#i half expected him to be like 'but i made SPAGHETTI'

[egophiliac]

Have you seen Lilia's vignette yet? Our insight into his initial parenting skills sure was, something.

HA HA YEP, Lilia's. questionable parenting has come up a few times and it's always, like, he read Baby Instructions 101 and went "ooh, I like red, I'll do those ones :)". he has Dad Instincts, but unfortunately they are Stereotypical '90s Sitcom Dad Instincts.

it was, however, worth it to see Sebek (watching Lilia gleefully dunking a bat into a coffee cup) just slowly turn to Silver and go "how the fuck are you alive".

[zorrasucia]

“okay, slow down, you’d never done this until 5 minutes ago” with virgin carmy 🧎🏼‍♀️

Hello, Anon! 💜

Of course! This takes place in his Copenhagen era. Thank you for allowing me to continue my ongoing campaign for Virgin!Carmy 😌 I hope you like it!

"I didn't expect you to cook," you said, watching Carmy plate pasta with ease, a healthy serving of parmesan cheese on top. "Thought you'd be sick of it at the end of the day. It smells delicious, by the way."

"Thanks," he smiled shyly as he sat in front of you, the boat swaying a little. "Wanted to make you something from home."

You didn't know what to expect when Terry arranged for you to meet up with her new golden boy, Carmy, but this was feeling more and more like a blind date. Weirdly enough, you didn't mind her meddling this time.

"Where's home?" you asked.

"Chicago. You?"

"I don't even know where my home is anymore. Before Copenhagen, I was in London for a long while. And I haven't been to visit Aunt Terry in months..."

Carmy arched an eyebrow but didn't ask.

"She's my godmother, Chef Terry, not my actual aunt. I don't usually tell people about it, don't want to make her look bad," you shrugged, something about Carmy made it so easy to open up. "For whatever it's worth, I tried to stay away from cooking and baking and everything, I really did. I just couldn't."

"I get it. Why desserts though?" he asked.

"There's something freeing about them," you bit your lip, trying to put it into words. "You know how they're described, right? It's always decadent, confection, guilty pleasure - things like that. You can be creative."

When you looked up, Carmy was smiling - he looked younger and softer.

"I like that. Sounds nice."

"It is," you smiled back and took a forkful of spaghetti. It was delicious. "Oh, this is incredible," you hummed.

Carmy beamed.

While you dried the dishes, you caught a glimpse of one of Carmy's drawings.

"You make these?"

He looked up from the sink and flushed. "Helps me remember details," he explained shyly, avoiding your gaze.

You learned he had notebooks full of vegetables and dishes, diagrams for plating and cooking. You were surprised to find one of the pastries you had been working on perfecting there too, notes scribbled on the side. Your fingernails traced the lines carefully.

"You can have it," he offered.

"Really?"

He had an adoring, boyish look on his face and you melted inside.

"Yeah," he said, tearing out the page and giving it to you.

"Thanks," you said and without thinking, leaned in to kiss him.

It was quick, a gentle peck. As soon as you parted, you realized you wanted more - you both did.

"Can you- Would you do that again?" Carmy asked.

You tilted your head, moving slowly, relishing the moment right before the kiss, the way his lips parted slightly in anticipation. When you pressed your lips to his again, you took your time, let him cup your face and caress your waist as your tongue touched his lower lip.

When you parted, he looked relieved - that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"I didn't think we would do anything like this tonight," you said, your voice breathy from the kisses Carmy was leaving on your neck and collarbone.

You had spent the last half hour making out on his bed, slowly losing layers of clothing. Your blouse and trousers were on the floor, along with his jeans and t-shirt. His right hand was on your breast, caressing your nipple through the fabric of your sports bra, your right hand was palming his cock through his boxers.

"Neither did I," he exhaled into your skin, his thumb hooking on the elastic of your panties. "It's good though?"

He looked up at you for confirmation.

"I- uh-" you hesitated.

"Shit," Carmy froze, starting to withdraw from you.

"No, wait, Carmy," you grabbed his wrist before he could get away. "It's great. You're great. It's just, I've been busy so I didn't- It's a little hairy down there is what I'm trying to say," you said awkwardly, your fingers intertwined with his on your hip, trying to convey your meaning.

Carmy tilted his head, confused. "Okay... Something wrong?"

"I don't know if you're, uh, used to girls that shave it all or- I don't know. Men can be assholes about body hair," you said, a little defensively.

"I'm not used to anything," Carmy said, chuckling nervously. "I like what you look like."

"Oh," you smiled. "Okay."

"Okay?"

You nodded, getting rid of your bra, while he tugged down your underwear.

Carmy got close, his right hand moving to cup your pussy, carding his fingers through the hair, caressing. It made you hum.

"Want to taste you," he whispered.

"Yes," you squeezed his bicep, encouraging him.

"Just- Shit. I think I might be bad at it," he said, his eyes suddenly looked vulnerable.

"Evil ex told you that?" you asked gently, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "I've never done it," he confessed. "Don't want to fuck it up with you."

"Carmy," you touched his chest, tracing soothing patterns, calming him. "You said you wanted a taste, right?" he nodded. "There's no way you can fuck that up. If you make me feel good, that's great but I don't need it to be perfect, okay?"

He kissed you, slow and soft - thank you. Then, deep and full of lust - I want you.

He made his way down your body, licking and nipping at skin, stopping between your legs. You opened them wider for him to settle. He took a good look at you, fingers touching your outer lips with care.

"Beautiful," he exhaled and it tickled you in the most delicious way. You shivered.

He started giving you long, vertical licks, tracing the contour of your folds, almost like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. You moaned low. It was good. There was no rhythm to it but was making you wet and restless.

"Mhmm," you encouraged him, carding your fingers through his curls.

Tracing the lines of you and listening to your breathing, he found your clit. After a couple of his licks were followed by sharp inhales he decided to stay there, kissing and licking, becoming frantic, quickly addicted to the sound of your pleasure.

"Oh! Fuck. Okay, slow down, you’d never done this until five minutes ago," you pulled on his hair, trying to keep his tongue from completely undoing you.

"Shit. That bad?" Carmy asked, sitting up.

"Too fast," you tried to catch your breath. "Too fast."

"Fuck, sorry," he soothed the skin of your thighs and your hips.

"It's- You found the spot. That's good. Just- take your time with it," you explained. "Let me savor it."

He chuckled, your play on words reminding him that he had tasted you and then some.

"Okay," he kissed the valley between your thigh and your hip, soft and sensual, like he was trying it out.

You smiled fondly, watching him slowly kiss his way back to your pussy, open-mouthed, gentle. A needy sound caught in the back of your throat when he finally got close to where you wanted him.

Carmy's eyes widened.

"Oh. Got it," he mumbled, realizing that half the fun was making you wait for it.

He tortured you, carefully finding every place that gave you pleasure. Then, he built up a rhythm that had you writhing on the sheets, fighting the grip he had on your hips, trying to fuck his face, and he paused.

"I've made a monster," you complained, panting and caressing his face - shiny with his sweat and your arousal.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Can't believe you're letting me do this."

You exhaled and giggled giddily. "Can't believe you're enjoying this so much."

"Mhmm," Carmy nuzzled the inside of your thigh, his roman nose tracing zigzags while you caught your breath.

When he started again, he was a little rougher - sucking harder than he had dared so far, hoisting your legs above his shoulders. You moaned low and squeezed your breast, looking for something to keep you grounded. Carmy caught your movements and rushed to replace your hand with his, humming in approval as you intertwined your fingers. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure.

He stopped for a second.

"Eyes on me," he growled.

And he kept on devouring you.

You struggled to keep eye contact with how vehemently he was sucking on your pussy, lewd noises coming from his mouth. He was making you gasp for breath and grab desperately at the bedsheets underneath.

You were vaguely aware of the mattress shaking - was Carmy grinding into it? You didn't check or ask any further questions - he was humming in delight against your pussy, lips closed around your clit and eyes fixed on you. He arched his eyebrows. Now? You nodded eagerly.

"Please, Carmy," you keened.

He kept sucking on you, his grip on your breast and thigh getting forceful enough to bruise as you reached your high. You came with a needy sound, something between a whine and an exhale, legs shaking and hips grinding towards his face.

You regained your bearings just in time to see Carmy humping the mattress desperately, drowning gravelly moans into your thigh as he came too.

"Fuck," you sighed, your fingers soothing Carmy's scalp, probably sore from you pulling on it hard all that time. "Oh, my God. Carmy..."

"Sorry. Shit, sorry," he panted, his sticky cheek resting on your hip.

"Are you seriously apologizing for making me cum?" you giggled.

"I couldn't hold it back any longer," he explained.

You didn't tell him how hot it was to see him like that, completely lost in wanting you, cumming in his boxers because he liked eating you out that much. He wouldn't believe it.

So instead you said: "Guess that means we'll have to see each other again. So I can repay the favor."

[daistea]

Could you do a suggestive mithrun x tallman reader fic where the reader somehow managed to become friends with mithrun and they ask if they can touch his ears out of curiosity (I just like the idea of elf ears being sensitive)

Ya! This one was fun 💕 thanks for the prompt!

1800 words

Mithrun x Tall-man Reader

no tws except for smoochin and a suggestive tone

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You had a measure of decorum. Not much, though. A teaspoon, maybe. A teaspoon of decorum. Yet, that still existing decorum nearly stopped you from doing what you currently wanted the most:

To touch an elf’s ear.

Pattadol said no. Fleki laughed at you and said ‘keep dreaming’ as if you’d just hit on her. Lycion became a bit flirty in a way that threatened you. Cithis also said no. Otta… also said no, out of loyalty to her current partner. Otta’s response made you wonder what the implications of ear touching were to elves. Was it intimate? Was it embarrassing for them? Was it considered rude if you didn’t know the person well, like how using a half-foot’s first name was considered rude for strangers? That teaspoon of decorum caused you to hesitate.

Mithrun, though, wouldn’t care. Mithrun hardly cared about anything. And you were friends, sort of. He didn’t outright call you his friend, but that was fine, you could live with that. He put up with you. That was fine. Fine.

You knocked on the door of the little apartment above the noodle shop. Mithrun’s monotone, though muffled, voice told you to come inside. You found Mithrun on the floor, on his knees and hunched over the baseboards. He wielded a toothbrush like a dagger as he scrubbed at the nonexistent dust, and only spared you a glance, but said no greeting.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Mithrun clean like that. It was yet another habit Milsiril had instilled in him during rehabilitation, though you had a theory that Milsiril only taught him to clean so ardently because she thought it would come in handy for hiding murder evidence.

Mithrun’s home was simple. It was near empty aside from the most basic furniture. Yourself, Kabru, and several of the Canaries had given him little decorations. The pillows on the couch with the badly embroidered cows on them were from Otta. The simple, thick white curtains were from Pattadol. The painting of Mithrun’s assist dog dressed in royal garb was from Lycion. And most of the utensils in the kitchen were from you, given to him after you saw him attempt to eat spaghetti with a spoon— he knew better, but couldn’t be bothered to buy proper utensils.

As you took a moment to watch Mithrun scrub, your mind began to wander. Was this truly worth it? You’d only recently read about how soft elf ears were, yet you hadn’t been able to get the thought out of your mind. And they were so cute, too, with how they drooped and perked up. You’d even seen Mithrun’s ears droop when he pulled his hair back. It wasn’t as pronounced as other elves’ but no less endearing.

“What do you need?” Mithrun’s voice yanked you from your mind. It was as if he’d grabbed your shirt and pulled you forward, making you stumble for words.

It would be easiest to just blurt it out. He wouldn’t be offended. He might give you the look, but it wouldn’t bother him, surely. Yet, it was as if you’d hit a mental wall. What seemed like such a simple request ended up stuck in your throat, refusing to climb.

Mithrun sat back on his haunches and raised his head to look at you. He rested his forearms on his knees, toothbrush dangling from his fingers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and there were his ears.

You knew that look. He was expecting something. And he would stare in silence until you blurted it out.

“I want something,” you finally said.

“I already asked what you wanted,” Mithrun reminded, monotone.

“Technically, you asked what I needed, and this isn’t really a need. I mean, it feels like a need, but it’s really not. I can live without it. However, I would like it. It would please me.”

Mithrun didn’t miss a beat, “And you know how much I wish to please you.”

“Okay, smartass, tone it down,” you put up a hand, shooting him a glare, “I’m really nervous, so don’t make this harder for me.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“No, you were being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“You’re just trying to make me squirm,” you accused, “you’ve become a sadist after regaining your desires, huh? You like watching me struggle?”

Mithrun only slightly raised a brow, “A bit. But use your ears, I wasn’t being sardonic.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but pause. “...I’m going to think about the implications of that statement at a later date. For now, on the subject of ears, I have a request.”

He finally stood, brushing past you to deposit the cleaning brush into the sink and washing his hands in a water basin. After drying them, he went to pull the rubber band from his hair, but you made a panicked squeak at the sight, which gave him pause.

“Don’t,” you pleaded as he looked at you blankly, “keep your hair up.”

If Mithrun was confused by the request, he gave no hint. He kept his hair up, though, as he strode through the little apartment and sat on the couch, gesturing for you to join him. You’d done this a hundred times before, sitting next to him in comfortable silence as you both focused on your own things— Cithis called it ‘parallel play’ as if you were kids on a playdate. You’d spent hours on this couch, resting an arm over the back of it as you curled your feet up and talked. Mithrun would usually cross his arms and fold one leg over the other, staring at the wall as if he were ignoring you. He wasn’t, he never did— sometimes he did, but you forgave him.

You took a deep breath as you plopped down beside him gracelessly, your nerves taking over your joints and rendering you a clumsy mess. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, though, it wasn’t as if this was a big request. It would only last a few seconds, and you’d have your curiosity sated. If Mithrun didn’t want you to touch his ears, he would simply tell you, and you’d both move on with your lives.

Yet, Otta’s earlier answer rang in your mind. She wouldn’t let you touch her ears ‘out of loyalty.’ What did that mean?

It was yet another statement that you’d have to consider at a later time. For the moment, you tried your best to get comfortable as the request rose in your chest. It was undeniable.

The words broke through the dam and flooded your mouth. “I would like to touch your ears, please.”

You watched as Mithrun stiffened. His good eye widened for half a second before he schooled his expression. He didn’t look at you, gaze glued to the wall, but the slight raise of his brows betrayed his surprise. Surprise. Why was he surprised? Was ear touching offensive in elven culture? Mithrun didn’t even acknowledge elven culture most of the time.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked at you. Your heart clenched and it felt as if someone had punched both your lungs, but you managed a smile. You knew you looked stupid, shoulders slumped and eyes wide and smile shaken. But he didn’t look at you like you were stupid, he looked at you like you’d just spoken gibberish.

“You want to feel my ears?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I like soft things, and they look pretty soft. I asked the other Canaries first and they all said no.”

Mithrun cracked a little smile. It was barely there, but you could feel the amusement coming off him in waves. “Of course they would all say no. They know better.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but he’d yet to give you a straight answer. “Whatever. Can I please just feel them, at least a little? Then I’ll never ask you for anything again.” (That was a lie and you both knew it.)

Nonetheless, Mithrun’s gaze flickered around the room. It didn’t look like he was scanning anything in particular, but rather letting the thought absorb. Once he returned to you, he slowly nodded, “I doubt I have any nerve endings left, so it’s fine.”

Nerve endings? It didn’t matter, you were so close to your goal. Some called you single minded, you preferred the description of ‘determined.’

Slowly, you raised a hand. The moment felt monumental. The air was thick with anticipation that set you on edge, raising the little hairs on your arms. You let out an exhale as if to prepare yourself, then gently brushed your fingers on the soft skin of his cut ears.

You traced the jagged tip. Then the lobe. Then the back. Mithrun leaned into your touch and his eyes threatened to flutter shut, but he managed to send you a look, “Don’t look so excited.”

“Yes, sir,” you answered immediately as you tried to school your expression.

He let his guard down, his eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. There was a hint of gravel in that exhale that sparked a fire in your lower abdomen.

You should probably stop.

“There are definitely nerve endings left,” he murmured.

You gently took his other ear and began rubbing the tip.

Mithrun lowered his head a little, brows furrowing and lips forming a frustrated frown. He leaned in. Only when you looked down did you notice how tightly he gripped his pants. His knuckles were turning white. The sight just made you want to press a little harder…

Wait.

If you’re getting hot, and if Mithrun is breathing that heavily, then—

Otta’s words made sense. Lycion’s flirting made sense. Elf ears are erogenous zones.

You’d asked every Canary if you could basically touch their privates.

More horrifyingly, you’d asked Mithrun if you could touch his—

It felt as if your face was on fire. You tensed, slowly pulling back, but Mithrun’s hands went to your cheeks before you could react. And his lips were on yours. Eager. Hungry. That spark in your abdomen flared and spread and suddenly you were a bonfire. He held your face a bit roughly, and the kiss was desperate. You should probably kiss back, you thought.

You let yourself melt into the feeling, but kept your fingers on his ears, gently massaging the soft skin. He let out a gasp between kisses before diving back in. His chest pressed against yours and you took the hint to lean back on the couch so he could slip between your legs and consume you entirely.

The mortification concerning the fact that you’d unknowingly sexually harassed all your friends was temporarily set aside. At the moment, all you knew was Mithrun, and this new power over him that your curiosity had bestowed upon you.

You will, most likely, use it for evil.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[gojos-version]

Home late.

Pairings- Y/N x Toji Fushiguro

Summary- Toji comes home from a mission and just wants to be with you.

Warnings- Just kissing and cuddling. All fluff :) petnames (Hun, baby, doll)

Word count- 526

Proof read- ✅

A/N- I'm feeling Toji fluff tonight, definitely going to write smut. Stay tuned I'm gonna make it fiiilllthhyyyy :33

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⊰⊱ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆

You were making dinner humming a tune peacefully to yourself as you chopped vegetables putting them into the bolognaise you were making. Toji was out on a job, he left earlier this morning, and you can't lie to yourself you always worry for him. You have a lot of faith in his abilities, but you never know. You put the vegetables in the bolognaise and you start looking for spices to season the bolognaise. As you were reaching deep into the cupboard you felt hands wrap around your waist, making you jump and gasp. “Relax doll, ‘ts just me.” He hums out and tightens his arms around you. “Welcome home, baby. How’d you go?” You ask softly, putting your hands on top of his, looking over your shoulder to see his head on your shoulder. “I went fine, Missed you.” He mumbles out kissing your neck sweetly. 

You move his hair from his forehead and peck it softly. “I missed you too, hun. Dinner’s almost ready.” You cup his face and kiss him on the lips softly and he reciprocates immediately, shoving his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss. You kiss him back, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and humming softly into his mouth. Your lungs burn by the time you pull away to breathe. “I’ve got to put the spaghetti on, baby one sec.” You mumble softly pecking his lips and grabbing the spices but as you are about to walk to the stove his arms stay wrapped around you, tightening slightly as he walks with you. “You’re tired hm?” You coo as you let out a breathy laugh.

“Is dinner almost ready?” He hums, putting his chin on top of your head. “I’ve got to put these in and put the spaghetti on and it should be ready, hun.” You say as you put the rest of the spices in the bolognaise. “Can’t wait, it already smells great.” You were half expecting him to shove you on the bench and eat you out like he did last mission but it made you smile that you just got to have a clingy, soft Toji tonight. 

