#its his hand ok it counts. plus the piece is like. about him. i might write out my thoughts in a diff post

[fluxedbuds]

4 - Moon

[theraggedygirl11]

Tant que notre amour est fou, il défiera toutes les lois

SUMMARY: Jan is a sorcerer. Nace is a human. An "accident" makes them meet and since then they are in each other's mind.

PAIRING: Nace Jordan/Jan Peteh

WARNINGS: swearing, and nothing else in particular, maybe some tears lmao

WORDS COUNT: 2.844

LINK: AO3

NOTES: First of all, I'd like to thank @mrsebastianmoran that created this amazing moodboard and @paperphilia who wrote this short fic inspired by that same moodboard. You two made me write my own version of dark sorcerer!Jan. Please, check both works, they are amazing!

I also thank @anxious-witch, my partner in crime (and in fangirling too) and beta reader.

I might come back to this au, maybe with a sequel. Who knows.

* * *

Oh, mon amour (oh, my love)   Tu es ma chance (you are my chance)   Si je renonce (if I give up)   Plus rien n'a de sens (nothing makes sense anymore)   Oh, mon amour (oh, my love)   La robe blanche (this white dress)   Est la réponse à leurs offenses (is the reply to their offenses)  

On se moque - Molière l’Opéra Urbain  

It all happened so fast that Nace wasn't able to realise what was really occurring. It still felt like a vivid dream.  

He was walking home in the city centre of Ljubljana. It was late at night, he had just finished playing with his band at an event in a local cafe when he noticed a shadow moving fast in the corner of his eye.  

He stopped and looked back. He saw nothing, he was alone in that street. He gulped, then decided to walk faster, marching towards his house, that wasn't even that far away.  

But as soon as he turned, in front of him there was a huge shadow figure, with red flaming eyes and an enormous, open mouth in which he could clearly see fangs as sharp as knives and as white as the Moon itself.  

He was petrified. His first thought was "this must be a nightmare". He needed to wake up, yet he couldn't do it. No, that was reality. A monster made of pure darkness was about to kill him and he couldn't do anything about it.  

He closed his eyes, praying to whatever deity he had in mind in that moment, not ready to die. He waited and waited but nothing happened.  

He heard a noise made by metal links, banging against one another.  

"How many times have I told you that you are not allowed to go around and scare people?"  

Who was talking? Nace opened his eyes and that shadow creature now looked more like a dog that was getting scolded by his owner. Around his neck there was a metal collar connected to a metal chain. A man was near the creature, holding its chain, and he was talking to it like it was his own-he was the owner of that monster?!  

"You are grounded. No more freedom to roam around the city until you learn to behave, ok?"  

The creature whimpered while looking at its owner.  

"No. Shut up. I won't change my mind. You could have killed innocent people! You must learn to behave, or I will send you back to Hell."  

The strange man sighed, then turned to Nace. "Sorry. My hellhound is learning to behave in the hum-"  

Nace was pale and still petrified. The weird man dressed in black kept looking at him.  

"You are human." He murmured.  

Nace saw him trying to get closer. At the same moment he felt his own body go numb, his vision blurred and then black surrounded him.  

"Oh, fuck-" were the last words he heard before fainting.  

* * *

Jan obviously didn't mention what happened the night before with that (handsome) human to Kris.   

He didn't want to be scolded like a child. He was one of the strongest dark sorcerers of the Balkan covenant, but he struggled to control his hellhound. It was a bit shameful for him, to be honest.  

That day Kris and he were at the local market in the suburbs of Ljubljana because they needed to buy stuff for their group of sorcerers.  

"Go to Marija, I need these herbs and ingredients for my potions and magic cures." Kris handed him a piece of paper with a list of stuff in it. He was a healer, his dominant element was water.  

Jan took the list and nodded. He needed stuff from Marija too for some of his spells.   

"I'll go to Primož, Bojan needs his animal blood for his damn blood magic."  

"He's always so lazy, he never goes to buy it himself." Jan shook his head.  

Kris sighed. "I know and I hate him for that."   

They then split to do their chores. It was at Marija's stall that Jan felt observed by familiar eyes. He turned and right behind him there was the human he had met the night before.  

"It's you," he said, his eyes widening in shock.   

"I think you mistook me for someone else." Jan immediately replied. He turned again to the stall to get his bags full of herbs and other stuff, then paid Marija and tried to go away quickly.  

The human had other plans however, he followed him and grabbed his arm.  

"I knew that it was all true, it couldn’t be a dream."  

Jan turned again to look at him. Their faces were so close.  

"I don't know what you are talking about."  

"You know. That...that shadow monster. You called it a hellhound. And you controlled him."  

"It was probably a dream, as you mentioned before."  

"I'm not crazy, I know what I saw!" His voice got louder. Some people around them turned to look at them.  

Jan's heart sank in his chest. The look in that human’s eyes was begging for answers, begging him to confirm what he saw that night.  

“What did you do to me then? I woke up in my room, in my house!”  

"It's better if you forget everything, man. Trust me.” He whispered.  

"Jan, is everything ok?" That was Kris. Jan felt his presence behind him.  

"Yeah, don't worry. This man thought I was someone else he knew." And he cast a quick spell in his voice to force that stranger to free his arm.  

He went away with Kris, leaving that human in the middle of the market. He turned to look at him with a guilty glance. He could almost touch his confusion with his hands. “I’m sorry”, he thought.

  

* * *

In the next few days Jan kept thinking about that human, about his eyes and his hand around his arm. He still felt his touch against his skin like a fire mark. In the end he decided to look for him, he deserved answers, even if it was against every law that ruled sorcerers around the world: humans mustn’t know about magic. He didn’t care, he felt so guilty.  

After a quick location spell, he found the stranger in a park in the suburb of the city. It was getting dark outside, so it was easier for him to use shadows to travel to his destination. He appeared in front of him. The human was holding his head between his hands and he was staring at the ground while sitting on a bench.  

“I think I owe you some explanations.”   

The stranger lifted his head and looked at Jan. His eyes opened wide, but the initial shock became anger. “Did you come here to make me look like a fool again? Wasn’t enough what you did today at the market?”  

His rage hit him like a dagger in the heart. “N-no.” He replied. “I want to talk to you.” He raised his hands, a gesture of surrender. “May I?” He asked then, pointing to the empty space near him on that bench.  

The stranger nodded, but his look was still angry.   

Jan took a couple of deep breaths before starting to talk. “What you saw yesterday was real. It was a hellhound.” He stopped for a second. “My hellhound. And I have problems with controlling it.” He sighed. “I’m a sorcerer. My specialty is dark magic.” He turned to look at the human. He felt judged by his eyes.  

“A sorcerer that practises magic.” The human repeated. “Like...Harry Potter?”  

“Hm...kind of, yeah. We are completely different from that...hm, representation. That it’s just completely wrong, to be honest. We don’t need a piece of wood to cast spells.” And to make him understand better, he raised his hand and called a small dark flame on his palm.  

The man startled and jumped a bit backwards. Jan made the flame disappear. “I shouldn’t tell you all this, but I felt guilty for how I treated you,” he explained. “Usually, when one of us ends up revealing magic to humans, we cancel their memories. I hate playing with people’s minds.”  

“A dark sorcerer who’s worried about a stranger? Shouldn’t dark sorcerers be evil?”  

“That’s kinda biased. Just because we bond with darkness and shadows, it doesn’t mean that we are evil.” Jan crossed his arms. “I fought against evil water and air sorcerers.” He even raised an eyebrow.  

The stranger giggled. Jan smiled, seeing the anger disappearing from his face and his eyes. The human kept asking Jan questions and he tried to answer, without giving away too much information about his world. He explained that sorcerers were born with a dominant element that guided their magic, that they all studied how to control and use their magic according to this element and also specialised in different roles based on the nature of their magic.  

Jan was a dark sorcerer, so his magic was mainly offensive, focused on curses and powerful destructive spells. He was also able to control people, summon creatures from Hell, like demons or hellhounds, control shadows and travel through them, bond with animals that lived at night and cast protection spells that could harm if activated.   

It was too late to continue talking, so they decided to meet again. Both enjoyed the time they spent together that evening. It wasn’t against the covenant rules to have friends among humans, in the end.  

“Oh, what’s your name, by the way?” The sorcerer asked.  

“Nace.” The human smiled. “Yours?”  

“Jan.” He replied with a shy smile.  

“Nice to meet you, sorcerer Jan, then.” Nace giggled. “Till the next time.”  

“Till the next time, human Nace.” And he vanished in the shadow, just like he appeared there a few hours before.  

* * *

Weeks passed. Jan and Nace kept hanging out together. They talked about everything outside of magic and sorcery. They met in various places, sometimes the sorcerer used his magic to travel with his human friend.   

Jan started feeling something weird inside of him while he was with Nace. His heart beat faster, he took every excuse to initiate physical touch between them. When they weren’t together, he missed him so much and he felt like there was an emptiness in his chest.  

“Kris, may I ask you something?” He entered his friend’s lair.  

He raised his head from the table where he was working on some potions. “Yeah, sure. Tell me.”  

“How did you realise you fell in love with Bojan?”  

“Well, we spent a lot of time together. I missed him when I wasn’t with him. The world gained colours when the feelings started blooming. And the deep and wild waters inside of me calmed the moment I felt his presence, a stormy ocean becoming a placid sea. And this happens also today, nothing changed.” Kris answered, then looked at his friend. “Why did you ask this?”  

“I...think I’m in love with a person.” He admitted.   

“Really?” Kris smiled. “Who is this person?”  

“It’s a human.”  

That smile on Kris’s face disappeared instantly. “You know that’s forbidden by our laws.”  

“I know, but I don’t care. This person soothes the shadows in me.” He looked Kris in the eyes. “There's been a light in me since I started hanging out with them.”  

“The Council won’t allow you to date this person, Jan.” He stood up and went closer to his friend. “It’s a human.”  

“I hate these rules! Just because they want to keep our damn power from mixing with humans, we are not allowed to date who we love!” He shouted.   

“These rules exist to protect us and our community. What if the wrong people discover that we exist? We already have sorcerers that turn evil, we don’t need humans to meddle with us too.”  

Kris was right. As much as Jan wanted to reply, his friend was right. They already had their problems to deal with.  

Jan felt tears invading his eyes. “...I love him, Kris.” He whispered, voice trembling. “I’ve never felt this way for anyone else. I-I can’t leave him.”  

Kris hugged his friend and gently caressed his back. Jan hid his face against his neck. He felt the shadows agitating in him, reeling like whirlpools. He grabbed his friend’s shirts while starting to cry silently, his shaking shoulders were the only sign that he was crying.   

“I’m sorry, Janči.” Kris whispered.   

But Jan wasn’t surrendering so easily. He was taught how to fight, how to resist, and how to persevere to reach his goal. And he didn’t want to lose Nace. If he wasn’t allowed to stay with a human without going against those laws, the only solution was to defy them.  

Some days after his decision, Jan met with Nace in the park where he revealed he was a sorcerer. His human was on the same bench too. He smiled when he saw his dear friend.  

“Hi, Janči.”   

“Hi, Nace.” He sat next to him, smiling. For a couple of seconds his eyes stopped on Nace’s lips.   

“Is everything ok? It’s early for you.”  

“I needed to meet you because I wanted to say something to you.” He explained while looking him in the eyes. He grabbed one of his hands and intertwined their fingers.   

“Yeah, sure, tell me.” He nodded.  

“Remember when I told you about our covenants?”  

“Yes, I remember that covenants are exclusives for sorcerers and humans are not allowed in.”  

Jan sighed and lowered his eyes on their hands. “There’s more about it. We are allowed to have human friends, but not relationships with humans. The elders say that it’s a matter of mixed blood not strong enough to carry magic and other stuff.”  

“Ok, but why are you tell-oh.”  

Their eyes met again. There was only silence between them. Nace freed Jan’s hand, then cupped his face and kissed him, slowly. Their foreheads touched when their lips parted.  

“I was afraid you didn’t love me back.” Confessed Nace with a delicate voice, almost inaudible. “Just because I’m a mere human and you are an amazing sorcerer.”  

“Don’t ever think about it, my love. You are as important as I am.” Jan cupped Nace’s face and caressed his cheeks.   

They stayed in that position for seconds, maybe minutes. The first to interrupt that intimate moment was Jan.   

“We need to go far away from here.” Said Jan.  

“It’s because of what you told me before?” Nace asked while caressing his cheek.  

“Yes, unfortunately.” He nodded. “I don’t want to give you up. No one can force me to do it. I don’t care if I need to become a fugitive or a traitor of my own kind. I just know that you calm the chaos created by the shadows in me.”  

“I calm the shadows in you?”  

“Yes, Nace.” Jan nodded. He grabbed his hand and put it on his heart. “Magic is this raw power inside of us. We learn to harness it, but there’s always a possibility that we lose control. Love can help us find a balance. You are the lighthouse that shines my way through this stormy darkness.”  

“I help you this much?”  

Jan nodded, then kissed him again. “Run away with me, my love. We can start over somewhere else where people don’t know us. And I can protect us with my magic. I won’t allow anyone to touch you. I’m strong, they fear me.”   

* * *

Nace hesitated at the beginning, but the next day he accepted the offer. In those past months he learned to love Jan and his true nature. He wasn’t scared of him, he was a lovely and kind person, maybe his only flaw was his ability to get lost so deep into his mind and in his thoughts. But Nace loved him so much even when he dove into his mind and he stared at him with heart eyes for hours.  

They ran away in northern Europe a few days later. They found a small house in a village not so far from the capital of the country they chose, so they could live in a quiet place but were also close to a bigger city in case they needed anything.   

It was hard to get used to the new habits, but they managed to in the end. Jan kept practising his magic, learning new stuff and new spells while Nace began working in the capital as a professional musician and then even as a bass guitar teacher in music schools.   

That night when they met neither of them could imagine what would have happened. Maybe Jan’s hellhound knew something they didn’t and escaped from his owner so he could meet the love of his life. Or perhaps it was just a coincidence of events that led them to living together as runaways.   

They only knew one thing, that they were luckier than Romeo and Juliet, because they got the chance to live their prohibited love, even if they had to abandon their previous life behind. Neither of them regretted that decision.  

[chloe-skywalker]

Like Or Bond - Bruce Banner ft. Natasha Romanoff

(Part 2/4)

Bruce x daughter reader

Natasha x fem!reader

Peter x fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,219

Summary: Bruce meets his daughter, plus you get to see some of the relationship between Peter and Y/n.

Requested: Hi I was wondering if I could request a Bruce Banner daughter reader fic where she is a teenager and he didn’t know about her and when they meet eachother him and Nat like her but she ends up bonding with Nat and they become like a family? Sorry if thats long or too complicated. Thank you! - @Anon

Authors Note: Thank you for requesting this! It wasn’t to long or complicated. It was nice to know how you wanted it to go. I know I wrote it in a way when you’re going to read this might not be expecting but I liked that it came out unlike what you’d probably see many imagines with the same for this request. I enjoyed writing it. I made it into 4 parts cause I kept adding and adding so it just kept going lol.

Masterlist

Avengers Masterlist

Like Or Bond Masterlist

******************************************************************

“You excited today Bruce.” Tony asked clapping his hand together as Bruce entered the kitchen.

“Why would I be excited?” Banner asked

“Today’s the day your daughter comes to the tower.” Steve filled him in as the two sat down to eat lunch.

“It is?” Bruce asked looking around for confirmation.

“Yup” Tony smiled patting his back as he left the room.

“It’ll be ok.” Nat spoke softly rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

^       ^      ^

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/n had started her internship. Everyone kept finding reasons to go down to the lab. Basically to spy on the two teenagers. A couple of the others had joined in on the bet about the two. Were they dating? Or not? The two hid it very well when others were around.

But even though Y/n had been going to the Avengers tower for weeks Bruce had yet to say anything. They had spoken but he hadn’t told her yet. He was nervous to. 

“She’s beautiful.” Nat stated. All the Avengers had stopped by the labs sometime during the last couple of weeks. All of them wanting to meet Banner’s mystery daughter. Nat had been spending the most time with Y/n. The two got along well, but Nat was  curious as to why she had gotten to know and was bonding with Bruces daughter more than him.

“She looks a lot like her mother.” Bruce stated sitting down on their bed.

Nat smiled looking back at him. “She must have been gorgeous.”

“Nat-” Bruce started, shaking his head trying to find the words.

Nat stopped him before he could go on. Walking over to him, standing in between his legs moving to cup his cheeks. “It’s ok to call her beautiful. I know I’m not the first woman you’ve been with.”

Bruce smiled gratefully at her understanding. “She was beautiful. The last time I saw her she was gorgeous.”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Nat asked him curiously. If things worked out like Bruce had hoped Nat would like to also be apart of Y/n’s life.

“No.”

“Why not?” she tilted her head. He just kept psyching himself out.

“What do I say to her? Hi I’m your dad sorry you never knew me?” he said with a slightly frustrated tone.

“I wouldn’t start with that.” Nat responded biting back a smile. “Its ok to be nervous. I’m sure she will be to once she knows.”

Bruce sighed “I just don’t know what to say.”

“You’re a genius, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Nat told him confiding in him.

^     ^     ^

“Hey, Pete can you pass me that?” Y/n asked him focused on finishing the specific piece of technology.

“Yeah, sure.” Peter nodded grabbing the utensil she has asked for. Then an idea popped into his head. “What do I get for it?”

Y/n turned her head to look at her long-time friend and boyfriend. Seeing the small smirk on his lips Y/n decided to play along. “You want something, Mr. Parker?”

Peter’s smirk turned into a wide smile. “Just a kiss.”

“Well that you can have.” Y/n smiled giggling as he rushed over to get his kiss.

“Mind if I interrupt?” Bruce asked walking into the lab, interpreting the two’s intimate moment. Maybe he should’ve contributed to the bet after all.

“No, not at all Doctor Banner.  Uhm, this is my friend Y/n.” Peter introduced the tow as they pulled away sheepishly.

“Nice to meet you.” Bruce smiled he hadn’t really talked to her one on one since she had started.

“Nice to meet you as well Doctor Banner.” Y/n nodded with a smile. She could feel her face heating up from being caught making out.

“Ummm, Peter. Think you could give me and y/n here a moment alone?” Bruce asked

“Y-yeah, yeah sure.” Peter nodded agreeing to give them some space. He could tell it must be serious by Dr. Banner’s face. Peter could also tell Y/n was now very nervous. “I won’t be far.” he stated under his breath so only she could hear. Peter leaned down to kiss her temple for reassurance.

“Did you need to talk to me about something?” y/n asked nervously after the door shut behind Peter.

“Yeah. Just probably not what you think.” Bruce answered grabbing the nearby desk chair. It’d be easier to have this conversation with both sitting down.

Y/n tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you know who I am?” Bruce asked deciding to start with a simple question.

“Your Doctor Bruce Banner. Also known as the HULK.” Y/n answered, but she was alittle confused about the question. Wasn’t that obvious?

Bruce smiled letting out an airy laugh. Not exactly what he meant so he decided to reword. “Do you know who I am to you?”

“Uh, my superior?” she tried again raising a brow in question to what Bruce meant by his questions.

“No, no y/n. Ummm- wow I don’t know how to say this.” Bruce waved his hand, shaking them, that wasn’t what he meant. It was becoming more obvious to Bruce that she didn’t know about his and her’s relations.

“Take your time.” Y/n smiled at him. Waiting patiently for him to find the right words.

It took a while for Bruce to find the words to say what he wanted to say. But he did and he told her the truth. They sat there for a while, Y/n listened without interrupting. Once Bruce was finished he let her digest all of what he just said, waiting for her to ask him anything she wanted.

“So your my father?” y/n spoke more to herself than to anyone, trying to process the new information.

“Yeah.” Bruce confirmed, watching closely to see if he could find any clue as to how she felt about what he had just told her.

“An you didn’t know about me?” She asked with doe eyes looking up through her lashes.

Bruce shook his head giving her a sad smile. “No, I didn’t. If I had I would’ve been in your life somehow. But I also would’ve wanted to keep you safe and at the time not being anywhere near me would’ve been the safe option.”

Which was true around the time Y/n was born and growing up Bruce had just become the HULK and was trying to learn to control it. It would’ve been very dangerous to have a child around the HULK at that time.

“My mom never said who you were just that you were very smart and a good guy.” Y/n told him with a soft smile talking about her mom. Y/n then started to nervously ring her fingers together, nervous about asking her next question. And what his answer might be. “Could we possibly get to know eachother? Now that we know of the other?”

“I would like that.” he smiled. “Maybe we could get together and talk? You, me and your mom.”

Y/n looked down once he finished. She was happy about his answer but getting together with her mother, that would be kind of hard. “We kinda can’t.”

“Why not?” Bruce questioned with a tilt of his head.

“She’s dead.”

[writing-in-april]

Question and Answer

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Garcia gets Reader to answer some questions about their feelings for Spencer.

A/N: Hey heyyyy- here’s the twelfth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! Oh my gosh 😱 can’t believe how many I’ve posted in a row already- thanks for all the love on them 🥰 This fic is based on this request- Writing Penelope along with Derek as side characters is one of my favorite things about some of my fluffy pieces! Feel free to leave something in my inbox here- I love hearing from all of you! (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Non at all☺️- though if you see something you think should carry a warning please let me know 😌

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.8k

When Penelope Garcia got you alone in her office she lovingly called her‘bat cave’ and said she wanted to ‘talk’ there was no escaping it. ‘Talking’ with her usually meant she was going to bombard you with questions, usually linked to some gossip she heard from someone.

It was usually Morgan that fed her curiosity. He was somehow able to be up to date on everything and everyone. A result of that was that Garcia always got to hear the latest thing he had heard. Once Garcia was interested in whatever your answer to the gossip might be, she was without a doubt going to ask.

That’s where you found yourself on one of the slowest work days in recent memory. It had been so slow in fact, that you had been almost about to leave early since you had finished your paperwork. That was until Garcia had called your name in a singsong tone, grasped your elbow delicately with her painted nails, and gently nudged you to come talk with her in the ‘bat cave’.

“Penelope- I really want to go home. Can’t this wait another day?” Your groan perhaps was a bit pathetic as you sat down in a chair, but it had been the first time seemingly in years that you had the chance to go home early. A nap sounded really nice right now and even though you loved Garcia, that was more exciting at the moment.

“Fine fine, yes I’ll let you go soon, quit your bellyaching. And, to answer your other question, no, it can’t wait,” She plopped down into her chair, tapped on her keyboard a few times to close out some files, and then focused all her attention on you, “Just quickly answer my questions- Wait, no! Actually, let’s play a game!”

Another groan, perhaps even more pathetic than the first came out of your chest, while you also let yourself slump down in your chair. Thoughts of your bed danced in your head trying to pull you into a daydream about the nap you had been planning on taking. You then tried as best as you could to keep your focus trained on her for as long as possible. If you were able to focus; it would get done faster.

“Oh hush it’s a quick game that’ll have you out of here faster.” You perked up at that, now suddenly invested in the game that was supposedly going to get you out of here quick.

“Alright- I’ll do it if it gets me out of here quickly.”

She beamed at you for a second, then grabbing one of her decorative pens and a stack of sticky notes. Rapidly she wrote down a list that you tried to peek and see, but she hid the stack with her free hand once she saw you trying to look. Once she had finished she pushed up her glasses a bit, before outlying the rules of the ‘game’, “I want you to answer my rapid fire questions and answer without thinking! It’s supposed to give the most truthful answer from what I read on the website.”

