#shifting into fall mode so wanting fall scents

[cannibalisticskittles]

i really, really, really wish haus of gloi's ghost puffs presented as more than just marshmallow on me because buttered popcorn + marshmallow goo is a simple but very intriguing combination

but i cannot smell the popcorn at all, it's just marshmallow all the way down

[revelboo]

Happy Late(?) Birthday!I noticed you do mass displacement and i absoluly adore it!Everybody prefers holoforms and i cant seem to find people who do mass displacement alot!Maybe something with Jazz with mass displacement?

I can write either, but I’ve always preferred mass displacement/shift 😁

Over It Now Pt 7

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Snagging an energon cube, he almost misses Blaster as the other mech falls into step beside him. “Haven’t seen you about in a while,” Blaster says, one corner of his mouth twisted up in a half smile that doesn’t dull the edge in his voice. Especially when Blaster very deliberately vents and he knows he should have hit the wash racks. Your scent where he’d handled you is clinging to him still, faint enough he’d felt safe not scrubbing it off. And truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to. Wanted to keep the little reminder of you. “If command figures out what you’re up to, your little pet’s going to be on lockdown like the rest. You know that, right?”

• Tension drawing him taut, his lazy smile doesn’t waver even as he knows he’s made a mistake. A dangerous one. Of course he knows about Optimus’s mandate, but he’s watching you. Knows you haven’t tried to betray his trust, yet. And he can’t just take away your freedom for his mistake. He’d never been great at following orders, anyway. “No idea what you’re on about, pal.”

• “Yeah, sure.” Blaster shakes his head as he walks away, leaving the unsaid liar hanging between them. “Didn’t figure you for the selfish type.” Tipping back the energon he almost laughs because Blaster has no idea how selfish he can be. That he likes your company. That you see right through him when he’s lying and call him out on it. That maybe you already have guessed the truth about his smile and that you wouldn’t judge him if he dropped the act. Didn’t need him to keep that smile firmly in place just so you feel better.

• Leaving the base, he knows exactly where he’s going as soon as he transforms, wheels hitting asphalt. Driven this road so many times it’s almost habit now. How long has it been since he spent an actual night in his own berth rather than cramped in his alt mode in your drive way? He should resent that, but he just needs to see you. Check that you’re okay and hear your voice. You’d gotten under his plating at some point, becoming a necessity in his routine.

• When had you started looking forward to seeing your liar? You’re not sure, but it had been so subtle a slide you hadn’t even noticed at first. Heart beating a little faster as you see him pull down your wooded driveway, a breathless sort of pleasure spilling through you that’s absolutely silly, because it feels suspiciously like a crush. Like you like him, a compulsively lying, too charming for his own good alien. And you freeze as he transforms, his lips in a thin line before he notices you and grins crookedly. Because you realize that’s exactly right. You like him.

• “Out here waiting on me, kitten?” Kneeling, he reaches out to brush the back of his servo against your cheek and you lean away, eyes wide. Avoiding his touch just like you’d done before you’d finally gotten used to him. Face reddening, your eyes drop to your hands folded in your lap. “Suddenly shy?” He teases to hide his own discomfort, because why now? Why avoid his touch? Reaching to touch your arm and his smile almost fails completely at how cold your skin is. How long have been sitting out here waiting for him?

• It’s not like you can just tell him why you’re so flustered. You’re definitely not in the mood to be laughed at, even if you don’t think he actually would laugh at your feelings. He’s staring at you, smile wavering and you have to say something. Anything but blurt out the truth. You inhale when he reaches for your cheek again and then just becomes smaller so fast your own stomach drops and you squeeze your eyes shut as motion sickness smacks you silly. And then a warm hand cups your cheek. When you open your eyes, he’s right there. Somehow much smaller as he moves his hand to press his fingers against your throat and you can’t move, can’t breathe. “You shouldn’t be out here, doll,” he says, the words almost a growl, sounding concerned now not teasing.

• You’re just staring up at him and it clicks. He’s shocked you with mass displacing and it’d be funny if he wasn’t so worried. You’re always colder than him, but never this chilled and you’d made it abundantly clear all the times you’d leaned into him that you like his body heat. So he slides his hands down to your sides and lifts you carefully from your chair, ignoring the little sound of protest as he sits down and pulls you into his lap, his chin on top of your head and his arms curled around you. Playing heater as your stiff body slowly relaxes in his grip. “Jazz, a little cold won’t kill me,” you mutter, shivering when he catches both of your little hands in one of his, rumbling at how icy those tiny fingers are.

• “Humor me,” he says, venting as he carefully rubs his servos over your hands and you relax further. Turn your little face into his neck until he can feel your cold cheek against his mesh, the warmth of your breath. And becomes very aware of the softness of you against him, the way your little form fits against his as he rubs his chin against the softness of your hair and his own tension eases. It’s the contact, spreading warm through him, because how long has it been since he’s held someone else? Been able to actually relax, not having to constantly play a part? You need his heat, but he needs this, his arms tightening around you. Your scent and touch soothing old wounds that had never quite healed.

