldn't on the road but there is no way I'm leaving him to suffer now, she thinks, and then no one will answer if I call for help, but if - I won't - I don't want to say it -

She asks help for the kingslayer.

But that's not his name, she thinks, and he thinks he's crying as he passes out.

--

He hadn't wanted to leave her behind.

The moment he did, he felt like - he should have been happy, he was going back to Cersei, why wouldn't he be, except that he thinks about how she said goodbye and told him that she hoped he'd keep their vow and he could hear I completely failed but if he's - if he's the way I think he can be maybe he will do it even if I couldn't and just - he thought Arthur Dayne was the best knight he ever knew but the wench fucking buys it, believes it deep down, she fucking means it and everyone else - everyone else was more of a hoax than he has been, he knows, he has seen it, but her -

He doesn't think he's ever met anyone who was - who wanted it quite as much, not even himself, and her thoughts were what they were but they made him feel - less alone somehow and now he's surrounded by Bolton men and that fucking Qyburn and he can't hear them but from the way they look at him he can guess what they think, and then -

Then he dreams of her putting herself in between him and his older Kingsguard and looking almost beautiful and all knightly as she held that flaming sword and was as naked as she was in the baths and -

He can't.

He just fucking can't.

He goes back to Harrenhal.

--

He doesn't hear her thoughts until he jumps into the bear pit.

What is he doing here she thinks and oh he had missed her voice in his head fuck didn't he, and he smiles as she calls him Kingslayer but not meaning it at all, he knows she doesn't -

He tells her to get behind him and she protests that he's unarmed, of course she would but then -

why would he come back why why why he was going back to his sister wasn't he he was he said he was he loves her doesn't he he said so why is he here did he come back for me because he thought I was in danger oh god he did it's the second time he does it no one else has ever no one else has ever I always had to do it on my own how how how he is here

He swallows and hopes like mad that Steelshanks does what he's supposed to.

He does.

By the time they're out of the damned pit and Vargo Hoat is seething and she replies with a faint whisper that she's still a maiden when he asks he's ready to just - brush it off, why wouldn't he -

why why why why oh he looks so handsome like this he's everything I thought true knights would be once

Jaime is about to trip on his damned feet, and then -

"Ser Jaime?" She asks, thinly. "I am grateful, but you were well-away. Why come back?"

He could have just - brushed her off. Told a quip. Joked about it as he usually does. Something cruel, so she'd go back to thinking horribly of him, but she's staring at him with those pretty, wide blue eyes as she can't believe he's there and he did come back, and -

maybe he thought it was the honorable thing and oh he does have honor I see it now, but why for me, why for me, who else ever has, I never was that kind of girl, I can't believe he did that for me

Fucking hells. How old is she anyway? Eight and ten? He remembers being almost her age and - having lost all of that goodness she has, all that self-righteousness that everyone needs should they be knights, and she's looking at him like he just walked out of a song -

"I dreamed of you," he says instead, and it's the truth, isn't it -

Oh, she says, men don't dream of me, do they, and -

Fuck.

Fuck.

--

He should avoid her.

He should, because if - if she's falling in love with him and it all points to that then - then it wouldn't - it can't - Cersei would - he can't even begin to quantify it -

But then the Red Wedding happens and he hears her weeping in her tent on the way to King's Landing and he hears it, he hears it -

would ser jaime let me weep on his shoulder or would he think it beneath a true knight now

He's -

He's in her tent before he can think about it and he lets her and she grasps at his shoulders like she can't believe he's real, and then she thanks him in a thin voice and he could leave it at that but then he hears it, he hears it -

I've never known a better man

So loud and clear it's deafening, and he can't even lie to himself anymore, he can't -

He doesn't know who moves first.

What he knows is that they're kissing after a moment of staring at each other and she's whimpering into his mouth while her hands touch his face and the back of his head so gently he wants to weep at it, and is he kissing me is he kissing me oh gods I'm dreaming am I she's thinking and -

He shakes his head and brings his left hand to her cheek, fingers shaking, and he can't - he can't put up the front anymore.

"It's real," he says, and her eyes widen. "Don't worry, wench, you're easy to read. But it's - it's a good thing, I think."

"I - I didn't - I've wanted it since the bath, I think," she admits, and he could have said, I could have known or I suspected or I knew you had wanted it at the bear pit, at least.

"I kissed you first, didn't I?" He replies, and - "And for what it's worth, I want to keep that vow to fucking Catelyn Stark. And you didn't fail your side of it. I mean, I'm alive, am I not?"

"How did you know that - I thought I had?"

"You talk in your sleep," he lies, because he can't tell her that he can still hear her damned thoughts though he might have to later, but -

She tells him that she knows she doesn't expect him to keep on doing this when they reach King's Landing, and kisses him again.

He doesn't stop her.

--

When she walks into his room dressed in blue, the thought hits him so hard he almost staggers.

he looks so handsome like this, oh, I don't know how long it has been but he - he looks like a god, doesn't he, but - he can't want it again, can he -

He tells her to close the door and come closer. He - he didn't think he'd ever do what he's about to, but after the conversation he just had with Cersei -

He didn't need to read her mind to realize a few things he should have realized a long time ago, he thinks.

And then Brienne tells him that white becomes him, and -

It suits him, he looks like he was born for it and honestly he was, maybe now he can -

"I have a proposition for you," he says, and puts the Valyrian sword on the table in between the two of them.