Truthfully, it sounded silly to you, but if it got this interrogation over quick you didn’t mind playing the game. Plus whenever Garcia gave you time to answer she watched whatever your body language was and used that against you to get more information out. She had picked up on how we did our job as profilers over the years. It had become almost as instinctive to her as it was to us whenever we read behavior. Any conversation we had was screaming non verbal behavioral tells at us; it was almost impossible to turn off. So with less time in between questions and answers, it would be harder for her to analyze your movements. Garcia could honestly probably take the classes to become a profiler just as JJ had done, but everyone knew her place was in front of her screen. That was where she worked her best magic.

As soon as you nodded your head, agreeing to start the game, the questions were dropped on you at a rapid pace. The questions had started out simple enough, to get you ready for whatever bombshell question she no doubt had coming. The whole goal of the game was to catch you off guard so you’d answer as honestly as possible.

“What’s better coffee or tea?” She still hadn’t dropped the bomb and asked the question that had the only useful answer to her.

These questions were easy and you were getting comfortable. Each time another question went by the lingering reminder in the back of your head trying to warn you to be on edge slowly slipped away. Mindlessly you answered her without thought, “Coffee.”

“Who’s your favorite superhero?”

“Batman.” That answer might have been biased, when you really thought hard about it. You changed your answer when you realized you chose Batman because you were in Garcia’s ‘bat cave’, “Wait no- scratch that it’s Spider man.”

“If you could be any animal what would it be?”

“A dog.”

“What is your biggest fear?”

Again, you answered without thought even though it was a harder hitting question compared to your favorite drink or what type of animal you would be,“Being alone.”

“Who would you kiss in the office?” By now you had felt comfortable in the short little game, not even realizing how the questions had shifted to what she had been looking for all along.

“Spencer.” As soon as it came out of your mouth you slapped your hand over it. It was no use, the admission had already escaped and made its way into Garcia’s ear.

“Do you like Spencer?!” You opened your mouth in protest, but the look on your face said it all. Garcia knew she had won when you hang your head down with a sigh, in defeat. “Oh! Morgan was right!”

A little squeak by the door of the bat cave then pulled you out of your embarrassment and Garcia out of her celebration. You were already embarrassed before and it then turned into absolute mortification when you turned to see the source of the noise. Spencer was standing there, slack jawed, holding a file he had meant to give Garcia.

His voice then came out with more stutters and pauses than you had ever heard before from him, “H-hey ggguuys ummm I’ve got to go- take a nap.”

You almost wanted to snort thinking that you’d like to take that nap you’d been planning on too. Garcia went to say something, possibly to break the tension or make it even worse, but he was already gone. He bolted out the door and probably all the way home before you had a chance to explain your answer to the question that just led to even more questions.

—-

As soon as you were finally freed from Garcia’s clutches you bolted as well. Except instead of going straight home to your comfy bed you had been daydreaming about you bolted to someone else’s apartment.

“Hi, Doc.” Was the first thing you squeaked out when Spencer had opened up the door to his apartment after your polite yet incessant knocks.

He blinked at you a few times, perhaps trying to convince himself that you were really here. Clearing his throat he then replied shakily,“Hi.”

“C-can I come in?” It was your turn to stutter now, you wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous about what his reaction might be. The only thing you were sure about is that he wouldn’t be outright disgusted by your feelings. You both had worked with each other for many years, becoming closer each day by day as time continued to tick by. At this point you’d call him your closest friend and you knew he wouldn’t call you disgusting for developing feelings for him. If he was going to let you down he would start by saying it’s only natural. Though, you still felt an ache in your chest even when assured that he’d at least let you down gently. Your relationship with him would be forever changed either way this conversation went.

He swung the door open more after a moment of trepidation, gesturing you through the door. You spent no time gazing around at his apartment, you had been here many times before. Instead you made a beeline for the couch, the comfiest spot to sit. You wanted to be at least comfortable if he was about to break your heart.

“C-can I ask you a question?” He fiddled with his fingers as you both sat down on his couch.

You brought your knees up to your chest as you had slipped your shoes off before sitting down. You also made sure to avert your gaze away from him, not sure if you could handle looking at him in the eyes, “What kind of question? Is it the same one as before?”

“N-no, um- well kinda… Yes and no?” The end of his jumbled sentence went up in pitch, making his own answer sound like another question.

You decided to give him a little mercy, doubting that there was any question he would ask that you would be uncomfortable with. And, you already had a feeling you knew what the question would be, “Alright Doc, I’ll let you ask your question. Go easy on me ok?”

Your little joke on the end was supposed to help him feel less nervous, but going by his awkward laugh it might have had the opposite effect. He still was able to get his next words out with a bit of confidence, “Was your answer back at work- umm honest?

Your heart fluttered at his question, beginning to beat harder in your chest as you prepared yourself to give him an honest reply. You were nervous to answer, even though you knew exactly what it was going to be deep down in your heart. Taking a deep breath you then answered the question with a simple answer, “Yes.”

He seemed relieved at your answer, relaxing his shoulders just enough that you noticed. You’d have to thank Garcia later, for finally getting you to answer the question honestly. Though, just by analyzing his behavior quickly you could tell that he still had something to say and/or ask, “Do you have another question?”

He nodded in response, his body language becoming even more closed off then before. His leg was now bouncing up and down as an attempt to soothe his building nerves. You then gave him what he had been looking for after his first question, permission to ask another, “You can ask another question, Doc.”

Tense silence sat between us for a few moments while I waited for him to speak up. He then got his courage back a little, though he still looked at the ground and fiddled with his fingers when he asked, “Would you like to go out on a date?”

It took no time to process the question, the answering instantly coming to the front of your mind. You then spoke with no trepidation, giving him a simple honest answer, “Yes.”

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill out this form to join any):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

[jesswritesthat]

heyo~ i saw your kageyama and hinata in na poly relationsip headcanons and i was wondering if you could do that with kenma and hinata with a gn s/o? if his makes you uncomfortable in any way feel free to ignore this!

A/N: omg cutest trio going for sure! <3

Warnings: Polyamory

>>>>—————————>

A Polyamorous Relationship with Hinata Shōyō and Kozume Kenma would include:

• You and Hinata are usually the ones to initiate physical affection, especially spontaneously, but Kozume readily accepts without protest. Unless he’s gaming then he might hold you back with his foot but that’s your boyfriend for you.

• If Kenma starts it, it’s usually very gently - like he’ll slowly snuggle into your side if you’re sitting next to each other and you only realise once you go to move and bam he’s cuddling you. How? When? Now you can’t move. (He’s like a cat.)

• Hinata is always so vibrant and it draws you into practicing Volleyball with him. He’s even managed to get Kenma to be his Setter (for a max of 5 mins) whilst you blocked. Hinata will teach you anything you wanna know about the sport, and just enjoys you both partaking in what he loves. He’ll return the gesture too.

• If you get bored, you’ll ask to play with Kenmas’ hair - he says no, but Shōyō is all for it and will sit in front of you for up to an hour without getting restless - wispy hums escaping every few minutes as he sparks conversation.

• Seeing this, Kenma reluctantly plonks himself in front of you once Hinata has moved and doesn’t say a word. He’s playing on his switch but hands you back a hair tie or something which is basically the ‘go ahead, do what you will’. Hinata will probably try and do yours bless him.

• Kenma is the one who judges you both the most, any antics that Hinata and you get up to is usually dissed - but somehow caught on camera the second you mess up.

• “I hate you both.” Kozume - after you’ve roped into something he deemed unnecessary.

“No Kenma, you love us.”

“...Do I though?” It’s his way of agreeing since he has a hard time saying ‘I love you’ when he’s flustered, how he hides his blush in his hoodie is all the evidence you need tbh.

• “Can you sponsor me?”

“No.”

“But you sponsor Shōyō, that’s favouritism y’know.” You’re smirking at him, a light nudge to his side as he shoots a subtle glare your way.

“I’ll show you whose my favourite kitten~” It’s unexpected from him and you’re blushing furiously once he kissed you - then Hinata bursts in and is offended at the attention he’s not receiving.

“That’s favouritism! We love equally in this house!” Then he tackles you both, and Kenma just mumbles either sweet whispers or profanity during the impromptu cuddle session depending on his mood.

• But don’t be surprised if you receive that item you were eyeing in the shops months ago the following day.

• You and Kenma team up to watch Hinatas’ games, if you go to the arena he’s got the best seats in the house and Hinata will always wave to you guys.

If they’re courtside seats, then he’ll kiss you both before the game for good luck. Then either seeks comfort or just jumps the barrier into your arms depending on the games outcome afterwards.

• Sometimes you stay at home to watch Volleyball though, the laptop in front of you and Kenma whilst sharing a blanket and snacks as MSBY play. In these cases Hinata either waves or winks directly at the camera for you guys - you both blush every time and swear he knows he has this effect on you despite being miles away!

• When Hinata comes back from Brazil, he always has new recipes with him and ropes you into the kitchen to help. The two of gave fun and make a mess sometimes, Kenma can hear the giggling screams and always comes out to a creative dinner prepared by his two favourite people.

• Kenma and Hinata will support whatever you do too, Hinata is enthusiastic to help you whilst Kenma has a variety of resources at his disposal if you need it. Very good boyfriends yes. Hinata has been known to fall asleep on your shoulder or in your lap if you’re working though.

• Most of Kodzukens’ followers know who you are, since you and Hinata have gatecrashed his live streams multiple times. An iconic one that haunts Kenma to this very day was when you both kissed each of his cheeks and he became so flustered he couldn’t utter a coherent sentence for 2 minutes. It was adorable - he kicked you out but worth it.

• Hinata always invites you into his workouts and you agreed to go running with him. Kenma went with ‘nah and you can’t make me either’ - you can, just plead a little and he’ll cave.

If you’re not a runner, you and Kenma give up mid-way and walk to the nearest Café for breakfast - Shōyō has lapped you guys by now and skids to a halt in front of the window like:

“What. Is. This?!”

Then you slide a protein shake and piece of fruit his way and all is forgiven, except that he made you and Kenma go on a longer run than agreed but... he’ll make it up to guys.

• Since Kenma established Bouncing Ball Corp and is wealthy, he’ll take you both on national or international business trips. Plus he’ll buy you gifts that he knows you really wanted but aimed to get yourselves.

“Kenma! It’s gorgeous but I can’t afford it right now.”

“I know, that’s why I brought it for you.” He’s incredibly nonchalant about it, and is avoiding your gaze completely - but doesn’t miss how they’re sparkling.

“Yes but I can’t acc-“

“It’s fine, you made dinner for us yesterday.”

“That’s not the same and you know it!”

“Its my way of saying I love you, now I need to trial this new game so just enjoy the gift ok.” Its muttered so fast as he leaves the room you don’t get the chance to catch him.

• Hinata will burst in later wearing this brand new Atlético San Juan Team hoodie that Kenma ordered and immediately meets your gaze.

“He got you too huh?”

“Yep~ I’m gonna bury him in hugs and kisses!”

“Wait Shō he’s gaming— let me help at least!”

Instant regret on Kenmas behalf, questions why he continues to do this whilst immobilised. Then he sees the bright grins on your faces and - ah that’s why.

• There’ll be gaming marathons when you can allow, and they can get quite rowdy and competitive depending on company.

• The house is usually full of life, either because of the resident sunshine or the familiar faces that constantly litter it. You’ll have Nekoma grads, pro Volleyball athletes and Karasuno grads over and sometimes at the same time since they’re all familiar with each other since High School.

It’s like home.

• But you can always count on collapsing into the warm embraces of Kenma and Hinata after a long night of entertaining everyone. It’s peaceful and you’ll laugh about what happened all whilst fingertips dance across skin and hug each other close. That’s what love is though isn’t it?

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 4: A Rather Indecent Proposal

Links to other chapters: Chpt. 1, Chpt. 2, Chpt. 3 Chpt. 5

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Jealous!Din, a little bit of canonical violence

Word Count: ~9900 (I know it’s long, but it felt better as one chapter instead of split into two.)

Author’s note: Happy Mando Monday! I hope you enjoy this new chapter! First though, I need to apologize if the man you love or you yourself are called Eugene, but please don’t hate me for thinking it’s an unsexy name. Also, apologies to skinny men everywhere, you might not be my type, but I’m sure someone is into you.

“Do you think you could come with me for a business meeting? I could use your language skills.” Mando surprises you with his request. So far, he’s always conducted any business on his own, and except for a few weeks ago when you asked him about his bounty, he hasn’t shared any details of his work with you. But as always, you’re eager to help him if you can.

“Of course, I can. What do you need?” You’re actually kind of excited at the chance to accompany him.

“The client comes from the Unknown Regions and I hear he prefers to use Sy Bisti when possible,” Mando explains, “He’s also known to be very particular, so anything that can impress him would be helpful.”

“Absolutely, I can be your interpreter,” you agree, “When is this meeting?”

“As soon as we get to Canto Bight in a couple of hours.” He tells you. Oh, you look down at your lounging-on-the-ship comfy clothes; you’ll need to get yourself pulled together for a business meeting.  

“I better go get changed into something more presentable then. Can you watch the little guy?” You ask him.

“Why? You look fine.” Mando is such a guy sometimes. You just give him an incredulous look with a small raise of your eyebrow as if to say really? “I mean, sure, I’ll watch the kid if you want to change.”

“Thanks. But, yes, I definitely need to change before we meet your client,” you reply and head down to the hull; you’re almost out of earshot when you hear him mutter to the child, “Don’t get it, she always looks fine to me.” It makes you smile to yourself that he thinks that, yet there’s a part of you that’s eager for him to see you dressed a little nicer for once.

For about the millionth time you tell yourself that you shouldn’t have a crush on Mando, but that voice is getting drowned out more and more by another one that keeps telling you to enjoy it. After your trip to Crucival, you know that he finds you attractive at least. And Maker knows you’re even more attracted to him now that you know him even better. Plus seeing him almost naked was hard to ignore! So what if he considers you just a friend, as long as you don’t let things get out of hand, or say something stupid to him, you might as well have fun with your silly little fantasies.

You rummage through your clothing and pull out a nice black dress. It’s stylish but without being too fussy and you think, it will be perfect for a meeting with a client. Besides, if you’re going to Canto Bight, you know most of the women there will be dressed to the nines so you want to make sure you’re helping Mando give off a good impression. You take the time to style your hair and put on some make-up too. You give yourself a once-over in the small mirror in the fresher and, even in the harsh industrial light, you have to say that you look pretty nice. You knew that being a nanny to a toddler was never going to be a glamorous job, but the chance to clean up like this is fun every once in a while.

“We’re landing soon, you need to come sit down!” You hear Mando calling to you, so you quickly make your way back up to the cockpit.

“Thanks,” you say as you get back to your seat, but before you sit down, you turn to Mando with a little flourish and say, “See, much more presentable for your client now.”

Din stares at you in the elegant dress; you’re literally taking his breath away and he can’t even speak for a few seconds. Finally all he can think to say is, “You look good.” And he immediately chides himself for not being able to come up with a better compliment. Thankfully, you seem pleased with his pathetic words and just give him a happy smile before buckling yourself in. He’s still staring at you, taking in the pretty hairstyle you’ve created and looking at whatever it is that you’ve done to make your lips seem redder and fuller. It isn’t until a sensor on the control panel starts beeping loudly that Din snaps back to reality and focuses on landing the Crest.

“Wait, what about the child, do we bring him with us?” In your excitement, you’ve forgotten your primary job, as you’re getting ready to head out into the hustle and bustle of this flashy city. You look at the little one’s big eyes and like his father, he also seems to be fascinated with your done-up appearance.

“Sure, I have a satchel he can ride along in. And he’s plenty old enough to get into the casino; the age to get in is 18.” Mando chuckles as he maneuvers his 50-year-old toddler into a small brown shoulder bag. Mando’s cape partially obscures the little one making him less noticeable. You suppose he’ll be all right, it’s only a meeting in the restaurant of a casino; it’s not as if you’re taking the little one to the gaming tables. Although if you’re honest, you wouldn’t be surprised if Mando said that was perfectly ok too, so long as he’s safe. You give his tiny hand a squeeze and he coos back at you seemingly eager for your little adventure.

You follow Mando off the ship and through the throngs of men in sharply tailored evening jackets and women beautifully attired in chic gowns. Everyone looks very cosmopolitan especially against the stunning background of the decadent casino. You have to admit that you were expecting something a little more garish based on the descriptions you’ve heard of Canto Bight, but this particular establishment is quite nice with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and unique modern art pieces strategically placed throughout the large lobby. With Mando in his beautiful beskar armor and you in your fashionable dress, you make a dashing pair as you pass by the colorful lights of the gaming machines.

Din leads you to a restaurant entrance and tells the maître d’ that he is here to meet a Mr. Omseki. The man seems slightly taken aback by the presence of a Mandalorian but when his gaze lands on you, his face softens and in a crisp accent he says, “Right this way, Madam” and then he barely glances at Din, as he says, “Sir”. It’s not surprising that the man would rather keep his eyes on you with your eyes shining in delight as you take in the scene around you. Din’s never cared much for Canto Bight and its rather pompous atmosphere, but he’s finding some charm in this place as he watches your reaction to it all. Not to mention, Din knows he would have received a much frostier welcome here without you by his side and he’s very glad you came with him. As you reach the client’s table, this feeling is renewed, as Mr. Omseki is all smiles as you greet him in the unusual language. Despite not understanding the words, Din can tell by the man’s animated speech, that he is positively delighted at the prospect of meeting with a beautiful woman and not just a Mandalorian bounty hunter. The man also seems happy to see the child and he gives him the flower from his lapel to play with as a small gift. Din listens as you interpret the client’s words and you all begin to exchange some welcoming small talk. Greef Karga had been the one to pass on this client to Din as a lucrative off-the-books bounty, but the man he described was temperamental and moody. Mr. Omseki is anything but moody tonight and if Din didn’t know better, he’d swear the man was flirting with you. He doesn’t love that idea, but if it helps this meeting go smoothly, it will be worth it.

Mr. Omseki is a charmer and he is thrilled to be speaking to you; he’s told you several times how pleasant it is to talk business in an ‘appropriate’ language and how overjoyed he is to speak to you. You suppose it must have been a while since he’s had the opportunity to speak Sy Bisti and perhaps that’s why he’s enjoying himself so much now. You’ve felt a little abashed at times, as you’ve interpreted his rather flowery praise of you to Mando although at least some of it has also extended to him. However, this client seems more interested in just chatting with you than he is in talking business with Mando. You try to steer the conversation back to Mando’s work, but each time you do, Mr. Omseki manages to ask you another question about yourself. Mando must sense your worry that you aren’t doing a good enough job and he drops his hand down to cover yours where it is sitting on the table. He gives you a reassuring squeeze and you continue making polite conversation with the client. You figure this must be part of his business negotiations.

Din leaves his hand covering yours in a clear message to the client that you belong with him. It’s a subtle gesture, but one that Mr. Omseki is shrewd enough to understand as shortly afterwards he shifts the conversation to the bounty that he wants Din to capture. He listens carefully as you interpret the details and he begins to formulate a plan for the hunt. Din almost has all the pertinent information, when a sudden commotion interrupts the conversation. He immediately pulls his blaster and shields you behind him. A man in a disheveled suit is pushing past the maître d’ and several waiters as he stumbles towards your table. Din realizes disappointedly that this man looks exactly like the quarry that was just described by Mr. Omseki.

“Mr. O-Omseki, I have it, I have all your m-money and the in-interest,” the man stutters out as he begins pulling out bags of credits from his coat.

“Well, well, Mr. Sanditore, looks like this is your lucky day,” Mr. Omseki drawls out, “I was just about to send this Mandalorian off to kill you.”

“Th- thank you Mr. Omseki, thank you, I promise you won’t have any trouble from me again.” The disheveled man is practically shaking with gratitude.

“Well, I am sorry Mr. Mandalorian, it was delightful to meet you and your most lovely interpreter, but I am afraid I no longer have need of your services.” Mr. Omseki says to Din. Then he turns to you and speaks in Sy Bisti in a soft voice. Din obviously can’t know what he’s saying but the mild look of surprise on your face is enough to raise his concern. Whatever it is though, you handle it gracefully and end the conversation with a pleasant tone before shifting back to Basic to say good-bye. As you exit the table, you reach for Din’s arm, threading your hand around his elbow. He is surprised by your touch but says nothing as you walk towards the large bar near the center of the restaurant.

“What did he say to you?” Din wants to know.

“He asked me if we were romantically involved, because if we weren’t he wanted to know if I was free for the rest of the evening.” You reply looking a little embarrassed.

“What did you tell him?” He really wants to hear this answer.

“I lied and said that we were. It seemed like the best solution.” You’re slightly looking away from him as you say this as if you’re worried about making eye contact.

“Good.” Din’s pleased you lied, and it’s petty, but he likes the idea of that rich man thinking that Din has something that he wants and can’t have.

“I’m sorry about the job though,” you’re saying to him now, “I know you must be disappointed.”

“It’s alright,” Din sighs a little though, “these things happen.” He sees you look around the bar area with a wistful look and realizes that you’re not ready to leave. “Besides, now we have time to stay and have a drink, just the two of us, well, us and our little sleeping bundle here.” The baby has curled up and is napping in his little satchel.

“Really?” You look so pleased that it makes Din smile to himself. You settle into one of the stools at the bar and Din motions to the bartender to order your drinks. He orders one for himself too, asking for a straw in his.

“Wait, so you do use straws?” You ask with a small laugh.

“Sure, it’s the easiest way to drink in public.” He shrugs matter-of-factly, but that just seems to make you giggle more. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know,” you say between giggles, “but there’s something so cute about you using a straw.”

“Cute?” He says, sounding slightly insulted.

“Oh stop, I mean it in a good way,” you say and light push his shoulder in a playful fashion, “It’s probably just because I’ve never seen you use a straw before.”

“So when you see me do something new, it’s cute to you?” Din is playing up his affront to the word cute because he’s enjoying teasing you.

“No, not everything new.” You roll your eyes at him. “It’s just when you do something ordinary, I guess, because I tend to think of you as extraordinary.” You let your lashes flutter a little as you say that last word, flirting with him.

“Extraordinary, huh?” He cocks his helmet to the side as he looks at you, “I like that better than cute.”

“Whatever, you’re still cute too.” You give him a wink and then turn to the bartender who has your drinks. Both glasses have a straw and you make quite a show of using yours, so much so that Din can’t help but let out a laugh. You’re both enjoying the moment so much that neither of you notice a thin, lanky man approach you.

“Ex-excuse me?” The man is trying to get your attention. Mando shifts back into alert mode almost instantly as he says, “Yes?”

The man is about as tall as Mando with very fair hair and pale skin. He looks to be in his mid-thirties and seems a little out of place here in a casino. Although, like the other men here, he’s wearing an expensive suit, but everything about him looks slightly uncomfortable and it’s as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with his body, like the way he holds his shoulders and moves his hands looks anxious.

“I’d like to hire you for an evening,” the man says, but weirdly he looks at you instead of Mando, but you figure that’s because he’s probably too intimidated to look directly at the Mandalorian.

“What sort of work do you need?” Mando asks in an even tone.

“Oh?” The man turns and looks at Mando directly, “I- I didn’t mean you. I want to hire her for an evening.”

Mando’s reaction to this statement is so swift you almost miss it. He instantly pulls his fist back and punches the man square in the face, knocking him to the floor. Mando looks down at him and grits out in an angry voice, “She’s not for sale.”

Well, this is a first. You thought you looked pretty nice tonight, but apparently, you look like a prostitute.