After some time of hugging each other and talking softly the food was ready and you both ate talking about things mindlessly. You've been together for a few years now and you still feel like it was the first day of your relationship. You both felt like school kids with a crush feeling giddy over almost anything you both did. After you both finished eating, Toji dragged you to your shared bedroom, you sat on your back under the covers, slipping into your PJ’s and laying down waiting for Toji to lay on top of you. He slips his clothes off and slips into his sweats. He puts his face between your boobs and his arms wrap around your waist as his eyes shut basking in your presence. 

Your hands play with his hair softly as you both nod off to sleep. You adored days like these, when he was clingy and you'd cuddle all night. If anything you wish it'd last forever.

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Masterlist<3

[kimmie2me]

# 03. Unexpected Partners

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

.....

If you’d had a time machine, you wouldn’t use it for anything noble or selfless—no epic rescue of historical figures, no preventing major disasters. Nope. You’d drag yourself back a month just to shake your wide-eyed, naïve self by the shoulders and scream, "Don’t do it. Find another department. Any other department. Join traffic control. Herd cats. Just don’t end up here."

Because here was Bakugou personal circle of hell. The past few weeks felt like a marathon in which you’d been tripped at the starting line, dragged halfway, and then left to sprint uphill. In the rain. With weighted vests. There was no mercy in Bakugou’s world, only adrenaline and barked orders that carried enough force to knock the confidence right out of your chest.

You learned, fast and furiously, that he wasn’t just tough. He was ruthless, exacting, and demanded perfection with all the warmth of a drill sergeant who hadn’t had coffee. And coffee—you’d learned the hard way—was something that could make or break a morning. There was The Incident when you dared bring him a cup with too much sugar, only to receive a sharp glare and a grumbled, “What, you think I’m ten?” The next thirty minutes were dedicated to sprint drills so intense your calves whimpered for days. All you wanted to do is figure out what the hell his favorite coffee is! Yes, you're still trying..

And yes, you're still failing.

Bakugou’s teaching methods were a combination of trial by fire and sheer terror. He wasn’t interested in your excuses or half-assed answers. If you messed up, you’d know—usually by the clipped way he’d shout, “Run it again,” or the eye twitch that signaled he was two seconds from ripping the folder out of your hands and doing it himself.

It wasn’t just the shouting, though that was certainly a staple. It was the moments he’d watch you with that hawk-eyed stare, arms crossed and expression set like granite. There were no second chances when Bakugou was breathing down your neck; you either got it right or got ready to count pavement cracks while doing your punishment laps. You hadn’t done so many wall sits since training, thighs quivering like jelly by the time he allowed you to stand.

And it wasn’t just you. Anyone who dared step into his path found themselves swept up in the tornado of his expectations. It made surviving the day feel like a badge of honor, if surviving meant stumbling into your apartment with barely enough strength to fling your shoes off.

One time, you’d accidentally jumbled up a lead in a report, swapping suspect descriptions that Bakugou caught in record time. He’d smacked the paper onto your desk with an incredulous look. “D’you even read this before handin’ it in?” And just like that, your next hour was filled with circuits and resistance bands that made your arms feel like spaghetti. “C’mon, rookie, or should I start callin’ you noodle arms?” The jab stuck, and you groaned whenever he brought it up.

Bakugou’s wrath was tempered only by moments of begrudging silence, the rare instances where you met his eyes and thought you saw a flicker of something softer, only to blink and find it gone. Those moments would have been comforting if they weren’t fleeting, crushed by his next tirade over a misplaced document or a missed clue.

But just as you’d started thinking maybe you’d bitten off more than you could chew, a case dropped that pulled everyone into high gear: a string of burglaries, each more calculated than the last. No dumb luck, no rookie mistakes would fly with this one. Bakugou’s tension was palpable, a crackle in the air whenever he entered the room. He’d pace with his hands shoved into his pockets, muttering curses and theories under his breath like the case had insulted him personally.

Your nerves spiked with each passing day. Bakugou was more relentless than ever, orders flung out faster than you could grab your notebook. And if you so much as hesitated? He’d turn, eyes gleaming like a predator scenting blood. “Keep up, or get out.”

By the time you wrapped up that week’s legwork, you weren’t sure whether to feel accomplished or absolutely wrecked. Bakugou had pushed every ounce of strength and patience from your body, leaving you hollowed out and aching. Yet, for some reason you’d yet to understand, you kept coming back, stepping into the precinct with a quiet determination that only grew as his glare followed you like a challenge.

Time machine, you reminded yourself, scribbling down notes that were half-legible from your shaking hand. You’d go back, find yourself, and whisper conspiratorially, Choose desk duty. It’ll save your soul.

But you didn’t have a time machine. You had Bakugou. And you were starting to suspect he might just make a detective out of you, whether you survived him or not.

.....

The burglaries had started small—a string of break-ins that barely made the back page of the city’s morning paper. But each successive hit grew bolder, more precise, like the thief was taunting the force. By the time it hit their radar, Chief Yagi’s usually calm expression had hardened to steel, and even the more seasoned detectives were exchanging wary glances.

For you, it meant one thing: Bakugou was operating at maximum intensity, his usual scowl deepened to something almost carved from stone. It was an energy you could feel in the air, like the static before a lightning strike. And with that, the pace of your life turned from grueling to almost impossible. Long days blurred into longer nights, the fluorescent lights above burning into your skull as you combed through reports with squinting eyes and a splitting headache. The precinct buzzed with anticipation and tension, everyone bracing for the storm.

You sat at your desk, meticulously cross-referencing suspect details when Bakugou stormed in, clipboard in one hand and the other pressed into his hip like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it entirely. He glanced around the room, eyes sharp as the edge of a blade, before they settled on you. The air shifted.

“Rookie,” he barked, and you jumped, nearly dropping your pen. He didn’t wait for you to recover before launching into his rapid-fire speech. “Listen up, ‘cause I’m only sayin’ this once. The pattern’s changed. Our thief’s not just hittin’ high-value targets anymore—they’re goin’ after places with tech infrastructure. Means they’re not just lookin’ for loot—they’re diggin’ for data, and if we don’t get ahead, we’re gonna be two steps behind with our heads up our—”

He paused, jaw tightening like he was biting back an insult, and then leaned down, bringing himself to eye level. His eyes were an inferno, daring you to miss a word. “You listening?”

You nodded so fast it was a wonder your neck didn’t cramp, scribbling down notes as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did—at least, your peace of mind surely did. Bakugou’s tone wasn’t just demanding; it was drilled into your skull, searing in its urgency.

“Good. Now, look—”

“Oh! Hey, Kacchan!!”

The voice sliced through the room like a record scratch, shattering Bakugou’s hyper-focused tension into a thousand jagged pieces. He physically recoiled, straightening up so fast you’d think he’d been stung. Your pen stilled mid-word, eyes flicking between him and the newcomer with an internal "?!?!?!?!" blaring in neon letters.

Kacchan?

There, standing at the threshold of the precinct like he’d wandered in by accident, was Detective Midoriya Izuku, all soft smiles and bright green eyes. He gave a little wave as if Bakugou wasn’t seconds away from launching into orbit.

“Kacchan, hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Midoriya’s tone was impossibly cheerful, and the nickname fell from his lips like it was a greeting between best friends. But from the way Bakugou’s hands twitched, it may as well have been a bomb dropped into a room full of dynamite.

Bakugou’s response was instantaneous, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What the hell’re you doin’ here, Deku?”

The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by the distant hum of computers and a detective a few desks over clearing their throat awkwardly. Your heart thumped in your chest as if it was trying to escape the awkwardness, and you glanced at Midoriya, expecting him to shrink back. But he didn’t—his smile wavered, sure, but he held his ground, eyes earnest.

“I’m here to help with the case,” Midoriya explained, and it took everything in you not to whip your head around. Help? With your case?

Bakugou’s reaction was as explosive as you expected. “Help? You—”

But before he could finish, a voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough, boys.” Chief Yagi’s voice was firm as he walked in, flanked by another man who exuded calm authority—the infamous Chief Aizawa Shouta. His tired eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene with a raised brow.

“Chief Aizawa and his team are joining us for this operation. And that includes Detective Midoriya.” Chief Yagi’s tone left no room for argument.

Bakugou’s jaw set so tight you could hear the grind of teeth. And in that moment, you knew that whatever the past few weeks had been like? They were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

…

You barely had time to absorb Midoriya’s, let alone Cheif Aizawa's, sudden appearance before Chief Yagi called everyone into the briefing room. This would’ve been a regular meeting for the higher-ups—the kind you’d usually only hear about when Bakugou came out, slamming the door behind him, face redder than the emergency exit signs. But today, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, you were summoned along. Because apparently, if Bakugou was involved, you were involved.

The briefing room was already filling up, the thick scent of coffee and paper lingering in the air as officers shuffled in, muttering greetings and speculations under their breath. Chief Yagi took his place at the head of the room, looking as solid and unyielding as ever, while Chief Aizawa leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, observing the room with the detached but alert gaze of a cat watching a busy street. Midoriya slid into a chair near the front, shooting you a small, encouraging smile. Bakugou, in contrast, looked like he’d swallowed a wasp.

Then, in strode Officer Ashido Mina, bright as a firecracker, with Officer Sero Hanta close behind her, both exuding a casual confidence that somehow didn’t feel out of place even in a room of high-stakes professionals. Mina shot a finger-gun wave at the room, winking in your direction before taking a seat across from Midoriya. Sero plopped down beside her, his grin almost lazy but eyes sharp, taking in everything at once.

Chief Yagi’s voice brought the room to order. “Alright, everyone, this joint task force is in place because the burglaries have escalated. We’re dealing with a team of thieves targeting secure information in addition to high-value assets. The leads point to a complex operation, and that’s where our collaboration comes in.”

He nodded to Chief Aizawa, who spoke in that low, measured tone that commanded instant respect. “We need all hands on deck. Each of you will have a role—whether it’s field, intel, or processing. Officer Uraraka will be on the evidence team, coordinating with the data we’ve collected so far.”

The mention of Uraraka’s name caught your attention, and sure enough, she was at the back, beaming when she spotted you. Her presence was a rare comfort in this sea of intense, stern faces. It had been years since you’d seen her, but it was like old times when she waved, mouthing an excited “Hey!”

“Detective Bakugou, Officer L/N, you’ll be working alongside Detective Midoriya’s team,” Chief Yagi continued, and the very air in the room seemed to vibrate as Bakugou’s scowl deepened. He was in full protest mode, shooting daggers at Midoriya, who looked back with a determined—if slightly nervous—smile.

Once the briefing concluded, Chief Yagi dismissed everyone, and the room exploded in chatter as officers filed out. You managed to navigate through the crowd until you reached Uraraka, who practically bounced on her toes, pulling you into a quick hug.

“Can you believe it? We’re working together!” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “I’ve been doing the fingerprinting, data scans—all the good stuff. Remember when I used to geek out about this stuff in school?”

“Oh, totally! You always aced those forensics projects,” you replied, grinning as the memories rushed back.

She nodded, laughing. “Exactly! And now, look at us! I get to actually do it. And you—you’re working with Bakugou Katsuki, of all people!” Her eyes widened with awe and maybe a little mischief, the kind that reminded you of her knack for getting you into trouble back in the day.

“Working is a strong word,” you muttered, glancing over at Bakugou, who was still glaring holes into Midoriya, ignoring everyone else. “Surviving might be more accurate.”

Uraraka giggled but quickly straightened when she caught Bakugou’s expression aimed squarely at her—a glare so intense that it was a wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust. She cleared her throat, gave you a small, sympathetic smile, and said, “Well, I’d better get back to it. I’ll send over the scans when they’re ready! And hey, catch up soon?”

You nodded, squeezing her hand in agreement. “Definitely. Thanks, Ochaco.”

With a final grin, Uraraka turned back to her workstation, her demeanor shifting from friendly to focused in an instant. You watched her go, feeling a brief pang of jealousy at how seamlessly she slid into her work. But that was quickly overridden by the realization that Bakugou was striding your way, arms crossed and a storm brewing in his expression.

“Done with your little reunion?” he sneered, barely waiting for you to nod. “Good. 'Cause now it’s time for you to actually do somethin’ useful, rookie.” He nodded towards the open case file in his hand. “Let’s go.”

.....

The silence between you and Bakugou was taut, strung up like an overused wire threatening to snap. He stalked ahead, practically dragging the storm cloud that was his mood behind him. You weren’t entirely sure why he’d decided that now was the time to go full boot camp on you, but here you were, heels clicking on the polished floor, trying not to look like you’d rather melt into it.

“Listen up, rookie,” Bakugou started without turning around, his voice a low rumble laced with that familiar bite. He navigated the labyrinth of hallways like a predator circling its territory. You’re gonna make yourself useful if it kills ya, got it?”

You swallowed thickly, feeling a combination of irritation and nerves twist in your chest. You’d learned over the past few weeks that Bakugou had a penchant for the extreme. Everything was all or nothing with him, whether it was paperwork, interrogations, or the way he yelled about the printer jamming (which was only your fault that one time).

“Got it,” you managed, though it came out weaker than you intended. He spared you a glance, eyes narrowing as if daring you to prove him right about all the times he’d muttered under his breath about “extras” wasting his time.

As if on cue, the door to one of the briefing rooms swung open, and Detective Kirishima stepped out, his broad grin a sharp contrast to Bakugou’s perpetual scowl. “Yo! Heard we’re working together on this one,” he said, his voice friendly and warm, instantly cutting through the tension.

Great. If there was ever a time to look capable, it was now. Not that Kirishima would ever point out your mistakes, but being around Bakugou had a way of amplifying your self-awareness until it was deafening.

“Try not to get in the way,” Bakugou snapped, jerking his thumb towards the entrance. You wondered if his eyes had always held that unrelenting glint or if he’d sharpened it specifically for you. Kirishima, bless him, only chuckled, patting you on the back as he passed by.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just on edge about the syndicate case,” Kirishima whispered, though you knew Bakugou’s sharp hearing likely picked it up. His glare confirmed it, but he didn’t say anything, turning his attention to the map on the table instead. Red pins clustered like a rash, each marking a hit by the crime syndicate that had every department in the city scrambling.

The realization hit you hard. The stakes were higher than ever, and the idea of fumbling now made your stomach churn. The last thing you needed was to mess up in front of Bakugou and Kirishima, especially when the latter’s optimism made you want to do better and the former’s disdain made you feel like you never could.

Bakugou laid out the plan, his voice cutting through the thick tension in the room. "..'nd if we’re lucky, tonight’s stakeout’ll give us what we need.” He turned to you, eyes narrowing to twin blades. “That clear, rookie?”

“Crystal,” you muttered, earning a sharp nod.

As Kirishima checked the comms equipment, you shifted on your feet, the weight of what was coming pressing against your chest like a vice. The quiet hum of urgency filled the room as you prepared for the night ahead, a stakeout that promised no sleep, a test of patience, and a confined space with Bakugou’s intensity smoldering beside you.

Yeah. You're soo fucked.

[meowzfordayz]

staying in

Author’s Note: feeling cheesy and silly and lazy. ☺️😝🥱

staying in

Hashira x Reader, Kamaboko x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: mild sexual content

Song Inspo: Low Key by Russell Dickerson

~faqs~

An evening in consists of…

… almost getting scammed by an astrology website with Zenitsu, before finally agreeing that the free version is fine, and who believes in astrology anyway? Clearly, you’re made for each other (despite there being some ~areas of conflict between your charts). 

… board games with Inosuke until one of you rage quits, and the other has to convince them to: stop sulking in the bathroom, and play again. Who rage quits usually depends on the game, and you’re much better at goading him into another round than he is at bribing you.

… a quiet stroll out with Gyomei, so not exactly staying in, but still more peaceful and mindful than going to a bar or attending an event. He compares your presence to the radiant fullness of the moon, and you tuck a fallen flower behind his ear. “How do you know what the moon feels like?” He doesn’t quite know how to explain gentle, mystical tug of moonrise, so he settles for, “I can feel you, and that is more than enough.”

… cleaning and redecorating Kaburamura’s cage with Obanai. It’s a little gross, and a lot of a fun. From teasing him for his obvious doting, “Does Kaburamura really need six donut cozies?” to being flat out rejected, “Sooo that’s a no to body painting? It’s safe for humans! How could it not be safe for snakes?” You end up falling asleep as he dutifully photographs Kaburamura curled up on your shoulder #guess I’ll finish cleaning by myself.

… doing Tanjirou’s make up, and him doing yours. If you don’t own any make up, then you go on a field trip (minimal budget). You randomly pick themes (old fashioned via “from a hat” or modern via “app for raffle draw”), set a time limit, and then send photos of your final looks to your Hashira + Kamaboko group chat to decide on a winner.

… making the most outlandish cocktails (or mocktails) you can think of with Mitsuri. They have to be intricate, original, AND taste delicious (~just okay suffices too), or you put on a pair of socks. By the end of the evening, you’re drunk (or sugar high) as heck, and have at least four pairs of socks on.

… a project with Shinobu. Whether that’s tackling a Lego set, making candles, or deep cleaning a specific room (likely the kitchen or bathroom), the laughter is ever constant, frustration to be expected, and resulting pride and excitement at the final product a worthy reward — not to mention the way she kisses you afterward! *happy sigh*

… cooking with Kyojuro #bet you didn’t see that coming #sarcasm intended teehee. Sometimes it’s complicated, hours long endeavors; other times it’s spaghetti; and there’s always take out if your fancy Huntsman pie doesn’t go to plan. He’s almost unbearably efficient when it comes to cooking tidily, and chops vegetables so quickly that you just marvel at how his fingers are intact.

… watching a movie with Sanemi. This includes: ~arguing over which movie to watch for a solid hour (give or take), another twenty minutes for snack prep, and another half an hour to spontaneously design and build a pillow fort (for the optimal movie watching experience, of course). Even when it’s a movie he swears he despises, he’ll still stay awake through the whole damn thing because it matters to you, and you matter to him.

… creating scavenger hunts for each other with Muichiro. You roll dice to determine who gets to claim which room(s) and in what order, set up your hunts, and then hunt (duh)! Winner gets to choose dinner (or dessert if you already ate dinner), and loser gets to cook aforementioned dinner (or dessert). You usually win, but he notices when you begin making his clues easier, and promptly informs you that he’d rather lose honestly than win on Easy Mode. “Your happy noises whenever I feed you are prize enough for me.”

… planning your future with Giyuu. It’s easy to get caught up in the mayhem of Life™, so evenings in are a grounding, intimate opportunity to reconnect and recenter with him. From cuddling on the couch to dancing in the kitchen to watching the moon’s traverse through your favorite window, you discuss current stressors, recent successes, and your gratitude for each other. It may seem simple, but it’s the little things that fit most snugly in your hearts. “Where do you see us in a year? Five years? A decade?” you ask. His answer remains constant: “Together.”

… reading with Tengen. He’ll read to you, or you to him; you’ll share a book, or the couch, or the bed; and you alternate who gets up to brew more tea. If you prefer audio books, then he’ll occasionally eavesdrop, and when it’s your turn to be on tea duty, you more often than not return to a cute sticky note (with dramatic commentary regarding the chapter you’re on) bookmarking your page.