He tells her where that sword comes from. He tells her he wants her to have it so she can look for Sansa Stark because she's his last chance at honor, but then -

"And if you wait for tomorrow to leave, until I free my brother before Cersei has him killed for a crime he didn't commit, I would come with you."

She almost drops the sword.

"You - come with me? But - you're -"

"The new Lord Commander? I am," he says, "but - I think - I thought about a few things. I - I think I'd rather be out there with you and my sister - she's not - she's not the person I remembered." Understatement. "I'll need to make sure a few things are under control here, and I have to make sure Tyrion does his escape, and - a few other matters. But - I'll send Varys to you with the name of one specific inn. Wait for me there. Three days at most and I'll join you. Will you?"

of course I would of course I will oh gods he gave me a valyrian sword he thinks I'm - he thinks I can - he'd come with me - oh gods yes yes yes

"Ser," she bows, "I would. I will wait for your missive."

Then she bows and leaves.

Well then.

Well then.

--

Three days later, he knocks on her door feeling drained inside - that conversation with Tyrion was not... what he had thought it would be and he hopes he has it in himself to forgive him with time, and his uncle hasn't quite realized what he meant to do, but - he made him understand that he should take very good care of the king and to make sure Cersei doesn't become regent, because she - she just isn't a good choice, he can see it now, and now he's tired and -

he came back, Brienne thinks in delight as he opens the door.

Fuck it all.

He kicks it closed and kisses her again, and as she moans into his mouth anew, he decides that he doesn't care what happens from now on.

He always wanted to be Arthur Dayne.

Maybe with her he can be.

End.

[suite43]

this was a commissioned peice of writing for @princemai . If you're interested in a commission, dm me!

Adjusting to life after the war was never going to be easy. How do you coexist with the people who've been trying to kill you for millions of years? It didn't take a nihilist to think that the peace wouldn't last.

Bumblebee counted himself pleasantly surprised that, well, something seemed to last. Peace wasn't the right word, but at least it was less "endlessely killing each other" and more "the entire universe hates us and we can't really blame them". But for the most part, these days, things were peaceful.

That didn't mean it was easy.

You wouldn't call it easy to wake up next to the closest thing you'd ever had to an arch-nemisis wrapped around you. You wouldn't quite know what to do with the fact that as much as he hates to admit it, he's afraid of the dark. And you wouldn't blame yourself for waking up sometimes afraid that you'll find a knife at your throat.

It wasn't easy. But it was peaceful, more or less. Because when Starscream kissed him in that way he did almost every morning, gentle and still half-asleep, Bumblebee could nearly forget he'd ever thought of the mech next to him as dangerous, and a part of him would wonder why it hadn't always been like this.

But then they get up, and the day would go on, and even though there's peace now, there's a lot of history, and Bumblebee can't help but feel like they're both just waiting for everything to turn sideways.

Bumblebee wants to trust Starscream. And he does, on some level at least. Immensely so. Enough to have trusted him with the fate of the universe. But every argument, every time the banter hits just a little bit too close to home, every time Starscream slips back into a crueler, more violent version of himself, Bumblebee wonders to himself if maybe this is it. After all, it wasn't really that long ago that they were shooting at each other.

Starscream has the same thoughts. Obviously, he won't admit it, but it's easy enough to see through his acts once you know him well enough - When did Bumblebee start to know him well enough? How the hell did that happen? It all feels so fast - But sometimes when there's a certain tension in his wings and his fingers curl up ever so slightly and his eyes shoot around, planning his escape, Bumblebee knows that Starscream is just as scared as he is.

It's not always like that. There are moments when they're alone where it feels like none of that matters. They sit together on their couch and they're quiet as they both do their own thing, and Bumblebee shifts to lean against Starscream's shoulder and Starscream wraps one arm around him, his hand idly tracing small circles on Bumblebee's plating, and it just feels right. Bumblebee feels more safe there than anywhere in the universe, curled into the side of one of the most dangerous people in the universe. In a moment like that, he'd tear his spark out and put it in Starscream's hands if he asked him to.

But... It wasn't that long ago that he watched people he loved die at those hands. Those same strong, clever hands that slotted perfectly into his like they were built that way, like everything in their lives had led them to this specific touch. Bumblebee wasn't a big believer in destiny but sometimes everything would line up just so, and if he'd been slightly more of a romantic he'd've called them soulmates.

It was this confusing blend of love and hate, of forgiveness and grudge and grief and adoration that didn't make sense at all and yet when Starscream knows exactly what to order him when they go out it makes perfect sense. And, somehow, it works out.

They've never really talked about... well, whatever this is. It's clearly a relationship, at this point. It's hard to argue for 'just friends' after that many rounds of... well, you know what. It's equally as hard after catching each other after god-knows-how-many nightmares, after thousands of late-late-night conversations, after the way that making each other laugh became the easiest thing in the world, after the way that they would whisper sweet complements between each other like a secret because it was far too embarrasing to say loudly.

So yeah, it was a relationship. But "open, honest communication" was not exactly in Starscream's skillset, and, well, Bee wasn't really sure he wanted to talk about it either. Putting a name on it felt. Dangerous. Like it'd ruin it. There'd be too much pressure, too much commitment, too much... truth. It felt like confessing something that he wasn't ready for.

It was one thing to sleep with Starscream. It was another to, say, kiss Starscream. It was a third thing to literally sleep with Starscream, to trust the second-least-trustworthy person on Cybertron to be with him at his most vulnerable. But to be dating Starscream? To introduce Starscream as his partner? As his conjunx? That was a world of different things that Bumblebee was absolutely not prepared to handle.