“Wait, wait, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” The man cowers on the ground but tries to explain himself, “I didn’t mean to insult her, or you.”

“So what did you mean?” Your curiosity has gotten the best of you.

“I just need a beautiful woman to pretend to be my girlfriend for an evening, that’s all.” He says.

“Exactly how is that different?” Mando is still towering over the man in a very threatening manner.

“Just to attend a party with me, and help me look good,” the man says quickly, “I promise nothing s-sex related at all.” He holds his hands up in a defensive posture. He looks back to you with pleading eyes, “I can pay you really well, and all you need to do is go to a party and wear a pretty dress.”

You admit you’re intrigued by the idea and you know that with Mando losing out on this latest bounty, any extra funds would be helpful. You put your hand on Mando’s bicep in what you hope is a calming motion as you say, “It can’t hurt to hear him out, Mando.”

“Are you serious?” Mando asks you in a low voice.

You shrug, “If we don’t like what he has to say, you can punch him again.” The man on the floor lets out a little whimper at that, but Mando gives you a small nod and backs away from the man.

Tentatively, the man picks himself up off the floor and extends a hand out to you, “I’m Eugene DeWitt, I own a company that creates high-end gaming machines and I develop algorithms for those machines.”

You shake his hand briefly, and give him your first name. “So, Mr. DeWitt, why do you need a pretend girlfriend to go to a party?”

“Please, call me Eugene. It’s the annual celebration for the casino owners and it’s my best chance to network with them. I’ve been to the party the last three years, but I haven’t been able to barely get a word with any of the important owners.” He explains.

“What makes you think I’d be able to change that?” You’re not sure what effect your presence would have on his ability to do business.

“I need to find a way to catch their interest and impress them, and I think a woman like you would be the best way to do that.” He tells you.

“I’m flattered, but I think you might be overestimating my appeal,” you reply, “besides, why don’t you just ask out a woman you want to date?”

“I’ve tried,” Eugene admits, “but honestly, even if they’d said yes, I know they wouldn’t have the same effect as you; you’re drop dead gorgeous.”

“He’s right,” Mando says softly, almost under his breath. Your head snaps to the side to look at him after that comment. You don’t have any time to process it however because Eugene is still speaking.

“I’ll pay you 20,000 credits just to go to the party with me and pretend to be my girlfriend.” He offers.

What?!? Is he serious? Suddenly this job has real potential. But you’re still skeptical that he wants you to just attend the party, it feels like that amount of money would come with additional stipulations.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to just go to the party with you and pretend to be your girlfriend, but you’re not expecting sex or any other sexual favors?” You state this outright because you need everything to be clear.

“Yes,” he confirms, “I would need you to be affectionate towards me, but only in an appropriate way in public.”

“Define what you mean by affectionate.” You want to make sure you know precisely what he wants.

“Hold my hand or arm, let me put my arm around you, dance with me, maybe let me give you a small kiss?” He suggests.

“No kissing.” Mando interjects all of a sudden.

“O-Ok, no kissing,” Eugene agrees, “But would you be alright with the rest of that?”

“Yes, I can do that.” His terms seem reasonable and honestly, that much money to just attend a party? You’ve had way worse jobs.

“I’m going too,” Mando states and from his tone of voice this is not up for debate, “I’ll be your bodyguard for the evening.”

“That’s a good idea,” Eugene is intrigued by the prospect; “A Mandalorian bodyguard would also be impressive.”

“Good, then you can pay us 40,000 credits for the evening,” you counter-offer. You know it’s ballsy to ask, but truthfully Mando’s skills are worth a lot and he should be paid as well.

“That was uh more than I was hoping to spend,” Eugene says.

“Maybe so, but now you’re getting both of us to help you impress these future clients,” you smile flirtatiously and look him right in the eye holding his gaze.

“I can do 35,000,” Eugene offers.

“Alright, 35,000 and you buy me a new dress and shoes for this party.” That last part is really only because you don’t own any other dresses that would be suitable for his event, but also part of you wants to see if you can get him to give in to you.

“Can the dress be red?” Eugene asks.

“Sure, I’ll get a red dress, if that’s what you’d like,” You’re totally fine with that.

“We have a deal.” He says.

“One more thing,” Mando speaks up again, “Pay her half the credits now.”

“How do I know you won’t just take my money and leave?” Eugene asks.

“You have my word as a Mandalorian.” His tone is serious and just intimidating enough that Eugene capitulates. He takes out a holopad and asks for your information and just like that, 17,500 credits are in your account. It’s more money than you’ve ever had.

You finalize all the arrangements for tomorrow, with Eugene offering to have his mother watch the child for the evening. Mando is a bit reluctant at first to have someone else watch the kid but he realizes it will be hard to pull off looking like a bodyguard with a baby in tow. Likewise, you can hardly play the role of trophy girlfriend if you have the little guy. You wait until Eugene takes his leave of you for the night before you turn to Mando to exclaim over this crazy turn of events.

“Oh my, Mando, can you believe it? 17,500 credits for each of us, just for one night of going to a party?” You can’t help the excitement in your voice.

“Hmm, yes, it’s a lot,” he says, with a lot less enthusiasm, “but it’s all your money.”

“What?” He catches you by surprise, “No, Mando, I’m going to split it with you.”

“He only wanted to hire you,” he states firmly.

“Yes, but I was never going to do this without you. I was going to suggest you come too but you beat me to it.” You explain to him.

“Were you really?” He sounds a little skeptical, but there’s a small note of hope in his voice too.

“Absolutely. I’m not so naïve that I would agree to go to a party with a total stranger without you there to protect me.” It feels so natural to you now that of course he would be there to watch over you. “Besides, I know that you being there will keep Eugene from getting too handsy.”

Mando makes a little snorting sound, “Yeah, I could do without the affectionate part.”

“Don’t worry, I can do just enough to make it look believable without letting it get out of hand.” You link your arm through his and lean a little onto his shoulder, “C’mon, Mando, be a little happy about the money with me.”

He reaches up and pats your hand where it holds onto him. “Alright, since it means that much to you, I’m happy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day you are in a swanky boutique recommended by Eugene where you are on a mission to find a red evening gown for tonight. You tried to tell Mando that his presence was not necessary for this, but he insisted on coming along with the child in tow. It’s been an adventure already because as you were looking over possible dress choices with the saleswoman, the mischievous toddler managed to climb out of his satchel and onto a table in the lingerie section. When you caught him, he was playing in a pile of lace thongs with one pair dangling off his ear. Even more amusing was Mando who was trying to extract the kiddo from his panty pile while trying hard not to touch any of the thongs. Thankfully, the saleswoman thought it was all utterly charming and laughed right along with you. Now Mando and the little guy are sitting together looking only slightly out of place on an elegant velvet sofa while they wait for you to try on dresses.

It’s been so long since you’ve shopped for anything this fancy, you were feeling a little intimidated at first. Yet the more you viewed the beautiful gowns, the more excited you became at the prospect of wearing one for the evening. The selection in this shop is lovely and since you know Eugene is paying, for once you’re not worried about the price. You slip on the first dress and can’t help but smile at your stylish reflection. This first one is a slinky satin gown that hugs your curves. You step out into the main area of the dressing rooms where Mando is waiting and where there is also a large three-sided mirror.

“Oh that looks very nice on you,” the saleswoman says.

You turn to look at yourself in the multiple angles offered from the mirror, “I’m not sure, what do you think, Mando?”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly. Well, with that lack of enthusiasm, you know this dress is out.

The next dress is more of a ball gown style and it’s kind of a lot with a beaded bodice and a full tulle skirt. Still you figure you should see it in the better mirror for the full effect.

“Oh no, I look like a red powder puff!” You say in dismay.

“I like it better,” Mando says, and then under his breath you just barely hear him say, “You’re more covered up.”

“I can’t wear this and be taken seriously.” It’s on to dress number three.

As you adjust the straps for the third dress, you find your face heating up at your reflection. This dress screams trophy girlfriend as it is super sexy. The deep sweetheart neckline shows off a lot of cleavage and there are thigh-high slits on both sides of the skirt.

You’re barely out of the dressing room when you hear, “Absolutely not.”

You can see Mando’s visor trained on you and it feels like that black T is boring a hole into your body.

“I don’t know, I think I look really good in this one.” Wow, when you turn around you can see that this dress is practically backless.

“You look fabulous! Very hot!” the saleswoman coos at you.

“Go change.” Mando’s voice sounds deeper somehow and he’s using his this-is-not-a-request voice. A little naughty part of you wants to argue back with his demand, but you did tell him that you didn’t want Eugene to get too liberal with his definition of affection, so you figure Mando’s probably right.

When you head back to the dressing room, you’re down to just one more dress and as you slip it over your head, you know that this is the one. It’s made of a soft, floaty chiffon with a bodice that accentuates your bust and your waistline. The skirt flows down your hips and legs gracefully and while there’s a slit in this dress too, it’s more hidden and only offers a glimpse of leg as you move. When you step out of the dressing room this time all you hear is a soft murmur of approval from the saleswoman.

You smile at your reflection as you twirl a little in the mirror and imagine how nice you will look with your hair styled and with your evening makeup.

“This has to be the one,” the saleswoman is saying to you now, “Doesn’t she look enchanting?” and she turns to Mando for his approval.

Mando nods his helmet slightly, but remains quiet. You didn’t really expect him to say much, but you were hoping for a bit more than that. At least he isn’t disapproving of this gown though.

“I have the perfect shoes to go with this dress. I’ll be right back!” The saleswoman tells you.

Din waits until she is out of earshot and then says softly, “You look beautiful.” He watches as your face lights up with his compliment and you thank him, reaching out to grasp his arm briefly as you do. That seems to be a thing you do now when you’re particularly pleased with something he’s done. You turn back to the mirror to inspect the dress more and he lets his gaze roam over you.

The truth is Din thought you looked beautiful in all of the dresses, even in the silly puffy one. He didn’t want to encourage you too much with the first dress because although you looked great it in, the style was fairly revealing and he disliked the idea of Eugene seeing you in it. But then, that third dress, Maker, he almost had a heart attack when he saw you in that. It was so sexy he wanted to rip it off you right there in the middle of the store. There was no way in hell any other man was going to see you in that. This dress you’re wearing now is more sophisticated and gives off more of a sensual elegance than outright sexiness. He still hates the idea of Eugene seeing you in it and what’s more thinking that you chose the dress special for him. This whole job is stupid, but he can’t deny the money is too good to pass up. Still he doesn’t trust Eugene to have such pure intentions as he claims and he knows he won’t let the man have a single moment alone with you if he can help it.

You’ve finished choosing the shoes and now you’re heading back into the dressing room to put on your regular clothes. Din breathes a sigh of relief at seeing your normal self again and he feels himself relax a bit. He follows the saleswoman to the register station and watches as she carefully places the gown in a garment bag. You’re about to give the woman Eugene’s account information, when Din hands over his own credit chip to pay for the dress and shoes.

“Mando, what are you doing? Eugene is going to cover the cost of this.” You voice conveys your confusion at his actions.

“I’m not letting another man buy you a dress,” Din mutters.

“Why not? It’s only to wear for this party tonight.” You’re looking at him completely perplexed.

“Because I want to buy it for you,” he says more firmly this time. Din sees a flash of something in your eyes that he likes; it’s a mixture of respect and awe, and perhaps a touch of desire too if he’s not being too hopeful.

“Well, if you’re certain,” you reply softly still looking at him in that new way.

“I am.” Din takes the garment bag from the saleswoman and motions for her to charge everything to his chip. “You’re sure you didn’t want the big puffy dress, though?” And even though you can’t see the smirk on his face, he’s fairly confident you can hear it in his tone.

“Thank you, Mando, but I think this is the best choice.” You let out a light laugh and give him that beaming smile again that he loves to see. You follow him out of the store and then grasp his arm again as you say, “I really do love that dress, thank you for buying it for me.”

“You’re welcome,” Din tells you, wishing that it would just be the two of you going out tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re sure you want to do this? We could still turn around and leave.” This is the second time Mando has asked you that. The first was when you came out of the fresher after finishing your make-up and he saw your completed look for the evening. He didn’t compliment you again, but the long pause he took to look at you and the way he tilted his helmet to the side made your insides flutter nonetheless. Now you’re standing outside Eugene’s door and it seems he’s still having second thoughts.

“It will be fine, Mando. Just remember that this money means you can take a break from hunting and spend some extra time on finding the Jedi for the little guy here.” He sighs in response and knocks on the door.

You shift the toddler in your arms and you look down at him. He’s been having fun playing with the soft material of your dress and he’s got a big handful of your skirt in his little claws right now. The only worry you have is about leaving him with a stranger tonight. Eugene’s mother will probably be fine, but you’ve grown so attached to the child you’re feeling more anxious about being away from him that you anticipated.

“You’ll be a good boy tonight, won’t you, buddy?” You say to the child as you carefully extricate your dress from his little hand. “Mando and I will miss you but we won’t be too late.”

The door opens to reveal Eugene in a tuxedo with a red flower on his lapel and next to him, a cheerful looking older woman.

“Good evening, you look spectacular,” Eugene greets you enthusiastically.

“Thank you, you look dashing yourself,” you respond with a slight flirtiness to your tone. You figure you might as well get used to your role now.

“Oooh! Is this the sweet little baby I get to watch tonight?” The woman seems kind and the child coos at her with interest.

“Yes, thank you for doing this,” you respond pleasantly. You give the little guy a hug and a kiss on his forehead before handling him over to her.

“What a little charmer! You don’t have to worry about a thing, my dear. I’ll take good care of your baby and you take good care of mine.” She says with a wink towards Eugene.

“Th- thank you, mother.” Eugene sounds embarrassed and you try your best not to snicker. “We should get going.” He extends his arm to you and you lightly thread your hand around his elbow.

This whole time Mando hasn’t made a sound and is standing so still you’d almost think he was a suit of armor on display. But when you take Eugene’s arm, Mando lets out a little grunt that sounds like disapproval. You turn to look at him and mouth, “It will be OK” and give him as encouraging a smile as you can. The nod of his helmet to you is slight, but you know he understood.

Eugene leads you out onto the city walkway with Mando following close behind. The party is being held in the largest casino and it’s a short walk from Eugene’s home. Once again, the streets are filled with fashionable people ready for a night on the town. You feel the soft swish of your skirt against your legs and smile again at how nice it feels to be dressed up like this. You make small talk with Eugene, getting comfortable with him so you can make this look like a real date. You resist the urge to turn back and look at Mando though because you know if you do, your feigned interest in Eugene will falter.

By the time you reach your destination, you’ve managed to perfect a nice light laugh at Eugene’s jokes and you feel comfortable enough to lean into him in an affectionate way. As you enter the opulent ballroom of the casino, you paste a brilliant smile onto your face as if you’re simply delighted to be there. Eugene has told you he wants you to help draw the attention of various men in attendance so you figure you’ll sort of openly flirt with the room and see who notices. You catch the eye of a well-dressed older gentleman, and your technique works wonderfully as he comes right over.

“Good evening, I’m Mr. Belvers, the owner of this casino; it’s so very nice to have you here, my dear.” He greets you with a small bow and flourish of his hand.

“Why, thank you!” You respond warmly, “It was so nice of my boyfriend to bring me here tonight. You must know him, Mr. Eugene DeWitt of Advanced Gaming Enterprises?” You introduce Eugene with a smile.

“Oh yes, of course, Mr. DeWitt, how nice to see you again.” With the introductions made, Eugene launches into conversation with Mr. Belvers. You listen as best you can to the business talk and smile and nod like the perfect trophy girlfriend. It’s boring, but really easy when you realize that not much more is expected of you. Finally, with a promise to dance with Mr. Belvers later, the conversation ends and you breathe a small sigh of relief that if anything at least you got Eugene a few minutes with the owner of this place.

“That was incredible!” Eugene is saying excitedly, “I’ve never even met the man before but he acted like we were old friends. You are fantastic!” He gives your hand a squeeze and pulls you a little closer to him. He steers you deeper into the ballroom, eager to make another contact. You turn your head to look at Mando and give him a smile and a subtle nod, which he returns.

The pattern continues throughout the party, you spy an older man, make eyes at him, and reel him in for Eugene. When you’re between conversations, Mando has taken to checking in with you to make sure everything is going well. All in all, it’s about what you expected and you have to admit that Eugene was right; apparently, these men are all easily swayed by the look of a pretty face. You’re please to see that Mando’s presence is having a good effect too. These bigshots are very impressed that Eugene has a Mandalorian for his private security. Several of them have even asked Mando if he’s available for future security jobs too. Who knows, maybe Mando will come away with some business contacts of his own at the end of tonight.

As the evening continues, Eugene seems to be growing more confident, and you’ve noticed he’s taken to placing his arm around your waist. It doesn’t bother you, but occasionally his hand does seem to be a touch low. He also leaned in just a moment ago and let his lips brush your cheek. It wasn’t really much, but still you’re surprised he dared to try it.

“I said no kissing.” Mando’s voice is hard and direct, causing Eugene to flinch and instantly put more space between the two of you. “Keep your hands above her waist too.” Your heartbeat stutters at Mando’s protectiveness and you look at him with a grateful smile. When you’re sure no one else is looking, you give him the flirtatious look you’ve been using all evening and then top it off with a wink. You notice that he clenches his fists as you do this and then gives you a deeper nod in response.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. Din’s mantra for tonight is not a pleasant one. He’d much rather be hunting down a bounty right now than having to watch you flirt and simper to every man in the room. He’d rather be slogging through a swamp or crossing a frozen tundra to catch a quarry than have to watch yet another man ogling you or touching you. And then, there’s Eugene; Din would like to punch him in the face again. The man keeps getting bolder as the night progresses. Din’s caught him staring at your breasts and your ass several times, and he’s clearly getting too handsy. The only thing making this night remotely bearable is the way you keep looking over to him with such sweet glances, as if you’re sharing a secret with him. Although the way you looked at him just now made him want to sweep you up in his arms and haul you out of here as fast as he could. If you do that again, he doesn’t know if he can be responsible for his actions.

Din groans to himself, and prepares for this night to get worse because Eugene is leading you out onto the dance floor. There’s no way for him to follow close to you while you’re dancing and he’s willing to bet that Eugene takes advantage of that opportunity. In an attempt to stay in Eugene’s eye line as much as possible, Din stalks around the dance floor following your swaying movements. He can’t help but watch the graceful way you move as you dance, noticing the soft arch of your back and the delicate glide of your feet across the floor. As he sees Eugene’s arms pull you in closer, Din feels a deep burning anger in his stomach and once again thinks about breaking Eugene’s nose with his fist. This is the worst job ever.

Dancing with Eugene isn’t so bad you decide. It’s a nice break from all the forced flirting and extremely dull conversations you’ve had to put up with all evening. And despite the fact that you’d much rather be dancing with someone else, it’s still a pleasant activity. Moreover, after Mando’s warning, Eugene is back to being a gentleman and keeping his hands in polite territory. He does seem to be enjoying the dancing himself, quite a lot by the expression on his face, although every once in a while his confidence seems to fade for a moment.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Eugene looks at you quizzically.

“Alright,” you agree, curious.

“Are you and the Mandalorian involved? Romantically, I mean?” He looks nervous as he asks this.

“Do you think I would have agreed to this date if we were?” You deflect his question somewhat because you find that you don’t really want to admit that there’s nothing between you and Mando. Especially because it feels like you’ve been growing closer. You think about when he insisted on buying you the dress earlier today, and how special that felt, definitely not something a friend would do. Even tonight, there is this energy between you and Mando that you can’t deny, nevermind that you’re technically on a date with Eugene.

“He seems extremely protective of you.” Eugene replies.

You shrug lightly, “He is.”

“You know, if you wanted something else, a different life, I could make that happen for you,” Eugene looks at your earnestly, “After tonight, I’m going to be an even wealthier man. I would treat you like a princess.”

“Eugene,” you sigh, “I appreciate the offer, but-”

“Don’t answer yet,” he insists, “Think about it. Please.” He pulls you in closer to him so that you’re dancing cheek to cheek. You know he means it to be romantic but you feel nothing. There’s nothing to think about.

When the music ends, you feel relieved that you can put some space between the two of you. You’re turning to look for Mando when unexpectedly you hear a loud crash followed by blaster fire. As if he materialized out of nowhere, Mando is at your side pulling you to the floor and covering you with his body.

“I’ve got you,” Mando says, holding you close with one arm as the other holds his blaster. Your heart is racing and you hear the commotion of many people shouting, rushing feet, and general mayhem. You pull yourself tighter under Mando, squeeze your eyes shut, and try to keep as still as you can. Suddenly, Mando lifts off you slightly and fires three shots in rapid succession.

“It’s alright,” He tells you, “I took care of them. Everything is alright.”

“You’re sure?” Your voice comes out shaky and high-pitched.

“Hey, look at me, come on, look at me” Mando’s voice is soft and comforting, and you tip your head up and open your eyes to look at his visor. “You’re safe, no one will hurt you.”

“Thank you, Mando,” you breathe, feeling relief flood your body. Even though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s looking back at you and it’s soothing.

“You have to let go of me now, cyar’ika, so I can help you up off this floor.” His voice is still soft and you can hear a lightness to it now. You hadn’t realized but you have a death grip on the material of his thick protective shirt on the side of his body. Chuckling weakly at yourself, you release him and he climbs off you before reaching down to pull you back to your feet.

“That was incredible shooting, Mando!” Eugene can’t hide how impressed and excited he.

“I’ll say it was!” the casino owner from before, Mr. Belvers, is coming over to offer his praise to Mando too. He gives Mando’s hand a hearty shake and then raises his voice to address the party, “Folks! Everything looks to be all safe now, thanks to this heroic Mandalorian!”

The partygoers erupt in applause and for the next several minutes, people are coming up to thank Mando personally. You’re glad to see Mando get appreciation he deserves for saving everyone, but from his body language, you think he seems a bit embarrassed by all the attention.

“Who were they?” You turn and ask Mr. Belvers.

“Some thugs who have been plaguing the casinos for weeks now. I think they came here tonight trying to rob people of their valuables. By the way, there is a reward for their capture and I’ll see to it that those credits are yours, sir.” He says this last part directly to Mando.

Din thanks the man and gives him a small card with his guild information, explaining how best to pay him. Now that the danger in the room has cleared, quite literally by casino workers who’ve come to take away the bodies of the dead men, people are starting to go back to the party. These people are so wealthy and spoiled that these violent men and the Mandalorian who dispatched them are already just an amusing anecdote to be shared over cocktails. He is so ready to leave this place. Din looks over to you and sees that while you’re calmer now, you are still visibly shaken from the intrusion of the would-be robbers. He wonders sheepishly if maybe he scared you a little too by yanking you to the ground so quickly, but it was pure instinct to protect you. Nitwit Eugene is rambling on about what an exciting evening it’s been to whoever will listen, completely oblivious to your discomfort. Din decides Eugene’s gotten more than his money’s worth and he’s taking you home right now.

“It’s time for us to leave.” Din’s voice is stern as he steps closer to you and Eugene, not caring that he’s interrupting the man.

“So soon, the party is still going-” Eugene tries to protest, but when he sees Din’s rigid posture, he trails off.

“I am rather tired, Eugene,” you say, and then lower your voice “Besides, it will be better to leave them wanting more.” Din watches as you bat your eyelashes at the man and give him a soft smile, and then like magic, Eugene is agreeing to leave. Din does have to admire your skill at using your feminine wiles to get men to do your bidding. He also knows that if you ever choose to try that with him, he’ll be putty in your hands. He smiles at the thought, but it’s short-lived as soon as he sees Eugene slide his arm around your waist again as he steers you towards the exit. Din tromps after the two of you, at least this stupid job is almost over.