Previous

Next

[leezlelatch]

I love your writing and style. It's been a hard week and it's made me happy after discovering it. Just wondering if you, if you had the time, could write a slightly smutty drabble. I love your take on protective doll baby Copia. He's perfect.

With the last few months I'd love to read a ficlette where he discovers the reader almost in tears after being torn down by people, told that she's worthless, and now doubting herself because of the complete lack of self esteem which is even worse after this. Copia goes into DarkCopia mode while loving her like the badass he is. He doesn't like it when people hurt his gal. And he makes sure she knows how much worth he sees in her.

Truly though, even if you don't have time...your stuff has made me happy. <3

Hello, my friend. I'm so sorry this week has been hard. I hope it has improved, and I am so happy that my writing has made a difference! Here is a little something for you from me, and Copia. <3

Copia x Reader - hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive, a little smutty, protective Copia, suggestively Dark!Copia.

The old key slipping into the lock rouses you from your light doze, and your eyes feel heavy as you turn over, watching as Copia steps into his quarters, his gaze lowered as he shifts his takeout bag from one hand to the other, depositing the key back into his pocket. He raises his head, and you make eye contact. Two things happen in that moment that makes the hair raise on your arms, and your heart warm with affection at the same time. Copia takes in the sight of you, curled up like a burrito in his blanket, your nose tucked into the fabric, eyes red. He knows it’s because you’re trying to find comfort in his scent. He knows you, in and out. His expression freezes in a ghastly stare, his eyes narrowed, lips set in a deep frown which accentuates the wrinkles around his mouth. His brows are pulled down, and he appears paler than he usually does. In short, he looks ready to hurt someone. 

But then it falls away. Cold fury melting into concern, and he drops his bag at the door, uncaring as the takeout boxes tumble and rest on their sides in his haste to reach you. Gloved hands pull you from the blankets, settling you across his lap, his arms cradling you. His face grows very close to yours, searching your eyes with a certain desperation. Copia is another person when it comes to you. The endearing, funny Papa is gone and replaced by someone who is calculating, smart, one step ahead. The real him. The one he hides, the clergy unaware that the puppet is actually the puppet master. You’re precious to him, and there is nothing this man would not do to keep you happy and safe.

“Baby,” he says very softly, his accent curling around the endearment. “Tell Papa what happened, eh?” His thumb rubs beneath your eye. “What are the tears for?”

“I had a hard day,” you respond, your voice a little hoarse. His brow furrows, and one of his hands slides its way down your body, feeling, prodding gently, as if he were checking for some external injury. “I’m okay, Copia.”

“Okay is not finding il mio amore all wrapped up and crying.” He works at removing a glove, slipping each finger out of the leather. He flexes his hand once it’s removed, and it makes you smile, even if just a little. Copia said to you before that he was used to it, but you know the constricting leather became a little much after a long day. 

“Somebody said something to me today,” you murmur, taking his hand and holding it to your face. His fingers cradle your jaw, the warmth of his skin encouraging you to speak. “And I feel like I just…can’t do right. That I’m not right. I can’t even face myself in the mirror because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” You pause, gathering your thoughts. “I’m afraid to see that they’re right.”

Copia sucks in a shaky breath when you finish, and you can already see his mind working. “My love, I don’t want you going after anyone,” you say, reaching to grasp his chin, squeezing it gently. “I’m not telling you this to make you angry.”

He stares down at you, and then he nods slowly. Copia shifts back onto the bed so his back is against the wall and he adjusts his hold on you, looking thoughtful as his fingers pick up a soothing rhythm against your cheek. “There are a few things I need to be correcting, amore. And I need you to be good for your Papa, and listen. I will never allow a single soul in this building or elsewhere to hurt you. That goes for all our Siblings, but you are not just a Sibling, sì? You are my amore. Also,” he clicks his tongue. “The peoples are wrong. They will learn that they are wrong. And you, vita mia, also need to be corrected.”

You’re listening intently, your eyes trained on his features, adoring how expressive his features are when he speaks, but his last words make you pause. “I have to be corrected?” That was the last thing you expected to hear. 

“Yes,” Copia says, drawing out the word, his expression set. You’re bewildered when he doesn’t elaborate, letting out a sound of surprise as he firmly guides you up and out of the bed. 

“Copia, no-,” you begin to protest as he approaches the full length mirror near his dresser, your hand tightly wrapped in his grip. Copia pins you with a look that shuts your mouth, and he takes you by the shoulders, setting you directly in the reflection of the mirror. 

“We shall start here,” he says, his fingers tapping beneath your chin. “You will watch, and listen.” Copia circles you like a vulture, his hands clasped behind his back. “When you smile, I want to smile too.” His voice has lowered, tender and affectionate. “I am not so proud of my teeth, but I would smile ear to ear just to match your joy. That is healing for me, amore. You do that.”

Fingers brush your cheek. “You blush at the sight of me. At the sight of me. So beautiful and sweet, and I am sure that I have seen the depths of paradise. And the way your eyes light up when you’re excited, oh…,” he laughs softly to himself, his voice almost a coo. “Do you realize how lucky I am to know your eyes? To watch your brow furrow or rise. To see emotion pass over your face. To read the story of your life through every blemish and line.”

Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you’re already crying. Copia’s hands shake as they grasp your hips, standing now close behind you, his voice a gentle whisper in your ear. His breath makes you shiver, and you feel his hips shift against your backside. “You’re biased,” you whisper, and he laughs.

“I am very proud of this, amore. It is a gift to be biased,” he murmurs, his eyes catching yours in the mirror. “It is a gift to have you.” His hands slip beneath your shirt, grasping and kneading at soft skin. You make a breathless noise, leaning back against him, and Copia almost purrs. “Hmm, you are liking your Papa’s touches?”

They slip higher, fingers grazing your nipples, and he pauses there. You whimper, caught between your emotions and your arousal, and Copia knows how to play you like the finest instrument. When to touch, and when to pause, letting it all wash over you, giving you the time you need to feel safe in his arms. “Your body,” he says, pressing his hips firmly into the curve of your ass. “Ignites a fire inside of me, you know? I am incomplete when I am not joined with you.” He’s almost growling now, a rough edge to his voice. 

You’re spun around in his arms and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue thoroughly plundering your mouth and rendering you incapable of any thought. Copia has a talent at making you forget, and suddenly the cruel words from today have all but vanished from your mind. “I love you,” he hisses, nipping at your bottom lip. His hand grasps your chin, raising your eyes to his, and his tone softens. “I love you.”

He kisses you softly now, his lips curling into a smile. “You are worth everything. You don’t need to look into the mirror, amore, just look into my eyes. I see you. I see the glory in you. And you will always have a home with me. You are safe with me.”

Another tear falls down your cheek and he kisses it away. “I love you, too,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his. Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his trousers, and he gasps, arching into your touch.

“Do not think,” he murmurs, his voice a little strained as he pushes you toward the bed. “That this does not mean they will be…removed. Papa protects what is his.”

[barfygutcheck]

pizza-logged

/uhh to be perfectly honest this is just pure kink and little else. it involves a stethoscope and some pizza overload. enjoy/

Sawyer was knocked out cold, splayed across the couch in the typical position that followed an indulgent meal. Her legs extended past the edge, one arm loosely covering her eyes while the other dangled over the side. The coffee table bore witness to her indulgence, cluttered with an empty pizza box from Sawyer’s favorite place in Kingston, discarded greasy napkins, and the subtle scent of pepperoni still hanging in the atmosphere.

Jackie nestled up against her girlfriend, one hand gently resting on Sawyer’s broad chest. Instances like this left Jackie unsure of what to do with herself. Sawyer had emerged from football practice “starved,” and Jackie, ever the supportive girlfriend, had urged her to eat… perhaps driven by a desire to see Sawyer grow full. Part of her reasoning was practical: to recover adequately, Sawyer needed to consume sufficient calorie intake. The other part?

Slightly adjusting her position, Jackie let her head rest on Sawyer’s shoulder, her gaze instinctively falling on Sawyer’s belly: markedly swollen, her muscles slack, the fabric of her shirt pulled tight.

With a moment of pause, Jackie felt equal parts self-conscious and concerned before she allowed her hand to settle directly on the expanse of Sawyer’s abdomen, where the pizza had settled, mindful of how stuffed Sawyer must feel. The heat of her skin was striking against the distension.

Normally, if Sawyer was awake, Jackie wouldn’t even get this close. Sawyer operated in two distinct modes: boasting about her food consumption or lamenting the consequences of her indulgence. In this instance, it was clear that she had reached her limit and would be grappling with a stomachache if she were conscious. However, she was far from awake. So, Jackie indulged her curiosity, tracing circles across Sawyer’s expanded stomach, her fingertips exploring the surface. As she applied gentle pressure, she could sense the tightness of the bloating — much like a balloon blown up to its near-bursting point.

She could practically imagine the digestive process occurring in her girlfriend’s abdomen; the stomach walls contracting in a rhythmic fashion, guiding the hefty mass of food toward the intestines. Given the sheer bulk of cheese and dough, this process was inevitably sluggish and inefficient.

No wonder Sawyer was out cold. Her head lolled to the side, mouth slightly open, completely knocked out from her food coma.

Jackie couldn’t help but feel aroused.

Just as she was settling deeper into the couch, she heard it — this faint gurgling sound. It was so soft at first that she thought she might’ve imagined it. But then it came again, a quiet, low rumble that seemed to echo from Sawyer’s belly. Jackie lifted her head slightly, peering down at Sawyer’s stomach again.

“Huh,” Jackie murmured, raising an eyebrow. “Is that your stomach, babe?” Of course, Sawyer couldn’t respond.

Jackie bit her lip.

The gurgling continued, a gentle but persistent noise that made her own stomach twist with a vague sense of unease.