What was he supposed to say? Oh, by the way, this is my conjunx. He's killed more people than my brain can even comprehend, but he also saved the universe that one time so it's totally cool now, don't worry!

But he loved him, and that was the problem. He loved Starscream so much, and he wanted everyone in the universe to know about the funny, thoughtful, brilliant person that he loved with all his heart.

And didn't it mean something that Bumblebee had seen Starscream at his absolute worst, and still decided that loving him was worthwhile? It wasn't like Bee was just flailing at the whims of his emotions, he chose to be here. Well, not the first time, that had just kind of happened. But after that, he'd chosen to stay, because loving him seemed worth the trouble of hating him, right? And Starscream was getting better, and that was a good thing.

And who was he worried about knowing? The handful of people Bumblebee would've bothered to tell if they did get married already knew the situation, and it wasn't exactly like either of them were really public figures anymore. The government job Windblade had gotten to keep Starscream busy was mostly just paperwork, and aside from the odd job here or there Bumblebee didn't do much. He'd basically retired. So they weren't going to be the talk of the town or anything. Besides, it's kind of old news, there'd been rumors of them doing something together pretty much since the second the war ended. It wasn't true then, but by now the scandal had kinda worn off and it was more of a "yeah, no shit" kind of gossip.

Still. A decade or so of closeness didn't really feel like long enough for a lifetime commitment, especially after what, four million years of hating each other beforehand?

But... Life is shorter than you expect it to be, right? They'd both died once over the course of this whatever-it-was. And the second time, they really had thought it'd stick, and Starscream sorta-haunting him from another dimension or whatever seemed like it was a permanent commitment, and that didn't scare Bumblebee at all. It sounded nice, not having to be alone again. This was like that, except he could be alone, sometimes, because neither of them could walk through walls or locked doors anymore so all he had to do for some privacy was tell Starscream to politely fuck off for a bit, which was a plus, right? Way more pracitcal.

"Can't we talk about this in the morning?" Starscream complained, eyes half shut, snapping Bumblebee out of his train of thought.

"What?" Bumblebee asked, confused.

"I don't want you to propose while we're drunk and you're rambling, idiot," Starscream was laying in Bee's lap, nuzzling his face into Bee's stomach plating. They were holding hands. When did that happen? "We can talk about it later."

Oh, shit.

"How much of that did I say out loud?"

"I dunno, you talk a lot. You're keeping me up."

"Shit. Sorry."

"S'okay. Your voice is nice."

"Oh." It was quiet for a minute.

"It's okay if you hate me. I get it," Starscream said.

"I don't hate you," Bee responded, blinking a few times, trying to shake off the feeling of spinning. "I like it when you're here."

"But you kind of have to hate somebody a little to love them, right?" Starscream shifted, staring up at the ceiling, head still resting on Bee's stomach. "I mean, it's hard to be with someone all the time.  Especially when you're stubborn and stupid, and you do stupid obnoxious things and I hate it. But if you weren't those things I hate, you wouldn't entirely be you. And I don't just like parts of you, I like you, and I can hate things you do while still knowing that it's you, and I love who you are. Even when we piss each other off. It's still you. Right?"

"Do you think i'm stupid? I'm not stupid."

"You're missing the point."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing so much. I hate it when you apologize." Starscream's hand squeezed his a little tighter.

"Oh... uh. sorry."

"You make me feel... like..." Starscream just kind of trailed off.

"Yeah, I know. you too... uh. I mean. you make me. uh. you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"This is good, right?"

"Mmm, it's gonna feel shitty in the morning, but right now it's good."

"What about after tommorow?"

"I don't know. Ask me then."

"Hm."

"I don't have a plan, Bee. That's not normal for me. But I don't need you to tell me it's going to be like this forever, because it probably won't be. Things don't work out like that for us. But right now, for the first time in my entire life, I'm genuinely satisfied. Can we just enjoy that? I don't know how to be happy, Bee. I don't know how to handle it. But I'm trying to make this work. We can go back to shooting each other tommorow if that's easier for you, but right now, I'm happy."

"Yeah? Yeah. Me too. God, I'm happy," Bumblebee pulled their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to Starscream's knuckles where they intersected. "I'm happy that you're happy. I want you to be happy."

"I know," Starscream said. He muttered something else, but it was quiet and slurred and Bee couldn't quite make it out. In his head, Bee imagined it was something along the lines of I love you.

[dameronology]

best friend {javier pena x reader}

summary: after finally calling it a day on a bad relationship, you turn to javier for comfort

warnings: mentions of alcohol + smoking, swearing

i was listening to best friend by rex orange county when i was writing this so i guess it’s loosely based on it? it’s definitely where the title came from. i hope you enjoy!

- jazz

Javier hated pulling all nighters - he especially hated them when it was Friday. Everyone else at the office was either going out to drink or going home to spend the evening with their families. The sounds of music and laughter that surrounded the outside of the DEA offices only acted as a reminder of how lonely he’d become; because, even if Colombia was the source of much of his grief, for others, it was their home. Their happiness and their life. Both of which, these days, seemed to be things he struggled to find

That wasn’t to say that his life completely lacked enrichment. Between the antics of you and Murphy, and the progress you were all making towards capturing Escobar, things weren’t all that bad. Especially you. He didn’t entirely know what your presence in his life meant, but it was a hell of lot. It felt like he’d finally started to see his life in colour when you were assigned the desk beside his. Your energy and your wit enriched everything, even if 99% of your relationship consisted of taking swipes at one another, 

If there was one thing he was grateful on nights like these, it was that the DEA apartment building wasn’t too far from the office. Murphy had clearly gotten home hours ago, because his car was in his spot and the lights to his unit at the front of the complex were dimmed. Your own vehicle was a few spaces over from Javi’s, terribly parked (as per usual) and barely between the white lines. At least he could take comfort in the fact that both his friends had made it home safe.