[nothingbutnowhere]

A Simon x reader blurb

Notes: Reader refered to as 'girl' once, mentions of anxiety/hypervigilant symptoms

Edit for typos I wrote this at like 1 am on my phone lol apologies

Your phone was always on silent. No ringtone, no vibration, not even alarms, you had an alarm clock for that, one of the fancy light ones that gradually brightened and played birdsong as the alarm. Given your sensitive startle reflex it made sense to Simon. And it's not like you often missed his calls or texts when he was away. No matter to him.

"Where was that new place you wanted to eat?" you asked from the kitchen, "Kinda out of food right now."

Simon had come home earlier than expected and left you with no time to prepare after a busy week. And considering you'd spent the afternoon and most of the evening rolling around in bed neither of you wanted to cook anyway.

The idea of going out was so much less stressful when Simon was with you. The fear of being perceived, and the fear of the nebulous 'something bad' made exiting your home a no go about 50% of the time. Simon had everything covered though. He could and would handle anything 'bad' and his glare was enough to send wandering eyes away. And seeing Simon straight up not give a fuck helped your thought patterns more than CBT ever did.

"I'll send it"

A few moments later there's a loud notification sound and buzz. Simon nearly jumps, head whipping towards the noise.

He starts to say something but when he sees you with your phone clutched to your chest, familiar red face like you've got caught with your hand in the cookie jar he closes his mouth and waits for the stammered explanation.

"I- it's- um. I have it set for you. When you're gone, guess I forgot to turn it off. It's just so, you know, I don't miss you. I mean miss your calls. I always miss you."

You give him half a smile and it twists Simon's heart, or what's left of it.

He stands and approaches you. Something that most people run away from, but your eyes only get softer and shoulders sag as you melt into his arms. It took time but you broke though his hard shell only to find a teddy bear inside.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs into your forehead before pressing his lips to your skin.

"Handsome boy," you say back, hands gripping the front of his shirt.

"Doin' all that for me? Guess I must be then."

"Mmhm. My handsome boy."

It makes Simon smile when you get possessive over him.

"My sweet girl."

And it makes you hot when he's possessive over you.

You groan.

"Don't start that again or we'll be eating 3am pizza. Or plain spaghetti noodles."

"It's just the truth love."

You break the embrace.

"Well your sweet girl wants dinner," you say with a winning smile.

You tilt your head up and stand on your tiptoes, a silent ask for a kiss.

He swoops in dutifully, but it's only a passing brush.

Asking for kisses is a dangerous game, there's more than one reason your man wears a mask (it's the oral fixation).

You look playfully disappointed but he only gives you his deadpan expression.

You huff and follow him to the door.

Once your shoes are on he does indulge you in another kiss. Deeper this time. Lingering. You give Simon a nip on his bottom lip, something to ache a little bit during dinner while you can't have your lips on him. He smiles, nearly giggles, and gives you a matching one.

A/N: I'm a little rusty, haven't written in a hot sec, but this just kinda plopped into my head. And I have a few other ideas for this soft!simon and anxiety/PTSD/hypervigilant!reader, so maybe I'll continue

...

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 9

word count: 5.6k

did somebody say... jealousy?

"Oh my god?!" Isobel practically screamed, her voice echoing through their small apartment as she grabbed Aspen by the shoulders. Her eyes were wide with excitement, and her grip felt like it might leave marks.

"Sh, sh, shhh!" Aspen hissed, flailing her arms in a futile attempt to quiet her best friend. She glanced nervously at the apartment walls, half-expecting the neighbors to bang on them. But Isobel was undeterred. She jumped up and down, shaking Aspen slightly as if that would get the truth out faster.

"He kissed you? You kissed him?" Isobel's voice only grew louder, her excitement bubbling over like a kettle about to burst. Aspen's face burned hotter than the sun, and that all-too-familiar blush crept up her neck, painting her cheeks an unmistakable shade of red.

"Maybe," Aspen squeaked, her voice barely audible over Isobel's giddy outburst. Her hair was now a tousled mess from Isobel's enthusiastic shaking, and she tried to smooth it down with trembling hands. But Isobel was relentless. She leaped onto the sofa, planting herself on her knees, practically invading Aspen's space with her wide, curious eyes.

"What do you mean you guys kissed?!" Isobel demanded, her hands gripping the pillow in her lap so tightly that Aspen thought it might explode.

To be fair, Aspen had come home chirpier than usual. Normally, her movie nights with Isobel were quiet affairs, filled with comfort and silence, but this time... Aspen couldn't help herself. With a pillow hugged to her chest and a bowl of spaghetti perched in her lap, she had let it slip.

"By the way, we kissed."

That was all she'd said— quiet, nonchalant, like it was no big deal. But of course, Isobel took it as the biggest deal in the world. Aspen's shy delivery had only fueled her friend's insatiable curiosity.

Now, Isobel was a whirlwind of questions. "Did he do it first? Or did you? No... not you. It was definitely him. Right? Was it good? Was it a peck or a kiss? Or a kiss kiss? Or, oh my god— did you make out with him? How many times? When did this start? Is he a good kisser? Did he say you were a good kisser? Oh my god, does Zayn know? I have to tell Zay—."

"Isobel!" Aspen huffed, finally setting her bowl of spaghetti down on the coffee table with a clatter. "It isn't a big deal. It's just a kiss. You do it all the time!" She crossed her arms and looked away, hoping to deflect the onslaught of questions. But Isobel wasn't buying it. Not for a second.

Isobel scoffed, sitting back on her heels but still maintaining that intense, penetrating gaze. "Just a kiss?!" she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Asp, it's not just a kiss. It's your first kiss. And it wasn't just with anyone— it was with Harry!"

Aspen's blush deepened, if that were even possible. She could feel Isobel's excitement radiating off her like heat from a fire, and it made her want to curl up and disappear into the couch. "So?" she muttered, her voice quiet and defensive. "It's not a big deal."

"So?!" Isobel practically shrieked. She flopped dramatically onto the couch beside Aspen, throwing her arms in the air like Aspen had just said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "Aspen, it's Harry. Tall, brooding, tattooed, probably-can-bench-press-a-car Harry! And you kissed him. No— he kissed you. Do you know what that means?"

"It means I'm going to regret telling you this for the rest of my life," Aspen mumbled, hiding her face behind her hands. She could hear Isobel laughing, a bright and joyful sound that somehow made Aspen's embarrassment worse.

"It means," Isobel continued, ignoring her friend's protest, "that he likes you. Like, actually likes you. And you kissed him back, which means you like him."

Aspen peeked out from between her fingers, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Isobel said smugly, her grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat's. "Your face says it all."

Aspen groaned, sinking further into the couch. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Isobel said cheerfully. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, her excitement far from fading. "So, c'mon. Tell me everything. How did it happen? Where did it happen? And don't leave out any details."

Aspen hesitated, her mind flashing back to Harry's office, to the way his hands felt on her hips, the way his lips felt against hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Her heart fluttered at the memory, and she knew there was no way she could hide the truth from Isobel—not completely, anyway.

"Fine," she muttered, barely audible. "But if you tell anyone, I'll never forgive you."

"Cross my heart," Isobel said, making an exaggerated motion across her chest. "Now spill."

And so, reluctantly, Aspen began to recount the events of the day, her voice quiet and her cheeks red, while Isobel hung on her every word like it was the juiciest gossip she'd ever heard.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry blinked, caught off guard by Zayn's question. "What the hell are you talking about?" he muttered, sitting up straighter in the chair. His ring clad fingers gripped the arm rest. His tone was sharp, defensive, but Zayn didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk grew wider.

"I'm serious, man. You've got something shiny on your lips." Zayn gestured toward Harry's mouth, leaning against the reception counter like he was about to deliver a stand-up routine. "Either you're experimenting with a new look, or..." His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "You've been busy."

Harry wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, his jaw tightening when he saw a faint sheen of Aspen's lip gloss on his knuckles. Damn it.

Zayn caught the motion and laughed. "Oh, this is rich." He pushed off the counter and folded his arms, his grin downright mischievous now. "You kissed her, didn't you?"

Harry's green eyes narrowed, his usual scowl deepening. "Mind your business."

"Oh, come on, mate. It's me. You know I'm not gonna drop this." Zayn circled around to the other side of the counter, pulling up a stool and sitting down across from Harry like they were about to have a serious heart-to-heart. "You've been acting weird for weeks. All quiet and broody—more than usual. And now Aspen's coming in here looking all starry-eyed, and you've got lip gloss on your face. You're not exactly subtle."

Harry groaned, leaning back in the chair and dragging a hand down his face. He knew Zayn wouldn't let it go—his best friend was as stubborn as they came. "You're imagining things."

"Right. And Niall doesn't inhale tacos like it's an Olympic sport." Zayn crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed with Harry's deflection. "Just admit it, man. You kissed her."

Harry's jaw ticked, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Why not? You can tattoo a flaming skull on some bloke's back, but you can't talk about kissing a girl?" Zayn teased, his grin never faltering. "I'm just trying to help, you know. It's not every day you start acting like a lovesick teenager."

"I'm not—." Harry stopped himself, his voice rising before he could catch it. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy curls. "You're so bloody annoying, you know that?"

"Yup." Zayn leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Now spill. Did you kiss her, or what?"

Harry glared at him, his fists clenching on the armrests of the chair. He could feel the words bubbling up, his irritation reaching a boiling point. Finally, he snapped. "Fine. Yeah, I kissed her. Happy now?"

Zayn's eyes widened slightly, but his grin only grew. "Knew it!" He pointed at Harry like he'd just won a bet. "So, how was it? Was it all shy and sweet, like I imagine, or did she surprise you? She doesn't seem like the type to—."

"Zayn," Harry interrupted, his voice low and threatening. "Don't."

"Alright, alright." Zayn held up his hands in mock surrender, though his expression was still smug. "I won't pry. But seriously, man... Aspen? Never thought I'd see the day."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped, his glare sharpening.

"Nothing bad, mate. Just... she's different. Sweet. Quiet. Not the kind of girl you usually go for." Zayn tilted his head, studying Harry carefully. "But maybe that's a good thing."

Sweet. She was sweet, and she tasted it, too.

Harry didn't respond, his gaze drifting to the glass door Aspen had walked through just minutes ago. He hated how much he already missed her, how much he wanted to chase after her and keep talking, keep touching.

Zayn's voice pulled him back. "So, what's the plan?"

"There is no plan," Harry muttered, his tone clipped.

"Really? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like you've got it bad." Zayn's smirk softened into something more genuine. "Don't screw it up, man. She's a good one."

Harry didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes. Zayn clapped him on the shoulder before hopping off the stool and heading to the back of the shop, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the door, before finally pulling out his sketchbook. His hand moved almost instinctively, pencil scratching against the paper as Aspen's face began to take shape. The pencil etched little words and phrases around the sketch of Aspen from their ride back home, sitting on the bench with her full attention being sucked between the pages of her book. Suddenly, his phone chimed.

Zayn: Shared a contact: Aspen. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Tuesday afternoon rolled around pretty quick. It flashed by with ease, although Isobel was constantly nagging into Aspens ear about Harry. Today, she had plans to meet up with a classmate to go over a new class schedule for the following semester. He was a year older and in the same major as her, so she figured the information he could provide would be helpful. The girl felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, and she was confused to see a text from an unknown number.

4159559305: Hey. 

Another buzz.

4159559305: It's Harry, by the way.

A smile crept up onto her lips. Of course, she mumbled to herself while her fingers went to edit his contact after typing out a quick reply.

Aspen: hi ! how'd you get my number lol?

Harry ⭐: Zayn. Do you have a second?

Aspen: yea! whats up?

The girl set her open phone on her dresser as she clasped her bracelet around her wrist, shaking it around before his text came through.

Harry ⭐: I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Are you free today?

Aspen bit back the smile creeping up to her face. But then she remembered she had to meet Shawn in half an hour and would likely be out all night due to her shift at the library. Her thumbs scattered after lingering over the keyboard.

Aspen: that sounds nice but im out today :(

She could see that Harry almost instantly read it, but the typing bubble didn't show for a good moment. So she set her phone down again and rummaged through Isobels perfume collection to snag one of hers to dress herself. Buzz. Finally.

Harry ⭐: Oh?

Just one word? Regardless, she didn't let herself think much of it. But as she began to type again, he texted once more.

Harry ⭐: Where you off to?

Aspen: having lunch with a friend! he's helping me out

The text was read immediately, but no response. She clicked her phone shut after a good few seconds and stuffed her feet into her worn Converse to lace them up. She was quick to realize he didn't text back, but she assumed he got busy or distracted with something at the shop. Slinging her tote over her shoulder, she bid goodbye to Isobel.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry stared at the text from Aspen on his phone. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard but ultimately, he decided on not responding. What was he to say? He surely wouldn't bid her a good time with him, whoever she was going to see. And help her with what? What could he possibly help her with that Harry wouldn't be able to? His painted nails, chipped now, curled into his fist and dig into the flesh. A huff fell through his nose while he looked up to scan the semi-busy shop. He had a piercing client to do in a couple of minutes but then his shift was over. He originally planned to ask Aspen if she would be interested in doing something, to which he would figure out what to do if she even agreed. But she didn't. She was off to spend time with someone else, another man at that.

Harry couldn't shake the coil of jealousy in his chest. It had him on the edge of his seat, literally. He had scooted from the back of his leather seater to just the edge. At first it was from excitement, and he hadn't realize how far he came up until he fell back in defeat. When he closed his eyes to take a breath to lose the feeling, her text flooded his mind once again. Who was she going to go see? It wasn't just like she was meeting him for help, but to have lunch. Practically a date!

Harry's jaw clenched as he stared at his phone, the text from Aspen glowing in his mind like a taunt. Her words replayed in his head— having lunch with a friend!—and the image of her laughing, talking, or worse, smiling at some other guy sent a sharp pang of jealousy through his chest. He had no right to feel this way, he knew that, but it didn’t stop the green-eyed monster from twisting the knife. His fingers twitched as he unlocked his phone and scrolled down his contacts.

Kirsten.

The name stared back at him like a challenge. He tapped it and started typing.

Harry: You down to hang out tonight?

He hovered for a moment before hitting send. His thumb lingered over the screen, half-expecting to regret it the moment the message delivered. He stared blankly at the client forms on the counter, the thought of Aspen with her so-called "friend" still gnawing at him.

The reply came back almost instantly.

Kirsten: When and where?

Harry leaned back on the worn couch, his boots propped on the edge of the coffee table, as the amber liquid in his glass swirled lazily with each flick of his wrist. Kirsten sat across from him, her long legs crossed and one arm draped casually along the back of the chair. She had poured herself a generous drink and was spinning the glass between her fingers, her smile lingering in that knowing way that always seemed to unsettle him.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Kirsten remarked, her eyes narrowing playfully as she took another sip. “What’s on your mind? Or should I say, who?”

Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “No one,” he muttered, though the lie felt weak even to him. The truth was, Aspen was all he could think about—her shy smile, the way she’d tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the sound of her laugh. The memory of her text, of her having lunch with him, lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

Kirsten tilted her head, studying him with a sly grin. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” She leaned forward, setting her glass down on the table between them. “Whoever she is, she’s clearly got you all twisted up.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his grip on his glass firming. “Drop it, Kirsten.”

But Kirsten wasn’t one to let things go, especially when she saw an opportunity to needle him. She slid off the chair and joined him on the couch, her knee brushing against his as she settled in close.

“C’mon, Harry,” she teased, her voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “It’s me. You can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his words clipped, though his resolve was starting to fray. The warmth of the whiskey and the press of her leg against his weren’t helping.

Kirsten laughed, a low, throaty sound, and reached for his glass, plucking it from his hand before he could protest. “Then stop sulking and drink with me.” She took a sip and handed it back, her fingers grazing his as she did.

Harry exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. If nothing else, Kirsten was a distraction—a welcome one, maybe, considering how much Aspen had been occupying his thoughts.

The drinks flowed more easily after that. Kirsten kept the conversation light, regaling him with stories of her latest escapades and antics, and Harry found himself relaxing despite himself. He laughed at her jokes, the sound rumbling in his chest, and before long, the tension that had been knotting his shoulders began to unravel.

Somewhere between refilling their glasses and Kirsten poking fun at one of his tattoos, things began to shift. She scooted closer, her arm brushing against his, her laughter softer and more intimate. Harry felt the warmth of her presence, the scent of her perfume mingling with the faint tang of alcohol.

“You know,” she said, her voice low as she traced the edge of the tattoo on his forearm with her fingertip, “I kind of miss this.”

Harry glanced at her, his brows knitting together. “Miss what?”

“This,” Kirsten said, gesturing between them. “Us. Hanging out, drinking, messing around.” She smiled, tilting her head. “You used to let loose more.”

Harry chuckled, though it lacked conviction. “Maybe I’m getting old.”

“Please,” Kirsten scoffed, leaning in so close he could feel her breath against his neck. “You’re still the same Harry. Just... a little more broody.”

He didn’t pull away when her hand rested on his thigh, her touch light but lingering. The whiskey was dulling his edges, making it harder to think clearly. For a moment, he let himself sink into the familiarity of her—the way she smiled at him, the ease with which she filled the space between them.

Kirsten tilted her head, her eyes locking on his. “You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, though it wasn’t entirely true. His mind flickered to Aspen, unbidden, and he hated himself for it. What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about him at all?

Kirsten’s fingers moved, tracing slow circles on his knee. “Good,” she murmured, her lips curling into a faint smile.

The line between familiarity and something more blurred further when Kirsten leaned in, her hand sliding up to his shoulder. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough for Harry to feel the heat of it.

He didn’t stop her. He didn’t encourage her, either, but he didn’t move away. It felt easy, familiar, like falling into an old habit.

Kirsten pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his face. “There’s that smile,” she teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing on the table. She ignored it, reaching instead for her phone’s camera.

“C’mon, let’s document this rare moment of Harry actually having fun,” she teased, leaning into his side as she held up the phone.

“Kirsten, don’t—.” Harry started, but she had already snapped the picture.

Her laughter bubbled up as she looked at the screen. “Relax, it’s a good one,” she said, her thumb moving to post it to her story.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

The photo was innocent enough—or at least it seemed that way at first glance. But the way Kirsten was pressed into Harry’s side, her head tilted close to his, her smile confident and flirtatious—it told a different story.

Aspen didn’t see it until halfway through her shift at the library. She had been shelving books when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Curious, she glanced at the notification, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Kirsten’s name.

The picture made her stomach twist. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she stared at the screen, the edges of her vision blurring.

Harry. With Kirsten. Smiling. Close.

Her mind raced. Was this why he hadn’t texted her back? Had she misread everything between them?

Aspen quickly locked her phone and shoved it back into her pocket, but the image burned in her mind. She tried to focus on her work, but the knot in her chest wouldn’t loosen.

Aspen shoved her phone into her pocket, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of the book cart for support. Her chest felt tight, and no amount of deep breaths seemed to loosen the knot forming there. The picture—the way Kirsten was practically draped against Harry, her confident smile, her hand resting on his chest like she belonged there—kept flashing in her mind.