Jackie’s medical training took over, and though she knew it was important not to jump to conclusions — Sawyer was a big girl, more than capable of handling a simple stomachache — her concern deepened with each passing moment. The sounds from Sawyer’s stomach were growing harder to ignore, and Jackie couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be more than just a typical food overload. She didn’t want to deal with chunks of half-digested pizza all over the couch, or worse, risk Sawyer waking up in agony.

Jackie shifted slightly, careful not to wake Sawyer. Her hand slid off Sully’s chest as she reached over to the coffee table where her stethoscope lay. She always kept it close, a habit from long nights of studying.

 Sawyer would probably give her so much grief if she knew Jackie was taking this medical approach, but since Sawyer was completely out, Jackie figured there was no harm.

“Alright, don’t hate me for this,” Jackie whispered as if Sawyer could hear her. She gently lifted Sawyer’s shirt, revealing her toned stomach, now slightly distended from all that pizza. Pronounced was one word. Swollen was another. Jackie had helped with a few slices; two and a half, precisely because she ate like a bird.

Sawyer had taken care of the rest, but one would have been able to tell just from the looks of her stomach.

Jackie placed the stethoscope’s diaphragm against Sawyer’s warm skin and pressed her ear to the other end.

The soft growling noises she had heard earlier were much louder now. Jackie’s brows knitted together as she listened intently. It wasn’t just normal digestion but rather intense bubbling, sloshing, and churning. Periodically, a sharp, almost groaning noise emerged, as if Sawyer’s stomach was actively protesting the overwhelming volume of food it had been tasked to manage. The sounds weren’t alarming in a medical emergency kind of way, but they certainly weren’t… pleasant. Her stomach could hardly grapple with the excess.

“Jesus, Sully, what did I get you into?” Jackie muttered under her breath, pulling the stethoscope away for a moment. She frowned, her hand resting lightly on Sawyer’s stomach. It was warm to the touch, but not unusually so. Still, with the way it was rumbling and shifting beneath her fingers, Jackie had a feeling Sawyer was going to wake up in for a rough time.

Sawyer shifted slightly, her face scrunching up in discomfort, but she didn’t wake.

Jackie felt a pang of guilt. She’d encouraged Sawyer to eat the entire pizza, and now her stomach was working overtime to deal with it. Jackie pressed the stethoscope back to Sawyer’s belly, listening again. The sounds were just as unsettling — a mix of liquid sloshing and air moving around in ways that didn’t seem like they should be. Under normal circumstances, the sounds would be rhythmic but somewhat gentle; occasional burbles, gushing as digestion kicked in. However, Jackie picked up prolonged periods of silence followed by harsh gurgling and strained noises, indicative of a cramped digestive tract.

Perhaps nausea was building up.

Sawyer’s body jerked slightly, a sudden hiccup escaping her lips. The hiccup was so forceful it jostled her entire body, and Jackie’s hand felt the sloshing inside Sawyer’s belly. The sound was unmistakable — a thick noise that made Jackie’s eyes briefly widen. She froze, listening as another hiccup followed, this one even louder.

Jackie leaned back with a sigh, pulling the stethoscope from her ears and setting it aside. There wasn’t much she could do now except wait for Sawyer to wake up and see how she felt. Jackie just hoped she wouldn’t feel too awful.

Her gaze softened as she looked at Sawyer’s peaceful face, her breathing steady despite the clear turmoil happening in her gut.

The growling from Sully’s stomach continued, but Jackie was at least reassured that nothing serious seemed to be happening. It was just a classic case of overeating.

Jackie leaned her head against Sawyer’s shoulder, letting the gentle rise and fall of Sawyer’s chest calm her own nerves. For now, all Jackie could do was wait and make sure Sawyer didn’t wake up in too much pain. After all, it wasn’t every day your girlfriend devoured an entire pizza and then passed out like a rock.

Jackie chuckled softly, resting her hand on Sawyer’s warm stomach again, feeling the faint vibrations of her digestive system working overtime. Sully might grumble when she woke up, but Jackie would be there, ready to help.

[leahsgf]

omg could u write adult lottie x reader?? maybe w lottie js comforting reader or something? theres such a lack in lottie fics its heartbreaking :((

an instant cure

pairings. adult!lottie x reader

i actually wrote two different versions of this! the other is a little more heavy so i’ll post this one first, thank you so much for the req! and i agree i wish there was more fics out there for lottie :(

-

“honey are you coming?” lottie’s voice sounded from the other side of the bathroom door, so soft and full of love that you could almost melt.