Or, you’d at least made it the front steps of the building. 

Javier almost did a double take when he saw you, a half-burnt cigarette in one hand and a completely empty bottle of wine in the other. You were slumped against the railings, eyes glued to the floor in front of you. He knew had it been a rough week - there had been a lot of bloodshed and not a lot of progress - but he hadn’t realised it had been that bad. And you would have told him, right? You told him everything. Literally everything. Probably more than you told your own damn boyfriend (who he hated - not that it was important). 

‘Jesus.’ Javi didn’t bother to offer you a greeting. 

You looked up at a him, a hazy smile playing on your face when your eyes met. ‘Agent Pena! How are you doing?’

‘You never call me that. I hate it.’ He muttered, dropping onto the stairs beside you. ‘Please don’t tell me you drove home like this.’

‘God, no.’ You snorted. ‘I drove home then went to a bar with Tom.’

‘How is he?’

‘Him? Yeah, we broke up.’ You casually shrugged. ‘So then I brought some wine and realise I left my keys.’

‘Oh, honey.’ Javi murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t give me that, Jav.’ You elbowed him slightly. ‘I know you hated him.’

‘Guilty as charged.’

Javier stood up, moving the bottle aside and sticking his hand out to you. He didn’t exactly relate to what you were going through. Mostly because he didn’t get into relationships, or that he was always the one to end them. He hadn’t really known heartbreak in the conventional sense. Sure, he’d felt a pang in his chest when you first introduced him to your now ex just over a year ago, but that wasn’t loss. It was just..something he didn’t want to think about. It was a can of worms he’d been pretty good at keeping shut, and he was not going to start sorting through it at 1AM. He was far from drunk (unlike some people) but hours and hours of paperwork and chain smoking had fogged his brain. Right then, you needed a friend, and that was something he could be. Though you hadn’t shared all that much emotion together - mostly just careless banter and harmless teasing - your jobs had bonded you for life. You’d certainly witnessed a lot of twisted things, and it meant that you and Murphy were the only two people in the world who truly understood the kind of thing he dealt with. And, with all due respect to Murphy, you got on Javi’s nerves a fuck ton less. 

You tangled your fingers with his, letting him drag you up off the steps. Stumbling for a moment, you gripped onto his shirt for balance. It felt like somebody had taken a baseball bat to your head and to your stomach. Whether you wanted to chunder or faint first, you didn’t know. The only thing you could think about was the warm arms wrapping around your waist, and the feeling of Javier’s body being flush against yours as he pulled you against his side and guided you into the building. 

‘Where do you think you left your keys?’ He gently asked. He didn’t say anything when you slumped further against him, all your energy staying solely on walking and not falling. 

‘Thabar.’ You murmured.

‘Huh?’

‘The bar.’ You repeated. ‘I’ll go back in the morning. It’s fine.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be awake before midday.’ Javi chided. 

He held you there for a moment, fumbling about for his own keys, before kicking open the apartment door.

His place wasn’t bad, but it didn’t feel that far off of a show apartment, or the window of an Ikea. It was identical to yours, except you’d actually made yours homier. Javi’s, meanwhile, looked exactly as it had the day he’d moved in. None of the furniture had moved, and the television had probably been turned on a total of twice. Whilst your place was covered in photos and personally belongings, his was filled with bottles of whiskey and strewn leather jackets. He did have one photo hanging on his fridge; it was a Polaroid of him, you and Murphy, chilling out at your favourite bar. You were in the middle of them, practically hanging off their arms with a grin on your face. Javier would never let either of you actually know how much you meant to him. He couldn’t deal with the teasing. 

The next few moments were a blur of you dropping onto his sofa, hitting the leather with a thump. He tossed a warm blanket over you, before helping you kick off your shoes and taking a seat beside you. With the alcohol making you more brazen than usual, you didn’t think twice about curling against his side, and Javier didn’t think twice about letting you. He knew better than anyone that sometimes, a hug was the best medicine - so, he tossed an arm over your shoulders, pulling you towards him in a similar manner to how he had done in the hallway. The smell of his aftershave was gentle, mixed with a faint smell of cigarettes and the mint hand cream he insisted he didn’t use. It was just...Javi. And you loved it. 

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ Javi gently asked, thumb rubbing circles over the bare skin on your arm.

‘I dunno what there is to say.’ You murmured. ‘I saw it coming. I definitely saw it coming but I just...I thought he was it you know. I mean, you probably don’t know because the one for you is whiskey and cigarettes-’

‘- is this an attack on me or your ex?’ He joked. 

‘Right, sorry.’ You peered up at him through hooded eyes. ‘Just hurts, y’know? Because for all his flaws, he’s probably as good as I’m ever gonna get.’

‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ He reminded you. ‘That man never deserved you.’

‘He wasn’t that bad, Jav.’

‘Remember all the times you were in a bad mood because he was late, or because he didn’t turn up to a date?’ His brown eyes flickered, staring at the blank wall ahead. He didn’t mean to overstep, or to be protective, but it was just that it you. And that was reason enough. 

‘He was trying his best.’

‘If that’s his best, then he’s in trouble.’ He snorted. 