It wasn’t just the photo itself. It was the timing. The fact that Harry had texted her earlier, asking to hang out, and now he was spending the night with her. Aspen’s cheeks burned, a mix of anger and something else she couldn’t name swirling in her chest.

Why does it bother me this much? she thought, pushing the cart down the aisle with more force than necessary. She nearly knocked over a stack of books, muttering an apology to a nearby patron before retreating deeper into the library.

She leaned against a shelf, her phone burning a hole in her pocket. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept drifting back to Harry. The way he’d looked at her when he showed her around the shop, the way his lips had lingered on hers the other night. Had that all meant nothing? Or worse—was she just something to pass the time before Kirsten inevitably came back around?

No, Aspen told herself, shaking her head. Harry didn’t seem like that. He’d been different with her—so much softer than she’d expected. But then, why was he with Kirsten now? Drinking, laughing, letting her post that picture. Aspen pulled her phone out again, her fingers hovering over the screen as she stared at the image.

Her chest tightened further. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong—she had plans with Shawn, sure, but it wasn’t like she’d rubbed that in Harry’s face. And Shawn was just a friend, someone she genuinely needed help from. But Kirsten? The way she leaned into Harry made it clear there was history there, something Aspen could never compete with.

Aspen couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest any longer. Only a half hour passed but it was too long. She ducked into the break room, pulling out her phone and staring at the picture again. A pang of jealousy shot through her as she noticed the way Harry’s arm rested so casually on the back of the couch, his posture relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever felt that at ease around her. Was he laughing with Kirsten now? Sharing inside jokes and stories Aspen would never be part of?

Her mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last. And yet, beneath the jealousy, there was something even harder to admit: fear. Fear that she wasn’t enough, that Harry would always choose someone like Kirsten over someone like her.

Aspen clenched her fists, setting her phone on the counter before taking a shaky breath. She wasn’t the type to let jealousy consume her, but this was different. This wasn’t just anyone—this was Harry. And she didn’t know why that mattered so much, but it did.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Across town, Harry slumped further into the couch, Kirsten’s laughter ringing in his ears like static. He stared at the empty glass in his hand, swirling the remnants of his drink as his thoughts drifted back to the text exchange with Aspen.

Her last message replayed in his mind. Having lunch with a friend. He’s helping me out. Harry’s grip on the glass tightened. His jaw clenched as the jealousy from earlier resurfaced, twisting low in his gut.

Who the hell was he? Harry thought bitterly, picturing some faceless guy sitting across from Aspen, making her smile, stealing her attention. The thought had driven him crazy all afternoon, and the whiskey in his system only magnified it.

That was why he’d texted Kirsten. That was why he’d invited her over, poured them both drinks, and let the night spiral into something reckless. It wasn’t because he wanted Kirsten. It wasn’t even about her. It was about silencing the jealousy, about filling the emptiness Aspen had unknowingly left behind when she turned him down.

But even with Kirsten sitting beside him, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, Harry couldn’t shake the thought of Aspen. Her quiet laughter, the way she’d hesitated before saying goodbye earlier, the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t the disaster he felt like most days.

“You’re awfully quiet again,” Kirsten said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Harry blinked, glancing at her. She was smiling, but there was an edge of curiosity behind her eyes.

“Just tired,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her phone, pulling up the picture she’d posted earlier. “This one’s already getting a few comments,” she said with a smirk, tilting the screen toward him.

Harry barely glanced at it before looking away, his stomach twisting. He hated the idea of Aspen seeing it, of her misunderstanding—but then again, wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to feel even a fraction of the jealousy that had been eating at him all day?

Kirsten shifted closer, her knee brushing against Harry’s. He tensed for a moment but didn’t move away. She took another sip of her drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table before leaning toward him.

“You’ve been acting weird all night,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer. Her hand came up to rest lightly on his shoulder, her fingers trailing along the edge of his shirt. “Come on, Harry. Talk to me.”

Harry tilted his head back against the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, but even he didn’t believe the words.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Kirsten’s voice was low now, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. “You’re all tense. Let me help you relax.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression conflicted. He could see the intent in her eyes, the way her body leaned just a little closer, her hand resting on his arm like an invitation. For a brief moment, he considered it. It would be easy to give in—to let Kirsten distract him, to drown out the thoughts of Aspen that had been plaguing him all day.

Kirsten moved her hand to his chest, her nails grazing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve always been so wound up,” she murmured, her voice teasing. “You need to let loose every once in a while, you know?”

Harry exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering down to her hand before meeting her eyes. There was something magnetic about the way she was looking at him—like she could pull him under if he wasn’t careful. He felt the weight of her presence, the pull of her touch, and for a moment, he let himself lean into it.

Her hand slid up to the side of his neck, her thumb brushing against his jaw. “There you are,” she whispered, her lips curving into a small smile.

Harry’s head dipped slightly, his body leaning closer to hers almost on instinct. The tension between them thickened, and for a fleeting second, he thought about closing the gap entirely. Maybe this was what he needed—something simple, something that didn’t make him feel like his chest was being torn in two.

But just as quickly as the thought came, it vanished. Aspen’s face flashed in his mind again—the way she looked at him, the way her lips felt against his, the way her quiet presence had a way of settling the storm inside him.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the moment. Kirsten’s hand lingered for a beat before falling away, her expression flickering with a mix of confusion and disappointment.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone lighter now, but there was a trace of something deeper behind her words. Harry cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I just—I think I need some air.”

Kirsten’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her phone, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Sure thing." 

As Harry leaned against the railing of his balcony, the cold air barely registering against his skin, his jaw tightened. His drink, now forgotten in his hand, grew warmer with each passing minute. The image of Aspen’s text replayed in his mind like a taunt.

Lunch with a friend… he’s helping me out.

The words felt innocent enough on the surface, but they burned in his chest like an ember he couldn’t snuff out. He hated how vague it sounded, hated the way it left too much room for his imagination to fill in the blanks. Who was this guy? What was so important that she’d drop her plans to spend time with him instead?

His grip tightened around the glass, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every thought. He knew he had no right to feel this way. Aspen wasn’t his, and she didn’t owe him an explanation. But logic didn’t quiet the bitter jealousy coursing through him.

She could’ve said yes, he thought bitterly, staring out into the night. She could’ve spent the afternoon with me, but she chose him.

He thought about the way she’d smiled at him in the shop, the way her shy demeanor had started to crack just a little around him. For a moment, he’d let himself believe that meant something. But now… now, it felt like a punch to the gut.

And the worst part? He couldn’t even be mad at her, not really. He was mad at himself for caring this much, for letting her crawl under his skin in a way that no one else ever had. He barely knew her, and yet here he was, seething at the idea of her spending time with someone else.

His thoughts grew darker, fueled by the alcohol and the frustration he couldn’t shake. What did he have that Harry didn't? The question gnawed at him, petty and unworthy, but relentless all the same.

Maybe this other guy was more her type— polished, stable, easy to bring home to her parents. Someone who could fit into her world without the jagged edges that came with Harry’s. He thought about the tattoos that snaked up his arms, the chipped paint on his nails, the hours he spent in a noisy shop filled with ink and adrenaline.

He wasn't exactly the boy you'd take home to mom, he reminded himself bitterly, his lips twisting into a humorless smile.

And yet, he couldn’t stop wanting her.

The jealousy simmered, refusing to let go. It wasn’t just about the guy she was with— it was the fact that she’d picked him over Harry. That stung in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He’d asked her to hang out, to spend time together, and she’d turned him down like it was nothing.

What the hell was I thinking? he thought, running a hand through his hair. I barely know her, and I’m acting like…

Like what? Like he had a claim to her? Like they were something more than a few charged moments and a kiss that had left his head spinning?

He downed the rest of his drink, the burn in his throat doing little to dull the frustration. He hated feeling this way-- vulnerable, exposed, like a raw nerve waiting to be struck. But no matter how hard he tried to push it down, it kept bubbling back up.

He thought about texting her again, asking how her lunch went, trying to pull some kind of reassurance from her reply. But the idea of her saying something that might confirm his fears stopped him cold. He didn’t want to hear her gush about how helpful this guy was, or how great of a time they’d had.

Instead, he did the one thing he swore he shouldn't do: he went back to Kirsten.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The mans long legs draped over Kirstens hips on his couch, her hands under the thin material of her shirt. He nosed at the woman's bare neck, muttering something to himself that somehow drove her crazy without hearing it. His fingers were still decorated with their rings and chipped black polish while they held tightly onto Kirsten's hip over the lace she wore. His other arm, to her side, propped him up as he slotted his thigh between hers. He stood up to gaze down at her half naked body, and that's when guilt shot right through him so hard he swore he could collapse. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, letting go of her body. "This isn't going to work. It's best if you leave." Harry stood up to his full frame now, removing his body from hers. Kirsten propped herself on her back elbows, brows furrowed. "Really?" When he only nodded and tossed her jeans back to her, she scoffed but got dressed again. 

Harry chose to ignore the rude mutters she spoke under her breath, knowing he'd only scowl back at her if he heard.

Kirsten slammed his apartment door a little too hard, making Jasper swivel out from behind his cat tree followed by a hiss which made Harry's lips turn up a bit before guilt continued to consume him. Jasper came to tangle himself between Harrys feet, skimming along his owners fingertips before running off again. Harry buried his face into his hands with a heavy sigh. What was he doing? 

Looking back up at the glasses and drinks on the table to the caved in spot where Kirsten lay moments ago, he had only wished it was Aspen instead. And instead of beers and bottles, he wanted to see books and journals and pencils and Aspen.

Regret flashed through his heavy green eyes. He was so fucked.

[jasonsknight3]

Part two! @eva-sparda20

Warning: intermediation? There isn’t much in this one.

Passing by

(AK Jason d Sweet waitress reader)

Today was a cloudy Saturday, not raining though which was an unusual thing. There was always rain with clouds but not today. Not on your day off. Not that it mattered sense you weren’t going out anyway. Your day off was spent watching movies, napping, snacking, and a few hobbies you finally had time for. The man you met hasn’t come back to your dissatisfaction. As intimidating as he was, you felt a force of attraction to him. Not just his pretty eyes and face, not just the way he made your heart leap in all kinds of nervousness but, the mysterious air about him. The alluring mystery to his personality. You still hadn’t figured him out. Not that you really had time to when you first met him. He was on your mind near constantly for the past three days and two nights. There was so much you wanted to know, to explore. He had your attention so much, it honestly bothered you how quickly you felt…attached. It wasn’t love but it was something. A connection somehow.

Around 6:00 pm the sky grew a little darker and you put on the second movie of the day, a personal favorite. The 1950’s movie “Scaramouche” with Stewart Grange in it. A dramatic movie with romance, sword fighting, comedy, and so much more. It wasn’t everyone’s favorite but you enjoyed it. Watching. As the movie plays you feel your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. The last thing you remember was when Andre Moreau jumped in the wagon proclaiming his love to Aline De Galvrillac.

The sound of wood dragging against wood against wood woke you up. Opening your eyes you rub them trying. To rub away the sleep from them. Peering behind the back part of the couch, you look into the kitchen. You gasped as you saw a figure standing there next to the open window you swear you locked. The figure slid off his green baseball hat revealing a familiar face. Your body relaxed a little. It was him, he wasn’t wearing his armor though, instead, he wore a red hoodie, gray pants, and some hiking boots. “You’re back.” You said softly trying to hide your excitement for the much welcomed surprise visit. Getting up stretching you walk to the kitchen. “What did you come here for?” You ask stopping to rest against the counter. “I was actually hoping you wouldn’t be here.” He said flatly. That drug a little but you half expected it. You tried to keep it light, ignoring the comment. “Yea, I have Sundays off. Um…” you look around your eyes settling on the microwave. 8:00. Before you could speak he said “you should really lock your window.” You nod “yea, it’s actually broken. It doesn’t actually lock.” You explained sheepishly. “You should fix it.” There was a long pause before you said anything else. “Would…would you like some dinner?” You question. He looked at the floor for a moment and looked back at you silently longer than comfortable. “Fine.” A part of you felt relief at his acceptance but you also felt he had ulterior motives for staying. You didn’t mind though, you felt as though it wasn’t anything bad. “Does spaghetti sound good?” You ask him. “Sounds fine.” He replied unenthusiastically. Grabbing pots, noodle, ground beef, mushrooms and all the seasoning you set all the items out to start.

As you filled up the big pot with water he leaned against the counter next to the stove. “So, what’s your name hm?” Him asking questions was a surprise but you answered happily. “Um, (F/N).” He hummed in response before continuing. “I could tell you worked at a diner the first time I saw you but I just want to know if my assumption is correct.” You smile, “yea, I work at a diner.” You say heaving up the pot of water and setting it on the stove. Turning the knob and pausing til you hear the three clicks to finally turn it up to nine. The fire caught and started to heat up the water. “Which one?” He questioned you. You looked at him for a moment before answering “why are you asking? What’s with starting all these questions?” You ask curiously. He frowns as if his reasons were obvious. “To make sure that you keep your word.” The water began to boil. Putting in the noodles and storing for a minute you respond. “How would asking me these questions keep me in check? Besides, I'll keep you a secret.” You say as you start to brown the meat. He seemed frustrated. “Your word isn’t enough. Secondly,” he stepped close to the way he presented himself was intimidating, making you shiver a little. “I’ve done my research, you know. I know you to a level others don’t. Your name is (F/N) (M/N) (L/N), I know you are (age), dropped out of college, work at Paul’s diner on Maigani island, on grande Avenue, the one that was rebuilt a year ago, I know your medical history, I know you’re originally from (redacted). Escaped your family, now you're here. I. Know. Everything.” Your heart hammered in your chest, your face no doubt reflecting panic and terror. You didn’t really realize the gravity of who this man was. Possibilities swam in your head. Has he been stalking you? Was the night you helped him planned? Stepping back he relaxed. “Calm down, it’s not that hard to find all of that information, not for me. Let’s just say I used to work for the supposed “best detective” there ever was. I’m a vigilante. I hunt criminals down regularly. Hunting down your information was easy. As for your question about how it helps me “keep you in check” by asking questions. Think of it as a test. I ask what I already know and based on your answer I learn how honest you really are.” It was a lot to take in but it all made at least a little sense. Why he was hurt, why he wore the gear, why he knew so much about you. It all made more sense but still freaked you out a little. You quietly start to add the red sauce. You didn’t know what to say, you felt so exposed, you didn’t have a criminal record but it felt as if he knew every sin you committed.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him looking out the window when his body suddenly jolted , his body going stiff, his head slightly snapping to the side before returning to looking out the window. He closed his eyes for a moment before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, putting it to rest between his lips. Taking a deep inhale he then blew out the smoke. You look at him nervously before saying “could you please open the window?” His iceberg eyes shifted to you. Wordlessly he opened the window letting the cool air of the night carry the smoke out. Within fifteen minutes the spaghetti was ready. The final touches were adding rosemary, mushrooms, pepper, garlic, and some basil. Making a plate for him he takes a seat at the table and begins to eat. Even if he tried to hide it you could tell he was really enjoying the home made meal. After making your own plate you lean in against the opposite counter and begin to eat as well. Once you chewed a few bites you managed the courage to ask him “what’s your name?” Pausing just before taking another bite he eyed you down before replying “No need for you to know.” Not really happy with his answer, you add a little pressure. “Well you know so much about me already. Seems fair I should know at least something about you.” He chewed his bite slowly considering. “I don’t play fair (F/N).” I don’t owe you an explanation but…my name is Jason. That’s all you get.” You smile “Jason, seems fitting.” You say, his facial expression changed, he seemed a little weirded out or at least didn’t know what to say to that. It was honestly kind of funny…cute even. “Yea, well, don’t get too excited. It’s just a name.” After eating he thanked you for the meal.

Before leaving he said “don’t forget to, I am keeping tabs on you.” He paused one more time halfway through the window “and fixed that window lock. You're just asking for trouble.” With that Jason left. This meeting felt different. There was so much that happened in one setting, being left with many emotions, fear, attraction and the biggest of all. Curiosity.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 30

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sexual themes

Just Desserts

"I'm invited, right?" Of note, Kid was not working on fixing the wall. He was fiddling with something small and metallic, trying to shape it. 

Killer was sitting on Kid's workbench, lost in thought. "Huh? No!" 

That seemed to surprise Kid. "What do ya mean 'no'?!"

"You'll do something to piss her off and then she'll leave." Killer crossed his arms. 

"But I like spaghetti." 

"I'll save you some!" 

Kid shrugged. "Fine." 

Killer narrowed his eyes under his mask. He knew Kid and he knew Kid had no intention of leaving them alone. "Kid..." Killer's tone was a warning.

"I said fine!" Kid scowled. "But you better invite me to whatever happens after." Kid looked at Killer with a quirked eyebrow and a grin.

"That's not..." Killer gave up. "Yeah, sure." He rolled his eyes. He didn't even expect that you would agree, let alone want to join him afterwards for anything. Killer mainly wanted to do something nice for you since you had shielded his face from the crew. That wasn't something that he took lightly. He had broken your nose after all. It would have easily been fair not to do anything. His cheeks got warm thinking about how flustered you had been. Even if it was more for yourself than for him, your concern was cute. Killer could tell you were trying your best to earn your place. He needed to distract his thoughts before he started to get nervous. "What are you working on?"

"None of yer business." Kid moved his hand to cover the thing he was making. 

Maybe it was Killer's imagination, but he thought Kid's face flushed. Killer was surprised Kid didn't want to tell him what it was. Sometimes Kid did that. Especially if he wanted to make sure it worked first. Kid did not take constructive criticism well.

"She kinda had yer ass, huh?" Kid smirked. Kid thought it was kinda hot when you were choking Killer out. He wished it was with your thighs though. And that it was him. 

It was Killer's turn to scoff. "I would have won if my helmet didn't come off."

"I don't know..." Kid teased. "Ya seemed to struggle there."

Killer shook his head. "You fight her then."

Kid waved his hand in dismissal. "I already have. Piece of cake."

"That was when she was still half-starved." Killer pointed out. "She's stronger now, probably not even at her peak."

Kid considered this. "Yeah I guess her ass has gotten fatter." Actually, you had filled back out quite nicely thanks to Killer's cooking. You were a far cry from the girl on the island, scrawny, and all lean-muscle. You were still muscular, though putting weight on in all the right places. 

Killer sighed. "Not what I meant." Killer was a man. He was not immune to noticing these things. "But... I do agree." And though your boobs were pressed into his face, he had noticed your stomach more than anything. Your crop top left the skin of your mid-section bare. His hand had brushed against it, feeling how warm and soft it was. He wanted to know what it felt like to lay on it, bury his face in it, have it in his grip. It made him proud that your body reflected how much you enjoyed his cooking. He wondered if you would let him feed you a few bites. He had to stop thinking about it before he gave himself heart palpitations.

Kid noticed the angle of the light coming through the window, hues of deep orange. "Shouldn't ya get started in the galley soon?" 

Killer saw how low the sun hung in the sky, jumping up from his seated position on Kid's workbench. "Shit!" He stumbled over his feet and hopped on one foot to keep from tripping before he ran out the door. 