“yeah, yeah. just a second!” you shook off the threatening tears as you glanced over your appearance in the mirror. it’d been one of those days that had just been off. nothing particularly out of the ordinary had happened, just the usual jobs and classes around the compound, but since you had woken up you had felt like you had a brick sat on your chest, refusing to shift.

you were desperately clinging to the logical side of your brain, trying to convince yourself that it was all in your head and to not let your thoughts completely overwhelm you. however nothing could quite quell the crummy feeling lingering in your gut.

you’d been delaying leaving the bathroom and joining your wife in bed because you didn’t want to dampen her mood. she was a constant beam of light, and spent her days helping people navigate their feelings purely out of the goodness of her own heart, and the last thing you wanted to do was to taint her high spirit and put her back into work mode when she should be relaxing. maybe, you thought, spending a second longer getting ready would be able to shake that off you - but, you were mistaken. so with a deep breath you opened the door, heading towards your shared bedroom.

your entrance instantly caught lottie’s attention, her eyes softening as she saw you, instantly plastering a smile across your features. “come on.” she demaned lightheartedly, holding up the sheets. “get over here.” you laughed and waltzed over, snuggling down next to her, inhaling her scent and instantly feeling comforted, and lighter.

the fuzzy feeling surrounding you reminded you of the first time you’d had the pleasure of being taken out on a date by her, decades ago, before the thought of nationals, before the crash, before switzerland, before everything. the pair of you had genuinely been through it all, and had always had each-other.

you’d met lottie when you were six. you were the terrified, shy new kid, and had refused to speak to anybody for the entirety of your first day. until she had toddled over, plonking herself down next to you and wordlessly started braiding your hair, beaming at you with her gappy smile.

her playing with your hair had always been a huge comfort to you - from the playground decades ago, to now, wrapped in her embrace from as she pressed kisses to the crook of your neck every now and again.

alongside her ability to love beyond belief, one of the things you loved the most about lottie was how observant she was, the little things that would fall unnoticed to most being the things that she would notice the most. she quite literally knew you inside and out, and was in touch with your emotions just as much, if not more than her own.

her fingers branched out from your hair, feathering over your cheeks ever so slightly, pulling you back into reality.

“what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?” she quizzed, her eyes studying your expression.

“just thinking about you.” you replied, so softly it was barely audible. “about the first day we met.”

“oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, the very same smile from that day spread across her cheeks. “you were so cute. i think i knew i loved you from the second my eyes set on you that day.” your eyes glazed over once more as your cheeks heated in response to her words.

after a moment of silence that fell between you, she nudged you slightly, an expectant look across her features, sighing softly as you met it with confusion.

“i don’t help people navigate their feelings everyday for nothing you know. what’s actually going on?”

“nothing,” you mumbled, “honestly, it was just a weird day.”

“weird?” her eyebrows furrowed as she scolded herself internally for busying herself today to the point of missing that you weren’t a hundred percent.

“yeah. just off. you know those days that just feel wrong, even though you don’t really know why?”

“absolutely baby.” she assured. “please always tell me or just give me a signal when you’re feeling like this. you are my top priority, always.” she pulled you into her arms further, caressing your back as she pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“thank you lot. i’m honestly feeling much better now. it’s quietened down a lot.”

“you sure? i don’t want you feeling icky before bed. i know it can take a while for it to let you relax sometimes. i could make you a smoothie? one of the ones you really like? o-or i could run us a bubble bath? or give you-“ she rambled, her brain scrambling for every possible way to comfort you, not realising that she is comfort enough.

“hey, hey.” you stopped her, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. “all i need is you, right here with me. i promise.”

lottie grinned over at you, pausing her train of very enticing ideas. “as long as you’re sure. i can very much do that. i’m not going anywhere.” she shifted your position so your head lay on her chest, her arms securely around your frame, almost cradling you. butterflies erupted within you, like they always had done at the slightest touch from her. she had had this effect on you for as long as you had known her.

“i love you so much.” you whispered, sleep now fully prepared to overcome you.

“i love you more sweetheart. don’t hesitate to wake me if you need me.” she soothed, gently squeezing you as your lips met hers to say goodnight.

lottie had always been like an instant cure to every negative emotion you had ever experienced. it seemed to again of worked effectively, as you drifted off to sleep happier than you’d been all day, knowing that you could get through anything as long as you had your love.

[after-witch]

just a smiling man thought

We're actually getting fall weather now and I can't tell you how much my brain just automatically shifts into smiling man daydream mode when the air is cool and the leaves are falling and crisp and there's vague fall scents--cool air, burning leaves, the scent of wet leaves being stepped on--all around.

Every time I take little walks by the woods or down the wood trails, it's just--

Wouldn't it be lovely, if he were to come walking out? If he were to offer you the thing you want the most? If he were to smile at your shock at seeing him, and your gut knows he needs no introduction because he's this ancient creature who knows you without a word?

And his smile can be so kind and warm and so awful at the same time, like he knows a secret that you don't, like he's hearing jokes that don't reach your ears.

And by the time he convinces you to make his deal and you're shaking his hand--it's just an ordinary hand--his smile is wide enough to split his face because oh yes, he knows something you don't, but you'll find out soon enough...

[neon-junkie]

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.4

Summary: “Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats,” accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you’re one of that 10 percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Scents, slightly A/B/O, First time, Fingering, Dirty talk, Tags to be added.

Word count: 3k

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 5]

Chapter 4 - Knock Knock

"No, thank you," you grumble as you push the food away.

Tech looks defeated, and lets out a deep sigh as he picks it up, and without looking, throws it in Wrecker's direction. A faint "mhm!" can be heard as Wrecker scoffs it down, like a dog enjoying his leftovers.