You’re close to Eugene’s place and you’re feeling quite glad that this fake date is almost over. You just want to get the child and hurry back to the Crest so Mando can fly you away from here. Eugene is wittering on telling you how great you were and what a wonderful pair you make, but you’re only barely listening to him. Blessedly when you get to Eugene’s door, Mando is all business.

“It’s time to make the final transfer of credits,” Mando tells Eugene.

“Of course,” Eugene replies, taking out his holopad and completing the necessary functions. “Thank you again, you were both very impressive.”

Eugene opens the door and you and Mando wait for a few minutes until he returns with the little one who is sound asleep. He hands the child to Mando and then turns to you, “I’d like a moment alone to speak to you before we say goodnight.”

“Eugene, I think I did everything you wanted tonight, but our fake date is over.” You say pointedly.

“Please, it will only take a moment.” He looks at Mando, “Please.”

“Fine,” you say and give Mando a small nod. He doesn’t exactly give you any privacy, but Mando does take a few steps away and turns his body slightly so he’s no longer facing you head on.

Eugene takes your hand in his and says in a soft voice, “Please, tell me that you’ve thought about my offer?”

“There’s nothing for me to think about; I belong with them,” you tell him as you pull your hand from his grasp and gesture towards Mando and the child.

“But there’s so much more I can do for you, I can give you more than he can. I can give you a safe home, beautiful clothes and jewelry, you’ll never want for anything.” Eugene must think you’re completely shallow and nothing but a gold digger. “And, I would worship you.” He’s really piling it on thick now.

“Eugene, you don’t even know me, and if you did, you would know that I’m not interested in that life,” you state firmly, “I think it’s time to say goodbye. I wish you all the best with your business.” You turn to go but Eugene reaches out for your arm. Fortunately Mando is already back at your side and he brushes Eugene’s arm away roughly as he says,

“She said no.” Din turns to escort you away, placing his arm around your waist, mimicking Eugene’s earlier touch. It means he’s holding you much closer to his body than he has before when he usually just places a palm on the small of your back. He feels you relax into his touch and for the first time this evening, he feels a sense of rightness. Still though, Eugene’s words I can give you more than he can are ringing in his ears and his self-doubt makes him sigh.

He waits until you are far enough away so that Eugene cannot hear him and in a small voice, Din forces himself to ask you, “You’re certain you don’t want to stay? He did make you a good offer.”

“What? No, I absolutely don’t want to stay with Eugene.” Your answer is swift and a bit shocked.

“I would understand if you did.” Din says, his voice still soft and trying to hide his emotion.

“Mando, do you want me to stay?” You stop and turn to face him so you can look directly at his visor, your face openly displaying your displeasure at his words.

“No,” he says strongly, “I don’t. Not at all. But it would be wrong of me to hold you back if you wanted to leave.”

You slip your hand into his and look at him with soft eyes as you say, “Mando, I don’t want to leave you, or the child. I’m happy with you both, happier than I’ve been in a long time. Eugene is wrong; he doesn’t know what you can give me.”

Din’s heart pounds at your words, as he says, “I’m glad,” he pauses just for a second before he tells you, “I don’t want you to leave us.” He gives your hand a small squeeze and turns to continue walking.

“Besides, there’s no way I could stay with a man I’m not attracted to in the slightest.” Your voice has a lighter tone to it and it breaks a bit of the tension.

“He wasn’t that ugly,” Din shrugs and you laugh in response.

“No, it wasn’t really about his looks, just the overall way he carried himself. I prefer a man with more confidence.” You say.

“Confidence is attractive.” Din agrees with you.

“Yeah, it is. I like a man who can walk into a room and earn everyone’s respect just by the way he holds himself. That’s incredibly attractive.” You give him a slight side-glance as you say this. “But if we’re being shallow, then I also wasn’t physically attracted to Eugene either.”

“Why not?” Din’s curiosity is peaked.

“He was much too skinny.” You wrinkle your nose a bit as you say this.

“You like chubby men?” Din chuckles, and while he’s not chubby, he thinks of his own stomach which isn’t quite as flat as it used to be when he was younger.

“I like bigger men,” you clarify, “Men who are broader, more muscular. Although chubby is cute too. When I cuddle with a guy, I want something to cuddle in to.”

“Is that so?” It’s not lost on Din that what you’ve just described is essentially him and he can’t deny how much he likes hearing that. Plus, now he’s imagining what it would be like to cuddle with you. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought however, because you’re giggling at something.

“Well and then there was the worst part, his name,” you say rather playfully.

“What was wrong with his name?” Din’s never thought about a name being part of someone’s attractiveness.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could seriously moan out Eugene in a moment of passion.” You’re consumed by giggles at the idea.

Din is stunned by what you’ve just said and all he can think about is what your voice might sound like if you were to moan out his name, his real name. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to need to respond to you as you’re still wracked with laughter.

“Oh no!” You stop laughing and gasp, “I didn’t think.”

“What?” He has no idea what could be bothering you.

“Your name isn’t Eugene, is it?” Your eyes are wide as you look at him.

Din lets out a loud laugh at how comically horrified you look at the prospect. He’s still chuckling as he tells you, “Hell no.”

“Thank the Maker,” you mutter under your breath, making Din laugh again.

You’ve made your way back to the Razor Crest now and it isn’t until you have to let go of him so that he can open the ramp, that you realize you’ve been holding Mando’s hand this entire time. It felt so natural and easy to walk holding his hand, and you hope he felt the same way. You watch as he tucks the child into his pram for the night. You should probably go get yourself ready for bed, but you want to keep talking to Mando.

“May I ask you a question?” You say as he turns back towards you.

“Of course.” He nods to you.

“Why were you so adamant about no kissing tonight? I mean not that I wanted to kiss Eugene,” you make a face at the idea, “But, it seemed to really bother you?”

“Oh” Is all that he says and then he looks away slightly. You wait patiently but for a while it seems as though that might be the only answer you get, until he finally says, “I didn’t want to see him kiss you. I don’t want to see any man kiss you.”

The air between you feels suddenly charged, and you look into his visor where you think his eyes are, and you can’t help yourself from asking, “Why not?”

“Because I can’t kiss you.” Mando admits.

“Do- do you want to kiss me?” You can’t believe you’re daring to ask him that but you need to know.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he says and you can hear frustration in his tone, “I shouldn’t and I can’t.”

“I would like to kiss you, but only if it’s something you want too,” you admit to him softly.

“I do want to kiss you,” Mando sighs and he moves towards you slightly but then holds himself in check.  

“So Mandalorians don’t kiss? I just want to understand, I don’t want to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do or that goes against your beliefs,” you explain, wanting him to understand that you respect his creed. You can’t deny how much you want to feel closer to him and show him how you feel, but the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable or do something he’ll regret.

“They do, there are… loopholes, but I- I’ve never-, I want to, but-” Mando shifts his feet and looks down.

“It’s ok, I understand.” You’re quiet for a moment and you think perhaps you should just drop this. But then you can’t stop yourself from asking, “What about the Keldabe Kiss? Didn’t you say there was something softer?” Your face heats up as you remember that moment well; you’ve thought about it often.

“You remembered that?” Mando says in a low voice.

“It was pretty unforgettable, Mando,” you reply with a smile.

“There is a softer version. I could show you. If you’d let me.” His voice sounds hopeful.

“I’d like that.”

He steps closer to you then and seems to stare at your face for a long moment until you decide to close the distance between you two. You’re so close you can hear him breathing. He reaches up and places his large hands on either side of your face, holding you still, as he slowly brings his helmet down to touch your forehead. When he finally makes contact, you hear him let out a shaky breath. You bring your hands to his waist and pull him in a little closer to you as you maintain contact with him. While this isn’t what you pictured when you thought of kissing him, you can’t deny how intimate and special it feels. Just from the deliberate way that Mando is holding you, tells you how important this is for him. You stay like that holding each other and feeling suspended in time.

“I know this isn’t the same as real kissing,” Mando says, “but I like holding you like this. I’ve thought about doing this a lot.” His voice is so soft you almost feel like you imagined his confession.

“I like it too,” you tell him. You’re about to tell him how much you’ve thought about being held by him as well, when suddenly the child’s cries fill the air. Just like that, the moment between you and Mando is gone and you hurry over to pick up the little one and soothe him.

“I guess I should go get us on our way. Besides, he always sleeps better when we’re in hyperspace.” Din takes a step towards the ladder, but then pauses before coming over to you and dropping his helmet down onto your forehead again for just a few seconds. It’s a small gesture, but his heart soars at being able to do it. He gives the child a comforting pat on the back before turning away and heading to the cockpit, his head full of thoughts of you.

P.S. Don’t think that you missed hearing him call you cyar’ika, you’ll be sure to ask him about it later ;)

--------‐------------------------------------Thank you for reading! Here's the link to Chapter 5 Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in later chapters.

Tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @sleepwithacommunist @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @ladyjenny19 @peppywitch @haley7242 

[thefanficmonster]

will you do an oompaville x reader.? like maybe one where you’re at a wedding with him and he asks you to dance.?

Omg an oompaville request!!! I'm so grateful dear! Thank you so much for your lovely request, please enjoy the one-shot 🥰

Perfect Sync

Pairing: Oompaville (Caleb) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

There are certain pros and cons to being so distanced from your extended family. And I mean DISTANCED, in all capitals. I actually live in a completely different state on the completely opposite side of the US and yet I still somehow got an invitation to my cousin's wedding. To be fair, it's not that surprising, seeing as how she's the only cousin I have comprehendible memories with from my childhood. She's a really sweet girl - no, woman - and it kinda sucks that we haven't had the chance to catch up in so long.

Among the many other cons is the fact that I don't know a single person at this wedding. Not. A. Single. Person. Sure, there have been several elderly and middle aged couples who've approached me, claiming they know me and given me a huge hug, asking me how my parents were doing. Speaking of my parents, they are a pair of sneaks who avoided coming to the wedding themselves saying they were stuck with a stomach virus while they're actually vacationing in Canada. How wonderful of them, don't you think?

They are chilling in Canada and I'm over here boiling and sweating over my third, possibly forth glass of champagne of the evening, not to mention the wedding hasn't even properly started yet. Count on me switching to whiskey when it does.

Sitting at the table I was pointed to upon arrival, I let my gaze skim over the immense garden decorated with beautiful flowers, fairy lights and handmade décor pieces. Each table and bar is under a white tent, just like the one I’m currently sitting under. It’s a beautiful sight and I can only imagine it’s only gonna get even prettier when the sun finally sets completely and all these fairy lights come on. That’s one of the few good things about my attendance at this event today. The ‘good’ things have been so little in number I can probably count them on the fingers of one hand: 1.I briefly saw and chatted with my cousin who was practically trembling out of excitement, anxiety and happiness. Good for her; 2. I’ve downed so many drinks that would probably cost me a fortune at a club or bar and I’m decently buzzed. Very cool; 3. I made friends with one of the bridesmaids because I had time to kill - turns out she wanted to be at this wedding as much as me: not at all; 4. I caught a whiff of the dinner which was still being cooked and damn am I excited about it; 5. The garden is absolutely breathtaking and it’s a sight worth sticking around for. See, as I said, few enough good things to be able to count them on the fingers of one hand.

And what about that cute guy from earlier?, my subconsciousness nudges me teasingly, causing me to almost evidently roll my eyes.

The hot guy being referred to right now is the one I damn near ran over when I was pulling up to this fancy estate. In my defense, I’m still getting used to the rental car I got when I landed in Texas two days ago, and plus he came out of literally nowhere. Luckily, he wasn’t mean or upset about it, took it quite lightly which was relieving and surprising. 

Not gonna lie though, he was really cute.

I see the people all over the garden hurriedly take a seat when it gets announced that the newly weds are about to have their first dance. I cross my legs, finishing the champagne in one go before I can focus my attention on the lovely couple that’s just stepped out of the mansion-like house and onto the soft grass of the lawn, slowly making their way towards the center where they’re supposed to have the dance - aka where everyone will be dancing afterwards too.

Everyone but me, I’ll be busy chilling by the bar, hopefully in the company of that bridesmaid who I can crack jokes with without feeling guilty.

The two dance in perfect sync, their movements almost mesmerizing to the human eye. I’m no professional dancer but I don’t have two left feet either, yet I’m still amazed by this perfection before me. I bet all the cash I took with me from New York - which is a lot, I expected to spend a lot - that they’ve practiced this more than once. Or at least I hope they have as to make me feel better about my own skills - or the lack thereof.

“I take it you’re a lot less dangerous when you’re not behind the wheel.“ A quiet comment emerges next to my ear, loud enough for me to hear but hushed as to not disturb the couple nor the mob of people watching them in awe.

My eyebrows shoot up. I’ve maybe heard that voice only once before but that teasing tone made me blush like mad earlier and that’s hard to forget. I have a hard time forgetting embarrassment.

Biting my lip, I slowly turn to face him, “I can’t guarantee, there are plenty of sharp objects around after all.“

There’s that same wide smile I saw earlier when my entire life flashed before my eyes. His probably did too but unlike me, he didn’t show it. “Some luck I have sitting next to you then.“ He chuckles, handing me a glass of whiskey. I take it hesitantly, giving him a suspiciously raised eyebrow. “You look like you could use one.“ He shrugs, taking a sip of his own. When my expression doesn’t change and I don’t make a move to ingest the beverage, he rolls his eyes, “Yeah I’m someone you’re seeing for the second time in your life, and yeah you might think I could want revenge for my nearly damaged health, but I don’t. And if you don’t want the whiskey...” he reaches to take it back but I quickly put it up to my lips and take a long sip, causing him to smile. “There you go!”

Oh boy does the taste of whiskey hit different after sipping on champagne for hours. I nod to him in gratitude. “Thanks, I strongly appreciate this.”

He nods back, his smile now a smaller one but still preserving the same amount of joy as when it was a full-blown grin, “I’m Caleb, by the way.”

“Y/N, nice to meet you.“ I reply, feeling the tension in my shoulders easing and the embarrassed blush fading. This guy just has such a chill aura, it’s nice being in his company. Hell, I’ll even go as far as to say if I simply had to almost hit someone with my car today, I’m glad it was him.

As more and more people emerge from their seats, heading hand in hand to the dancefloor to join the newlyweds, I finish my whiskey and am contemplating on going to get myself another but before I can decide, Caleb arises from his seat as well. He takes a stand in front of me, offering me his hand, “Well, there’s very little damage you can do you me out on the dancefloor, right?” He chuckles when he sees he’s made me blush again - third time today, damn it - but then he assumes a more serious facial expression, his smile never faltering though, “Care to accompany me for a dance, Y/N?”

I pretend to think the offer over, weighing my options and its pros and cons when in reality I dam near accepted the same second he asked. “Hmm, ok...“ I say finally, resting my hand in his, “That is, if you promise not to step on my feet. These are some expensive shoes I’m wearing.“

He lets out a genuine laugh as he leads us to the dancefloor, one that I’ll admit is hella contagious, “Says the person who almost ran my ass over earlier. Am I not expensive, huh?”

I give him a confused look, hiding fits of laughter, “I don’t know, Caleb. Are you?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, best offer you’d get for me on Craigslist is like, a dollar? Two if you’re lucky.”

And that’s all it takes to break the dam holding back my laughter, sending me in fits of giggles as we start dancing. My laughter ends just as quickly as it starts though when I realize how in-sync our dancing is. Perfectly synchronized. 

Huh, wonder why, that annoying voice pokes at my peace again. But I don’t let it get to me. Not now at least. I’m just gonna enjoy this moment, dancing with a practical stranger, gazing into his warm and welcoming eyes.

Suddenly I need another hand to count the good things about this wedding since I have to add three new points: 6. Almost hitting Caleb with my car; 7. Officially meeting Caleb; 8. Dancing with him.

Dancing with him in perfect sync

Oh, shut it, I don’t wanna start blushing again.

[palbabor-writes]

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex     

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them. 

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE. 

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb  a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at. 

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town. 

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed. 

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.” 

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off. 

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar. 

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while. 

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you. 

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch? 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor. 

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth. 

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction. 

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle. 

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands. 

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor. 

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.” 

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.  

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******     

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves. 

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious. 

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his. 

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer. 

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off. 

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly. 

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take. 

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along. 

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it. 

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness.  It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins. 

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******   

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar. 

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer. 

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.  

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well. 

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter. 

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers. 

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law. 

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him. 

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered. 

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too. 

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight. 

The white shine of his hair always gives him away. 

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?” 

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.” 

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger. 

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?” 

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it. 

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark. 

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze. 

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his. 

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now. 

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

******                

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him. 

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension. 

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions. 

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine. 

******    

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened. 

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation. 

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features. 

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness. 

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly. 

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion. 

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists. 

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don���t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens. 

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might. 

Late one evening, your phone rings. 

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive. 

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. 

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor. 

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so... 

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you. 

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.” 

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this. 

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want. 

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting. 

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him. 

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him. 

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you. 

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you. 

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips. 

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks. 

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on. 

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult. 

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you. 

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips. 

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh. 

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes. 

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth. 

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good. 

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands. 

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes. 

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking. 

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips. 

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him. 

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking. 

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration. 

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him. 

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his. 

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you. 

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him. 

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue. 

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you. 

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience. 

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?” 

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection. 

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor. 

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head. 

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different. 

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed. 

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher. 

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.” 

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes. 

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished. 

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs. 

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent. 

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind. 

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have. 

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality. 

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going. 

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin. 

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall. 

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub. 

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it. 

He’s never been alone, not like this. 

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same. 

He needs to see this through. 

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away. 

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple. 

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go. 

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin. 

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme. 

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

[sxltedcxramel]

Screw artists block all my homies hate artists block

Reki x gn!reader

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Reki’s going through the artist’s block, so you help him

: ̗̀➛ Current Word Count: 1015

: ̗̀➛ Chapters: 1/2 (might change)

: ̗̀➛ Tag(s): Reki, Kyan, Reki, p!yn x reki, fluff, slight angst, I'm legit putting my issues on reki and that's ok, sk8 the infinity, Joe

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: slight cursing, slight angst

: ̗̀➛ Taglist: Here

: ̗̀➛ Link(s): Ao3

: ̗̀➛ Notes: Bruh my last piece of writing was a year ago.... hi I'm back "sweats nervously" If you follow my page yk I've been saying I've been writing a story for like *checks watch* some time... Guys in my defence I've been reading fanfics not writing them. But seriously I've been deal dealing with mental health shit and s c h o o l. I'm tryna get in the grove of writing but not force it so I won't go back into writer's block. Also, I know most of my storied were DSMP last year I still write for that fandom (seriously check my unfinished stories) But I still wanna include my other fandoms since this isn't really an MCYT or DSMP-centric blog. But yeah enough rambling feel free to drop into my inbox I don't bite, I'm also accepting requests so shoot! Especially if you're a moot I love talking to you guys (sorry I haven't been active much T-T.

Reki banged his head on his sketchbook endlessly, markers falling off the wooden desk one by one onto the wooden floor. He this close to burning those markers, or chopping his hands off and switching them with a new pair, whichever would cure him of this disease or was it a curse? Wait if this was a cure does that mean he’ll never get over it? The redhead gripped his hair and yelled in pain.

“Will you shut up!” you whisper-shout in annoyance “How’s someone supposed to concentrate in a place like this!”

“Please” Reki grumbled “I’m actually going through something right now unlike a certain someone who’s playing games behind their textbook” he hisses with no malice behind his words ``Seriously who are you fooling.”  You shushed him quickly eyeing around for teachers “Dude you’re gonna get me in trouble, plus it is important.” A cocky smirk appeared on your face “I’m about to put Miya in his place.” 

Reki placed his hand on his chin rolling his eyes “Yeah. Never going to happen he’s like a total boss” 

You gaped at him dramatically “Reki! You don’t have any faith in me” 

“Shh its study hall you’re so friken loud man” 

“Thats rich coming from the loudest guy I know” you glared at the redhead “That reminds me it’s not like your studying either so don’t be a hypocrite buddy”

“Who are you calling-!” a loud smack that could be heard down the hall (if you knew who was in that class you’d know it was Reki who got smacked with the teacher's lesson plan, it effectively shuts the teen up )

You quietly snicker as the redhead pouts muttering something along the lines of ‘I didn’t start it’

You sigh as you put your phone down on the wooden desk grabbing a pen to scribble a note to the boy. 

<I’ll help you cure your disease>

You watch as he frowns trying to open up the note, not even a millisecond later the sun rises from behind that frown. You watch Reki quickly write his response.

<REALLY!! Thank you y/n I owe you one!! :D>

You sighed as you shoved the crumpled note into your binder, between the mess of classwork and notes you had no idea which was which It was like ww3 in your book bag. 

You made two mental notes that day

Organise my shit 

Stop getting involved with sunshine kids I feel myself getting blind by the second

Operation: Destroy the art block monster!

“Alright, first things first!” You smile as Reki stands up straight ready to get to work “As a slime defeating a level 20 boss you have to be absolutely ready to be at your feet at all cost, I don’t want to hear no crying, no whining, no nothing! Got that.” you said in a mock commander voice, this was it you were ready to get to business.

“Yes ma’am!” Reki yelled 

“Our objective” you hit a stick on the brick wall “Defeat the monster blocking your creative vision, for that we need the most powerful weapon of all.” Reki nodded his head eagerly mimicking a golden retriever “Are you ready to know what it is” the redhead once again shook his head excitedly “Good!”

A wave of silence passed through 

“Your wallet” 

“I’m sorry what?”

“You heard me, I’m fucking starving, I’m not doing shit on an empty stomach let's go to Joe’s place.”

Needless to say, Y/N completely obliterated Reki’s paycheck from last week

No seriously, Reki swears flies flew out of his wallet

Reki tapped in annoyance and he wanted his best friend munched happily on their food, he noticed how your whole world turned to colour as you took a bite out of Joe’s food. 

Whoever said food was the way to the soul was right 

‘BUT STILL, I NEED TO DRAW AND ANY TIME THIS CENTURY WOULD BE NICE’ Reki screamed in his head 

Y/N looked up to see the boy bouncing his leg up and down very quickly while narrowing his hazel eyes at the half-eaten plate of pasta. You sigh “Dude chillax your vibe is gonna ruin the food.”

“Y/N!-” 

“I’ll help you  just let me eat” you replied dragging out the syllabus

“Bu-!”

Before Reki could even finish his sentence, shit before he could even finish word Joe showed popped up behind Reki. Propping up his arm onto Reki’s wild hair he put up his signature grin “Y/N, Reki! How are my favourite customers!?” The green-haired man chuckled “Y/N I see you're enjoying the hell out of my pasta” 

You grinned “Joe!” which was followed by a “Hey Joe” from Reki which by the way made the pasta go from ‘Al dente’ to extra hella soft it might as well be soggy noodles

Joe looked at the usually energetic child with concern “Whats up Reki, you usually die for my cooking. Aren’t you going to eat too?”

“Not hungry” he mumbled

Joe eyed you curiously with a questioning look, you sigh softly “He’s going through artist block right now so he’s all depressy” Joe hummed in understanding 

“Y/N said they would help me but all they did was help me blow off my paycheck.”