You groaned, flopping further down into his chest. ‘It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. I don’t need a man to survive but maybe thats why I get through them so quickly.’

‘You’re not the problem.’ Javi said. 

‘My mum always said I was too much to handle-’

‘-  you’re not.’ He cut you off. ‘If they think you’re too much, then they’re not worth your time.’

‘There’s seven billion people on the planet. There must be someone, right?’

‘You don’t need to find somebody. You’re more than enough on your own.’ He said. (What he meant to say was: you don’t need to find somebody, but it’s okay if you want me). 

‘I know.’ You murmured. 

A silence fell over you. Javier wasn’t entirely sure what to say, because every time he tried to go over the possibilities, it kept ending with him declaring that he was the one you should be with. It made sense logistically. 

You didn’t like to be looked after, but you always let him. You both had the same job, so you both understood the struggle. The spark between you two was fucking immense and there was always something to talk about. It was hard to find a single reason not to be together - except for timing. And timing was kind of everything, especially when there was so much at stake. How much of it you needed, he didn’t know. That wasn’t even calculating in the fact that it would take Javier at least thirty more cycles of convincing himself to tell you before he finally took the plunge. 

‘Thank you for helping me tonight.’ You sleepily mumbled. 

‘Always.’ Javier replied. 

‘I’m trying not to fall asleep on you-’

‘- go ahead.’ He cut you off with a soft chuckle. 

‘I appreciate you.’ 

That was the last thing you managed, before sleep completely overtook you. This was new ground for your friendship - physical touch, deep conversations, Javi teetering dangerously close on the precipice of enlightening you with his feelings. The bottom could even have the best landing ever, or the worst. Was it worth the risk? 

Javi peered down at you, completely enamoured at the sight of you quietly snoozy, hand splayed out on his chest and eyes screwed shut. This could be an everyday thing. Domesticity and closeness and you. He could feel his chest physically hurting at the feeling; at the prospect of having you. Like, actually having you. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, brown eyes flickering up to the ceiling. That was when he knew in his very soul, the answer to that question.

You were worth every risk.

[theboredwritertm]

"Oh, darling, everybody sees how you look at him" fic request with Din/reader! (Please and thank you :3)

Everyone Knows

A/N: Another request done and dusted. I’ve been getting some new prompt lists ready for when I open requests back up again (not sure what tumblr etiquette is for compiling a masterlist using other people’s prompt-lists, but I’m considering doing something like that), but I still have about 4 or 5 fics to finish off before then!

Rating: PG?

Pairing: Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, a bit of alcohol, that’s about it. 

Word Count:  4500 (Me, failing to keep a story under 2k words? It’s more likely than you think)

Summary: After taking on the krayt dragon together, you’re forced to confront your feelings for Din (with a little help from everyone’s favorite marshal).   

***

The monster was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

There’d been times aboard the Crest, when there were still thousands of miles to go between stops, that you’d sit by Din, giving him your rapt attention as he’d recount one of his many stories about a particularly terrifying beast he’d encountered. Not that he would ever call them terrifying – the man had a will of steel when it came to facing these kinds of things. And on this occasion, in the middle of the Tatooine desert, things would prove no different. 

Only this time he had you.

You were still coming into your abilities, not really sure what they meant or the true extent of what you were capable of, and amazingly enough you found you were learning a lot from watching the Child. For instance, before he came along, you had never known you could heal people. A simple experiment with Din had proven this to be true enough – the man was prone to injury in his line of work – and though it had taken a lot of concentration, enough that you were sweating by the end, it got you wondering just what other miracles your hands could perform.

Now, standing beside Din and the man who had introduced himself to you both as Cobb Vanth, you stared down into the dragon’s lair and found yourself hoping those powers might come in handy.

“So, how’re we drawin’ this thing out?” Cobb asks.

You glance back at the dozens of townsfolk and Tuskens around you, sensing their uneasiness as they shuffle from foot to foot and cast occasional apprehensive glances in the direction of the danger and you’re surprised to see a couple of the Raiders step forward. Considering how well their peoples’ last attempt to draw out the beast had gone, you hadn’t expected any of them to be so willing to approach the pit again. 

Cobb glances over at them and cocks his head in immediate acceptance. Given his past troubles with their people, he can’t say he’s overly concerned over the prospect of losing a few more of them.

But you’ve never been one to stand by and watch people get hurt.

“No, wait.” The words leave your mouth automatically. Up until this point, you’d been feeling completely useless. Din had been keeping an even closer watch on you than usual since a stunt you had pulled back on Nevarro; one that had involved your unpredictable powers and the dozens of stormtroopers who’d had him cornered. Though he had come out of the situation a lot worse for wear than you had, he’d been hovering over you, keeping you a safe distance from any action ever since. You were starting to get sick of being kept on the sidelines. “I can do it,” you say. 

The Tuskens turn to look back at you, not able to understand what you’ve said, but sensing a potential change of plans, then their attention is drawn to the Mandalorian beside you as he quickly dashes their hopes. 

“No,” comes Din’s clear, expected response.

You turn to him. “I can handle this.”

“No. You’re staying where you are.”

You gaze at him for just a moment, anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach, before turning around and striding down the tall dune, towards the gaping mouth of the empty saarlac pit. You know better than to argue – you don’t have the time right now, but every time you did, he managed to use it as a way to distract you. You wouldn’t give him that opportunity now. You’d already made up your mind.