"You need to eat, General, considering your current state," Tech explains with a huff.

Mocking his huff, you scoff back, "what current state?!" your brows furrowing with annoyance as you glare up at him, cooped up on your chair whilst he looms over you.

Four sets of eyes look disapprovingly at Tech, before he scowls back, and looks at you. "Regarding the stress that you're under, General," he replies through gritted teeth.

Your furrowed brows meet Tech's, matching your expression, only for his to worsen as another member pipes up. "If she doesn't want to eat, then that's her decision," Crosshair comments with a shrug, sitting comfortably as he finishes his meal.

Tech scoffs, and you know that he's biting back on the urge to chew both of you out. "Fine," is all he snaps before making his way over to his seat, digging in to his lukewarm meal.

You bring your knees up to your chest as you stay put, thinking about the recent turn of events. Your heat has shifted these last few days, now entering a desperate and sickly state as you've still not technically mated. Sure, you've found relief, but the unfortunate idea of heats is to knock you up, and that hasn't happened - nor will it.

Your patience is shortening with every minute, and you've caught yourself snapping at your squad for the smallest of things. Wrecker accidentally leaving a pair of boxers in the washer? That deserves a scolding. Echo is apparently louder than usual whilst adjusting his joints? Ugh, shut up! And Hunter's weird and distant aura? Well, you can't bring that up, but you wish you could bite him for being so off!

Thankfully, your comm beeps, pulling your thoughts back to the present. General Kenobi is ready to give you your next series of missions, and you rise to your feet and exit the cockpit to take his call.

-

Travelling to Batuu will take a handful of hours, so with your orders, it's time to get some rest. Wrecker is taking the first watch, despite his groans and grumbles. You managed to beat the others to the refresher, and clean yourself up before heading to bed, confined in the privacy of your dorm.

Only, the issue is, you can't sleep. That altercation with Tech is playing in your mind on repeat, and you know damn-well that you were in the wrong to snap at him. He was only trying to help you! It's been... what, well over a day since you last ate? No wonder he was frustrated!

It's only been an hour since everybody locked themselves in their dorms, and knowing Tech, he won't be asleep. So, now is the best time to talk to him, but with a hushed voice to ensure that certain people don't overhear, despite the thickness of the Marauder's durasteel walls.

The first time that you knock on Tech's door, it's quiet, and even you barely manage to hear it. Still, you wait patiently, your arms crossed over your chest, rubbing at your forming goosebumps. The Marauder's engine is on power saving mode, which means you don't get the pleasure of heating.

Another knock, but this one is much harder. Your hands fall to your sides, shifting awkwardly in your sleep attire, and you're about to give up and return to your dorm, seeing as it's been two minutes now and Tech still hasn't answered.

"Mhm?" somebody calls out as Tech's neighbour awakens. Echo, whilst rubbing his eyes, meets your confused gaze. "Oh, you were knocking on for Tech..." he comments, standing awkwardly in his dorm entrance.

"Yeah, I'm sorry to wake you," you sigh. Echo is a painfully light sleeper, and it's even harder for him to fall asleep in the first place.

Echo brushes you off with a wave of his hand. He notices your pained expression, and asks, "is everything alright?"

"I just..." you stutter, and gesture to Tech's door, "...wanted to talk to him about earlier."

"The argument? Oh. Yeah, I get why," Echo awkwardly nods. His stance shifts, and after peering over his shoulder to analyse the state of his dorm, he turns back to you. "If it's worth anything, you could come in and talk to me? I know you've been rather... uh, off lately."

Your ears perk up at such a sweet suggestion. "Please? Only if you're alright with it-"

"-Come in," Echo cuts you off, stepping to the side and gesturing into his dorm.

He shuts the door behind you, and you stand in the centre of his room as you analyse his surroundings. A simple lamp sits on his bedside table, lit on the lowest setting to help Echo's sensitive eyesight. His bed is, understandably, not made, seeing as he's just woken up, and when you settle on it, it's comfortably warm.

"Here," Echo mutters as he moves a few pillows about, propping his body pillow against the durasteel wall so you have something to lean against. The fabric of his duvet is simple, yet comfortable, matching the calming fabric of his sleeping attire - a simple t-shirt and sweatpants.

Sure, you've seen Echo's dorm a million times before, but seeing it like this? At peace within his own small, safe space. It's calming, really, and you feel even more guilty for waking him!!

"So, what can I do for you?" Echo questions as he leans back against the wall, sitting diagonally to you.

"I..." you stutter, and shut your mouth, realising that you don't even know where to begin. "Well, I'm sorry again for waking you. I wanted to speak to Tech so I can apologise for snapping at him earlier. I know he was only trying to take care of me..."

"Honestly, I thought you were both in the wrong," Echo shrugs. You remain silent, and with it, Echo continues. "I mean, sure, you should be eating, but you said no, and Tech pushed."

You hum, understanding where he's coming from. "Well, either way, I still want to apologise," you reply.

"I understand," Echo says with a nod, and a sweet smile. "Now, if I might ask, are you not eating because... uh," he gestures to your lower region.