The captain shook his head. "All that fuss fer one bitch." He looked down at the small, silver, crescent shaped object on the table, spinning it around with his finger, elbow resting on the table with his head in his other hand. He flicked it across the room and drummed his fingers on the wood. With a frustrated growl, he stomped across the room and picked it back up, shoving it into his pocket. I'm no better. 

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

You decided to take a short nap before dinner, sprawling yourself over Minerva's back. The warmth from her back and her rhythmic, soft snoring put you to sleep in seconds. It was a blink to you. That hadn't felt like a nap at all, but it was dim outside so some time had, in fact, passed. You would have slept until the next morning save for the smell of food beckoning you to the mess hall. Not even bothering to get off Mini, you rode her down for dinner. At this point, no one batted an eye. There was a glaring problem. There was an egregious absence of spaghetti on the plates that you could see. You dismounted and walked to the galley, leaving Mini to perform her evening rounds, where she circled the tables with her mouth open until someone tossed something in, or sniffed the ground for dropped morsels.

Flinging open the galley doors, you started to complain, "WHERE'S THE SPAG-....hetti.... Oh." There was spaghetti. On two plates. Across from each other. With a candle in the middle. You didn't move, still processing what was in front of you. Your heartbeat started to race. Oh fuck. You replayed the conversation in your head. He had been asking you to dinner, not asking you to choose dinner for the crew. Asking me to dinner! 

"Is something wrong?" Killer's hands suddenly got sweaty. He saw the blank look on your face and panicked internally. 

"I... No." You blinked. Killer was fiddling with his apron balled up in his hands. "No. This looks great." You tried to convince him with a smile. You were kicking yourself for not realizing. You didn't even change clothes! You probably smelled like boar! Killer was going to regret this. You reached for a stool, which Killer quickly pulled out for you. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to." Killer sounded happy, his hands were still sweaty, but he was nervous in a more excited way now. He joined you in sitting at the opposite end of the table. It was the prep table dressed up with a tablecloth and a candle. A candle that he had to bribe Heat to let him borrow. 

You were frozen, only moving when you saw that Killer was waiting for you to take a bite first. After the first bite, it was hard to stop. It was delicious. You were eating it by the forkful, hardly stopping to chew. Killer was watching you intently. "S-sorry." You dabbed your mouth with a napkin. "That wasn't... ladylike." You forgot this was a date and you were supposed to behave a certain way.

Killer laughed. "Who cares? I'm glad that you like it enough to wear it." 

You relaxed, then realized what he had said and looked down. "Ah fuck." There was some sauce on your shirt. You squinted. "What the...?" There was a purplish smudge. 

Killer cleared his throat. "I think it's um... my lipstick, from earlier. Sorry." 

You really wished you had changed. Lipstick? Kid wore it but you wouldn't have guessed Killer did, since the helmet would block it. Your eyes shifted to Killer, who still had his helmet on. He was moving his fork around, not actually eating. It was because his helmet was in the way, though you couldn't help but feel a squeeze in your stomach, thinking maybe that it was you. "Do you want me to turn around? Or close the eye that works?" You laughed apprehensively.

The truth was that Killer was working up the courage to take his helmet off. He wanted to. He knew you had already seen his face. It was a mental hurdle that he was trying his best to get past. "No." His heart was pounding out of his chest and his blood rushed in his ears, but the soft, encouraging look you gave him had his hands reaching for the clasp on his helmet. He wasn't worried about anyone coming in. He gave Wire strict orders that no one, not even Kid, was allowed to come in. 

It felt wrong to watch, averting your gaze to the plate in front of you to give him time. When you heard the soft thud of his helmet on the wooden table, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his. They were every bit of icy, piercing blue as you remembered them. His bangs fell over them until he pushed them back with his hand. The smile on his face lacked any confidence, endearing all the same. "I've never seen you with lipstick on before. I think the purple looks nice." Though that part was new, it was the same handsome face that had washed up on the beach. Your compliment made his smile stretch a little wider.

Neither of you knew what to say, so you ate in silence. It wasn't awkward at all. It was actually more awkward when you had been talking. This felt relaxed, a bit of peace away from the daily chaos and incredibly loud captain. The candlelight flickered, casting faint shadows on the walls. 

You rolled a meatball around with your fork. "Can I make a confession?" Killer nodded, puzzled. "I didn't realize you were asking me to dinner. I thought you were just letting me pick." You shyly admitted. 

Now your initial response made sense to Killer. He tensed, wondering if you wouldn't have agreed otherwise or if he made you feel uncomfortable. He was about to apologize, but you sensed his unease.

"This is nice though." You spun up another forkful of pasta. "I've... never been asked to dinner before." With a snort, you said, "I know that's probably an earth-shattering revelation." You were being sarcastic. Of course you were pretty... pretty abrasive, forward, cocky, and downright mean. People weren't scrambling to sweep you off your feet for more than a night.

The surprise in his expression was evident. "What do you mean? Never?" You nodded with another snort of laughter. "But you're-"

"Save it." You rolled your eyes. "I know what I am." It wasn't meant to be snappy, your tone was gentle, genuine. You rested your chin in your hand and smiled. You were happy with yourself. You didn't need Killer to list off things he liked about you. Obviously he liked something enough to make you spaghetti.

Killer laughed and held up his hands. "Ok ok. I'll save the flattery for Kid." 

On the other side of the doors, Kid's voice carried, "Better save some spaghetti for Kid!" It sounded like he was waiting far enough away that he wasn't technically interrupting you, but close enough to be in earshot if Killer's voice was loud.

"Fuck off, Kid. I did!" Killer yelled in the direction of the voice. He would have to be more mindful of his volume. The captain seemed pleased with that since he stopped yelling. While the two of you were in the galley, the only beings remaining in the mess were Kid and Mini, awkwardly sitting in silence with each other, waiting for their respective partners. Killer shook his head, getting back to his dinner.

The two of you continued to eat, sharing small parts of each other, neither of you willing to get too deep into anything. Killer gave you some feedback about your fighting, good and bad, lest it be mistaken for flattery. There was a good chance Wire would be grumpy for the next few days. He also said that Kid had been impressed, leaving out his other comments.

The increasingly full feeling in your stomach slowed down your eating. Your gaze moved from twirling your fork to Killer. His golden hair fell around his shoulders, his sharp jawline covered in equally golden scruff at the apex, the way his cupid's bow was a perfect 'v' shape, you were always drawn back to his eyes, ever-changing shades of blue, like the ocean. He was perfect, and here you were disheveled, hair a mess, stained shirt, covered in the day's grime. "Y'know if I had realized this was a date, I would have at least taken a shower and put a clean shirt on."

"Is this a date?" Killer questioned. 

Was that a hopeful tone? All the sudden, your face felt like it was on fire. "Well-," you choked on your pasta. To avoid answering and to figure out what he was thinking, you countered, "Do you want it to be?"

Killer grinned. "I want it to be whatever you want it to be." He knew what you were trying to do.

It was a stalemate. Neither of you wanted to speak anything into existence, for fear of ruining it altogether. 

"FER FUCK SAKE." Kid was leaning in the doorway. "PATHETIC." Kid barged in, looking around for his plate, mocking your conversation. "What do you want? heehee no what do youuuu want?"  Kid tore through the kitchen like a starving hound. "I want my fuckin dinner! I waited long enough and I'm fuckin starving! Just fuckin kiss already!" Kid took the lid off the pot of pasta. "Bingo!"

Killer snatched Kid's wrist faster than you could see. "No. Hands."

"Wouldn't hafta use em if ya had made me a fuckin plate like I asked!"

You watched on as they squabbled. Killer was essentially wrestling Kid away from the pasta. It seemed as though there may have been a history of Kid contaminating the food by eating with his hands, about right for your characterization of him. In the midst of it, Killer had put his mask back on. It was nice to see his face while it lasted. It kind of pissed you off. One nice moment in your otherwise brutal and chaotic life, and the King of Chaos himself comes to ruin it. You were finished with dinner, but maybe you had wanted to talk to Killer longer, maybe you had wanted to steal a kiss. You definitely did, who were you kidding?

"I'll leave you two to it," you said with a hint of venom, glaring at Kid. Switching to a softer voice, "Thank you, Killer. That was a lovely...evening." You winked at him. "Too bad it didn't have a chance to be even more lovely. Kid." 

Kid pointed back and forth between where you had been standing and Killer, "Doffs dat mee weee ain huckin?"* He had a mouthful of pasta. One good thing about red lipstick is that you couldn't tell how much of the pasta sauce hadn't made it into his mouth. 

Killer folded his arms and let out a defeated sigh. "I told you that you would piss her off and she would leave."

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

There was a soft knock at the door to the women's quarters. You were tucked in bed after a piping hot shower, reading an old newspaper. There was a lot you missed when you were on that island, and Heat was nice enough to pull the highlights from his collection. Every now and then, you would explain something particularly eventful to Minerva. Emma called for you. Strange. You weren't expecting anything. Your eyebrows went up when you saw Killer. He had his normal first-mate air about him, all business, relaxing only when Emma left. You looked at him for elaboration.

"I'm sorry about Kid." He rubbed his arm. 

You shrugged. "That's not for you to apologize for. Kid happens." You leaned against the doorframe. "That's not all you came for though, is it?" You picked up on the way his hands kept fidgeting. Cute. 

Killer cleared his throat, "I... uh. I made dessert, too, but we didn't get to it." He sucked in a deep breath. "Do you want to have some? I remembered how much you liked chocolate cake." Rather, he remembered you drunkenly eating it from his hand and the feeling of your tongue around his fingers. 

You felt your mouth water. "I could go for some I suppose." You crossed your arms, thinking. You were in your pajamas, nothing extravagant, a simple cotton button up shirt and matching shorts. It was chilly out and you really didn't want anyone to see you in pjs. 

Killer took your hesitation as a negative. "You don't have to. I can go."

You grabbed his arm before he could turn. "No, I want to. I just don't want to be out in pjs and I have no shoes on. I'll have to change." 

The first-mate noticeably perked up. "Don't worry about that." He turned around and hunched down. "Hop on." Killer made grabbing motions with his hands, indicating that he would grab your legs. "Or I could just sling you over my shoulder. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, though."

You cocked your head. "And what idea does this give instead exactly?" You relented, stepping back before getting a short, running start to jump on his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around is waist. The image of being slung over his shoulder wasn't a bad one, if you were honest. 

Killer stood up, adjusting your thighs around him in a way that was more comfortable, doing a little hop to bounce you higher on his back. 

You took this opportunity to breathe in his scent, holding yourself back from burying your face in the thick golden hair tumbling down his back. A few untamed strands tickled your face as you bounced along with Killer's steps. Distracted by this possibly once-in-a-lifetime chance, you barely registered that Killer had passed the mess hall and galley, going to his room. 

Killer walked over to his bed and turned around, letting you down gently. 

You bounced on the edge of his bed. "Oh. I thought we would go to the galley again."

"Too risky." Killer explained. "Kid usually makes a fridge raid late." He handed you a fork and a plate with the most decadent-looking cake you had ever seen. It was multi-layered, moist, and he didn't skimp on the portions. 

Eagerly, you took the plate from him and scooted back to sit more comfortably on his comforter. It was soft and it smelled like him. You watched as he grabbed his own slice, sitting across from you. Killer had swapped his jeans for sweatpants. His shirt was the same but slightly faded, an older one. "Hm. How thoughtful of you then." Now that you had a better grasp of the situation, your confidence had returned in full. You preferred to be in control. 

Killer was looking at you expectantly. You assumed so anyway, his mask was pointed in your direction. 

Bringing a forkful to your mouth, you were barely two chews in and already reaching for another bite. Much like the spaghetti, you were inhaling the cake. "Good god, Killer." You had to resist saying something downright filthy, not wanting to ruin the otherwise sweet moment. "I didn't know I had a heart until you found your way to it with your fucking cooking." 

A pink tint spread down his neck. 

"I wish I could return the favor, but I'm sure you've noticed I'm not great in the kitchen." You took another bite, humming your satisfaction.

Killer huffed a partial laugh from his nose. "You're... not great," he agreed. "But," he continued, "you're... good company." 

You rolled your eyes. "I know that's not true." You thought he was being sarcastic. 

"No I mean it." Killer said in earnest. "You're nice to look at." 

"Oh so I'm your kitchen eye-candy then, huh?"

"Don't act like it doesn't go both ways," he retorted.

You hmphed. "So? It's not equal because I can only ogle from the neck down." You smirked at him. 

Killer took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine." His hand came up to the back of his neck, hesitating, then unlatching his helmet for the second time that night. He set his helmet down next to him. "Ogle away."

It was difficult to peel your eyes away from him. He was probably planning to remove it at some point regardless since he hadn't attempted to eat his own cake before then. "Don't mind if I do." You laughed and kept eating away at your slice. While you did so, you looked around his room. It was kept neat, as expected. Your eyes settled on a picture. It was difficult to see from your position, though you could make out who you assumed to be Kid and Killer, with a third, smaller person between them. They looked familiar, similar to the picture of the girl you saw in Kid's things. You didn't ask about it. It would be hypocritical of you to press for information about their past when you were so against it when they did the same to you. Though, one could argue, they owe you at least that much in return. 

"Hey, Y/N," Killer wavered, unsure whether to ask or not. "Remember back when we rescued you from the island with the marine base, after the fire?" He waited for you to nod, letting his bangs hide his face in place of his mask. "You were kind of out of it, but you said you liked m-my laugh... Did you mean it?" He looked up at you until one of his sapphire eyes met yours.

"What? Of course I meant it." You looked at him, questions evident in your expression. 

Killer noticeably straightened up. "I don't really like it myself." Killer paused. He didn't know how much he wanted to say on the matter. "I used to get made fun of." He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. You knew better, since he cared enough to bring it up.

"I would love to see someone try it now." You put down your empty plate. "You could put them down without even dirtying your punishers." Pretending to jab someone with your fork, you added, "Or I'll add them to my hit list."

Killer grinned, amused by your comments, not elaborating any further on his past. "You have frosting on your face."

Could you go one second without getting food on yourself? You searched for it with your hand, trying to wipe it off.

The man across from you grinned wider and wider every time you missed, enjoying your struggle. "Let me get it." He leaned over and swiped his thumb across your cheek, a fair bit away from your mouth. Who knows how it got there? 

Half-expecting him to let you lick it from his thumb, you were surprised when he did it himself. "Maybe I wanted that," you said teasingly. 

Killer ran his finger through the remaining frosting on his plate, eyeing it, then motioning you over with it. "Come get some then."

You crawled over until you were sitting on your feet, kneeling in font of him. Taking his finger in your mouth, you put your lips around its base and sucked the frosting clean off, licking around his fingertip for good measure before you released him with a pop. It was nearly the same as the first time, though now you were completely sober.

Killer shivered. He wasn't planning on letting you have your way tonight. You made it so tempting though, the way your eyes stared into his as your soft lips enveloped his finger. 

Testing his boundaries, you leaned forward, hands on his knees. You gave him the chance to pull back, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes flicked to your lips. That was an answer enough for you before lightly pressing your lips against his. You smiled against him before pulling away and opening your eyes. As you settled back on your feet, Killer was reaching out for your face, pulling it gently back to him. His other hand ran down your side, catching your waist and tugging you closer until you were sitting side-saddle in his lap. Finally some of the tension that had been building was released. You sighed into his mouth as your lips moved against his, hands sliding around his neck and into his hair. Similarly, his hand slid through your hair until it was on the back of your head, pressing you into him. His other hand didn't wander, simply held you close. He groaned as you nipped his lip and slid your tongue into his mouth. When you both pulled away, you leaned your head against his chest. There was a tightening coil in your gut, that was certain. There was something else, too. Butterflies? 

Killer put one arm around your back and one arm under your legs, picking you up bridal style. 

Your heartbeat quickened. Was he finally gonna let you have it? Yes throw me on the bed and rip my clothes off already! The lust cleared from your mind when he started moving away from the bed. Then it came back in a thicker fog. Shower sex? Bathtub? Kid's room? Even though you were mad at him, your pussy wasn't. The lust was vacuumed from your mind for good when Killer set you down in front of the sink and put a toothbrush in your hand. You looked from it to Killer and back. 

"Brush your teeth before bed, princess." 

You frowned deeply. "You weren't putting very princess-like thoughts in my head," you grumbled. 

Killer out his hand on your shoulder affectionately. "Me? Never." His hand moved to pinch your cheek in a playful way. 

You squinted at him in the mirror, catching sight of the outline of something in his sweatpants, you whipped around on him, pointing at his crotch. "Oh come on!" You said through a mouthful of toothpaste. "You're fuckin half-hard!" You turned around to spit and rinse your mouth out.

Killer made a noise of denial. "I'd say quarter-hard." The quirk in the corners of his lips made it all too clear that he was thoroughly enjoying this. 

Rounding on him again, you pleaded, "Just the tip? Please?" 

He tsked. "Begging only works on Kid. You have to earn it from me." He ruffled your hair. "You are very cute when you beg though, breadcrumb."

Walking back into his room, Killer cleared the plates from the bed and pulled back the covers, motioning for you to hop in. 

"I can stay?" 

"Just because I don't want to fuck tonight doesn't mean I want you to leave." 

You slid in next to him, half-laying over him on your stomach while he was on his back so you could look at him. He put his arm around you to rest his hand on your lower back. That sent electricity up your spine that you did your best to repress. Thinking about your date, you grinned up at him.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you, knowing you had something smart to say. It was interesting how much better he could read you than when you first met.

"Thanks for trusting me with your face even though you won't trust me with your cock." Even though it was disguised as a joke, it had true sentiment behind it. That must be a huge deal to leave his helmet off for so long with someone who was arguably still a little bit of a stranger. It was probably made easier by the fact, you had already seen him for some time before then. 

Killer allowed himself a short laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Patience is a virtue." It didn't take long for you to drift to sleep. He watched the features of your face twitch as you entered your first dream of the night. Killer normally took a lot longer to warm up to someone. He didn't know himself what made him so comfortable around you. You acted similarly to Kid, with a charming roughness and feisty personality, and he loved Kid. Maybe that made it natural for him to begin to love you, too.

Next Chapter

[gretavangroupie]

Burgundy

Word count: 5.7k+

Pairing: Daniel x Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Smut, Fluff.

Summary: Attending a wedding alone can be kind of a drag, especially when you show up late and sit next to a stranger. Right?

A/N: This idea was born from the recent photos of Daniel attending a wedding looking extra delicious in his Burgundy suit. I hope you enjoy.

You pick up your phone on the bathroom vanity to check the time again. 4:24.

Why is it taking so long for this curling iron to heat up?

You run back into the main room to grab your phone charger out of your bag and quickly pad back into the brightly light hotel bathroom to plug your phone in, hoping that it will gain enough of a charge to last you through the night. Your flight arrived 2 hours ago, and it was questionable if you were even going to get on it to begin with.

You and Briley were great friends in college, but your communication dropped off after graduation. You were still friends, but not like you used to be. So when you received the invitation to her wedding you were a bit shocked. You immediately told yourself you weren't going but, over the next few weeks you wondered what it would be like if you did go. You wondered if you would see anyone else you knew from college, and you needed a little vacation. So you decided to go.