“S’not my fault Joe have good ass food”

“Exactly it’s not her fault I have good food”

“Stop encouraging them!” He cried out while Joe let out a boisterous laugh and ruffled Reki’s hair and patted yours. “Alright alright, I’ll stop.” He smiled softly really giving off positive dad vibes “But seriously Reki don’t sweat it, there's a process for everything. I’m sure you’re inspiration will come back soon.” Reki smiled softly muttering a ‘thanks Joe’ under his breath “Ok kids I got to go before my chefs blow up my kitchen, I’ll catch ya later tonight, Y/N make sure you help Reki.” 

A chorus of ‘Ok dad, see you later’ came from both the teens after Joe walked away “I am not your dad!” came a shout from the kitchen making both of you giggle.

Taglist: @tanoukiiukii @angstyx

[sinfully-chubby]

Omg I want a request for Sammy Winchester!!!! So here we go: Sam likes when the reader wears his flannels because they cling to her curves and pronounce them? He thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen so he makes it a point for her to wear them everywhere?

Hey thanks for sending this in. I'm sorry if this is coming late. I got really busy with school and the holidays that came up as well. I had fun writing this and I hope you like and enjoy it. 

    Curves - Sam Winchester x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Warnings: Not really to much to warn about. There might be body appreciation and just implied smut, but no actual smut

Word Count: 1,630

The first time he caught you wearing one of his plaid shirts was way before the two of you had gotten together. 

Him and Dean had been on a hunt out of state. The hunt was a pretty long one and you had stayed behind, helping them from the bunker. The hunt ended on a pretty good note, they luckily had very few casualties and he was just happy to be home.

Walking through the doors of the bunker, they had made there way down into the building. Once inside they were greeted by you coming form the direction of the library. While Dean had greeted you with the usual flirt, Sam could only stare at you. There you were standing in the map room wearing his flannel shirt. He stared at you enjoying the sight of you in his shirt. It was pretty big on you, but it seemed to not only hug your body, but seemed to be falling of it as well.

He had even let out an obvious gulping sound as he stared. When Dean finally walked away, you had turned your look to him smiling your pretty smile, making his heart flutter at how cute you were. When you greeted him you smiled more tilting your head waiting for a response.

"Hey Sam are you ok?"

Nodding his head he gave you a small smile in return.

"Yeah I'm alright, y/n why are you wearing my shirt?"

When you looked down at the shirt your nervously started fiddling with the ends of it. You looked so cute when your were shy or nervous.

"I don't have any clean clothes right now."

"So why my clothes?"

He wasn't angry, he could never be angry over this, but he was very curious.

"I didn't want to go into Dean’s room. he may have cleaned it, but I'm scared something came to life and lives there now. What with how long he camps in there with food sometimes."

He gives a small laugh at the adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

"I don't blame you, something probably did."

Laughing at that, you both settle down walking further into the room. While talking Sam couldn't help but wonder what you would look like in his shirts all the time.

Sadly it wouldn’t be for another few months until you wore another shirt claiming you once again didn’t have clean clothes. Luckily the next time was after a hunt.

This time you had tagged along, helping out with what seemed to be a den of vampire's. The hunt had been long and tiring and not having enough energy to start driving home so you had decided to crash at hotel for the night. There were only two beds and a pull out couch, so you had decided to take the pull out couch even though Sam had offered up the bed but you had declined, he wish he could have shared the bed with you.

You had called first shower after the hunt was over, of course Dean griped about it. So of course when you guys had gotten there you had went in with your duffel bag hanging off your shoulders. 

You weren't in there for to long, but Sam almost chocked on the quick in take of breath when you walked out of the bathroom. There you were standing in the doorway of the bathroom wearing Sams favorite flannel shirt. It was the red flannel. It was unbuttoned slightly and hanging slightly off of one of your shoulders showing off the black spaghetti strap tank top. The shirt came down towards mid thigh showing the small skin tight black shorts.

Letting out an audible gulp he started at you as you toweled off the top of your head. While he gaped at you, Dean was watching his brothers reactions from the small table in the corner of the small motel room. Dean snickers at him laughing at how flustered Sam looked. Smirking to himself Dean, as casually as possible, stood from his chair, grabbed his jacket form the back and threw it on quickly.

"Well I'm gonna go grab us something to eat."

And without another word to you or Sam, he left walking right out the door while you and Sam stared after him.

Once the door was closed you glanced at Sam, nervous about being alone with him. It wasn’t a big secret, Dean knew of course, as well as Jody to. But it didn’t make you any less nervous being around Sam. 

Taking in a deep breath Sam gave you a nervous smile as he stared at your bare feet on the floor. It had been a while sense you and Sam had really been alone, sure there where small moments, but people always had a way of either appearing or are already lurking. So in all reality there was never really a moment alone.

Messing the skin around your nails, you smiled at Sam as you went to sit down the pulled out couch bed. You looked nervous as you sat down tentatively on the couch bed. Once you were sure it wouldn’t get crushed or collapse under your weight, an irrational fear yes, but one the worried you none the less. 

You sat down trying to get as comfortable as you can as Sam smiled at you.

"Tonight's hunt went by pretty quick. Good thing to."

Sam nodded his head in agreement tapping his thumbs together before responding.

"It was quick and efficient, no thanks to you."

Shrugging your shoulders you smile looking down at your feet, not caring about how the big shirt slipped further off your shoulders. Looking at where the shirt had slipped Sam eyed you s/c skin. Eyes following the parts where your body curved out, and looking at the dip of your low cut tank top shirt. 

Now don't get him wrong a shoulder wasn't gonna make him start climbing walls, but when he looked at you all he wanted to do was mark up and enjoy the sounds of pleasure that would come out of your mouth. If he were to continue, what would be stopping him from throwing you to the bed and taking you apart piece by piece.

To say the least the thought was very, very tempting.

"All I did was help with the searching and interviewing nothing to special."

Sam had almost forgotten about the conversation at hand. So standing from the bed he walks over and sits down next to you. Your shoulders brush against each other, a warmth settling in your chest at the close proximity.

"But the help was very much appreciated."

You give a hesitant smile, enjoying the warmth Sams body was letting off.

"I'm glad I was able to help, its better than just sitting in the bunker waiting to hear what happens."

"I understand what you mean, I used to worry about all the people who went on other hunts, and when they didn't report back I would get concerned."

Nodding your head you lay your head on his shoulder letting a small smile grace your lips.

"I worry about you guys all the time. But I worry about you the most."

For once Sam feels sheepish as he smiles at you feeling a little flushed at what you had said.

"You worry about me?"

You feel heat rising to your face as you duck your head once more raising your hand to scratch at the back of your head.  It wasn't like a weird awkward thing, of course you worried about Sam. After all you did love the giant moose man even if he didn't know.

"Of course I do Sam, what you and Dean do isn't easy, and is definitely very dangerous."

He nods his head at that, he could see why you would be worried. Reaching out to you, he wraps his arm around your back grabbing your other shoulder and pulling you towards him in a hug.

"It's alright y/n I know the feeling. Even though you don't hunt a lot, your life is still in constant danger. Even just by knowing me and Dean."

Leaning into the hug you lay your head on his shoulder.

"Yeah well you can't get rid of me that easily."

Smiling a each other you let out a small laugh.

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

Almost like being drawn towards you. Sam leans down kissing you softly. Your surprised at first but lean into the kiss more. Deepening the kiss Sam and you move further onto the little pull out couch Sam's arms wrapping themselves around your waist and pulling you into his lap. Thighs spreading wide as you settled down, pressed tightly to Sam.

To say the least the night ended pretty well. That is if you minus the ruined sheets and maybe the broken pull out bed. In the end Dean didn't come back to the hotel room that night, Sam and you never got any sleep.

But ever sense then you and Sam have been going steady. There have been times when things seemed to hit rough patch, and times where you would hate your body so much that it made you sick looking at yourself.

But Sam's always had a way of helping you though it as much as he can. In the end if one of Sam's many plaid shirts went missing he would always find you wearing one. Looking as beautiful as always.

His favorite part is how he can always admire those curves.

[kindahoping4forever]

Watch Me Bloom: A Few Weeks Ago // Ashton Irwin

Thanks to everyone who read, shared and/or sent a kind word about A Few Months Ago. I’ve never divided up a fic like this before so it’s been both exciting and nerve-wracking, but I’m so pleased to see the response! 

The concept for this section came about early on but I revised and retooled it a lot so again, many thank yous to @cal-puddies​​ for the constant (and I mean constant) encouragement, reassurance and support that I require when writing, I know I was especially needy about this one. 😂 Also shout out to @ashtonangst​​ for the last minute notes and vote of confidence on the final revision.

No thanks to Ashton Irwin for distracting me, stealing my thunder and generally being a Gremlin TWICE IN ONE DAY. He’s the worst and I love him 😌

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash featuring the slightest hint of angst, unprotected sex within an established relationship, shower sex, mirror sex, playful spanking, wow there’s really not a graceful euphemism for tit fucking is there? Well there’s elements of that as well as oral sex performed on a male and brief cum play. But like. All in a soft, fluffy context lmao

Word Count: 3390

Watch Me Bloom Masterlist

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

You exhale loudly as you shut your laptop and reach for your phone. You’d arranged to take the morning off, wanting to be with Ashton when news of his album broke online, to watch the chaos unfold, to enjoy seeing him take in all the love and excitement you knew he deserved.

You were grateful to be working from home but it’s often difficult to get away and unfortunately, you woke up to calls about a work emergency, resulting in an unavoidable Zoom meeting that dominated your morning. Ash was understanding but you couldn’t help how disappointed you were.

You scroll through the messages from him, smiling at the liberal use of exclamation points and bizarre choice of emojis used to convey his excitement about the screenshots and links he’d sent you. He’s already getting press and the fans are losing their minds at every new piece of information. You’re thrilled for him but can’t shake how defeated you feel that you weren’t able to be there to experience it all firsthand.

You consider heading downstairs to check in but you note he’s probably getting ready to post his official announcement by now. Not wanting to disturb him, you instead decide to head for the bathroom, thinking a hot shower might improve your mood. You stop to answer one last text, reassuring him that (save for the spelling errors you corrected), the draft of his post is excellent and the fans will be ecstatic to hear him confirm the news.

You step under the rainfall shower head and stand still, letting the hot water run over your body, feeling your shoulders drop and your muscles relax. You close your eyes, enjoying the chance to shut off your brain after a morning of feeling so many varied emotions.

After a few minutes, you begin your routine and you’ve just finished with your body scrub when you hear footsteps shuffling through the doorway; you turn to see Ashton observing you through the glass shower walls. “Well, hi,” he greets you, tone flirty as his gaze flickers up and down your wet, naked body.

You can’t help but feel your mood brighten at his presence. “Hi,” you match his inflection, laughing. “All posted? Officially in business?”

Even through the slight steam you can see the pride on his face. “Officially,” he beams.

“Excellent,” you smile back. You turn away momentarily to return the sprayer to its mount and chuckle when you hear the shower door. Within seconds, Ash is naked behind you, slinking his arms around your waist and fitting his face into the crook of your neck, swaying with you as he presses quick kisses into your neck. .

“Just announced your very own album and yet you’re still gonna act like finding your girlfriend in the shower is the most exciting thing to happen to you today?” You tease, leaning back against him.

He laughs as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. “Even in the big moments, gotta take the time to appreciate the everyday ones,” he murmurs, biting gently.

You squeeze his hands as they rest on your hips. “Well, speaking of big moments, I still feel bad that I missed out on this morning, Ash,” you softly admit.

"Baby, it couldn’t be helped," he says nonchalantly, sweetly kissing your cheek before spinning you around to face him.

You’re not quite ready to meet his eyes, so you play with the chain around his neck as you choose your words. “I know, but… you’ve really made an effort with some of the stuff we talked about, like coming to bed with me or having dinner together. So I kind of feel like I’m not showing you the same courtesy - and for something so much more monumental,” you point out.

“Sweetheart, your work isn’t any less important than mine,” he frowns, brushing your wet hair off your face. “I know you wanted to be there and that means a lot, I don’t feel slighted at all, I promise.”

Ashton cups your face and kisses you sincerely. When you pull away, you rest your head on his shoulder; he pecks the top of your head and then reaches for the shampoo. You smile to yourself as you feel him begin to apply it to your hair. He gently taps you and you loudly smooch his shoulder before lifting your head and turning your back to him once again. He works the shampoo into a lather, applying just the right amount of pressure with his fingertips to give you a relaxing scalp massage.

There’s a cozy tranquility in the air as he grabs the handheld sprayer and rinses your hair out, cutely shielding your eyes when he comes close to your face, having learned from past showers gone wrong. Next he applies your conditioner and while it sets, you have him lean closer to you so you can wash his hair. It’s the longest and curliest it’s been since you’ve known him and you truly can’t get enough of it.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he breaks the silence to say, “You know, it’s pretty sexy that you’re so good at your job the whole company was ready to fall apart just because you wanted the morning off."

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened. I’m so glad you’re not threatened by my #GirlBoss nature,” you giggle. You scratch your nails over his scalp as you finish lathering his hair and the resulting groan has you absentmindedly biting your lip.

“Never! Plus it means less work for me,” he jokes, yelping as you tug on his hair in response.

You finish up with each other’s hair, chatting and joking easily. When you’re done, you burrow into his chest again and he hugs you tight against him. “You OK, love?” He asks.

“Yeah, just enjoying being close to you on your special day,” you answer softly, smiling as you trace the trail of water droplets running down his chest. “Wanna have something for us to remember it by, this is a nice start. Maybe I’ll order us something good for lunch, set up a fancy backyard picnic.” You lightly kiss along his collarbones as you think out loud.

Ash smiles, running his hands up and down your sides. “Sounds nice… we could also make a few memories in here.” He wiggles his eyebrows as his hands detour to grab your ass and pull you closer to him. “Feel like celebratin’, baby?”

You grin. “Ah, in a year where you’ve already gotten ‘new album sex’ and Jesus, how many rounds of ‘new single sex,’ you’re still playing that card?” You tease, voice wavering because his hands have wandered to your breasts to roll your nipples just the way you like. “Seems pretty greedy to me.”

He responds with a low, smug laugh in your ear, "Can't help it if I'm prolific, sweetheart.”  

“Well, I am happy to see you so frequently inspired," you tease, hand dropping to give his cock a firm squeeze as you proudly bat your eyes at your innuendo.

He smiles, pulling you in; it'd be sweet if there wasn’t such a devilish look in his eye. He gives you a lengthy and lusty kiss, hands roaming over your body, groaning as you work him to hardness. “Feeling pretty inspired to take you like this.”

He’s barely finished his sentence when he turns you around towards the shower door. You give a satisfied hum as you put your hands out to brace yourself and instinctively spread for him. “Aww, that’s my good girl,” he purrs. You shiver as he traces his fingertips all the way down your spine, starting at your neck and working his way down; once he reaches your ass, he uses both hands to cup it, squeezing and massaging.

You sigh and arch your back, jutting your hips out, wanting him to continue; a loud open palm smack lands across one of your ass cheeks and though you expected it, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips.

He leans in to whisper in your ear, cock brushing against you. “Thought I was the greedy one here,” he teases, delivering a strike to your untouched cheek, followed by a pair of rough slaps to each side. Your whines reverberate through the bathroom while his mouth lavishes kisses along your shoulders, hands soothing the reddened skin of your backside.

His hands wander between your legs but you stop him, murmuring, “Don’t need it, want you enough already.”

Ash sweetly kisses behind your ear before pushing inside you at an agonizingly slow pace. When he's made it all the way in, without thinking, you breathe out, “Yes, finally,” which earns you another quick spank. You giggle, catching sight of his amusingly annoyed reflection in the mirror above the counter across from you.

He playfully nips your shoulder and thrusts into you. As he picks up speed, he notices you biting back a moan. He growls, “Uh-uh, let me hear you, baby, wanna know how good my cock feels inside you.”

You rock back against him, hoping it’ll earn you another swat and when it does, you whimper loudly. “Feels so fucking good, Ash,” you enthuse. Keeping your balance against the door with one hand, you straighten up to reach behind you and pull him in; he understands, movements slowing as he kisses you hungrily. You tangle your hand in his hair, giving it a tug and he grunts into your mouth.

One of his hands travels to briskly begin rubbing your clit; the pressure is like a jolt of electricity through your body and your hand drops from his hair back to the shower door to steady yourself. “Careful, love,” he rasps, other hand pawing at your breasts.

Nuzzled into him, you stay in that position for a few moments and he moves against you, occasionally pressing his lips to your face. You catch sight of the mirror again and become fixated on watching him as he carefully works your body: the way his hands work in perfect coordination to please you, how his hair falls in his face as he drives his cock into you, how his eyes screw shut and he fusses his lip between his teeth at the sensations of having your pussy wrapped around him.

It fascinates you to see the two of you like that, so loving but also driven by what seems to be a desperate need.  “Look at that,” you pant, stroking his forearm to get his attention. “Look how well we fit together… I didn't realize it'd look as good as it feels, babe.”

Ashton groans as he studies your reflection. “What a fuckin’ gorgeous sight we are,” he agrees, voice gravelly with lust. “You always look so unbelievable when I watch you take me, baby.”

You moan at how wrecked he sounds, how wrecked you look, the eroticism of your encounter overwhelming you. “I love seeing us like this, Ash… Fuck… Wish I could actually see it, see myself taking your cock,” you babble. “Might have to finally make that tape like we’ve talked about.”

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he whispers, fingers digging into your skin. You spread your arms further apart on the door and he smoothly sweeps them behind you, locking them into place with his. Restrained, with nothing to brace you, your front leans completely up against the door and you watch as your tits obscenely bounce off the glass as he speeds up, pounding into you.

You start breathing heavily and he smiles to himself, knowing he’s got you figured out. “Should I be nice and let go so you can touch yourself, baby? Or would that ruin it, since me holding you like this is what’s getting you off?” He taunts, grip on your arms tightening.

“So fuckin’ close… Ash… please… fuck, please,” you murmur, unable to take your eyes off the mirror, feeling yourself slowly tense as you watch him manhandle you, seeing yourself so debauched.

Ashton shifts your arms, pinning them back with just one of his, leaving his other free to roam down the front of your body. “Because you said ‘please’,” he smirks, rubbing fast around your clit. You whimper in relief and your head starts to drop down but he nudges it with his own. “Nah, baby, watch. Want you to see how beautiful you are when you cum for me.”

“Ashhhhh… babyyyyy… fuuuucck…” Your words come out in staccato sighs as you bounce between his body and the glass; his fingers are steady on your clit and his voice lowly encourages you, telling you how amazing you are, how much he wants to feel you cum. He sounds like he needs this as much as you do. You zone out a little as you pulse around him, watching yourself orgasm through the glass, and as always, it’s his soothing whispers of “so pretty, baby” that bring you back to earth.

He gently sets your arms back on the door, pressing soft kisses over your shoulders as you come down. His hips have completely stilled, waiting to see how much more you’re capable of handling. “You good, love?” He sweetly asks, studying your face in the mirror.

"I'm so glad I had to work today," you joke breathlessly. He snorts and bites at your neck.

You feel spent but a thought popped into your head while watching your reflection and you want to explore. “Up for trying something?” You eagerly ask.

“Of course,” he agrees curiously. You push off the door, allowing him to slip out of you and you turn towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know I gave you shit earlier but it really does make me happy that this is how you like to celebrate,” you start, pecking along his neck and jaw, landing at his lips, which you kiss softly. “And I just want you to know I really am so so proud of you.”

Ash’s arms wrap around your waist and he smiles brightly. “I know, baby. And I’m so grateful to have you with me. Every step of the way, you were there to take care of me.”

You kiss him harder, filthier and needier than you did before and his resulting groan tells you he’s caught off guard. You feel him shiver under your touch as you ghost over his nipples before stopping at his new rib tattoo on your way to his abs and then finally gripping his cock.

“Well, I am absolutely going to take care of you right now,” you wink, dropping to your knees in front of him. He laughs at your questionable joke but quickly sucks in a sharp breath when you begin placing wet kisses along his shaft, whimpering as you taste yourself on him. You trace your tongue along the underside of his cock and circle the head for a bit before you wrap your lips around it and gently apply suction. You hear him huff a few times as you keep your attention focused there instead of taking him further into your mouth and you smile at his impatience.

He catches your look and shoots one right back at you. “Thought you were gonna take care of me, not torture me,” he smiles.

You let him drop from your lips and firmly tug as you look up, grinning. “I have a feeling when you're cumming all over me, you'll think it was worth the wait.”

He’s only able to gasp in response because as soon as the last word of your sentence leaves your mouth, you’re taking him as far down as you can. His hands are instantly in your hair, not quite pushing you down but gently applying pressure as you stay unmoving for a beat, holding him in your mouth, enjoying the heavy feeling of his cock on your tongue. You softly move your head back and forth, easing him further towards the back of your throat before you let yourself gag around him and pull off. You repeat this process a few more times, allowing more and more spit to fall from your mouth each time; knowing he loves when you get messy with it.

“Fuck, baby, always so fuckin’ good on your knees for me, always know just what I need” Ashton rambles, provoked at the sight of you pulling back to stroke him with a long, thick string of spit still connecting your mouth to his cock. You beam at his praise while he runs his hand over your face, somehow both tenderly and aggressively. “Gonna let me cum all over those gorgeous tits?”

You lean into his touch, mouthing at his hand a little. He takes the bait like you knew he would and pushes his thumb into your mouth, watching closely as you close your lips around it, swirling and sucking before scraping your teeth on it as he pulls it out.

"Is that what you want?" You ask, looking up at him with big eyes as you sit up higher on your knees. "I can also do you one better." You bite your lip in concentration as you guide him between your breasts, using your hands to trap his cock against your body and enclose him.

You've never heard anything quite like the sound he makes when you begin rubbing your tits up and down his shaft, a sound so throaty and new it makes you clench. You continue to massage his length against your breasts, your soft skin and the novelty of the act working in tandem to get him off.

You make eye contact as you spit on his cock and you feel it twitch on your chest as he moans. This fantasy has come up before, usually via sexting while he’s on tour but neither one of you had tried to follow through until now and judging by the noises he’s making, it’s living up to the expectation. You know he’s going to go wild when you breathily encourage, "Come on, babe, I think you should fuck 'em."

Ashton doesn't need to be told twice and immediately starts thrusting vigorously. He practically growls when you flick your tongue out to catch his tip on an upstroke, so you keep doing it.

"Jesus, baaaaby…" he groans, sounding positively undone, his pace unrelenting as he ruts against you. "So hot… fuck, so good…"

You grin at his incoherence, knowing he must be close. "Thought a special day deserved a special treat," you boast. "Ready to cum for me, babe?"

Ash acknowledges your words with a grunt, pulling away from your chest and putting his cock in your mouth again. You bob your head with intent to finish him and you know he's desperate when he gets a bit aggressive, pushing you to take him further down than last time. You've had him in your throat for less than a minute before he starts breathing heavy and pulls out just in time to shoot streams of cum all over your chest.

"Yes, baby… fuuuuuck… so fuckin’ good to me," he groans rhythmically in time with each spurt. You place the head of his cock on your tongue and milk out the remaining drops, revelling in his satisfied sounds.

He looks in adoration and disbelief at you, covered in his cum, clearly pleased with your work. He helps you off your knees and moves to kiss you when you press a finger to his lips, holding him off while you drag your other hand through the mess on your tits, delivering the substance to your mouth.

"God, I love you, baby," he sighs exhaustedly, kissing you passionately, groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself on your tongue. “This is so much more memorable than you sitting on the couch reading tweets with me.”