The tips of your ears turn red as you realise what he's referring to. Sure, everybody knows what's up, but only Tech has spoken to you about it, and Hunter did briefly when he threw those pills at you. "Yeah," you sheepishly admit.

This time, Echo is blushing as he comes to term with the topic at hand. "I, uh... I don't really know what's going on, but I understand that it's... biological, right?"

Your shoulders drop as you let out a deep breath, "want me to explain?" you offer, and Echo eagerly nods.

"I'm in heat, and have been for almost a month now. I'd say I'm about halfway through, but seeing as I'm still, uh, fertile, it means that my heat is worsening because of it."

"That explains the temper," Echo says with a soft laugh, and swiftly mutters, "only joking!"

"No, you're right," you nod. "The temper, not eating, and the... uh, smell."

Echo laughs again, "I'll admit, my sense of smell isn't the best, but even I've picked up on it."

"Yeah, and I dread to think how the others are dealing with it," you pout, not wanting to torment your squad for any longer.

Echo mumbles, "especially Hunter," as his eyes meet the floor, and you can't help but nod, and repeat those words.

Whilst still refusing to meet your gaze, mostly out of politeness, Echo pries further. "How have you been dealing with it? The heat, I mean. Surely that's... uncomfortable, right?"

"Yeah..." you drag the word out, and introduce your palm to the back of your neck. "Surprisingly, Tech has been helping me out. He, uhm... he approached me the other week to offer help, like medication, but I took his offer in another light."

Your confession causes Echo to finally meet your gaze, and despite the dim lighting, you notice how his tanned skin flushes a deeper shade. "Tech?" he repeats. "Are you implying that you two have been-" and Echo gestures with his hand.

"Yep," you confirm with a nod. "Purely for my biological needs, though. There are no attachments there. Tech has just been helping relieve the pain whenever necessary."

Echo lets out a long and deep sigh, before shaking his head, and letting out a soft laugh. "Huh," he says as he nods once more, soaking up that wild spur of information. "Has it been helping?" Echo can't help but question.

"Yeah," you confirm. "I don't quite understand how the biological side works, but the act of mating relieves my heat for a few hours, maybe a day at most? And then the urge begins to build up again."

"Right," Echo replies. He lets out a soft hum as his expression shifts into focus mode, and you can tell that he's putting all the pieces into place. There's a slight pause before Echo gestures to himself, and comments, "you know, I'm always here if you ever need any help, right?"

You can't help but let out a soft laugh, and Echo almost looks insulted. "Don't say that," you say with a smile, shaking your head.

"Why not?" Echo grumbles.

"Because that's how Tech started helping me. He offered me assistance, but I thought he was offering something else."

To your surprise, Echo raises a brow, and sends you a cheeky smile. A chill runs down your spine at his expression, and your body flushes like crazy as he replies, "maybe I am offering something else."

"E-Echo?" you sputter. Without thinking, you squeeze your thighs together, your heat beginning to kick it up at notch at the idea that you might be potentially getting some relief tonight. Echo notices your little motion, and smirks again as he nods.

"I mean, Tech can't be on call all around the clock, and if you're both comfortable on seeking multiple partners to help relieve you-" he gestures with his hand, and pauses as he reads your expression.

"We... uh," you sputter. "Yeah, I mean... We've had that conversation, and Tech is open about it..." you confess.

"Alright then," Echo softly shrugs. "So, how are you feeling now?"

A sheepish laugh slips from your lips, "I'll admit that you've revved me up a little."

"Only a little?" Echo shakes his head, and clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I guess you're tougher than I thought, General."

You clench your thighs together once more, and words completely fail you. Echo still has a brow raised, and a playful glisten in his eyes. You've never seen him like this - confident, proud, flirty - but you welcome it with open arms, and open legs.

"C'mere," Echo says with a wave of his hand, and without thinking, you shuffle over to him. "Here," he says as he adjusts your position. Your back meets his chest, and you settle comfortably between his legs. Echo's scomp link weaves its way around your waist, and he holds you tightly against his chest as he man handles your legs over each of his thighs. "Can't have you squirming them shut," he comments with a laugh.

Now, you're all snuggled up with Echo, legs spread, with his hand dancing playfully along your bare thighs. "Just tell me to stop if you want me to, alright?" Echo says from behind you.

"Of course," you nod, and let out a sigh as Echo presses his lips to your neck.

His kisses start off tenderly light, clearly testing what he has to work with, before they shift into a firm and hungry pace. Your eyes flutter shut, and you can feel Echo's hardening cock throb against your lower back when you let out a soft moan. "So pretty," Echo murmurs. "Yet, so needy," he says with a light chuckle.

Your eyes flutter open as Echo's hand meets your sleep shorts, and this time, your moan turns into a whine as he begins gently running his fingertips over your clothed mound.

"Hey, shush," Echo says with a tut. "Don't want you waking up Tech, hm?"

"You're cruel," you scowl, and Echo laughs at your expression.