That is until yesterday. As you tore apart your closet looking for a dress, you were coming up empty. ‘What exactly is Nashville Formal?’ you thought to yourself. The invitation left nearly everything open to interpretation. You would find out later, exactly what that meant, but in the moment you were lost. You eventually decided on an emerald green chiffon spaghetti strap dress with a scooping neckline. Classy but still sexy. It hit about mid calf, and had a slit up the front, showing a little bit of leg. Now, typically you look for any excuse to dress up and go out, but this time you were dreading it. You knew you would more than likely not know anyone else at this wedding and the thought of socializing already had you sweating. Not to mention it would be half of the Nashville music scene in attendance thanks to Marcus. So when the time came to board the plane, you almost made a run for it, back to the safety of your apartment. 

Ultimately you did board the plane, taking the short flight into BNA, giving you roughly two hours to get checked in, and get ready for the wedding. That's where you find yourself now, curling your hair as quickly as possible, and touching up your makeup. You slide on the dress, and fasten the straps on your heels, praying your feet will last the night in these things. 

You pull your phone from the charger in the bathroom, giving yourself one last spritz of perfume, and shoving your phone into your clutch as you head out the door, hearing it slam shut behind you. You call an Uber and see that you will arrive within 5 minutes of when the ceremony is supposed to start. You’ve never really been great with being on time.

As the Uber pulls up outside of the Symphony Hall, you follow the signs and the smell of florals to find people gathering waiting for the ceremony to begin. You quickly rush into the doors and scan the crowd for an open seat. You see a few open seats towards the front, but you are more of a middle, or back type of gal. Needing to make a decision quickly you spot an open chair near the middle, next to a guy in a burgundy suit. 

“Hi, is this seat taken?” you ask in a hushed tone, hearing music beginning to play. 

His eyes flick up to yours, covered by a pair of amber lenses, “No, it's all yours.” he smiles.

You quickly sit as the music gets louder, and groomsmen begin to enter. You look around the room and have yet to see a face that you recognize, as expected. As you turn back to face forward you catch the scent of the cologne the man sitting next to you is wearing, as he continues to peer down the aisle. 

Well that is…a nice smell.

You turn to look at him briefly, and then look to the other guests in the row behind you, that you saw him chatting with when you walked in. One of the girls flashes you a quick side smile before you both turn your attention back to the doors shutting, indicating that the bride is coming. 

You all stand and turn towards the doors as Briley makes her grand entrance. She is even more beautiful than you remember. Of course she is. She was the crush of every guy on campus back then, but she finally found her prince. Her 'King' if you will.

As her father walks her down the aisle past you, you hear clicking behind you and turn to see a tall guy in a red suit snapping photos on his vintage camera. He makes eye contact with you through his sunglasses, ‘did I miss the sunglasses memo?’ and flashes you a toothy grin as you all take your seats. The man next to you turns to whisper something to another guy behind you and you put the pieces together that this must be his group of friends. You try not to eavesdrop but you can't help it when you are sitting directly next to them. 

“Did you see Josh?” the man says.

“Yeah, he was in the middle, they both were.” the man behind you answers. 

“Okay, good.” the man replies. 

You turn your attention back to the front and watch as Briley and Marcus commit themselves to each other for life in a beautiful ceremony. As Marcus reads his vows to Briley you find yourself starting to feel choked up, a small sniffle leaving your nose. But to be fair, you weren’t the only one. 

The man next to you leans over and pulls something out of his pocket, holding it up slightly to you in question, as you try to dry your eyes with the side of your finger. 

He leans to you and offers you a white handkerchief, and you accept with a gracious tight lipped smile. Your fingers brush his hand and a swirl of something flutters through your chest, you think he must have felt it too by the way his eyebrows raised subconsciously. 

You take it from his hand and notice the embroidered initials adorning the corner in beautiful navy blue letters.

DRW

Fancy… Who is this guy?

You quickly dab the white linen at your waterline, collecting your tears and clutching it back in your grip, hoping you wont need it again. As the ceremony concludes you feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. 

Gosh he probably thinks I am some emotional nut case…

The officiant has everyone stand as they have their first kiss and everyone cheers in congratulations. As they make their way back down the aisle as everyone claps, the guys behind you hooting and hollering for their friend. A smile crosses your face as you make eye contact with Briley, and you can tell she is glad you came. 

They walk out the double doors and the officiant invites everyone to join cocktail hour in the great hall. 

As you gather your clutch from under the seat you turn back to the guy next to you and wait for him to finish his conversation. He stops when he sees you waiting. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but thanks for letting me borrow this, I was not expecting to cry.” you giggle.

He takes off his sunglasses and folds them up, sliding them into his pocket, and it's only then that you get a good look at his deep chocolate brown eyes that practically suck you into them. Your eyes glance up to the tendrils of curls hanging loosely around his face, the rest of his clearly long and curly locks, pulled tightly into a claw clip. You find your eyes diverting down to his lips as he responds.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us, why do you think I had it?” he says with a wink.

You can feel the crimson blush washing over your face.

Why are you blushing, you don’t even know this man…

“You are very kind.” you say handing him the monogrammed square of fabric. 

He grabs it from your hand and pushes it into his coat pocket. You nod your head and go to turn away, when his hand stops you by resting on your bicep.

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

You turn to face him as guests begin to file out of the space.

“Yeah, I am. I knew Briley in college and decided at the last minute to come. I don’t think I know anyone else here. I was actually planning my escape during the ceremony.” you laugh.

He flashes you a quick smile, as he responds. “Well, I’m Daniel and now you know me. Don’t leave just yet. Come hang out with us, we don't really know anyone here either. Plus I’m the only one in my group without a date, so we can be stag together if you want. I hear it's an open bar...” he says with a laugh.

You bite your lips inwardly, as you turn to look at his group, each one of them with a date, just like he said. You purse your lips and squint your eyes, “Okay… I’ll stay a little longer, but only because I feel bad that you are the only one without a date.” you say playfully.

He shrugs his shoulders and nods his head as it's your turn to exit the seating area. He places his hand on your lower back, the warmth from his large hand radiating up your spine as he guides you out of the row and into the aisle.

You don’t hate this…

He follows behind you and stops you as you wait for the rest of his friends to join you.

He points everyone out, to give you a quick introduction before actually meeting them.

“Red suit is Sam, his girlfriend Hannah in the green dress. Jake, in black, his girlfriend Jita in Blue. I’m Daniel, obviously, and….. Josh…. Is around here somewhere. We will find him later.” he says.

“I think I may remember that, but don’t quiz me later.” you laugh. You quickly tell him your name, just as the group approaches. 

You all make your way to Cocktail Hour and the drinks are already flowing. You all gather around a tall table and the guys decide to go grab drinks.

“What would you like?” Daniel asks you.

“Mmmm maybe a red wine? I’m not picky, whatever they have.” you reply.

“You got it.” he says with a smile.

You and the girls chat at the table as the guys get the drinks. They introduce themselves and ask you how you know the bride. You give them the quick run down on your history with Briley and they tell you theirs. Apparently you are hanging out with a band? Just as you find that out, the guys are returning with drinks. 

“They had Burgundy and Merlot, and to be honest I don’t know the difference. I picked Burgundy.” he says nervously, handing you the glass.

“Seems you have an affinity for Burgundy.” you say pointing at his suit up and down.

“Seems I do.” he says with a smirk, sipping his cocktail.

You all begin to chat with the group, introducing yourself to the rest of the guys and meeting the mysterious Josh they kept mentioning.

Turns out he and Jake are twins, Sam is their younger brother and Daniel is their best friend. They are all in a band together and apparently Daniel is a drummer?

You aren't sure if it's the wine, but your head is spinning with new information. 

“You want another?” he asks, taking your empty glass.

“I don’t know if I should. I do have to make my escape…” you tease.

He slides his hand across your lower back, “You can't leave me yet…” he whispers as he walks away to the bar, shooting you a look over his shoulder. You shake your head and smirk.

How has this man convinced you to stay at this wedding?

A few minutes later he is returning with fresh drinks, and you accept with a whispered thanks.

“Daniel, are we going to see you on the dance floor this evening?” Sam laughs.

“Depends on if I have a good partner…” he says, and all eyes shoot to you.

“Ohhhh, no… no no. I do not dance.” you says waving your hands in front of you.

“Everyone dances if they have had enough to drink.” Jake jokes, and everyone laughs as a small smirk crosses his face.

“I’d have to switch to the hard stuff for that to happen.” you say.

“Can be arranged.” Sam says.

You shake your head and let Josh steer the conversation in a different direction.

Daniel leans over to whisper in your ear, “Sit at our table.” his hand finding its place on your lower back. 

“We have assigned seats…” you whisper back. 

“I know, but when I RSVP’d I had a plus one, the seat was accounted for. Now… it's an empty seat, and I have a new date.” he says, his velvety voice traveling the length of your spine. 

“Is that so…” you reply.

“Sit with me.” he says again, eyes peering into yours. 

You nod slowly, and he bites the inside of his cheek, hoping to stifle the smile that wants to spread across his face.

Forgetting where you two were, you both look back to see the group staring at you suspiciously. 

You both laugh and are perfectly interrupted from an explanation, by the doors to the reception space opening. The space is beautifully lit in pink and green tones, large tables with flowers line the length of the grand ballroom. 

“I think we are up front.” he says, leading you to the table. You are near the dance floor, the looming thought of yourself dancing in the back of your mind sends a shiver through your body.

As you all take your seats you gush over how beautiful the venue is and the choice in colors and design of everything. It’s perfectly Briley and you expected nothing less. She always did love to be vibrant in every aspect of her life. 

A waiter comes by your table, depositing plates of food at each place setting, and taking drink orders. 

As he returns the drinks are served in plastic cups with a caricature of Briley and Marcus, and you know you have to take one of these home. You have switched to vodka tonic and you already know you’ll be at this wedding longer than you ever intended thanks to the beautiful man in the burgundy suit sitting next to you.

The group is fun, someone is always cracking a joke, or telling a funny story. You have been in stitches for over an hour. You make a mental note to look up their band when you get home and see what they sound like. 

The bride and groom enter and immediately go into their first dance, and again there isn’t a dry eye around. Daniel notices your tears and chuckles, shaking his head. Both of you laughing at your emotional state. He places his hand on your thigh, a soothing gesture, but one that heats your body from the inside out. You bite your lip and glance at him, his eyes locking with yours. He looks down to his hand, watching his fingers rub small circles into the soft skin, before he looks back to you and then back to the dance floor. You don’t want his hand to ever leave that spot, but inevitably the dance ends and everyone claps, Daniel included. 

You are having a way better time than you expected and a few drinks later you do find yourself on the dance floor. The glow sticks have been passed out and everyone has had way too much to drink. It is rowdy on the dance floor and you see Josh across the way absolutely tearing it up with strangers. Everyone around him, joining in on his fun. Just from your 10 minutes of conversation with him, you are pretty sure he has never met a stranger in his life. He is a ball of sunshine and everyone around him feels his warmth. 

You turn back to see Daniel approaching you, sliding his hand over your waist and pulling you into him as a slow song begins to play. 

“Oh are we slow dancing Daniel?” you ask playfully.

“Call me Danny, and yes, if you want to that is.” he answers. 

“I do.” you answer.

He smiles, “I think that's the bride's line.” he winks.

You smack his chest playfully and lace your fingers around his neck, letting him lead. 

“I’m glad you don’t have a date.” you say, into his shoulder nervously.

“What do you mean? I have the prettiest date here.” he smiles, sweeping the hair off of your neck.  

You slide your hands under his suit jacket and feel his torso through his black shirt, before running them down his abs and sliding them back up around his neck. 

“You’re warm, you should take the jacket off.” you say playfully.

“Already trying to get me undressed… tsk tsk tsk.” he says jokingly, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am.” you say looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Careful what you wish for.” he says, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

“Are you a genie? Do I need to rub your magic lamp three times?” you reply.

“Not the lamp, baby...” he says, as he pulls away and heads back to the table, smirking at you over his shoulder.

You find yourself wanting to follow after him, but deciding to keep a bit of distance, mingle a little, get another drink… Make him wait.

As you approach the bar you order yourself a new drink, and make conversation with the people next to you. You are approached by a striking looking blonde man in a black suit. You can tell he is looking to get lucky tonight by his approach.

“What are ya drinkin’” he asks.

You casually look him up and down before answering, “Vodka Tonic” you say.

“Need a new one?” he asks.

“Nah, just got one.” you answer, grabbing a cocktail napkin. 

“Friends with the bride?” he asks, leaning on his elbow.

“Yep, college friends. What about you?” you ask.

“I work with Marcus. Well with his management company.” he answers smugly.

“Oh so you’re a suit.” you reply.

He reaches his hand out and places it on your arm, his ice cold hand sending a shiver through you. “You could say I know people.” 

Okay, what a prick…

A voice comes up behind you, and a hand slides around your waist. “You good, baby? You get your drink?” Danny says, marking his territory. 

“Yeah, I did. Thanks babe.” you say playing into it. His grip on your waist tightening. 

He liked that.

“You trying to steal my girl John?” he playfully asks the other guy.

“My bad dude, didn’t know she was with you.” he replies.

He knows him?

“All good, but yeah, she's with me.” he says, placing a kiss on your cheek.

They shake hands, his other hand never leaving your waist, as John walks away.

He releases you, and you spin to face him. “You know him?” you ask.

“Oh yeah, everyone knows him. He’s kind of a douche.” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“I kinda noticed, thanks for rescuing me.” you say flirty.

“You don't strike me as the kind of girl who needs rescuing. I bet you could have handled him all on your own. However, I couldn’t watch him continue to touch all over my girl.” he says, tracing his pointer finger down the length of your jaw.

“Your girl, huh?” you ask, seductively. 

“Definitely.” he replies in your ear.

You lace your fingers with his and pull him behind you back to the dance floor. They are passing out hats and you both get one, yours reading “This Wedding Sucks” and his reading “Shitty Advice for $1”. You both laugh hysterically at all the funny hats and begin to dance to the music playing. His hands are all over you, and yours all over his. After a few minutes you face him and pull him closer to you, feeling him pressing up against the thin material of your dress. His lips graze the side of your neck, and you lean into it. 

You pull back but lean into his ear, “Wanna go get some air?” you say with a devilish look.

“I thought you’d never ask.” he says, guiding you off the dance floor and through the crowd. You see Sam on the way out, and Danny stops to tell him something, before rejoining you.

You look at him with a smirk.

“Just told him we are stepping outside to get some air…” he says playfully.

You walk out of the ballroom and into the beautiful corridor from earlier. He pulls your hand to the side and you follow after him, walking down a long winding hallway that's dimly lit and practically a ghost town. 

“I found this earlier while looking for the bathroom.” he says, backing you up against a large wooden door. His hands have caged in your head, and you slide your hands around his waist, locking your fingers through the belt loops of his Burgundy suit pants.

His eyes search yours for a few seconds before you answer by pressing your lips to his, feeling all of the pent up tension from the night releasing from you. His hands come down to cup your face as he kisses you again, this time running his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission. You open your lips allowing him to slide in. Your tongues dance together in a way that you could never replicate on a real dance floor. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue, and you are sliding your hand up and onto the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to you. As your lips continue to explore each other your other hand wanders down his waist, gliding gently over his belt buckle and resting on the hardened bulge pressing against you. A groan falls from his lips into your mouth and you swallow it down like fine wine. 

He pulls away from you, a whimper leaving your lips at the loss of contact. He looks at you, and looks both ways down the hallway before twisting the door handle.

The door opens behind you and he pushes you in, closing it quickly behind you, twisting the lock and flicking the light switch. 

It's a very small room, just a chair, a small table and a piano. You look around the room puzzled, as Danny smiles and answers your silent question.

“It’s a practice room. This hallway is lined with them. I told you I couldn’t find the bathroom.” he laughs.

You slide his coat over his arms and he throws it onto the chair. He takes the clip out of his hair, and lets his curls hang freely on his shoulders.

Holy shit, he is hot.

He pulls his black turtleneck over his head, revealing his chiseled tan torso. Your hands instantly reach out to touch his skin, hot and flushed. His hands reach for your face, pulling you up to meet his lips as he kisses you over and over. 

Your hands reach his belt buckle and begin to unfasten the metal and leather. Your fingers shakily unbutton the buttons on his slacks and glide the zipper down. Your hand slides into the front of his pants over his boxers and you can feel the magnitude of what he was hiding under the pants. 

He slides his hands over your shoulders pushing the thin green straps over the curve of your shoulders letting them fall to your arms. His finger traces the dipping neckline of the dress, leaving a trail of goosebumps across your chest. 

“So responsive…” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You reach behind you and pull the zipper down on your dress, letting it fall around your ankles, leaving you in just your thong. You feel his rough fingers come up to meet your hardened nipple and roll it beneath his thumb and forefinger. 

You hook your fingers into his boxers and tug downward, pushing them and his pants down his legs, letting his dick spring free. You place a kiss on his collarbone, just like he did to you, but you don’t stop there, you continue down his chest, placing soft kisses as you make your descent. 

“Now what was it about my wishes?” you ask in a flirty tone.

When you reach his groin you push him backwards to sit in the club chair. Crawling up to meet him, you take his length into your hand and a groan leaves his lips. You look directly into his eyes as you lick from his base to the tip, his hands clawing into the leather chair.

“Don’t you rub the magic lamp three times to get your wish?” you say, pressing a kiss to his tip.

You take him into your mouth and begin to bob your head slowly up and down his length until you have worked him up to a good speed. You know you have hit that point when he is unable to stop the string of groans and curses falling from his mouth. He refocuses and looks at you, grabbing your head and pressing you closer to him and further down your throat. You moan around him as he grazes the back of your throat. 

“Fuck…” he says, releasing his grip on your hair, and letting you pull back and releasing him from your lips.

“Keep going, do it harder.” you say, placing your mouth back around him.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod in response. You begin to suck him back into your mouth and he replaces his hand on your head, this time forcing himself further down your throat with a little more pressure. As he hits the back of your throat repeatedly, you suppress the gag by gripping your hand into his legs. 

“God you’re so gorgeous…fuck me…” he says, in a breathy pant.

The wet noises coming from your throat are obviously doing something for him as you feel his dick begin to twitch in your mouth. Tears are pooling in your eyes slowly leaking out of the corners. 

Swirling your tongue as you work his tip, he starts to thrust his hips into your mouth. 

“I’m close baby, do you want to…” he starts before you pull away and cut him off.

“In my mouth.” you say and he groans. 

With a few more thrusts into the back of your mouth you feel him tense up and the warm rush of his release spills down the back of your throat. You swallow him down and pull off of him with a kiss above his base, watching him as he quickly grabs his coat from behind him, pulling out his handkerchief from earlier.

“How many times are you going to cry tonight, baby?” he says, wiping the tears from your face, and the spit from your lips. “The only thing I want you to cry, is my name.”

You stand up and push him back in the chair. You make a show out of sliding your panties down your legs and crawling onto his lap. Straddling his still hard length, you press a kiss to his lips. His fingers run slowly through your folds, collecting the wetness on his fingertips.

“Oh, you’re ready aren’t you baby... I think you earned your wish.” he says, grabbing his dick and lining it up with your center.

He places his hands on your hips and you slowly sink down onto him, with a groan. You wrap your hands around his neck and lean forward to kiss him, his tongue swirling with yours. You lift your hips off of him slowly before crashing back down into him. A moan leaves his chest as you clench around him at the sound. 