You cackle, pulling away to clean yourself off under the spray. "Well, I love you too," you coo. “Always happy to celebrate my man.”

Ashton grins and cradles you against him. “Good to know… I’ve got some ideas for how we can celebrate the second single coming out next week.”

You giggle and turn, wanting to see his face when you reply, “You plan that and I’ll take care of the celebration for your video premiere tonight?"

He pulls you closer and smirks, “Deal.”

————-

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[loveinterestcastiel]

erosion

I wrote some endverse fic based on a @lateral-org post asking a FANTASTIC question:

When/why/how did endverse! cas get rid of the trenchcoat and what was dean's reaction?

Rated M. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. Word Count: 4.1k

tagged some mutuals and people I thought might be interested in this under the cut, if you want tagged in this/future fic or want me to remove your tag dm me!

erosion

Of course, Sam said yes in Detroit. So why dream about that? He lived it every day. The redundancy was irritating at best.

Where the fuck did I leave my boots last night? Cas cursed under his breath and embarked on a thorough search of their cabin, the coarse words warm and familiar on his tongue as he yanked on his socks. I really am starting to sound like Dean.

Dean’s boots were already gone, his gun and thigh holster absent too. He’d left his green jacket behind, tossed carelessly aside last night and hidden under the trenchcoat on the floor at the foot of their bed. He slipped his coat on over his clothes and shoved Dean’s jacket into their pack- he knew he’d want it later, even if it was just for the drive back. He slipped on the worn coat, habit- he’d stopped wasting Grace on its upkeep a while ago, but it was still important. It felt like comfort, in some strange way, so he kept on wearing it despite the worn-through elbows or the stubborn little bloodstained spot on the hem.

He’d dreamed of Detroit, last night, again. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to dreaming, as unsettling and involuntary as it was. It felt like the unfair hijacking of an otherwise enjoyable human bodily function, and he resented it altogether. He snagged a bit of weed from his stash and tucked it in next to his flask, sweeping out the cabin door and into the frigid morning sunshine, giving Chuck a lazy wave as he ambled past his cabin to the truck lot, kicking little pebbles across the packed dirt at imaginary targets with a super-human precision that grated strangely on him today.

“Big run today,” Chuck said with a tentative smile, his hands clasping a chipped mug filled to the brim with his ridiculously indulgent tea, wafting a cascade of steam out over the railing of his cabin porch before dissipating into the air. “Don’t forget the perishables if you can get at them, ok? We’re seriously low on-”

“Toilet paper, milk, cheese, butter,” he interrupted, “plus sugar, flour, canned fruit, hygiene products, toothpaste, toilet paper, coffee, meat if we can get it, .35 and 9mm ammunition, mechanical oil, gasoline, propane, rubbing alcohol, gauze, surgical tape, toilet paper, paracetamol, and oh, toilet paper again!” Cas recited dryly, rolling his eyes. “You gave us a written list yesterday. Twice. Couldn’t fuck up blackout drunk.”

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “Just doing my job, Cas.”

“We’ll do ours,” he called over his shoulder, continuing down the central path briskly. “We’ve all got our part to play.”

What was it Lucifer had said to Dean, that night Zachariah stole him out from under Cas’s nose and threw him into the future? No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter… we will always end up here.

It certainly seemed like he was right. Most days, it seemed like they were all hurtling towards the exact same place Dean had caught a wretched glimpse of, once, with the brakes slashed and emergency failsafes offline, and no indicator that the impossible choices they were making every day were anything but inevitable. He knew that Dean still had nightmares about his ending, but he didn’t know much else about Dean’s nightmares anymore but what little snippets he could garner from what Dean mumbled and cried out in his sleep. He’d lost the ability to dreamwalk a while back. Three nights after the Croatoan virus wiped out Fort Worth and they were forced to fall back, he tried to enter Dean’s sleep to watch his dreams in the dubious refuge of a closed down Motel 6 off of interstate 70 as they ran west, to see if there was some piece of information they’d missed, some new choice they could make one day that could change the path they were on.

It simply hadn’t worked. He mourned the loss of one more skill in the darkness of their room that night as Dean slept uneasily in the bed beside him, one more thing which, in its absence, made him ever more useless to Dean, much like the loss of his ability to time travel, or to smite their enemies with ease. Flight was becoming difficult by the day, and he knew in some part of his mind that his wings would be the next to go, and he would be grounded, permanently, on Earth and not in Heaven.

And so it goes.

Anyway, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice about anything these days. Once Michael had taken Adam, they lost their only trump card. Heaven didn’t need Dean anymore, but Hell desperately needed Sam. It was a shame, it really was, that Sam’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

It was a miracle Lucifer let Dean go. He had brushed him off as a non-threat. Unimportant on a cosmic scale, however important Dean was to the vessel. To Sam. So Dean walked out of that run down building alive, and he was the most beautiful, terrible thing Cas had ever seen. His soul shone brighter than even an archangel’s grace in his rage and trembled with the fierce sharpness of grief, and it was glorious, righteous.

Godly.

Even as Cas’s memories softened and blurred, becoming tinged with a mortal haze, that memory of Dean remained in a sparkling clarity. He could imagine no life, no moldable version of the past, in which he did not choose Dean. From the very first moment his soul had reached back to cling to Cas’s Grace in Hell, Cas had fallen, was falling, would fall, for Dean. It was inevitable, his love. They were inevitable. They fell together in the time after Detroit, into battle, into bed, and into cosmic obscurity. Soon, too soon, their losses began to outnumber their wins, and they had to make more and more certain regrettable sacrifices just to stay alive. Cas was used to collateral damage, far more than Dean was, but whatever the other humans in their ragged camp believed of him, he wasn’t unaffected. Just the opposite, in fact. He had never felt anything before, not for billions of years, an incomprehensible existence of light and intent and obedience and war, and now he felt everything. That- not Dean’s disappointment, or the slow loss of his Grace, or his Father’s unyielding silence- was undoubtedly the worst part of becoming something like human.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days he took precious little blue or white or green pills, all different shapes and sizes and he felt good. Numb, pleased, far away. Quiet. Others, fewer than the days he had his pills, he took shrooms, LSD. Molly, twice. Often he took nothing at all, craving the wicked pain and emptiness it created in him as his sobriety enhanced the ache his dwindling Grace left behind, needing the punishment to feel real before forcing himself into a tumultuous sleep after days spent horribly awake with half a bottle of rotgut sloshing in his stomach. He still liked joints, rolled meticulously, their verdant smoke curling up deliciously in his lungs and setting him up on a lovely little metaphorical cloud the best, and then, they were even more so lovely when he shared them with Dean. There was nothing, nothing like passing it between them, before transitioning into trading hit after hit between their mouths, brushing against his soft lips, breathing his air, watching Dean’s cheeks flush a stunning pink and holding tight to his deep golden hair, dragging him down into slow, languid kisses that desire deepened and turned into a precious sort of holy consumption as the high hit its stride in them both.

He was sober today, mostly, just riding out the last of some gorgeous pink pill from a nearly full bottle he’d just scavenged out a few days before. It made him feel floaty, focused, fearless. He felt almost like he did two years ago, before his reeducation stint in Heaven. Angelic. It was nice. He’d take another, later. Maybe Dean would want to take one, too, and they could fuck high out under the stars on their quilt again like they did last October and feel like the real Gods of this stupid little planet, on top of the world, on top of Dean, cradled in the soft embrace of his thighs, and worship each other.

Take that, brothers. Castiel smiled viciously at the sky. You’ll never fuck God like I have.

Standing impatiently among their motley caravan of vehicles in the sickly yellow light of a midwestern April morning sun, his back to Cas, Dean’s silhouette and the flashing imprint of his soul- the only one Cas could still see clearly- caramelized into a sweet union of tangible and not that pulled at his stomach and swept him into the siren song of Dean’s being and woke up the hungry creature that lived in his heart and craved DeanDeanDeanDean.

No one else was there yet, probably all still dicking around at the camp mess and drinking shitty chicory. His feet fell silently on the earth, leaving behind the sound of the universe and the vibrant humming of Dean’s soul- and oh, he hoped he could always hear that symphony, even when all the rest of his powers had run dry.

Just as he reached out to take Dean by the shoulder and turn him around, Dean moved with a sudden burst of energy, like a coiled snake striking out. He whirled around and met Cas’s eyes, took him by the neck and the waist, and kissed him. His lips moved with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity of the grip of his cold-fingered hands as they worked their way into his hair, wormed their way under his trenchcoat, and touched the bare skin they found where the hem of his t-shirt met his jeans. He met the kiss eagerly, licking teasingly at the seam of his lips, biting down gently and coaxing Dean into opening his mouth. He pushed Dean back until his back hit the nearest rusted army-green truck with a small thudding noise, pressing himself up against Dean and tugging on his hips so they were pressed flush against each other, the contact sending and electric thrill racing up his spine.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out at the sensation of their bodies meeting, the air punched out of his lungs.

“Mmm, morning,” Cas murmured between kisses. “You’re out here early.” Dean’s neck was uncharacteristically bare above the neck of his rough brown sweater, creamy and invitingly unmarked. Cas indulged in the impulse to change that, working his way over the tender skin, sucking and biting until a bruise began to bloom below the junction of Dean’s jaw and neck, worrying it with his teeth until it was a deep reddish-purple.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean whispered, letting his head fall back against the truck window, baring his throat further, and closed his eyes. He seemed almost happy, today. He seemed to light up in the lead-up to their more dangerous missions, and Cas didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” Dean elaborated.

“I appreciate that.” Satisfied with the rather outrageous hickey he’d created on Dean’s neck, Cas pressed it with one last kiss. “How’d you know I was behind you?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together and slowly grinding their hips together lazily, just breathing Dean in.

“Felt you,” Dean said, bringing their lips together again briefly. “Always can.” One more little kiss.

“Dean, last night, when you couldn’t sleep, I dreamed again about Detroit-” Cas started to confess feverishly, almost against his will, Dean stiffening up at his words in his arms, and was interrupted by the sound of people approaching, footsteps, voices, and an earsplitting wolf-whistle directed at their compromising position.

Dean’s face shuttered immediately, and Cas felt every scrap of easy bliss flee his body.

He pulled back with more than a little reluctance, his stomach twisting as a fakely jovial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go, fearless leader. We’ve got a mission to run, don’t you know?”

“Don’t start with that fearless leader shit,” Dean said tightly, rolling his eyes away from Castiel’s face and fixing on a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder. “Who’s driving?”

“Looks like Cas is driving,” Joe called out mischievously.

Risa smacked him in the chest. “Get in the truck, idiot.” She turned her gaze to Dean, an odd glint in her eye. It felt sticky and wrong in his core but Cas stamped the feeling down. “Group brief over the radio on the way?” she asked.

“Yeah, at 8,” Dean said, sliding into his unshakeable militaristic persona with a firm nod. “Should be fairly straightforward in and out supply grab. Intel says the Croats cleared out of Roanoke a couple days ago, left major infrastructure and commerce sites relatively untouched. It’s a good thing too,” he added, “we were getting spread a little thin with most goods.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

———————————————————————

It was not, in fact, easy.

Their intel was wrong, so wrong, and Cas didn’t know how the fuck it happened, but they were fine, they were almost finished, closing up the trucks in the alley behind the supermarket and waiting for Dean and Trish to return from sweeping the perimeter, when out of what seemed like thin air and with no more than a broken shout for warning there were more Croats swarming them than he’d ever seen in one place before, and Joe and Maya and Kris were dead, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

The Croats had the remaining seven pinned down against the main truck, snarling and screeching and reeking of blood and gore, strips of flesh and clothing that once adorned their companions now dangling from their teeth. Their single-minded need for the endless consumption of human flesh and that it was currently being denied drove them to a terrifying frenzy, but the hunters were starting to push back, and the Croat numbers were thinning slowly but surely. Cas thought he saw Allen get bitten, but next he glanced at him he looked fine. He’d need to check on that if they made it out alive. He resigned himself quickly to the idea of killing the man before they got back to Chitaqua- Allen was a nice enough man, quick-witted and skilled with a blade and a loom, but nothing was worth bringing a Croat back to camp. He owed it to the man as a human being to grant him a swift death if he’d been infected before Allen himself could realize it. A shot to the back of the head, unawares, had to be better than a clumsy battle and inevitable stab to the chest (Cas knew he would always have the upper hand against a human, even when he had fallen in full) with fear in his heart.

He buried his angel blade to hilt in yet another Croat’s throat, yanking it out and ducking out of the way of the spray of blood that followed in a well-practiced motion uncanny in its speed. They would win this one.

But still no Dean.

Cas felt a bubbly panic rise up in his chest through the haze of battle as it became clear to him that Dean wasn’t coming back. Even from the other side of the building or from inside, there was no way that Dean had not heard the commotion of such a large fight.

Something was stopping Dean from coming back to him.

“Risa,” he shouted over the din to the woman on his left. “Dean and Trish-”

“I know,” she interjected tersely, hacking the head off of a skeletally thin Croat in a tattered suit. “Retrieval? We’ve got this handled here as long as this all the fucking bastards around.”

“I’m going in,” Cas said quickly, slicing at a particularly bold (stupid) Croat trying to charge him. It crumpled to the ground and twitched once, and was still. Some of its companions fell on the body ravenously, and were subsequently cut down in turn as they began to tear at the corpse. “Leave as soon as you’re able; I’ve got the keys to the main truck. Cover your right,” he warned Risa, and, sensing an opportunity in the parting sea of Croats before him, ran.

He was through the service doors of the building before the Croat hoard could even begin to respond to his escape, and their noises were quickly muffled by the service door as it locked automatically behind him, leaving him in relative quiet.

There were a surprising number of crates and boxes remaining in the storage and unloading zones, either empty or nearly so, and he quickly ascertained the area was, apart from himself, devoid of life or anything of interest to the camp.

Cas.

Dean's sudden prayer hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Aisle... his mental voice trailed off for a second into indistinct sounds, colors, and waves of pain. Aisle seven. It's bad.

Cas shoved through the access door into the freezers, and out into the store with a recklessness he would have been ashamed of had he been so terrified.

He turned down aisle seven and skidded to a halt, frozen at the sight that greeted him, and tried to make sense of the hideously macabre tableau.

Trish's decapitated body lay the furthest from him, her ribcage torn open, her organs spilling over her arms and scattered in pieces over the floor. Three dead Croats, all headshots, around her remains. Then a bloody lake on the cheap linoleum tile, thick and viscous and so, so red, two more dead Croats, clearly more hard-won victories, their arms hacked at, heads partially removed, and nearly blocking the last body from view, wedged up against the shelves and bloody as it was.

"Cas," Dean wheezed, lifting his head laboriously to meet his eyes, blood bubbling up between his lips and staining them. "Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, don't talk like that," Cas said desperately, kneeling beside Dean. He took their pack of his back with shaking hands and shoved his angel blade somewhere inside. "We can fix this. You'll be okay."

"Cas-"

"You will!" he said, too loudly and startling himself.

"My ribs," Dean panted out in pained little gasps. "Broken. There's something in my back." He twitched minutely as if to show Cas the problem and immediately convulsed involuntarily at the pain the movement caused him, a horrible rattling moan in his throat. "My leg. Right one. Broken too." His jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could speak at all through the teeth-grinding pain he was in.

"Okay," Cas said faintly.

Cas...

Oh, he hated feeling. Sometimes he thought it made him useless. He missed being cold. Brutal, uncaring about pain or death. But this was Dean, and he'd never actually been particularly good at being a machine, anyway. "Okay. Dean, I need to see your back," he warned him, before moving him as gently as he could and angling his body so that he could get an unobstructed view of his back.

There was a crude metal stake wedged just an inch to the left of his second and third thoracic vertebrae, rusted, twisted and cruel-looking.

"Dean, I- I have to try to heal you," he said slowly, knowing that Dean wouldn't want him to be wasteful with his Grace. But this was beyond what human field medicine could help.

Dean didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

"Oh no, no, no, baby," he babbled under his breath, trying to figure out the best way to extract the bar of metal. "Hold on," he muttered, grasping the stake firmly and bracing Dean's body against his own, trying to avoid fucking his broken ribs up more.

"Father, please, if you're still here, if you're listening, if you care at all," he begged, "help me."

Of course, his Father didn't answer. Gritting his teeth, Cas yanked out the stake and tossed it aside, immediately covering the wound with his hand. He summoned his Grace together and it responded sluggishly, but his hand was glowing and Dean's back was knitting back together.

As the skin merged into a puckered, raw-looking pink scar, Cas dropped his hand away from the wound and found himself utterly breathless, gasping for air and drained.

Dean was still unconscious.

He leaned Dean back up against the shelving and took a moment to figure out what to do next. Dean was still dying. He was still in danger. He couldn't be moved, nor could they stay put. He quickly opened up their pack and realized in horror that all the medical supplies were with Risa and AJ on the trucks and so, so far away by now.

He yanked his coat off with a twinge of regret. It was bloodied and worn and what he was about to do with it felt like a milestone he was loathe to reach.

He shredded it into long, wide strips, not letting himself think of how it was the last piece of Jimmy Novak, or how he had repaid the man's sacrifice by being party to the end of the world they both wanted to protect, or how Claire Novak had stopped praying to him weeks ago, now. He got on with the job, this is just a job, I can fix this-

He managed to wrap Dean's leg up decently tight, straight and stiff, but he had quickly discovered it was broken in several places. He didn't know what he could do for Dean's ribs, and he felt, as if from a distance, how Dean's breath was coming shallower and shallower, and he made his choice.

He laid his left hand on Dean's broken leg, as gently as he could. Leaning forward, he smoothed the wispy little baby hairs he loved to tease Dean about back, off his sweaty, pained, precious face, and, placing his right hand on Dean's crushed ribs, near his heart, touched their foreheads together. He looked at Dean's soul, his shining, beautiful (fading) soul and knew.

"I love you," Cas whispered, his voice wrecked. With that finally said, he grabbed his exhausted, weary Grace, and though it fought him and slipped through his grasp, he got hold of it and he pushed everything he could, everything he was into his hands, into Dean.

When he had done it, when he had drained himself down to mists and vapors, and had saved Dean, he gathered him in his arms, and carried him back to the truck on numb feet, leaving the scraps of Jimmy's coat behind in aisle seven.

When the truck broke down thirty miles from Chitaqua, and their radio too, he turned to Dean, pulling on a blue-ish jacket they'd picked up earlier during the run. It fit well.

"It's a good look for you," Dean said gruffly, staring at Cas with an expression he could not recognize. There was blood still smeared on his cheekbone, he noted absently.

"Oh. Yes. Well, thank you," Cas answered, adjusting the sleeves.

Dean tugged at the tan fabric strips on his leg, wincing at the pressure.

"You did a good job, Cas. With this fabric splint from your coat-"

"I know you won't be able to walk it," Cas said quietly, unable to meet his eyes even as he interrupted him. "I did what I could, but you'll be weak for days. You need time."

"You can leave me, Cas," Dean said, a strange, pinched guilt-pain-tenderness on his face. "You can come back for me."

"No," Cas said, smiling, and choking, and took Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand with a terrible ache rising in his throat. "I can't."

April 19th, 2012, under the peak of the Lyrids meteor showers, Cas flew for the last time, right up to the gates of the camp.

When they landed, a millisecond and millennia later, his wings burned away into nothingness in a wave of electric, minty-white pain that forced him to the ground. In the aftermath, panting and sweating and shaking in Dean's arms and clutching at his handprint on Dean's shoulder, he realized his Grace, or what was left of it, anyway, had consolidated into a bright little ball in his chest. Like a soul.

The realization was followed by another. Despite his earlier conviction that it would one day be lost to him, he could still see Dean's soul- behind his teeth, in his chest, radiant like a halo around his head, and worth, a million times over, and a million again, falling for.

Tagged:

@heller-jensen @sunforgrace @rambleoncas @adhdeancas @evermorecastiel @holmesemrys @plantdadcas @good-things-do-happen-dean @jeanne-de-valois @autisticandroids @sonder-stars @yana125 @faithcastiel @cascreamtiel @seffersonjtarship @i-sing-for-me @purgatorybi @bibelphegor @cowboyslikedean @gracefuldean @dimples-of-discontent @judaskissdean @wafflehousegothic @icaruscastiel @67chevyimpala67 @lesbianjenderenvy

[writing-in-april]

Star Wars vs. Star Trek

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

This is my entry for the secret fic swap that was organized by the ever amazing @imagining-in-the-margins 

The person I got was-  @sunlight-moonrise  who is an amazing little bunny that I love

Thankies all around to my lovely helpers @definitelynotkatesblog , @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ and @httpnxtt  Plus I was inspired by all the asks that @reidscardigan​ gets, it fuels my smutty thoughts!

Warnings: Jealous!Spencer, Rough sex, Impact play (on the heavy side), Face fucking, Light degradation, Choking, Bruising/Marking, Hair Pulling, Unprotected sex, and Orgasm Denial

A/N: I had a great time writing this I think its one of my best works! Feel free to drop a request in my inbox if you have a request (No duplicate requests please)

Word count: 3.6K

Masterlist   

  Spencer and I finally have some vacation time, and my god it feels like it’s been forever. We both worked ridiculously hard at the BAU, so Hotch had finally determined that it was time for the team’s mandatory two-week break this year.  

As soon as we got home the both of us stripped of our work clothes and cuddled up on the couch to watch some movies. Spencer had the remote in his hand scrolling through to find a movie, the cursor landed on Star Trek. I could feel his puppy dog eyes looking up at me through his glasses that he only wore at home trying to convince me into letting him choose it. “Noooo Spencer, we watched it last week” I groaned. Sometimes it felt like your relationship was Spencer and Spock, and you as the delightful third wheel. “Ok what about a different one? We don’t have to watch any of the vintage ones, the new movies aren’t my favorite but they’re still extraordinary pieces of film art!” he ranted enthusiastically. “No, why don’t we watch Star Wars?” I begged, he knew it was my favorite but still insisted that Star Trek was better. “No, because I know you’ll ask to watch the sequels and I don’t like them, the story is just a repeat of the originals.” his eyes rolled and I was surprised they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head. Spencer and I have had this argument many times. The back and forth on which series was better was exhausting but so exhilarating. “Star Wars looks better, has better music, and better plot lines overall!” My voice slightly raised, I hated it when he tried to prove me wrong about this. Star Wars was my cemented favorite just as his was Star Trek. “Star Wars has straight up inaccuracies while Star Trek has improbabilities, not outright errors.” Spencer snarked back. I could tell neither of us were going to win this debate anytime soon. We always ended up in a shouting match about  why we thought our favorite series was better. “Fuck you! I’m right, Star Wars is so much better! I mean look at Kylo Ren, he’s so much better then Kirk or Spock!” Spencer’s face turned into an expression mixed with jealousy and rage. “And look how good he looks during that interrogation scene!” I continued. “You think he’s hot?!” He accused profiling the look I had on my face as I was talking about Kylo “What are you jealous of a fictional character?” I asked mockingly, a knowing smirk adorning my face. Maybe I could get him riled up enough to get something else out of tonight. “N-no of course not that’s absurd!” He squeaked out, giving away how he truly felt. A coquettish smirk grew on my face as I got an evil idea. I deftly snuck my hands into my sleep shorts, slipping under my cotton panties and started to rub soft circles on my clit, not fully giving myself the stimulation that I desired. Spencer’s eyes bugged out of his head getting whiplash from the conversation switch. “Kylo” I moaned out with a simper, gathering my slick arousal I slid down my folds, pushing a finger inside, immediately crooking the digit to locate my g spot. I wanted to push Spencer to the edge of jealousy till he snapped. He got practically feral if I worked him up enough. I continued my descent into a selfish climax- adding another finger, as I picked up the speed of my thrusts into my dripping heat. My mind was so lost in the pleasure I forgot Spencer was there- until my hand was violently jerked from my pussy by a tight clasp on my forearm, just before I was about to fall into bliss. “What do you think you're doing?” Spencer spat.