You feel the air stir as his hand shoots out to grab you, but you’re too quick; one of the things that’s managed to keep you alive this long, but now maybe the very thing that’s going to get you killed. 

“Dank Farrik!”

Cobb glances between the man beside him and your retreating form, attempting to hold back a smirk. In the short couple of days that he’s known you both, he’s already witnessed at least three separate arguments, none of which seemed to get either of you anywhere. He didn’t see this one going the big guy’s way, either.  

The modulator seems to amplify the frustration in Din’s voice, but you ignore it. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself, as you had proven to him numerous times now, and whatever problem he had with that was his own – you weren’t about to let his fears hold you back. Yet, as you draw closer to the yawning darkness, your heart begins to thud in your chest. For the first time, you feel the enormity of this creature, and you’ve never felt so small in your life. 

You sense him approach before you hear him. That was one advantage you’d always had over Din; he could never sneak up on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of watching everyone else do everything,” you say, finally coming to a stop, your gaze still trained forward, “I want to play my part. I need to play my part.”

“No, you need to stay safe.” His words sound threatening despite their context, but you ignore him once more. This time he does grab you, catching you around the forearm as you raise your hands in the direction of the cave. “Stop!”You’re tempted to use your powers to throw him off, but you can feel how much he means it and you’re struck with a sudden guilt. He cares. That’s all there is to it. 

“Please, let me do this.” You stare up into his helmet and feel him gazing back, considering things. His fingers loosen from your wrist. 

“Fine. But I’m staying with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, not bothering to hide your bitterness at the constant babysitting – though, if you’re being honest, you do feel better with him by your side.

You raise your hands again and close your eyes, focusing on the low hum of energy around you. You don’t feel it at first, but then its as if you’ve suddenly locked onto a connection – plugged yourself into an electric charge – and everything suddenly feels heightened. Everything feels more. You draw on from that, concentrating on the pit of darkness before you, then you push forward with your mind, reaching out. In the darkness, something stirs.

“What is it?” Din asks, as if he’s sensed the sudden change.

“I feel it,” you reply, eyes still closed, your brow now marked with a frown. 

He stares down at you and you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze (as much as you can through the helmet) but before either of you can say anything, a low rumbling begins to emit from the ground.

It had worked. 

And it was heading right for you. 

You’ll admit that, as much you’d wanted to play your part in this, you hadn’t really considered what came next once you did manage to draw the thing out. So now, as you watch the sand shift and begin to rise a hundred or so feet in front of you, you find yourself rooted to the spot. 

It’s Din who moves first.

Your hands had come up again, all you can think to do to hold the beast off, then suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and you’re being propelled into the air. You glance down just in time to see the enormous mouth erupt from the ground where you had just been standing.

This time, you don’t argue. You clutch onto him, air whipping through your hair, thankful that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

When you finally land, he sets you on your feet and quickly glances down to make sure you’re alright. You give him a quick nod, sensing the question in his gaze, and then he takes off again to rejoin the action. It takes you a moment to regain your balance, and you still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, but when you glance back you find that he’s set you down by the landspeeder, with the Child. He’s put you back at the kids’ table. 

You give a frustrated growl and the baby blinks curiously at you, eyes full of wonder. He’s just happy to be here, close to someone he likes. You offer a reassuring stroke over his little head, then turn to stalk back down the dunes; back towards the rest of the group whose lives apparently don’t mean as much to Din, since he’s more them happy for them to join in despite them having little-to-no fighting experience. You’re not about to sit back and watch them all die. 

As the dragon bursts out of the sand once more, the Tuskens and townsfolk begin firing harpoons into its side – a desperate attempt to keep it in place – and you watch as it wrenches itself free with a simple shake of its body. There’s no way this plan is going to work.

When you arrive back by Din’s side, he simply looks at you, not even bothering to admonish you, knowing it’s not going to get him anywhere at this point anyway. But as you look at him, a silent warning to not push you aside again, he sees you’ve got that same look in your eyes now as you had back on Nevarro. And it worries him. 

You move off together as a unit as the dragon begins its assault, firing with everything you’ve got to get its attention – in your case, your trusty blaster pistol – stopping only when it opens its jaws wide and proceeds to spit boiling acid down onto anyone within its reach. You watch in horror as people are disintegrated before your eyes.

A massive explosion beneath it distracts it long enough for any survivors to get clear of its path, and the creature suddenly dives.

You wait, watching for any sign that it’s coming back up, but the smoking landscape is silent and still. Yet, something doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Cobb says, voicing your concern, and you exchange worried glances.

“Me neither,” Din replies. His grip tightens on his blaster, waiting.

Then suddenly, up on the mountain, the creature bursts forth once more. It opens its mouth wide and you glance down at the people in its path about to be annihilated. You can’t watch this happen again. Moving as fast as your feet can carry you, you rush down towards them, shoving them aside with a powerful force-push seconds before the acid hits the sand, clearing them of its path just in time – leaving you in a tricky predicament. You’ve caught its attention now – and you have nowhere to go.

You catch the sound of jetpacks as Cobb and Din land either side of you, weapons raised and ready to come to your defense.

“Get back!” Din barks at you, and you find you have no choice but to listen to him. Failing to do so now, even just to prove a point, and you’re certain you’d be the dragon’s next meal. You’d pick your hill to die on one day, but this just wasn’t it. 

Din and Cobb take off into the air again, firing their weapons to draw the dragon’s attention away and give you time to escape. It works. The dragon, furious from the sudden new assault, turns and comes after them, spraying up sand as it whips its massive body in the new direction.  