“Oh you feel so good, so tight… Jesus…” he pants.

His hands are guiding your hips up and down his length, and you are enjoying the constant pressure on your g spot. His mouth connects with your nipple, his tongue swirling around the tight flesh. You start to roll your hips in a wave pattern as he groans into your chest. He pulls back from you and locks eyes with you.

“Stand up.” he demands.

You slide off of his lap and stand, he stands to meet you and pulls the chair from behind him.

“Lean over the back.” he says, and you follow his instruction.

He positions himself behind you and grabs both of your hips in his hands, guiding you to meet his length. He presses into you at a new angle and you both cry out at the feeling.

He begins to furiously pound into you, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves in just the right way, that you can feel the tension growing in your stomach.

The sounds of your skin slapping together so loud, you are positive anyone who walks by will know exactly what is happening. 

“Say it. Say my name baby. Tell me who is making you feel good.” he says punctuating each sentence with a deep thrust.

“Daniel! Fuck, you are. You make me feel so good Danny. Keep going.” you cry out.

“That’s right.” he grunts into you. “You’re my girl. I make my girl fucking feel good.” he says, twitching inside of you.

“Danny please…” you beg.

“I’m gonna cum baby, I need you to cum with me.” he says, reaching around the front of your hips, and placing his fingers on your clit. 

You moan at the sensation, as he swirls perfectly in rhythm with his thrusts.

“I’m there Danny, I’m there, fucking cum…” you beg him.

“God damn….” he says, with one final thrust, both of you reaching your release simultaneously, his hot ropes of cum painting your insides. You’re glad the chair is supporting your weight because you would have surely collapsed with the sheer force of the orgasm washing over you. 

As he pulls out of you, his release threatens to spill down your thigh.

You feel the soft familiar feeling of the handkerchief begin to wipe away the evidence. Danny cleaning you up the best he could with the small piece of fabric.

You stand back up and turn to face him, his free arm snaking around your waist and pulling you into him for a desperate and passionate kiss. Your hands find his curls, and scratch against his scalp as the kiss grows deeper. You feel his hands gripping to your back like life or death and you still don't feel close enough.  

He pulls away quickly, scooping up your panties and handing them to you. You smile and slide them back on, before stepping back into your dress. You know the party is winding down and you have to get back before anyone gets suspicious. Danny quickly redresses himself and fixes his hair the best he can without a mirror. He slides his coat back on, shoving the soiled handkerchief into his pocket with a smirk.

He is so gorgeous...

He zips the back of your dress and places a soft kiss on the back of your neck, before spreading your hair over your shoulders.

“Beautiful.” he whispers, looking at you before unlocking the door. 

He pokes his head out to see if there is anyone coming, and he quickly rushes both of you out, turning off the light and quietly shutting the door. 

“I should stop by the bathroom….” you say.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re gonna keep that right where I left it. I am going to check on it later.” he says with a kiss on your shoulder. Your face flames bright red at the thought of a repeat later.

As you walk back into the ballroom you search for the group and find them all sitting at the table, talking and being rowdy.

“Daniel! You have returned brother!” Sam says playfully in his drunken state.

“Yeah where have you been Daniel?” Jake asks with a smug look.

“We were just getting some air....” he says with a smile.

Jake turns to his girlfriend, “Remember when we got air at your cousin's wedding?” he says with a devilish laugh.

The table erupts with laughter and you both know your cover is blown. 

“Jake!” she says smacking his arm. She turns to you and apologizes, “I’m sorry, he has clearly had too much to drink.” she laughs.

You grab your trucker hats from the table and put them on, to fit in with everyone else proudly displaying theirs. 

You both sit down and talk for a little bit longer until the Newlyweds decide to make their grand exit. The reception was fantastic and you couldn’t imagine this night without Daniel. You are so glad you chose to stay. 

As you make your way out of the reception hall, you are arm in arm with Daniel. He has invited you to come with him to the after party and you have graciously accepted. You walk through the front door of the Symphony Hall, and around the side of the building, he stops you and spins you around, dipping you down dramatically for a kiss. He pulls you back up and places his hand on your cheek.

Looking at his hat again you quickly dig a dollar bill out of your clutch and extend it to him.

“What's this?” he asks.

“Your hat. It says shitty advice for $1… but how about you give me good advice instead.” you say leaning into him.

“Hmmm… good advice?” he asks, as you continue the walk to his car.

“Mhmm…” you say, stepping into the car, as he closes the door behind you. 

He slides into the driver's seat, and starts the car. He turns to face you, and places his hand on your thigh.

He smirks and laughs to himself before he finally says, “My grandpa always told me, 'never leave home without a handkerchief'. Now I know why.”

.

.

.

.

[merbear25]

your back! ^v^/ can you do china, France and Italy x reader romantic headcanons Who's loves horror. Like they talk about horror all the time and show horror movie couples and be like "this is so us!"

Yes, I am! We're back in business haha. Thank you for sending this in! As a horror fan myself, it was fun to imagine these. I hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, slight humor, headcanons, characterization based on the episode Hetalia of the Dead

With a s/o who loves horror (China, France, Italy)

China 

As much as he thought he had a stomach for horror, you quickly put him in his place.

He wasn’t one to openly admit when he was scared, let alone terrified, so watching your favorite scary movies with him presented quite the challenge.

You could tell from the get go that he was struggling, though. He’d tremble and jump a few times, yet denied the film was affecting him. (You never asked by the way. He just felt like he needed to defend himself.)

Cuddling up closer to him when you sensed it may be too much to handle gave him such relief.

He couldn’t help but groan whenever you said “this is so us!” because half the time the couple ended up dying.

Even though you thrived in horror based activities, you understood his limits. Taking him to a haunted house was out of the question; he felt way too vulnerable. Something like a haunted hayride was doable for him, though.

Sure, he clung to you as if his life depended on it, but there was just an ounce more of security with this activity. After everything was said and done, the both of you couldn’t have come out of that more different: his heart was pounding and he felt drained while you were coursing with adrenaline.

With all of this considered, there were aspects of his culture that held their right when it came to monsters. Sharing these legends with you was much more his cup of tea, and he adored how you hung on each word.

France

Although he wasn’t as big of a fan as you, he wasn’t opposed to it. There were aspects that he could enjoy. He was much more partial to the plots being scary than any overuse of jumpscares.

He didn’t really get scared while watching these films with you. It was far more likely that the gore would turn his stomach. If you were completely numb to this and ate during these parts, that’d be more horrifying than anything playing on the screen.

Your comment of “that’s so us!” was rather funny to him, especially given the dumb or silly mistakes the couples always made.

Seeing as you were a die hard fan, he would offer to go on a guided tour of the catacombs. Exploring such a place needed to be done wisely, so don’t expect him to allow you to scamper off because you saw a “cool” skull.

Venturing with the group was nice for him. It was a unique part of his history, and being able to share it with someone who was more than willing to soak up the information was refreshing.

He wouldn’t be able to resist whispering little stories of others feeling cold spots or even a phantom hand on their shoulders. He told you these knowing how they’d pique your twisted little interest, smiling at you when your eyes lit up.

Walking down the streets at night was ideal for sharing legends with you. With the mood set as the moon hung high in the sky, he delivered each tale with conviction, only adding to their chilling ends.

Among all of the genres of film and literature, horror was not ranked highly for him. That being said, he grew more fond of it knowing how much it meant to you.

Italy

Despite his care-free and innocent demeanor, his country wasn’t exactly shy when it came to the horror scene.

He could stomach a lot of the gore to your surprise, even making a few comments on how good or bad the effects were.

Eating while watching such films was completely fine with him, and more often than not, he’d prepared something to compliment the film specifically. Of course, pasta, especially spaghetti, was the most commonly eaten while you watched horror because the sauce resembled the blood perfectly and the pasta was squishy like entrails.

As you messily slurped up your food, your comments of “this is so us!” was excitedly agreed on. When the couple (or one of them) inevitably died, he pointed out another that you two could relate to.

There were no issues for him when it came to sitting and watching something on a screen. However, going out to haunted houses was off the table, which you came to realize in practice. This poor man didn’t expect it to be so terrifying, and there was no way he’d be able to put on an act of bravery. When you eventually made it out, he was shaking like a leaf, leaving you to cuddle and tend to him for the rest of the week.

You being as big of a horror fan as you were, it was the perfect opportunity for him to show you the darker and more mysterious side of the country.

There were plenty of museums highlighting torture, castles which were said to be haunted, and even catacombs.

You were spoiled for choice, but that was fine! He would enjoy exploring each bit with you because he knew that it was a deep rooted interest.

[axelsagewrites]

Daemon Targaryen*Dessert

Sugar Baby Series Part 4.5 smut edition

Part one - Part two - Part Three

Pairings: Daemon x f!reader

Summary: Daemon and the reader finally decide to add a new level to their relationship

Warnings: teasing, p in v sex, fingering, f!receiving oral, smut 18+

This can be read with or without reading the rest of the series and if you voted to not have smut you can completely skip this part without affecting the plot. The rest of part four is linked at the bottom

Word count: 1886

Masterlist Here

“I’m sorry I know this isn’t what you were expecting- “you tried to tell Daemon as you sat across the dining table from him.

“I love it,” Daemon cut you off, smiling as he took another bite of the spaghetti you had made together. Cooking hadn’t gone dreadful however you knew it was far below the standards of his regular food. “I liked cooking with you, it was fun,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. He had tried his best, but this man had never even boiled his own water before today. He tried to use a large broth pot to fit the spaghetti until you explained that it went soft in the boiling water. It was cute to watch his amazement when he learned canned tomatoes don’t spoil and that you put a little sugar into the sauce. “We should do it again then,” you smiled at him from across the table.

It was the first house you’d been in that had a whole separate room for eating. Being in daemons house for the first time shouldn’t have shocked you as much as it had but every inch of the place screamed luxury. The windows went from floor to ceiling and the ceilings would be too high for even Cregan to touch if he had a running jump. The kitchen was impeccable, white, and sleek and half of the dining room was made out of glass. Daemon found your awestruck expression adorable when he had let you inside.

Once the food was finished you stood up to carry the plates to the kitchen, daemon just behind you. “Sorry we don’t have any dessert,” you said as you started running the tap.

“You’re my guest, I’ll get this,” Daemon said as he took the plates out your hand to clean, “and you apologise too much darling,” Daemon said as he let the water run over the plate. You watched his movements, wondering if he even knew what he was doing, “I know how to wash a dish doll,” Daemon said as he rolled his eyes and looked down at the dish, “Well I think at least,” he said squinted at the still sauce stained plate.

You leaned over the counter, grabbing the dish liquid and squirting a little onto the plate. “Ahh,” Daemon said as he took the sponge you passed him and started to actually clean the dish, “See told you I got this,”

“Well done love,” you laughed, moving to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” you joked. 

“Careful now,” Daemon said as he sat the plate to the side to wash the next, “you’re starting to sound like me,”

“Would that be so bad?” you asked as you moved to dry the dish he had sat on the counter. You took the opportunity to sit on the counter and sneak a glance at his face which somehow looked even more handsome in this light.

Daemon chuckled as he continued his newfound skill with ease, though he used more dish soap than most, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me doll,” he said, his eyes flickering over to you if only for a moment.

You paused for a moment, placing the dish down in the drying rack, “Maybe I am,” you said, eyes locked on daemons face.

Daemon looked up from the dishes for a moment before moving to stand in front of you, taking the cloth from your hands to dry his as he stood between your legs, “I thought you said we didn’t have any desert?” he asked, his voice low as his hands moved to your thighs, squeezing the flesh softly over your new satin dress that did little to hide your figure, not that daemon minded.

Your arms moved to rest over his shoulders, hands dangling down his strong back. You tilted your head and pursed your lips before giving a teasing smirk, “I lied,” you said, your hands moving to rest on his neck, “And what are you gonna do about it?” you said, desperate to provoke him into closing the gap.

Daemon stepped in closer, his eyes darkening as they met yours. “You really are a little minx aren’t you doll?” he said but before you could answer his lips crashed down onto yours. his hands snaked behind your waist, pulling you forward and flush against his chest.

You weren’t sure what was coming over you as your fingers searched for the buttons of his shirt, frantically unbuttoning them. Daemons hands slid down your waist to your ass, grabbing at its flesh over your dress. When you finally got the last button down your hands were finally able to slide up his abs, feeling the toned muscle properly for the first time.

“Here?” Daemon mumbled against your lips. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck yes,” you muttered, your hands reaching to undo his belt as your lips crashed onto his again. Daemon meanwhile pushed the fabric of your dress up, pulling at it till he was able to get it over your hips. His hands slid under the fabric, finally able to grab your ass properly.

You managed to undo the belt and it didn’t take long for you to undo his button and zip. You could see his bulge through his black boxers. Daemon gripped your hip, sliding you forward on the counter till his bulge was pressing into you, grinding it into your still clothed cunt. your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” Daemon said, his hands pawing at your skin. “Fucking you in every room in this house,”

“Why stop there?” You smirked.

“You’re killing me doll,” Daemon groaned as he pulled out of your grip. He laughed at your whine as he quickly crossed the room the grab his jacket, he’d left on the kitchen island. “Patience love,”

“I’ve already been patient,” you pouted, leaning forward to watch what he was doing. You chuckled when you saw him pulling a condom out his jacket pocket, “Someone was hopeful,” you joked.

Daemon quickly crossed the room, “Someone needs to shut their pretty mouth,” he growled, pulling you in for a brief and needy kiss that left you whining when he pulled away, “Now who’s desperate,” daemon chucked as he pulled out his cock, handing you the condom to put on him. you opened the condom before grabbing the base of his cock, stroking it gently a couple times making daemon groan, before you quickly slid it on. “Sure, about this doll face?” Daemon asked, grabbing your hip with one hand and his cock in the other.

“Just fuck me already,” you said, your legs wrapping around his waist to try pull him in as your hands moved to hold his shoulders.

“I’m not just going to fuck you doll,” he said with a light chuckled, resting his forehead against yours as he lined his tip up with your entrance. Your breath caught when you felt him start to push in, his cock stretching you out slowly at first as he eased in. “I’m going to fucking ruin you,” he said, his fingers digging into your hips as his cock sunk all the way in. You almost whimpered at the feeling, but it was cut off by gasps as Daemon started to set a relentless steady pace.

His head fell down, hanging in the crook of your shoulder, mumbling obscenities. your hands slipped down his back, almost clawing at the soft skin but the scratches only seemed to spur daemon on. he started sucking harsh marks into your soft skin, kissing over them once satisfied, “Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, “All mine,”

“All yours,” you moaned in agreement, a knot bubbling in your stomach.

you whined when daemon pulled out of you but didn’t have time to argue as he pulled you off the counter. his hands grabbed your hips tightly, spinning you around. one strong hand on your back pushed you down, your face against the cold counter. “You want my cock?” he asked, his voice dark and husky.

“Please,” you whined, practically begging already.

daemon chuckled as he grabbed your hips, spanking your ass, before you felt the tip of his cock sink back into your aching cunt. His pace was messier than before but just as desperate, “You take me so well doll,” Daemon groaned, hand hands going between squeezing and spanking your ass. “So good for me,” you felt one of his hands move down your hip, moving to your front and finding your clit within moments. daemon rubbed fast circles on the sensitive bud.

you could feel your stomach tightening and you did not to stop the shameless moans falling from your lips. you could feel his cock start to twitch inside, your cunt squeezing around it, making daemon groan. with two last, deep thrusts, you felt daemon stiff behind you. for a moment you were disappointed when you felt him pulling out, your orgasm so close had now almost washed away, when you felt his fingers start to run up your slit.

“What are you doing?” you stuttered out, trying to turn to see him but daemon pressed you back down.

“Just let me take care of you love,” Daemon said, his fingers teasing your entrance, “relax,” he told you but you whined when you felt his fingers slip in, “So wet for me,” he praised, his fingers beginning to curl inside of you, his thumb rubbing slow circles onto your clit.

you heard him moving before you felt his hot breath fanning your wet cunt. “Please,” you whimpered, the knot from before quickly reappearing.

daemon shushed you gently before moving his thumb, placing a soft kiss over your clit. you moaned when you felt him begin to press wet kisses to the sensitive bud, his fingers curling inside you. “Such pretty noises,” Daemon whispered, just loud enough for you to here, before he started to gently suck on your clit.

you could feel your body practically light on fire, shivers going down your spine, as his tongue worked wonders, his fingers never stopping. your orgasm was quickly approaching but when daemon lightly grazed your clit with his teeth it crashed over your body in a wave, loud moans leaving your mouth which only encouraged daemon to keep going. he made you right out your orgasm on his tongue till you were a panting mess on the counter.

finally, daemon pulled away, standing behind you to catch his breath. his hands gently took your shoulders, helping you to stand. when you did your legs felt like jelly, your stance swaying. daemon wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to lean your back into his chest. “Take it easy princess,” he said, kissing the top of your head, “you were so good,” he mumbled, “Let’s go sit down yeah?” daemon said but it wasn’t a question as he helped lead you to his living room, leading you to the plush sofa.

Daemon guided you to lay on the sofa with him, his arms wrapping around your frame. “You okay doll?” he asked as he played with your hair gently.

“Better than okay,” you mumbled making him chuckle lightly.

Part Four non smut edition to be read after this one

Part Five - Finale Part

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @delicious-xx @pet1t3 @skyesayshi @urmomsgirlfriend1 @dark-night-sky-99 @lantsovheiress@themotherofblood @avalyaaa

[deansapplepie]

Inherited | Chapter 2

Summary: Everything is set, Daryl and Y/N are now officially the inheritors of Mr. Y/L/N’s farm and his other belongings. A new visitor arrives and past is everywhere.

Warnings: Daryl curse like 2 times, very brief mentions of sex, death, grieving, not much happen really.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f! Reader

Word count: 1,873

A/N: English isn’t my first language so it can have mistakes. This is a short chapter, not much happen, but we have a flashback and some infos about their past.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Chapter 2:

Spaghetti and Bracelets

All of you nodded your heads and waved goodbye to Yumiko. You had signed already all the papers and she was going to make them official. She entered in her car and you all waited till she was far on the road to say anything.

“FUCK!” Daryl rampaged and kicked one of the plant pots near the stairs.

“Do you think I’m happy?” You bursted out. “That’s it, or I call her back and we give everything to Negan. What do you think about it?”

“Ya know this is the only reason I agreed to this shit!”

“Hey, you two. It’s not the time to fight.” Aaron who was just watching decided to intervene.

“Nobody asked yer opinion fancy-pants. Just because ya’re fucking, it doesn’t mean ya have a saying in our business.” Daryl spit the words without thinking about it, you laughed.

He looked at you, angry, what was so funny? You laughed more, you had a laughing fit and you couldn’t just stop. Aaron was holding his laugh, he was afraid the man would kill him if he started laughing too. Now Daryl looked at you questioning your sanity. “What’s so funny?”

“Seriously?” You managed to say between laughing. “You can’t be serious…” you had tears in your eyes from your laughing fit. You had no idea you’d be able to laugh so hard during this terrible day and you also didn’t imagine Daryl would be the reason of that.