That voice was usually reserved for unsubs, which served to further dampen my panties, his mind had switched into his dominant persona that was prevalent in the bedroom. “Just indulging myself, Spencer, since you won’t.” I bit back, irritated I’d been brought back from the edge of toe-curling bliss. He shot me a harsh look and tightened his grip on my arm, a warning if you will. I could tell I had just gotten myself into deep trouble, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to rile him up further. “Get in the bedroom and strip. You’ve earned yourself a punishment, brat.” His tone had gotten down right deadly at this point, but I didn’t let that deter me. I was on a mission. I decided to further dig myself in a hole by ignoring his order, simply crossing my arms and turning my head away. I could feel his bitter gaze boring into the back of my skull as I continued to defy his order, my excitement pooling in anticipation for the brutal punishment I’d surely earned. We sat like that for a while- refusing to break out of my sass, and him making sure that I was really ready for what he had in store for me. My legs started to squirm, the tension was almost unbearable. Just before I was about to give him another smart remark his other hand shot out to my leg, holding it firmly so I was no longer moving. A surprised squeak escaped my lips as Spencer  flipped me onto my stomach, my knees coming to rest on the floor and my chest pressed into the couch. I tried to regain my balance in an attempt to crawl away from him but he quickly moved to hover over my form, boxing me in with his arms. “Are you trying to get in more trouble, Dolly?” he asked, his tone dark and condescending. A pathetic little whimper escaped my throat. When I failed to reply quick enough by his standards, a large palm came down on my backside, forcing an answer out of me.

“Yes! I’m sorry Sir, I was trying to get in t-trouble.” “Tsk tsk. Only bad girls like punishment, Doll.” He sounded disappointed. I dug my nails into the plush and hid my face into the cushion, trying to escape from under his heavy gaze. He pulled my hands to rest behind my back, tying my hands with what felt like a drawstring from sweatpants. He’d learned to improvise during our time together; had he left to find more appropriate rope, there was no guarantee I’d be in the same position he left me in by the time he got back. He snaked his hands through my hair, yanking hard to pull my body flush against his own. “Color?” He asked quickly, checking in with me, which only made the situation hotter-what can I say? Consent is sexy. “Green” I replied with a grin. Being disciplined was always exhilarating. “What’s my punishment, Sir?” He let go of the grip on my hair, his hands swiftly moving to remove my shorts and now soaked cotton thong, revealing my bare bottom to him. I rubbed my legs together trying to get some sort of friction but was interrupted by Spencer wrenching my legs apart. “You do that again I’ll add 20 more and you’ve already earned yourself 40- plus a little extra something.” His words hummed against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver trickling down my spine. I groaned in protest and tried to wiggle myself away from him, his hand coming down onto my left cheek in response. “Doll-“ He warned sharply. “If you keep this up I won't let you cum for a week.” His words shook me to my sassy core; I was greedy and there was no way I was going to get myself in more trouble. “I’m sorry...” I muttered into the couch cushion. “Say it louder, Dolly.” The sing song tone/cadence of his voice felt like a trap- contrasted to his previously dark tone and warning smack brought down on my backside. “I’m really sorry, Sir!” I shouted. With my cry, I gave up control to Spencer entirely.  He loved when I acted like this, no matter how angry he pretended to be. “Do you mean it this time?” I could hear the devilish smile on his lips. “Yes!” I confirmed on a shaky breath. I was done fighting him. “You’re so good to me a-and I shouldn’t have tried to make you jealous.”

Although he couldn’t see my eyes, I put on my biggest, sweetest set of puppy dog eyes to really drive my point home.

“So you’re going to sit pretty and take your spankings like a good girl, right?”

I nodded sheepishly, secretly hoping that maybe, just maybe if I was good enough that I might get to come tonight. He let me stew in my thoughts for a minute before resuming his assault on my behind. His hand gripped both cheeks into his palms, kneading the tender flesh that was about to be covered in black and blue handprints. As the first strikes landed on my right side, he grabbed a blanket for me to cuddle into as he landed each smack, his full strength being used in each one, exhibiting just how much I pissed him off. My nerves were prickling, my ass had already started to sting and he hadn’t even reached the 10th strike. I’d definitely be able to feel the pain for the next week- maybe longer. Teardrops started to coat from my lashes onto my cheeks as he switched to the left cheek. By the time he’d reached the halfway mark, the blanket had become soaked by my uncontrolled muffled sobs. His rhythm never faltered as he continued to pepper the now-raw skin of my bottom with more punishing blows. “What are you?” He finally spoke as he was nearing the end of his count, my fingers digging into my palms to help me get through the last few. “I’m a bad girl, Sir” I pathetically whimpered into the blanket.

A brutal THWACK landed against my backside, letting me know he was looking for me to use my big girl voice.  A sob raked through my chest, sending more tears down the blushed apples of my cheeks. “I’M A BAD GIRL, SIR!” My bruised bottom felt like it had been burned by hot coals with welts forming as evidence, as Spencer drew out the last few at a languid pace. When he finally finished, he dropped his head down to plant kisses on each injured cheek, a sign of appreciation for behaving. “You dirty girl, you're getting off to this ” He said matter of factly, moving to run his finger through my drenched folds, his fingers probed my entrance trying to get me more worked up. Surging forward, he replaced his fingertips with his tongue stirring a fire deep in my belly, placing delicate kitten licks along my folds. My body writhed against his touch and for a moment, I thought I might get off easy. Until, again, he pulled away just as I was about to shatter into a million pieces. “Sirrrrr, please?” I begged, my clit was throbbing in tandem with the blood pounding under the skin of my raw and tender bottom. His threat from earlier became evident- he wasn’t going to let me cum easily. “No, Doll, you still haven’t proven that you’re sorry enough.” He roughly yanked me off the sofa, positioning me on my knees in front of him, his clothed cock sitting right in my eye-line. The sweatpants that he had dawned were taken off quickly, I drank in the sight of his hard cock through tear-stained eyes. “Color?” He asked while cradling my jaw. The realization hit me, and I became blissfully aware of one thing: he was about to fuck my face. “Green.” I was always happy to give Spencer pleasure, and to see all the power just my mouth had over him was insanely erotic to me. He gripped his cock in one hand, pulling my chin down to open my mouth with the other. I stuck out my tongue for him and leaned forward, wrapping my lips around the head of his erection to begin gently sucking. Precum filled my mouth as I started to bob my head, working my way farther down his length each time until I reached the base of his cock. I choked slightly, my nose nuzzling against the hairs of his waistline. He gripped my hair on both sides with each of his hands and did a shallow experimental thrust forward, giving me a taste of what was coming. My eyes screwed shut as he set a fast pace, his tip hitting the back of my throat, tears starting to prick at the corners of my eyes again. The hardwood grinding against my knees sourced a new pain, but all I was focused on was the cock  being shoved down my throat and pleasuring the man it was attached to. “Open your eyes, Doll. I want you to see what you do to me.” I glanced up with my glassy red rimmed eyes to gaze at the beautiful sight of Spencer, his head was tilted back, sweat coating his ruffled curls, with his mouth hung open in a silent gasp. Even through my tears I could see this man was an angel.  I groaned, somehow I was even more turned on, so much so that I could feel a pool forming on the floor from my arousal. He rutted harder into my mouth signaling that he was close to his release, drool was now dripping from the sides of my mouth, wetting the thin material of my pajama top. Hot spurts shot down my throat with a strangled cry from him. Tasting his salty release on my tongue, I drank him in, savoring every last drop he had to give me. As he pulled himself out of my mouth, the string of spit connecting my lips to the head of his cock snapped, falling down my chin. Saltwater still cascading down my cheeks met with the mess on my chin, creating  a messy mixture. Spencer pressed a thumb to my cheek, pushing the few drops of cum that escaped along with some spit into my mouth. “You being a cry baby, Dolly?” he cooed condescendingly, wiping away the drops that accumulated onto my cheek bones as I sent him a little pout. “You should’ve thought about the consequences before you broke the rules, Doll.” Turning me around, he pressed my chest into the coffee table across from the couch. Though I still had on my shirt, the cold surfaces rubbed against my sensitive nipples making them harden to a peak. He hadn’t done anything for a minute, so I tried to turn my head to see what he was doing. I was met with a harsh tug at my jaw forcing it to prop up facing the tv. The television flicked to life flooding the screen with the Disney+ logo I tried to glance back again to shoot him an incredulous look, but again I was repositioned roughly to stare at the screen. He clicked through until landing on the Force Awakens. My brows furrowed, but I decided not to push my luck by asking any questions. He pressed play and started fast forwarding until he landed on the scene I had been referencing that got in me trouble in the first place. Kylo Ren graced the screen, starting his interrogation with Rey. Was he going to sit here and make me watch it? Was he going to let me cum? Or was he going to edge me the whole night and hang me out to dry? I was snapped out of my thoughts by a tug at my neck, his palms wrapping around like a necklace, pulling my torso up so that my eyes locked perfectly to the moving figures on the screen. “You think he could fuck you better then I can, Doll?” he ground out. “That pathetic boy compensates with his saber, yet you have the whole package right here sweetheart.” I gasped and wriggled at his words, becoming down right desperate to have him do anything to me. He finally relented, dragging his free hand up my folds, still just barely touching me- ghosting around my clit. He sucked dark bruises into my neck, and as his teasing touches continued, I impatiently whined. “Please, Sir I need you.” “Why should I? You have Kylo don’t you?” “I already said I’m sorry, Sir! And I mean it really!” My begs filled our apartment, loud enough to completely mask the sound of the movie. I had been completely ignoring the film, focusing solely on trying to gain some sort of pleasure from the man endlessly denying it. “Ok, Dolly but only if you promise to never do it again.” I tried my best to nod against  his vise grip on the column of my throat. He deftly snuck two fingers into my pussy, fitting snugly inside of me causing my body to unconsciously move my lower half against him. He started to pump and curl them, expertly hitting the perfect spot each time making stars appear behind my eyes. Suddenly he removed his fingers, quickly replacing it with something far more satisfying before I could complain. His cock bottomed out, filling me to the hilt eliciting a surprised squeak from me. He always made me feel so full-it felt like heaven. His hips propelled forward starting a rough rhythm that left almost no room to breathe, the movie had been completely muffled by our moans and sounds of slapping skin, a heavy dose of sex lingering in the air. His thrusts were irritating the already brutalized flesh off my ass, but the stinging sensation just aided in ecstasy that flowed through my veins. “You look so much prettier with these bruises.” He grunted as I tried to arch my back to a steeper angle so I could take him as deep as possible. “It shows everyone who’s mine, even if they are a fictional character.” Spencer was repeatedly hitting my g spot sending me closer and closer to the edge, but I knew I had to ask permission before I came. “Please, Sir, Please! I’m so close! Can I cum?” “Why do you think you deserve to cum Doll?” He asked, I should’ve known he was still going to throw one last tease in before letting me orgasm. “Because- I - I don’t know I just need it!” I let out a frustrated sob as he continued to thrust with reckless abandon. “Ok. Doll. Let. Go.” he said, accentuating each word with a sharp rock with his hips. My eyes rolled far into the back of my head as I was sent careening into pleasure, the coil that sat deep in my belly snapped, sending me into violent waves of pleasure. As I rode out my delicious high, Spencer’s hips stuttered and the grip on my neck was tightened as he shot ropes into me, stuffing me to the brim. He let go of my neck letting me relax my head onto the table. I’m sure I had a messy, freshly-fucked look on my face but I couldn’t be bothered to care.“Have you learned your lesson?” He asked once he had caught his breath. I nodded meekly, knowing full well I’d be back on my brattiest behavior as soon as these bruises faded. We both groaned as he slipped his softening cock from out of my folds. He slowly padded away to grab his items for aftercare-my favorite part. I had never had a partner show so much care for me like Spencer had. He came back with everything he needed and got to work, starting by cleaning my folds with a washcloth, then switching to a fresh one wiping the tears and spit away from my face. Aloe that he had made sure to warm up was then squirted onto my cheeks, he rubbed the liquid in softly massaging the abused flesh with gentle care. My limbs still felt like jello when it was time to stand, so Spencer helped guide me into new clean pajamas, he even made sure to pick out the velvet ones I liked, they always felt like little soft caresses were being peppered against my skin when I wore them. “You ok, Doll? You haven’t said anything.” He whispered gently, as if afraid he’d startle me. “Yeah” I croaked.My voice had been thoroughly abused throughout the night making rasp harder than normal. “Just feel a little woozier than normal.” He quickly enveloped my form into a hug, drawing me in close so I could smell the cologne that made itself a part of everything he owned. Sitting us both down on the couch, he found as many blankets and as possible making a little fort of warmth around us.

“I’m sorry I was harsh, Doll.” “No no, I liked it, it was just intense.” My scratchy voice obviously made him cringe. “So you are jealous of a fictional character?” I cheekily quipped to try and cheer him up. He let out a chuckle in response and started to ghost little butterfly kisses all across my face.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses. “Sing to me?” I asked softly. I cherished his horrible singing with all my heart, it made me  soft and mushy on the inside. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my dolly away.” I started to drift to sleep even though I was fighting to giggle at Spencer’s croaky singing. Despite his god awful singing in my ear, sleep found me, whisking me away to the land of sweet dreams. I drifted off in his arms, knowing I was his good girl- knowing he would love and cherish me until the ends of the Earth.

[pixelwisp-archive]

Itadakimasu!! | Part 8: Stick to What You’re Good At (Written Chapter)

word count: 3.9k - I’m so sorry

Eggplant and Kabocha Miso Gratin?

No. That's a little too much.

Maybe a Cream stew?

No, that's too easy. 

"Just make a curry. It's chilly today. I'm sure he'll appreciate the warmth." Kuguri's voice broke through the silence in the small kitchen. You pulled your head up from the depths of the recipe box to look at him, your eyes gleaming at the idea.

"You're a genius, you know that?" A ghost of a smile fluttered onto his face and Kuguri exhaled a mix between a sigh and a laugh as he stopped at the threshold of the kitchen. You watched as his eyes travelled across the kitchen, landing on a seemingly inconspicuous vase placed in the corner, where a few stems of peach blossoms drank in the sun that beamed through the kitchen window. He stared a little too long, you noted, and a grin stretched across your face. 

“They’re from Kita.” The pink tint to the tips of Kuguri's ears didn't go unnoticed by you, and you couldn't suppress the giggle that bubbled up and slipped past your lips. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the small vase, walking toward the fridge and pulling out a drink. Tearing open the cap, he took a large gulp and finally snuck a look over at you, your knowing smile making the blush creep up his neck at an alarming pace. 

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," you teased as your eyes quickly left his figure and went back to the recipe box to rifle through them, this time in search for Baachan’s curry recipe. "There was a note, by the way."  Kuguri walked over to the folded card that stood in front of the simple arrangement. He delicately grabbed it and flipped the cardstock open, brows furrowing at the text. 

“‘Fascinating’. What do you suppose that means?” You shrugged, fingers dancing across the dozens of small, ivory cards with various family secret recipes from generations before etched in a delicate scrawl onto the face. 

“He finds you fascinating, I guess? aha,” a victorious gasp left you as you found the correct recipe, plucking it from it’s home inside the ornate wooden box. A satisfied smirk settled onto your lips as you made a mental note of the ingredients you had, the ones you didn’t, and how much time you had. 

“Or you, they could have been for you,” he said. You scoffed.

“I can’t think of a single conversation with Kita that hasn’t ended up about you. They’re not for me, dork.” Kuguri cleared his throat again, slightly more aggressively this time, and took another generous gulp of his aloe drink. 

“Changing the topic - Miya is coming over today.” You eyed Kuguri, suspicion evident on your face. 

“...Yes, he is.” 

“And you’re cooking for him.” That faint smile was back, this time accompanied with a, what, coy? no. Mischievous, expression. “Sound’s like a date.” 

He chuckled when you made an exaggerated gag, your finger pointed to the back of your throat. “Absolutely not. He’s just coming to fix the stove. He told me not to pay him so instead I’m feeding him,” you explained, fussing with the recipe box and placing it off to the side. “Can you believe he insinuated I was gonna give him food poisoning? The nerve.” 

Kuguri sat across from you and rested his chin onto his palm. “So that’s why you’re obsessing over what to make.” Another scoff left you as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I’m not obsessing.” 

“You’ve been hunched over your ‘super special, super secret’ family recipe box for the better part of-” He checks his watch. “-Two hours.”

Your cheeks flushed as you confirmed the time on your phone. Okay, so maybe you had been obsessing a little, but it was only because you wanted to make sure that whatever you make tonight is so good that it slaps the condescending grin off his face and he has no choice but to bow at your superiority. The thought alone made your lips curl into a devilish grin.

"I just wanna make sure that whatever I make tonight is so good he actually shuts up for once." That made Kuguri laugh, and Kuguri's laugh was always so pretty - it was light, a little breathy, and made your heart feel a thousand times bigger than it was. It directly contradicted your own loud, boisterous sound that resonated across any room. Your eyes crinkled and you giggled along with him as you finished the food list you scribbled on the back of a spam letter and grabbed your keys.

"I'm heading to the market, text me if you need anything, ok?" He nodded and you took that as your queue to leave, his echoes of 'drive safe' fading behind you as you descended the stairwell and out of the shop.

Osamu stood at your shop’s side entrance for what seemed like hours. It was like clockwork: every few seconds, he’d raise his fist to announce his arrival, pause right as his knuckles were millimeters away from making contact with the weathered door, stand there frozen for approximately fourteen and a half seconds, groan internally and let his fist fall limply at his side, only to repeat the action in about ten more seconds.

Was he supposed to knock? Walk in unannounced? You were expecting him any minute now, and he began to feel the beads of sweat on the back of his neck. Walking in without warning seemed rude, but it was going to be a bakery soon, so would it seem weirder for him to knock when its technically a public establishment? Maybe he should just go around the front instead so it would seem less rude to just walk in. No no, that’s stupid, just knock, you dumbass. Osamu raised his fist and brought it down to rap on the bright, Robin’s Egg blue wood when it suddenly opened, revealing you in all your frazzled glory. Unfortunately, his brain didn’t catch up with him and he continued to bring his arm forward, making contact with your forehead instead of the door. 

You yelped, more out of surprise than real pain, and reeled back, your hand finding its way onto the crown of your head. He also took a step back in shock, noting the way your mood instantly soured once you recognized him. An uncomfortable silence fell between you and he took the opportunity to take in your appearance; your hair had been thrown up haphazardly and your apron was an absolute battlefield of food stains. The sweatpants you had on had been rolled up, the left one being significantly higher than the right one. He cracked a smile at the flour that was smeared across your cheek and sprinkled in your hair.

Cute.

“What?” Osamu blinked. Did he say something?

“Is there something on my face?” Your hand moved from from your head to your cheek, the wrong cheek, and he had to bring his hand up to his mouth and clear his throat to cover the smile that wanted to make itself known. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” he lied. His eyes travelled to the trash bag you had been holding onto, noting the way your grasp had been strained by the weight of it. “I can take that for ya,” he said, and reached out to relieve the task from you. You were having none of it, however, and you pulled it out of his reach.

“I can do things for myself, thank you.” His brows shot up and he shot you an amused grin. 

“And yet ya can’t fix a stove.” You grumbled something about him being a smartass, and he laughed as he moved to the side, opening a path to the dumpster. He could see the effort you were making in trying to look like you weren’t struggling with the weight of the bag, but the slight tremor in your arm and unsteadiness to your legs gave you away. 

“Are ya sure you’re gonna be able to pick that up over the dumpster?” He couldn’t see your face, but he didn’t need to - he could feel the scowl radiating off you like a force field. As if to prove him wrong, you said nothing, and instead hauled the bag over the side of the dumpster with a small grunt, the clang of the bag hitting the bottom of the bin echoing through the small alleyway. You dusted your hands off, shooting a smug grin his way. 

“Told you I got it, now let me through - I’ll show you where the stove is.”

It wasn’t until he stepped into the bakery that he noticed just how good the food you were making smelled. His steps faltered behind you as he took a slow, steady inhale, reveling in the warmth the scent alone was giving him. He knew you were making curry, that kind of dish always had such a distinct essence to it, plus the fresh stains on your apron had been another dead giveaway. Osamu would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to be able to try some, though the excitement came with a slight bitter aftertaste.

“Here she is, in all her glory.” You gestured toward the ornate stove sitting along the far wall, the gold trim against the iron making it a clear statement piece for the kitchen. Osamu let out an impressed whistle as he bent down and gingerly ran hands across the door to the oven. 

“I can see why ya wanna restore.” His eyes met yours and he swore your eyes sparkled when you stared at the antique.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” He hummed in agreement and shifted so he could pull the oven a little farther from the wall to take a peak. “Ah, I have a tool kit, lemme grab it for you.” You scurried off to the opposite corner of the shop, returning moments later with the aforementioned object in hand. He muttered a small thank you, and the smile you gave in return was so cute he had to look away. 

“I should be good down here. You should probably check on your curry, might burn.” He heard you scoff in protest, but after a moment of silence, you rushed up the stairs and he couldn’t stop the smirk that crept up his face. Osamu turned his attention back to the stove as he flipped open the tool box. 

“Alright Pretty, let’s see what ya got for me.”

“Kuguri, have I ever told you that I’m a fucking god?” You were (sort of) joking, but you couldn’t help the tiny snort that escaped you at the sheer exhaustion on Kuguri’s face when he met your gaze. He sighed and walked over the pot of curry that you had been towering over for the last three hours. 

“I take it the curry was successful?” You gestured for him to try it and took a step back. You clasped your hands together in front of your chest as you watch on with bright eyes and an even brighter grin. 

There was genuinely nothing more satisfying than seeing someone enjoy the food that you made. The way Kuguri sighed into the bite as his eyes fell shut had you swelling with pride, bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement as you waited for him to say something. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, before finally, he put down the spoon and turned to you with an unreadable expression. 

“You said you wanted to shut him up?” You nodded, your eyes flitting between him and the pot. “After this, he’ll never be able to speak again.” You cackled in victory and shooed Kuguri out of the kitchen.

“Thank you, thank you, I know I’m a culinary genius. Now shoo, I have to plate everything. You mind letting him know?”

“Sure thing. Oh,” Kuguri whirled back around to look at you “I forgot to mention, I won’t be eating with you guys, I have a meeting with one of the contractors. Save me a plate?” A groan left you and you reached up to clutch his arm, a desperate plea written across your face.

“You’re leaving me here? with him? Alone? Don’t you love me at all?” Kuguri chuckled and waved you off, shooting you a look. 

“You’re a grown woman, I think you can manage one meal with Miya alone.”

“Fine, but if it gets ugly, you have to help me dispose of the body.” He sighed, but you spotted the smile he tried to cover up by wiping a hand down his face. You waved goodbye as you turned your attention back to the food to plate the curry and rice. Hands worked diligently, and as you heard the muffled voices beneath you followed by the shop door closing and footsteps ascending the stairs, you swallowed the bundle of nerves that had worked its way into your system. 