As you watch them draw it further away, you can’t help but wonder what the plan is, since the original one has long fallen apart. They can’t keep drawing it away forever. Now that you have minute to breath, you look around for a way to help, and spot the explosives-laden bantha that had been led down as bait. It looks like it would rather be anywhere else and, hell, you don’t blame it, but glancing between it and the massive monster that currently has its sights set on the one man who never failed to put himself in the path of danger for you, you think maybe it was time to return the favor and finish this once and for all.

So, you grab the bellowing, hairy animal by its halter and do something stupid.

You start yelling. And waving your arms. And when that fails to grab the dragon’s attention, you start firing your weapon. Taking your odd behavior as some kind of cue, the townsfolk closest to you begin firing, too, and finally the dragon turns to face this latest assault, drawn to the movement of your waving arms and the scent wafting from the bantha. 

You spot the two armored men, now free of the dragon’s attention, flying up from the mountain before one in particular makes a sudden beeline in your direction. You can practically feel Din’s wrath radiating off of him before he even gets close, and it’s like the bantha can, too, as it begins to protest and pull against its rope. Or maybe it’s the giant monster coming to swallow it whole that has it so skittish.  Either way, you feel like an ass as you try to calm it down, knowing the only reason you’re doing so is to keep it in place long enough to be eaten.

You’re grateful to have the marshal land behind you first as Din drops down in front, poised to lose his absolute mind at you for your reckless behavior, but finding the situation momentarily put on-hold as Cobb asks to no one in particular, “Now what?”

Din’s staring at you, gaze heavy, burning, and humiliating all in one, but he doesn’t have time to berate you as the dragon breaks from a nearby dune. “I have an idea,” he says, and before either you or Cobb can ask what that is, he shoves you into the marshal’s arms and sets off the man’s jetpack, sending you both careening up and away from the dragon’s path – and leaving him right in the middle of it. 

You had come to suspect that you were in pretty deep with Din Djarin, ever since he had first rescued you many years ago, but watching him disappear into the enormous jaws of the krayt dragon was a lesson you had never asked for in how you really felt about him. Even as everyone around you falls into a stunned silence, your ears begin to buzz and you have to fight to keep your footing, absently leaning against Cobb for support as the energy drains from your legs. Cobb reaches for you but misses as you collapse down onto the sand by his feet. Your throat starts to tighten. Everything feels hazy. 

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it happens. 

Then the beast erupts from the sand once more and you spot a familiar shape fly out of its roaring mouth. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. Suddenly, you can breathe again. Then you’re back on your feet and racing towards him.

The huge blast that follows knocks you back and you hold an arm across your eyes to protect them from the cloud of sand billowing from the site of the explosion, but even that’s not enough to stop you as you keep your sights trained on the metal armor glistening in the hot sun. 

When you finally reach Din, you stand for a moment looking at him, then a sound escapes you halfway between a sob and shout, and you shove him – hard. He stumbles backwards but remains on his feet.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry in your life. Fury radiates from every cell in your body, and still Din just stares at you. Then you hug him. Neither of you are expecting it, and his body stiffens immediately in surprise, but when you feel him relax and one of his arms comes up to wrap around you in return, everything suddenly feels right again. You couldn’t care less that he’s covered in gross dragon goo and that it’s probably getting all over your clothes, or that there’s a crowd of onlookers witnessing this moment between you – all you care about is the fact that he’s here, that he’s still alive. 

A cheer erupts behind you as you part, and it’s not for you and Din, but for the smoking remains of the dragon nearby, and it’s soon joined by the howls of the Tuskens as they raise their weapons in victory. 

It’s over. It’s done. And as you look up at Din, you can think of many things worth celebrating.

***

And celebrate, you do. 

As much as he had wanted to make a quiet exit once he had collected his promised armor from Cobb, you had managed to convince Din to stay in Mos Pelgo just a little longer for the revelries. It had been a long time since you’d stayed anywhere close to civilization, let alone had a good reason to celebrate; and though you’d grown used to the comfortable silence of the Razor Crest, there’s some comfort in being surrounded by happy, chattering people for once, instead of the lonely vacuum of space.

Cobb had asked you back personally for a couple of drinks at the bar, and though the invitation had been extended to both of you, Din had failed to take it that way. In hindsight, you suppose your initial run-in with Cobb is to blame for this sudden standoffish behavior, since your contribution to convincing the man to hand over the beskar had involved you telling him that the helmet was ‘a waste on a face like his’. You guess that comment hadn’t sat too well with Din, but it had just sort of slipped out. What could you say? The guy was a looker. Yet even now, as Cobb glances over at your table from the bar, offering a warm, friendly smile in your direction, you find yourself distracted. 

You look around and finally spot Din. He’d been radiating quiet irritation since arriving back, and stands now in the furthest corner of the room, watching the festivities with what you imagined was a sulky expression beneath the helmet. The Child sits by his feet, on the sandy floor, playing with something round and shiny, completely absorbed in his own little world.

“I take it Mandalorian’s aren’t much for parties,” Cobb comments as he finally reaches your side with drinks, breaking you from you trance. He sits down beside you and slides one of the glasses of bright-blue liquid your way.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He nods over towards Din whose gaze is currently burning into you, and you shift uncomfortably trying to find somewhere else to direct your attention, unsure why you don’t just look at Cobb. You realize why when your eyes shift back to him and the feeling of being watched intensifies. 

“Him?” you reply, trying to sound casual, now hyperaware that Din is currently reading every detail of this interaction, “Oh, he usually just prefers the quiet, you know? Not really the social type. He’s only here because I asked.”