He was silent, angry. He was part of a joke and he couldn’t understand what was it. “Are you dumb? Or are you just playing?” You asked tilting your head to the side, truly, you wanted to know. His beautiful blue eyes were stormy with anger, but the fault was on him, he was truly looking for it.

You listened to a motor roar coming from the road and smiled. “If you’re not playing, you’ll just see how dumb you are in some minutes.”

“Don’t need to, ya already made it clear many years ago.” He couldn’t hold it, you calling him dumb? All again? Now that he was stuck with you in this house? Well, at least he was expecting you to go back to the big city soon, and then maybe you could just talk to each other professionally.

He had to make that remark about what you said when you were young and stupid, but it wasn’t even half of it, and he himself had said hurtful words too. The car on the road was getting closer and closer, and you had a growing smirk on your face. When it passed the gate you looked back at him. “If I were you, I’d sit to watch the plot twist of the story you made up inside that head of yours.” You sat on one of the rocking chairs and relaxed your body, just waiting for the car to park in front of the house. It was a taxi cab, and the passenger was a young cute blond man.

When he got outside the cab, he grabbed his luggage and said his goodbyes for the driver, that at this moment was already his friend. Aaron went down the stairs quickly and happy, and embraced the man giving him a sweet peck on his lips, and holding his baggage to take inside.

“Oh…” you heard Daryl say. ‘He’s gay’, he thought. It didn’t even crossed his mind that maybe he was bisexual and you were a third wheel in their relationship, because he knew you could be many things, hot headed, stubborn, annoying, and many other adjectives that he could use to describe you, but one thing he knew, you were not a whore.

“Eric, it’s so good to see you!” You got up of the chair and hugged him as soon as he stepped on the porch.

“Honey, I’m so sorry for your loss.” He caressed your back and you felt at ease.

“Thank you, I’m so glad I have both of you.”

You guided him inside the house and ignored Daryl, but Eric couldn’t ignore, he was too polite for it. “You didn’t introduced your friend.” He made you stop right at the door.

“Sorry, I was so excited to see you that I forgot.” You faked innocence. “Eric this is Daryl, Daryl this Eric, Aaron’s husband.”

They greeted each other and then you went inside with Eric. It was a little past lunchtime, but you imagined he was hungry so you heated something for him. Soon Aaron joined you, after storing Eric’s belongings in the guest room. You looked through the window and you saw Daryl passing, probably going to the stables, it was in that direction.

“Y/N, I dun want’ya to go.” 9 year-old Daryl said, both of you sitting on the fence observing the horses that were being trained.

“I dun wanna go, but momma say we need to.” 8 year-old you were so upset, you couldn’t understand why you had to go and leave your dad, your home, your friends and your horse, Stormy, that your daddy had gave you the year before.

“Yer birthday is coming, we were gonna ride horses and play on the lake.” That was your plan, Maggie’s, his and yours, the adults didn’t even knew about it, but you were sure the three of you would make it happen.

“I know…” You had nothing to say, it was out of your control. “I have somethin’ for ya.” You said.

“Wha’?” He asked curiously, you extended your little hand to him holding a blue tangled bracelet that you had made. “I can’t use this, bracelets are for girls!”

“It’s blue. Duh! boys can use too.” You innocently said at this time people didn’t have the idea that colors didn’t have gender. “Now, gimme yer arm.”

He gave you his arm a little bit against his will, but if you cried because he didn’t, he’d feel bad. So he extended his arm and let you put it around his wrist.

“See here.” You pointed at a knot that had two cords inside. “Ya can use to open it more or close it. It ain’t for ya to take it off, it’s for ya to make it larger as ya grow.”

“Ya want me to wear it forever?” He asked incredulous, forever was a long time to have a girly accessory on him, you nodded.

“If ya take it off, I’ll know. Mags gonna tell me.” You had given one her too, hers was yellow, because you thought she was like a ray of sunshine and had the prettiest smile, and Daryl’s were blue because well… his eyes were blue and the most beautiful thing you had looked at. You took another one from your pocket and handed it to him. “Now ya put this one for me.”

“D’ya have one two?” He said taking the purple bracelet from your hand.

“Of course, we’re best friends so I also need one.” You shaked your arm in front of his face, indicating he should put the bracelet. He took your hand and put it on your wrist, when he finished he hold your hand. “Now, we’re always gonna be together, no matter where we are.”

“Y/N!” You jumped startled by Aaron’s voice.

“Yeah! Sorry.” You answered.

“Where were you?” He asked curiously.

“Just remembering old things from the farm.” You answered, your attention back to your friends.

“So…” Eric started, and you knew where it was going. “Is that the Daryl? ‘The Daryl Dixon best sex of my life’?”

God… you so hated yourself right now for having told them all about Daryl, but you had no one after everything happened and you and Aaron became besties really quick as you also became Eric’s once they started dating.

“Yes, but remember, he’s also ‘Daryl made me feel like shit and broke my heart, and I can’t just go back home because he’s everywhere‘.” You remembered him. Yes, he was your best sex, but it wasn’t your fault no one after it could compare to him.

“He thought Y/N and I were a couple.” Aaron said and this time he couldn’t hold his laugh. “You arrived just at the right time.”

“Which means he was jealous…” Eric pointed, “he still likes you.”

“Impossible. He already made clear he hates me.” You said, and you wanted to say you hated him too, but you didn’t. He annoyed you, infuriated and made you incredibly upset, but you would never be able to hate him. “My dad… the little shit… is it a sin if I cuss my dad? He did it on purpose”

“I was going to say it. This arrangement of both of you inheriting everything and if you didn’t want to share giving it to another person? That was totally your father wanting both of you to solve whatever was unsolved between both of you.” Aaron observed, and yes, you thought exactly what he said.

“Your daddy was a good matchmaker.” Eric commented drinking some of his cold tea.

“ ‘cause he didn’t know all that happened. He just knew we had some problems…” you’d never dare telling everything to your dad. He loved Daryl and you were afraid what would have happened to him if your dad knew.

After, you went to your old bedroom that still looked a lot like teenage you, your dad could have let it exactly the same as when you left with your mom, but he changed it through the years to accompany your taste as you grew. You didn’t had the time to take a good look at it since you arrived, your time there had been limited. It didn’t match you now, but it was still comforting. You change your funeral clothes and put some more comfortable, you found a flannel from your closet that still fit you, a tank top and some pants. You changed and laid on your bed to try having some rest.

When you woke up, it was dark and someone knocked on your door. “Come in”, you said sleepy voice. The door cracked open and the light of the corridor entered the room, and there he was, Daryl Dixon, standing at your door. How long have it been since last time you saw him there?

“Eric made spaghetti, he asked me to call ya.” Once he said it, he left and while you listened his steps in the corridor you went to the bathroom to wash your face before you went downstairs.

You entered the dining room and they were just waiting for you to eat. “Sorry, I slept too much.” You sat by Daryl’s side, unfortunately it would be strange if you didn’t, even with your friends knowing everything.

“Darling, you had all right to sleep, you’ve been through a lot.” Eric said, he took a plate and served you. “You guys can serve yourselves, the special treatment goes only for Y/N.”

“Thanks, you’re the best. Your spaghetti was everything I needed today.” You said, taking a mouthful with your fork while the others served.

“Daryl, what do you do here at the farm?” Eric tried to do some small talk with the man.

Daryl had his mouth full of spaghetti and started talking while still finishing to swallow with. “Pretty much everythin’, I take care of the animals, supervise the crop… think I just dun train the horses.” Because that was what your Dad did, he loved training the horses and domesticating them… he was good with them. The atmosphere became heavy, Daryl also remembered him, you knew it. He went back to his plate and continued to eat.

“That was my dad’s job… and administration” you said, you could almost forget your pain, you could almost ignore it and pretend this was just a nice day with your friends, but it wasn’t. You were home, without your dad and there’s no changing, no going back in time. Nothing.

“Oh my, I’m sorry.” Eric said, now a little guilty for having brought the topic, but it wasn’t really his fault.

“It’s ok. You just wanted to know Daryl better, there’s no way you could know it was going to make we remember him.” And it was true Eric had no way of knowing it.

After dinner Eric, Aaron and you talked a little more. Aaron told you that Daryl apologized to him and you thought it was nice from him, since he was so stubborn and always thought he was right. You went to your bedroom and sat by the window, you put the lights off… it would not be the same thing as before, but you’d try to observe the sky and the stars, just like you did when you were younger, at NY there was no way of doing such. You looked outside of your window and you could see a shadow near the fence, and if you weren’t wrong, it was Daryl… the dark figure kinda looked like him. Did he still do that? Didn’t he stopped after you left? Both of you, used to sit at night on the fence to observe the stars and talk. He used to say he was there just because of you, so you thought he didn’t like the stars… maybe Merle or his dad had told him that man didn’t admire the sky or any misogynistic shit that they’d normally say. But you guess, it wasn’t it. So he still liked observing them.

Down on the fields of the farm, leaning on the fence, a cigarette lighted in his hand, Daryl looked at the sky, he hadn’t lost the habit, he tried. When it came to this time of the day, he couldn’t feel at ease if he didn’t went outside and looked at the ‘goddamn’ sky. Taking a glance in the direction of the house, his eyes automatically stopped at your window, You didn’t know he was looking, but even in the dark he could see you there partially illuminated by the moonlight. He wondered if it was just a coincidence or if you still enjoyed admiring the sky, just like the naïve girl you were used to like.

Wanna be add to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

[kyuuppi]

Pairing: Wanderer x Reader (gn)

Contents: established relationship; fluff; Wanderer uses demeaning names for Reader (but still loves them); soft Wanderer; bad at feelings Wanderer; consumption of fish

Word Count: 1.4k

Scaramouche would have never imagined that he would be here.

Then again, there were many aspects of Wanderer's life that Scaramouche would have never imagined. Like this moment now, bustling around the tiny kitchen of a cozy apartment and impatiently glancing at the clock every few seconds. He stirs away at a bubbling pot of pasta to ensure it doesn’t burn on the bottom but remains warm enough to serve when you finally arrive.

Speaking of which where the fuck are you, you promised you’d be home early today— he had made sure of it before you left this morning. But’s already half past six and you’re usually home by six fifteen so you probably forgot and now his plans are ruined and—

The obnoxiously familiar jingle of keys followed by the squeak of the front door interrupts Wanderer’s thoughts. His shoulders slightly droop with relief as he turns off the stove bringing the pot over to the neatly arranged dining room table to finally plate the meal. 

“Took you long enough,” Wanderer says as if it were a proper greeting. And perhaps for him, it may as well be.

As usual, his sharp words fall off your back like water, much too used to his pissy attitudes by now, several years into knowing each other and nearly a year into a romantic relationship. 

“Sorry,” you huff out as you finally shrug the heavy tote bag off your shoulder. 

“I ran into Tigh on the way back from the market while I was picking up some new books,” you begin to explain as you shuffle into the dining area. 

“He said he was looking for spices Collei requested for her new recipe. Oh, have you ever had her pita pockets before? I know you’re picky about food but they’re actually really good and I think you– whoa … what is this? ”

Your story is cut short as you finally seem to take in the setting before you. As your eyes dart across the table your mouth falls open, appearance akin to that of a goldfish. If he weren’t so uncharacteristically nervous, Wanderer might have laughed at you for how dumb you look. 

But instead, he silently places the emptied pot in the sink, uncaring of the intimidatingly large pile of dirty dishes—he’ll get to those later. 

With quick strides, he returns to the dining table, taking a seat in front of one of the two plates of steaming rosé pasta, violet eyes seeming to glow in the dim candlelight as he shoots you an expectant look. 

“What does it look like, dumbass? It’s a candlelit dinner,” Wanderer sneers, “now hurry the fuck up and eat before it gets cold. I put a lot of effort in this shit, y’know.”

As Wanderer stabs a picks up a bundle of spaghetti noodles with his chopsticks you seem to finally regain your wits, forcing yourself to move and take a seat as you glance between the crystal vase at the center of the table, filled with deep red dendrobrium accented by thin branches of sakura bloom, the dancing flames of the osmanthus-scented candles placed strategically around the room, and the generous helping of what appeared to be cod roe pasta with rosé sauce plated on the finest china you two owned–a housewarming gift from Zhongli. It most certainly is the epitome of a candlelit dinner if anyone had ever seen one. 

Wanderer tries to look unaffected as he digs into his own dinner but he finds himself tensing as you promptly take your first bite. You hardly even chew it before your eyes close in bliss and you moan out words of praise that make his chest burn with something akin to pride. 

"Your cooking is always so amazing,” you proclaim.

"This is nothing special. Any fool could make a decent pasta," Wanderer shrugs off.

He hopes his ears don’t look as red as they feel as he hurriedly shovels more pasta in his mouth just to have something else to focus on. Praise was something he had always sought–whether from his creator or a nameless mass of devout followers. It made him feel powerful, above all others, like an archon .

And yet, somehow, praise from you felt completely different. Your praises sent a flutter through his chest cavity that he was sure should not be physically possible. Rather than feeling stronger than anyone else, your praises made him feel just strong enough . Just worthy enough to exist, to atone for his sins, to stand beside you. And he thinks the most disturbing part of it all is how satisfied he is with just that. A vengeful, artificial god who once dreamed of ruling all of Teyvat now equally happy just being by your side–what a strange joke.

"But," you hesitantly start, breaking Wanderer from his self-reflections, "what's all of this for?"

His reply is simple, "today is the day of that silly holiday mortals celebrated in your world, isn't it."

You nearly choke on a noodle at the implication.

“We're celebrating Valentine's Day ?"

Wanderer shoots you an annoyed glare at your incredulous tone before abruptly pulling away from the dining table and approaching your side instead. You’re still seated and gaping at him like an idiot with a pair of chopsticks in your hand, a clump of noodles limply hanging off of them. 

"Of course,” he answers smoothly, “we're a couple now, aren't we? And you're quite lucky because my generosity today does not end with dinner."

Wanderer kneels down on one knee before you, a sight no one in Teyvat or even worlds beyond could have ever imagined possible for the egotistical puppet obsessed with the notion of reaching godhood. 

But Wanderer was no longer that vengeful Balladeer anymore. He is merely a wanderer, living as a mortal alongside the person who was somehow able to capture his nonexistent heart and give his life a newfound meaning filled with simple joys he never thought possible. And now, he can only hope to return just a fraction of the happinesses you have given him in the form of a little black velvet box. 

You audibly gasp when he pulls the small box out of his pants pocket, holding it out in front of you and opening it to reveal a silver ring. In the center of the thin metal band sits a decently sized diamond, accented with small amethyst gems that sparkle under the flickering candle light and remind you of the eyes of the man himself.

"Before you get the wrong idea–this isn't a proposal or anything," Wanderer grumbles, avoiding eye contact as his cheeks flush.

"it's just…a placeholder. I'll give you the real one in a few years." 

The last part is mumbled in such a low tone you would have missed it had you not been seated right in front of him.

Slowly–just long enough to have Wanderer’s stomach churning with his anxiety and second-guessing his every decision–your brain catches up and a slow grin splits across your face.

"Thank you, Kuni... it's beautiful," you whisper, eyes watery.

The use of his original names seems to amplify the intimacy of the moment. Wordlessly, Wanderer stands from his kneeled position, plucking the small piece of jewelry from the box and taking your hand with an unexpected gentleness. 

He slides the cool metal on your finger—the fourth finger of your left hand. 

For a moment, you both admire it in awe. He can’t help the first thought that pops into his head, the thought that it suits you. 

Like was always meant to be there. 

Like how he was always meant to be here, with you.

"I love you," you murmur. 

When he turns to look at you, he finds you already staring up at him, all soft smiles and twinkling eyes, as if he had personally hung the moon in the sky. As if he was the most important person in your world. As if his worth far exceeds anything he was created for and anything he imagined for himself thereafter. 

Wanderer doesn't say anything but he firmly squeezes your hand and brushes his thumb against the new ring on your delicate finger.

A placeholder. 

[phantomoftheorpheum]

In my opinion, there were plot holes in the season that are really off-putting. But I also think the writers were just really unwise about their narrative time. With 2 episodes less than the first season, they did not balance their characters and storylines well.

I’m flabbergasted about the amount of time that was spent on the love triangle (I refuse to waste anymore brain power complaining about.. all of that). We could have had less of that in favor of:

- Giving Mouse a real storyline > making Ash more prominent, giving her grandmother an actual purpose or just cutting the character all together.

- Showing us the character development that they only tell us Greg has gone through.

- Follow through with Imogen’s mental health, hallucinations scares, and concerns for her child’s safety that were only relevant in the first half of the season.

- Make redemption house even more sinister and/or show characters like Kelly, Henry, or Greg noticing everyone around them becoming obsessed with Spooky Spaghetti. It would’ve been so easy to permanently write out Henry by making him one of Wes’/BR’s followers but of course they didn’t do that.

- Show at least a little bit of conflict between Mrs Langsberry and Tabby’s mom - opposing mothers defending the reputation of their children. Although I will say, this might have made it too obvious.

- Maybe even including more conflict by not waiting until the last episode to finally accuse each others partners.

Just some thoughts :P

I agree! I think the biggest issue with this season was the reduced runtime (I don't know if that was at all due to the writer's strike, but I hope they get an absolute minimum of 10 episodes if they do a third season), and the mismanagement of the time that they did have.

To address some of your points specifically- I also felt Mouse was super sidelined this season (yes, she is technically the person most intent on solving the mystery, but she's basically just around to info-dump at everyone else, not have any personal growth), and Ash was barely present. I was particularly disappointed by this, because I knew the actor's billing had been upgraded, so I thought we'd get noticeably more Ash.

Greg's redemption arc, if you can really call it that, since it seemed to skip the crucial "oh, he's questioning his ways and changing" part felt super rushed (as did Kelly's turn from 2x06-2x08). I think they did film more of it (since we know of some cut stuff), but since it didn't make it to the screen, it felt very strange that Faran suddenly liked Greg (I'm not saying they played it like she's in love with him or anything, but I feel like they skipped the middle bit between "he annoys the hell out of her and she really dislikes him" to "he's apologized and now they're hooking up,"). It was just too fast.

I definitely expected Imogen's mental health to ultimately play a bigger role than it did, considering how much time they spent on it.

It is hard to believe Mrs. Beasley, Pastor Malachi, Kelly, Greg, (and presumably Henry, since they never reveal him as an antagonist) didn't notice that there was an entire additional cult in their cult.

The scene where all the girls started bickering about their SOs was one of my favorites from the finale. It felt so realistic that they wouldn't all just be on board with these new people they don't know at all (and most of them didn't interact with the new love interests that weren't their own almost at all) and assume they're all great. It was refreshing to see the girls disagree and take a few jabs at each other, because while I love them supporting each other, those moments of coming together feel like they mean less when they're all just always on the same page.

As a writer and creator myself, I understand that it is much easier to criticize than it is to create, but one of the big advantages of collaboration is that theoretically you have a lot of people looking at your work with a critical and constructive eye and shaping the story into the best version of itself. This season felt like it really could have used some editing and refining (in the writing process, before you even get to the film editing) to streamline the storylines and not get too bogged down in areas that don't pay off.

To leave things on a high note- I really did have fun watching the show this season & trying to puzzle things out. I just feel there were some pretty glaring flaws, as well.