Your grandmother’s food is always well received; It was the star of every function, holiday, and bake sale from way back when you were growing up in Miyagi to now, with you carrying on her legacy. You had never met anyone who didn’t love something from the recipe box, so you weren’t sure why you seemed especially desperate to garner Osamu Miya of all people’s approval.

You were satisfied with the excuse that it was because you didn’t want to give him any more fuel to act like a condescending shit lord to you. 

When the door to the apartment opened, you had just finished placing the prepped plates onto the dinner table. The effort it took in avoiding eye contact was beginning to weigh down on you, and finally, you gave up, looking up from the spoon you were meticulously situating to meet his cocked eyebrow. 

“I think that spoon’s still a little off-center,” he joked. You crossed your arms over the front of you and shot him a glare. 

“Har Har. How did it go with the stove?”

“I got it workin’. Actually wasn’t too bad of a fix. Just a little finicky,” he said. His voice was slightly drowned out by the sound of the kitchen sink running. Your eyes remained trained on his figure, absentmindedly staring as his shoulders moved along with his hands as he washed them. The sound of the faucet turning off pulled you back and you shook your head, turning toward the table with a grimace. 

“Thank you again, I seriously didn’t want to have to gamble any more of the renovation funds,” you said, hoping he didn’t see you staring at him like he was the most interesting being in existence. He sat down across from you and sent a polite smile your way.

“Not a problem.” The two of you stewed in the awkward silence and you noticed that neither of you had reached for the food yet. Did he even like curry? You mentally slapped yourself for forgetting to ask.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if you liked curry. I just assumed,” you admitted, and he shook his head. 

“Oh no, that’s not it, I just, uh..” Osamu’s voice faltered, and his brows came together with a frown. “I have a feeling I’m gonna like it.” 

The grin that flew onto your face oozed with superiority. The fact that the mere thought of enjoying your food upset him only made your impending victory taste that much sweeter to you. You watched him like a hawk and thrived on how uncomfortable he looked across from you, painstakingly taking his first bite. 

As stated before, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing someone enjoy your food, and you thought Osamu would be no exception, but this stingy little asshole maintained an entirely unreadable expression as he closed his mouth around the spoon, popped it out, chewed, and swallowed. You fidgeted in your seat as you waited for him to say literally anything about it, but he remained lost in thought, looking anywhere but at you as he reached for a second bite. 

“Well?” Your voiced must have snapped him from whatever he was daydreaming about because he looked almost startled when his eyes finally met your own. 

“Oh, sorry...” He trailed off, eyes fluttering back down toward the curry. “It’s good.” 

“Just good?” 

“Its really good?” He offered, and you scoffed, grumbling something about ‘it should be the best damn curry you’ve ever had,’ as you dug into your own plate, melting as soon as the spices touched your tongue. The beef had become so tender that you swore it would fall apart if you so much as looked at it a little too long, and the vegetables had just the right kind of consistency and complimented the beef perfectly. The ginger and curry were so warm together it reminded you of a time during winter break, snuggled with your Grandmother by the old brick fireplace, the vibrant orange glow of the flame illuminating her frail figure as she regaled you with exaggerated stories of her youth. She always made sure to end each tale with a lesson, and a challenge: to never settle until you could say with confidence that you were irrevocably happy. 

Osamu cleared his throat, effectively bringing you back to the current moment. Your eyes flickered over to his plate and you noticed it was empty. He took the napkin and quickly wiped at his mouth, but you still caught a glimpse of the pout that he was clearly trying so hard to hide. A smug grin stretched out across your face and you tilted back down to take another bite. 

“You can get more, if you’d like.” He grunted in response, but got up nonetheless, helping himself to a second plate as he pointedly ignored the pride that oozed off of you. 

“It’s okay, you can say it, the curry is amazing, stupendous, out of this world-”

“It’s delicious.”

You blinked. To be honest, you weren’t expecting him to admit it right off the bat, especially since he made a point to say it was just “good” earlier. Whatever snippy reply you had stored died immediately in your throat, and you found your pride shrinking as a new bashfulness took over instead.

“Oh. Thank you.” Osamu nodded in response, and suddenly it was like a gateway opened - for the first time, you guys conversed with relative ease. It was hardly anything more than history and business, but the fact that you weren’t considering stuffing his body into a trash bag was certainly saying something. It was...nice, being able to talk to him like this, and you had to admit you’d take this over the usual pissing match any day.

Osamu mentioned how Kita was a rice farmer and was his supplier as well as business partner. He spoke about how they were old teammates who decided to go on similar lifepaths which led to them working together once Osamu opened up his shop in Osaka. You learned that they originated from Hyogo, and that Kita still lives there and makes the hour long commute to the shop a few times a week just to help Osamu out with the shop. 

You told him about how you managed the volleyball club back in high school. (He joked about showing you a few moves, and you joked back that you bet you could destroy him since the Wakatoshi Ushijima taught you well enough that you can hold your own in a match any day of the week.) You talked about moving to Tokyo with Tendou after graduating, and how you guys decided to open up the bakery together as business partners. You gushed about the hopes you had for Paradis, the dreams that had spent so much time buried in your notebook finally getting a chance to come to life with this new location. Your eyes sparkled as you babbled on about all the plans you had for Paradis. 

“I just...I always intended for Paradis to be more than just a bakery.” Both of your plates had been long finished and were set off to the side. You sat cross legged on the dining chair, your hands fiddling with each other in your lap. Osamu had his chin resting on his hand and he listened so intently it sometimes made you feel a little too seen. 

“How so?”

“Well, for one, I’d love to expand the menu,” you explained, and you saw his face fall with furrowed brows and a deep frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Why would ya expand the menu?” There was a sharpness to his voice, and you were taken aback. You shrunk back in your seat as you chose your next words carefully.

“I want people to enjoy all of my food, not just the sweets...why?” His face hardened, eyes trained anywhere but your face as he stood up abruptly. He reached for both dishes and made his way to the kitchen wordlessly. 

The two of you had a habit of having this uncomfortable silence fall between you, and you hated it, because the tension was always so thick it felt like you were suffocating. You wondered if he hated it too, or if he thrived in it, like some sort of deranged villain reveling in the suffering of his underlings. You found yourself glaring at his back as he washed your dishes, drying them and putting them off to the side without saying a word. 

Eventually, he turned around, and the frown that had been evident on his face deepened once he made your irritated gaze. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? What the hell did I do to piss you off?”

“There’s no reason why you should expand the menu.” 

“I just gave you a reason. Plus, you seemed to like my food enough to have two helpings, it’s not like I can’t cook. Why shouldn’t I?” 

“The curry was fine, it wasn’t anythin’ to write home about. I was just starving because I missed lunch.” You scoffed.

“That’s a load of bullshit. You know you loved it.” 

“I told ya it was better than it was because ya would’ve had a hissy fit otherwise.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Miya. I can’t believe I was actually beginning to enjoy your company for once.” He rolled his eyes and made his way to your apartment entrance. He paused at the threshold of the open door, looking straight ahead and most definitely not at you. 

“Don’t bother expanding. Stick to what you’re good at if ya want any chance of success here.” With that last remark, he ushered down the stairs and back home, leaving you frozen in the kitchen consumed with rage, shock, confusion - and you didn’t move until Kuguri came through the door and gasped in surprise at the sight of you still in the kitchen.

“Jesus, y/n, you scared the hell out of me. What’s going on? Are you okay?” The frustration bubbled up inside you and you felt hot tears tickle the back of your eyes. The shock of Osamu’s sudden animosity toward you settled into your bones, leaving behind a residue of white hot anger. You willed the tears away and looked over at the curry, then at Kuguri. 

“I hate him, Kuguri.”

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Fun Facts -

no fun facts today, My brain is fried lol. Might add later!

A/N: Long boi today, I’m so sorry for the long wait for this chapter!! I hope you guys enjoyed the holiday if you celebrated and I hope you enjoy the chapter - I feel like I should have definitely split this up into two parts, let me know if you’d prefer smaller chapters or if this is more preferable lmao thank you ok bye

Taglist (shoot me an ask if you’d like to be added!) -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid @keiarma @cherriechurros​ @halesandy​ @k3nma-fairy​ @jewlmin​ @tabipleats​ @kaleidoscopekai​ @confusedturtle​ @vintagexparker​ @hoeevern​ @syaziahvg​ @hallothankmas​ @lilith412426​

[reluctant-mandalore]

hello i just wanna say I loveeee your blog and your fanfics!! <3 can you write a thing where the reader is telling some things to Din that's from their homeworld Earth?? like explaining social media, pop culture things, and some animals?? i'd love a struggling Din trying to comprehend what a DM is (>艸<) o(>V<)o

Warnings: Fluff, Earth things, light flirting, not beta read, din is confused af

Word Count: 1342

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

a/n: I won’t lie. I had a bit of trouble with this one, and I don’t think its any of my best work. But I hope its enjoyable either way! Its a little dialogue heavy, I was exploring dialogue with this piece for sure, but I also felt like it did better with more than less in terms of them speaking. I didn’t have much inspiration in mind for this one, but honestly I still think its still a little cheeky fic with a healthy amount of fluff between Din and the reader. Soooo enjoy! 

Edit: og fic had a “whats a dm?” convo but it didnt really flow right so I removed it and did the spilling the tea thing instead. Hope that was fine anon! I mean... I still have that convo in my scrap doc now, so if you still wanted to see it I could publish it as a blurb. But its really up to y’all if you want to see Din confused over a dm. 

The Mandalorian had immersed himself in looking through that datapad he currently held in his hands. Double checking the list of supplies you both had picked up the day earlier and making sure it had all been placed in the correct storage areas. A task which he found dull, but had busied himself with anyway. If there was one thing he hated—it was a disorganized ship.

This is where you had found him when going down to the hull. Spotting him among the many crates within its vancity and practically skipping over to join him. A bright smile on your cheeks and excitement bubbling inside of you for the day that you two had planned together.

“Hey Din! Ready to head out?”

The Mandalorian had glanced up from what he was doing, allowing his gaze to connect with yours. Soon feeling himself smile at the sight of your own grin. He had nodded in assurance, before going back to fiddling with the datapad in his hands, “I well be, just got to finish up with this here. Are you?”

“Yup! Ready whenever you are tin man!” You had said with a wink, sitting on one of the closed crates and watching as he went about his work. He had rolled his eyes under the helmet at your nickname, choosing to ignore it for the time being though and going back to focusing on the task at hand. Finding himself wanting to get it finished soon so that the two of you could leave.

“Oh, before I forget.” He had suddenly spoken, lifting his head from the screen to look towards you again, “We got a message from Fett earlier when you were busy.”

“Oh we did?” You replied nonchalantly, standing again and patting away the dust now on your clothes. Before pulling up closer to him and taking a peek at the device he was still holding, “What’s the tea? Spill it for me.”

Din had paused in his movements slowly looking up to connect his gaze with yours once more. The confusion he felt evident even with the helmet shielding his features from your view. The realization of your slip up causing a wave of embarrassment to rush through you. Although, your shyness had soon left at hearing the next question he had asked.

“What is this... spilling of the Tea?”

“It’s just a saying.” You said, resisting the laugh that had pulled at your throat from his choice of wording, keeping it down as you smiled at the confused man, “Sorry Din, I sometimes forget that you don’t always know all the same lingo that I do.”

“Ah I see... So it was one of your Earth sayings then?”

You had rolled your eyes at his words, a teasing grin playing on your lips now, “Of course it was, what did you think it would be?”

Din had shrugged, looking away again as he felt himself blush in shyness, even though he knew you wouldn’t be seeing his heated cheeks anyway, “I dunno, maybe it's one of those weird animals you were talking about the other day.”

“Hippos aren’t weird!” You had gasped in mock shock, putting on a show of seeming offended from his accusation, “They’re cute!”

“Yeah sure,” He had said, the teasing smile he wore evident in just his voice alone, “Whatever you say, Cyar’ika.”

“You’d think they were too if you actually saw one.”

After your words, you had moved away from him again, going over to look through the crates of supplies he had scattered around him. You had poked through them with interest, making a face of disgust at seeing some of the protein bars you didn’t like littered within. The expression had earned you a huff of laughter from the armor covered man. The sound of it making you let out a small giggle yourself, a flush of warmth heating your skin, as you both soon found yourselves falling into a comfortable silence.

“What does it mean?” He had asked suddenly, after some time had passed, breaking the cloud of silence within the room, “The spilling of the tea I mean. Why would you spill tea over a message?”

Hearing him speak you had looked towards him, letting out a small laugh at his questioning. His naiveness over the ordeal making your heart flutter and roll with affection for the man. An odd need to pinch his metal cheeks pulling at your mind, though you stopped yourself from doing so, knowing he probably wouldn’t be too fond of such an action.

“Well it doesn’t literally mean spilling tea.” You had said with a shrug, “It basically just means sharing some good gossip.”

Din had hummed in understanding, “I see. Though I can’t imagine Fett sharing any gossip like that.”

“Are you kidding?” You replied, giving him a look of doubt, “I bet him and Fennec sit up on that throne of theirs gossiping all day.”

A loud laugh had left the Mandalorian at your theory—a rare treat that you found yourself overjoyed with—watching him shake his head at the silliness of it all. He never knew how you came up with these ideas of yours, but they always seemed to bring a smile to his face either way.  

“You know I’m right!”

“It’s not that,” He had said, another chuckle leaving him, as he set down the datapad and put everything else away, “You have such strange things from Earth. They seem unreal at times.”

“Oh I see…”

“I mean. I like learning Earth things from you, no matter how strange they may be.” He had said, looking away almost bashfully as he tried to work out his choice of words, “I… I like getting to know more about you.”

A heat had flushed through you at his confession, your heart thundering loudly within your chest, “Well in that case... I can teach you more Earth things.”

You had moved closer to him after your words, a flirty tone finding itself laced within your voice. One of your hands trailing up his chestplate and resting upon it as you leaned into him. Now toying with his cape fondly as you continued speaking, “I wouldn’t mind and it would be something nice to do together.”

“Sure.” He had managed to reply, his mind feeling fuzzy with your sudden closeness, “As long as it's not one of those strange tik tok trends you were doing the other night.”

“Tiktok isn’t strange! It’s fun!” He had looked at you with his brows raised, the helmet hiding them, but his skeptical gaze still obvious,  “Ok maybe it's a little strange, but I promise you’ll enjoy it. You should learn one of the dances with me later. I can teach you one!”

“I don’t dance.” He had replied quickly and sternly. Turning away in an attempt to leave the conversation, though you wouldn’t let him get away with it that easily.

“Oh come on Din…” You pouted, moving around to his front again and giving him your best puppy dog eyes. The sight of them managing to melt his heart in an instant no matter the situation, “It’ll be fun! Plus, you wanted to learn more about Earth stuff right?”

Din had sighed, realizing how his words were now coming back to bite him. Giving you one final look over before admitting defeat, knowing he wouldn’t win this stand off with you anytime soon, “Fine. But you don’t tell anyone.”

“Pinky promise!” You had said with a cheeky smile. Soon holding out your pinky towards him in offering, wanting him to swear the promise with you in that manner, the same way that two foundlings might.

The Mandalorian had rolled his eyes underneath the helmet again, but still possessing the bright smile spread across his cheeks. Soon he had held his own pinky out, interlocking it with yours and giving a firm nod of approval. Another flush of warmth flooding through you at the gesture and causing for your heart to flutter happily once more.

“It’s a deal.”

[taetaespeaches]

“Me? Jealous of your dance moves?”

jeongguk x reader genre: fluff word count: 1.7K

note: this piece was written by mads, @aurorassadprosee​​. This was the first piece she ever wrote and that makes me so soft :( a little bit into our friendship she told me she had written a drabble but didn’t think it was good enough to post, so I had her send it to me and this was the drabble. IMAGINE thinking this wasn’t good enough to post. Ha! Ok, Mads :) It’s still one of my favs. It’s adorable, playful, and just feels like Kookie. We both hope you all enjoy! xo

YOU were making your way around your apartment with swinging hips, beats blasting through your headphones, a hum on your lips.

You were meant to be tidying, cleaning up your small apartment, however, the boring task you started mid-morning was still not done.

You had caught yourself diverging from your set jobs more times that you could count, but no matter how many attempts you made at refocusing your attention back to clearing the clothes off the floor or wiping down surfaces, nearly every couple of minutes you involuntarily break into song and dance.

The clock that sat upon your side table had just clicked over to 3pm, but you just turned up the volume, the hum of tunes on your lips now becoming louder. With a dusting cloth in hand swinging above your head, and hips moving from side to side, you ‘grooved’ around your room, giving the empty space your all.

Although, so involved with your ‘cleaning’, the repeated knock at your door remained unnoticed, you didn’t hear it open, nor do you hear your name being called.

Jeongguk peered his head around the entryway and took one step into your apartment, dumping his bag on the polished floorboards, expecting to be met with your wide smile.

However, he found himself alone in the open space that was your lounge.

Confused at first, believing the apartment to be unoccupied, his gaze fell on clothes strewn over the couch, a plate with half eaten toast and a tea stained cup resting on your wooden coffee table, and a glowing TV, the muffled voice of a news anchor filling the room.

However, it was the hallow squawk that sounded from down the corridor that let him know you were home.

As he slowly made his way closer to the noise, a wince appeared on his face, and it stayed there.

Palms rising to protect his ears from the sound of your unrelenting, off-pitch screeching, he made his way to the doorway of your room.

There he saw you.

You with your back to him, hair half out of your high bun, violently moving to a beat he couldn’t hear.

Leaning against the arch of the entryway, he removed his palms from his ears and brought them to cross his chest.

A smile broke out across his face, an involuntary giggle coming out of his mouth.

You stayed unaware however, tunes too loud, too immersed, going hard.

It wasn’t until mid-twirl you noticed him standing there, laughing.

Frozen, you quickly snatch the headphones off your head, arms dropping limp and face immediately reddening.

“Guk!” you gasp, “what are you doing here?!”

You had not expected him for another three hours, you had plans for those three hours!

Some of those plans had been a possible shower, getting changed in something other than your pajama top and sweatpants, or hell, maybe even brushing your hair?!

“Oh! nice to see you too, baby,” he said, a smile from ear-to-ear. “Those are some real moves you’ve got there!”

Oh my god, you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

It wasn’t like Jeongguk hadn’t seen you dancing before in the two years you had been together, he has witnessed your numerous drunken shenanigans, especially when an 80s shuffle came on.

For goodness sake, you both jam out regularly together - rap battles included.

But there is something different, and completely embarrassing about being caught in the act.

“Shut up! How long have you been standi-wait, I don’t want to know how long you’ve been standing there,” you say, face still red, embarrassed to the core. “You haven’t answered my question, why are you home so early?”

“Well, we had sort of finished up for the day so I really didn’t have any reason to stay back,” he said. “Plus, I wanted to see you!” a smile still encompassing his entire face, “is that not reason enough? You’ve been busy with work and study all week, and I’ve been held up with rehearsals and recording, I just thought we could grab a bite to eat?”

You toss your phone and headphones onto your bed, and cross your arms tightly across your body, “well some prior notice would have been nice, I’ve been working all day and now I won’t have any time to get ready,” you say with a pout.

“Oh really?” he drawls, still beaming, “working hard, all day?”

“Yes really!” you say, eyes narrowing, “why is that so hard to believe?”

Still laughing, Jeongguk slowly made his way over to you, mimicking your dance moves as he went along.

Your face becomes redder, if that’s even possible, skin and ears burning.

You smack him lightly in the chest when he gets close enough, but he just continues to giggle.

Wrapping his arms around your frame, he looks down his chin at you, his warm brown eyes scrunched by his wide smile.

“Hmmm…yeah um, seems as though you have been really busy,” he said sarcastically, eyes widening in false sincereness.

He looks away, gaze roaming around the small space, pausing and pointedly looking at your unmade bed.

You cocked your head to the side, eyebrow rising.

“Excuse you! what are you insinuating?” you huff in false exasperation, “I am a hardworking individual!”

He looks back to you, eyes crinkled in humour, bangs slightly pushed to the side, skin bare.

He throws his head back with a chuckle, your eyes falling to the scattered and occasional light freckles that cover his jaw and neck, appearing like stars on a clear night.

Your heart thumps.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” his arms squeeze tighter as he rests his forehead against yours lightly, the echo of faint music still making its way out of the headphones laying on your bed.

You’re struggling for excuses now, you’re struggling to even breathe, his gaze intensely meeting yours, waiting for your rebuttal.

“Well the thing is, not like you’d know anyway, but cleaning is a time-consuming task!” you say with the same determined tone, your eyes moving down to your fingers that were playing with the strings of his hoodie.

But your voice wavers toward the end of the sentence, fading as you look back up to him and see a smile creep back onto his face, eyes sparkling.

He scoffs.

You gulp.

“Okay whatever, shut up!” you finally cave with a whine, “hey! It’s not my fault my Spotify playlist is full of bops!”

His boyish giggle fills the room once more.

Waiting for his response you lift your gaze to meet his expecting a witty remark, you instead get his lips.

Your mind goes instantly blank.

Your senses are consumed by him.

His hands moving to your hips, sliding to the cotton waistband of your sweats, the pressure of his thumbs on your hip-bones.

He pulls away, bringing his lips close to your ear, you shiver at his breath.

“God you’re an idiot.”

You can hear the smile on his words as his lips make their way along your neck and jaw.

“You’re just jealous of my dance moves,” you mumble back, eyes half closed, one hand pulling at his cotton jumper, the other to the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in his soft hair, trying to bring him back down to your mouth once more.

“Me?” his eyes come back into line with yours quickly, eyebrow raised, “jealous of your dance moves?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you be?” you say with a cheeky grin, “I mean look at this!”

You push away from him, twirl on the spot, hand on hip as you stop abruptly, looking over your shoulder dramatically, wiggling your eyebrows.

Jeongguk almost doubles over, stumbling back and landing on your bed, clasping his stomach.

Once he catches his breath, he hoists himself back to a sitting position, shoulders curved, chin in hands.

“Oh my god, you really are an idiot!” he chuckles. “A cute idiot though! a very cute idiot!” he quickly adds in response to your furrowed brows. “Hmmm, maybe I am jealous,” he smirks, “you might have to teach me some of these moves?”

With you now further away, he is able to see you completely, shamelessly scanning up and down your body.

With a small smile and a knowing expression, you make your way back over to him, slowly taking a seat on his lap.

“Yeah maybe,” you sigh, shaking your head, “but, I’ve got to warn you, if you want to learn these moves, it’s going to take rigorous and intense training. My technique is hard to master.”

His hands clasp at the small of your back, the last of his giggles fading away.

He lifts his chin, nose brushing against yours, his lips inches away.

“Hmmm, rigorous and intense training hey?” he hums. “That’s fine with me,” he says, roughly bringing his lips to yours.

He pulls you closer, hand shifting onto your hip, the other moving to the side of your cheek, deepening the kiss with every breath.

It was a few minutes before your brain re-activated, you bring your hands to his neck, and pull away, ignoring his mewls and attempts to pull you back

“If we’re going to go for something to eat, I need to get ready,” you murmur softly, starting to detach yourself from him.

He grumbles in response, gripping you tighter, his strength immediately outweighing yours.

You land with a thump back onto his lap, face-to-face with his pout.

“No, no we can order in,” his lips making their way back to the side of your neck. “I don’t really want to go out anyway.”

“Mmmmm, fine,” you say with a false hufff, smile on your lips. “But at least let me make my bed!”

Jeongguk smirks, shifting his weight, your back now suddenly against the blankets.

Hovering over you on his forearms, Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours shining, his skin hot.

“Oh sweetheart, there will be no need to do that.”