“Just watching over his girl, huh?” Cobb teases, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“His gir—What are talking about?”

He frowns before giving you a knowing look, then risks a quick, pointed glance towards Din, who he’s noticed hasn’t turned his gaze away from you for longer than a few seconds the entire evening. 

“We’re just friends,” you tell him, even if that label doesn’t feel quite right to you. “It’s not like that.” You take a mouthful of drink just to give yourself something to do, and wince at the unexpected bitterness. When you glance back over at Din, your cheeks heat up a little when you realize he’s still looking back. You finally drop your gaze away, reassuring yourself that the weird feeling you’ve suddenly gotten in your stomach is just the alcohol taking affect, but when you look back at Cobb you catch him smirking at you. 

“We’re friends,” you repeat, wondering who you’re trying to convince now, since Cobb seems pretty damn decided on the matter. “Colleagues, you know. We’ve just been through a lot together.” You frown as he chuckles. “What?”

“I did not just spend two days listening to the two of you bicker like an old married couple, to hear you say that you two are ‘just friends’.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I just don’t look at him that way.”

“Oh, darlin’, everybody sees how you look at him.”

You think back to the desert, to your arms wrapping around him like he might disappear again at any moment; to the arm that had pulled you closer and squeezed you in return. 

You take another gulp of spotchka to calm the fluttering feeling in your belly, and shoot a quick glance over to see if he’s still looking at you.

But he’s gone.

Panic floods over you.

You look around the room, hoping you don’t look as desperate as you suddenly feel, when Cobb nudges you. You look back at him and he nods to the door, where you just manage to catch a flash of cape and armor and Din disappears through it into the night.

Cobb smiles. “Go on. Go talk to the guy. I’ll still be here if you want another drink. If not, I hope we meet again someday.” He tips his glass towards you and you nod, managing a brief smile of appreciation as you stand. 

Your legs feel heavy as you walk towards the exit. It’s dark outside – almost pitch black aside from a scattering of light coming through a few windows, and the few fires burning outside to keep people warm on the cold desert night – and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Din still standing out on the road. It looks like the kid is giving him some trouble, his fussy cries reaching your ears easily in the quiet. He settles as soon as he sees you, though, and Din turns to see what has the ability to calm him so quickly. 

Of course, it’s you, he thinks. He should have known – you have the same effect on him.

“Hey,” you greet, still fighting back these unexplained nerves as you approach him. You’d known him for years, spent a lot of time in his company, and been through a lot together, but it’s the first time you feel nervous around him.

“Hey,” he replies simply, “I was just heading to take him back to the ship.” He pauses like he’s weighing up what he wants to say next, then adds, “When should I expect you back?”

“Back?”

“I can meet you there in the morning if that’s more suitable.” 

He’s acting weird, and though you know exactly why, you can’t help but frown at the bitterness in his tone. He’s trying to keep it cool and calm around the kid. You wonder what he’d be saying instead if it was just the two of you. 

“Why would you do that? Why would—” You hate what he’s implying, but you need him to say it, to admit why it’s a problem for him – to know if Cobb’s right. “Where am I supposed to be in all of this?”

You stare at him, the question written on your furrowed brow, wondering if he has the guts to admit the accusation outright. 

He looks back towards the bar and then back at you, cocking his helmet as if he’s expecting you to be the one to make the confession, even if there is a low rage bubbling away inside of him at the thought of it. He thinks back to the desert, to the feeling of your arms wrapped around him, to the way his own arm had come up instinctually to hold you closer, and he thinks of how much he wants that again.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” you tell him.

“Don’t do that on my account,” he replies, and you swear he says things like that just to piss you off. 

Before you can formulate a response, he turns away and starts walking towards his borrowed landspeeder. The Child looks back at you over his shoulder and stretches his little arms towards you with a cry, but Din ignores it.

You almost shout his name, forgetting for a moment where you are, and instead splutter out an awkward ‘Mando!’, which you haven’t called him in over a year; not since he entrusted you with his true name. He stops and slowly turns back. By now the kid is wriggling and fussing so much in his arms that he has to put him down, and the little one immediately heads towards you, reaching up to be held. You scoop him up and Din watches as the kid coos happily and buries his face in your hair. He’d thought they were leaving without you, Din realizes, and he can’t help but wonder if the kid’s picked up on his own emotions too – at his own distress at the thought of leaving you behind. 

He watches you for a moment as you soothe the Child, observing the tender way you fuss over him, and feels guilt start to creep over him.

“I am doing it on your account,” you tell him firmly, after a moment, finally looking back at him again, and his helmet tilts slightly as he stares back at you. You screw up your face like you hate the idea of having to say the next words out loud, but you do anyway for his sake. “I’m not interested in the marshal.”

He makes a non-committal noise like he either doesn’t believe you or he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the kid. 

You wonder what you can say, how you’re going to make him understand what you’re feeling, because you can’t go back to the ship like this – things can’t just keep on going how they have been, with the arguments and all these unspoken words that are causing them. So, you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you as you rest a hand against his chest plate to get his attention. 

Din stares down at you, heart thumping as he tries to read your expression and figure out what you’re going to say before you say it, hoping he’ll be less caught off guard this way.

You reach up to the back of his helmet, guiding him down towards you, muttering, “Come here, you idiot.” Then you press your forehead to the cold beskar of his helmet and find a way to tell him.

“Where you go, I go.”

He seems to understand that well enough.