"Vode must be tired. I dread to think how much you've worn him out," Echo continues, biting back a laugh as you continue scowling over your shoulder at him. Your scowl instantly vanishes as Echo tugs on your sleep shorts, and encourages you to slip them off. "Much better," he comments as you free yourself, returning your legs to either side of his thighs.

Warm fingertips introduce themselves to your cunt, and you automatically let out a whine as Echo begins gently rubbing your clit in tender circles. You can hear him tutting you again, "need you to keep quiet."

Echo hooks his scomp under the hemline of your shirt, and shifts it up your body, pressing the tip of his scomp against your mouth. You allow him to slip the fabric between your lips, biting your own shirt in hopes of keeping you quiet, not that it'll do much.

His scomp then returns to your waist, and to your surprise, it's much warmer than you expected. Echo's gaining confidence now, and he decides to up his game, testing to see how well your makeshift gag works.

"Kriff," you let out a gasp as Echo rubs your clit in firm circles, so precise, so perfect. Your thighs automatically attempt to squeeze together, as if to fight the pleasure, but seeing as they're hooked on either side of Echo's spread legs, they fail to do so. "How are you so good at this?" you pathetically whimper, muffled through your shirt.

Echo plants a tender kiss below your ear as he replies in a deep and alluring tone, "you seem to forget that I was an ARC Trooper, and with that title, comes all sorts of experience."

"Was," you mutter his words, and shake your head in disagreement. "You still are," you correct him.

"Thanks for the reminder, General."

As soon as that title leaves his lips, two fingers slip into your cunt, earning another pathetic whine. Your head falls back to rest on Echo's shoulder, and he smiles as he kisses your cheek. His fingers begin pumping in and out, the sound of wet skin against skin fills up the room - a lewdly erotic sound that, hopefully, a certain someone can't overhear.

With two fingers pumping in and out, Echo manages to grind his thumb against your clit, earning another whimper and attempted thigh clench. His rhythm is a little off, at first, but once Echo has the hang of it, you're literally seeing stars. Your head falls back onto Echo's shoulder, and Echo smiles to himself as he watches your chest rise and fall heavily.

Your new position has given Echo even more access to your neck, and in between the next round of kisses, he begins his teasing all over again. "Might have to let you borrow some of my turtlenecks. These marks will be visible," Echo tuts.

"Like you haven't already noticed the ones that Tech left," you comment, your shirt slipping from your lips, not that it was doing much anyway.

"You mean this?" Echo's scomp moves up to your neckline, and reveals the semi-faded mark that Tech left the last time he assisted you. "Yeah, that's pathetic."

"Echo!" you tut, peering up at him from your position.

"What?" Echo shrugs, followed by letting out a confident chuckle. "If I'm going to join in with assisting you, then I think it's only fair that I leave my mark."

You let out a whimper, heavily contrasted against Echo's chuckle. Your eyes wander south to your crotch, and you watch in awe as Echo slips his fingers in and out, tanned digits doing the work of gods. Your heat is on the rise, and you make a mental note to curse Echo out after this for riling you up; as for now, you snuggle into his grasp even more, and enjoy watching your ARC Trooper work.

"You're fluttering around me," Echo murmurs against your ear. "Ah, you did it again!" he smiles.

Every pump of his fingers is causing you to inch closer and closer, adding pressure to a coil that is soon to snap. You can feel tears swelling up in the corners of your eyes, but despite threatening to spill, they merely stay there. Your empty stomach has now turned warm, and your thigh muscles are enduring quite the workout, twitching and tremoring as Echo works his magic.

"Come on," Echo urges. "Be a good girl, and cum for me."

Shit. That's all it takes. The second that your orgasm hits you, Echo attempts to shut you up. His scomp moves up to cover your mouth, only for Echo to let out a sigh as he realises, 'shit, yeah. No hand!'

Instead, Echo mutters a soft, "c'mere," and locks his lips with your own. He's smiling into the kiss, gulping down all of your moans, muttering sweet praise against your lips as you ride your high.

When the storm has finally settled, and your neck is straining from the awkward position, Echo eases up. "Atta girl," he coos, and kisses your temple. "You've made quite the mess," he says with a laugh, and you feel his cock throb against your lower back at the squelching sound your pussy makes as he slips his fingers from you.

There, on Echo's pristine bedsheets, is a puddle - evidence of your foolery.

"Shit," you curse. "Echo, I'm so sorry-"

"-Don't be," Echo cuts you off. "I intend to make more of a mess."

"What?!" you bat your lashes, your mouth agape in confusion, looking like a lost lothcat as Echo wriggles out from behind you.

"Mhm," Echo says with a nod. He shuffles across the bed, and guides you to face him, only for you to be gently pushed down against his pillow. "You wanna keep that heat contained for the next few days, huh?"

"Yeah," you say with a timid nod, your hair shifting against his pillow.

Echo grins, and kisses your lips gently. "Well then, I guess I haven't finished with you...

...yet."

[blackjackkent]

Sleep

(Send me a pairing and a prompt)

Send me a "Sleep" and I'll write a drabble about one character watching the other sleep.

((TY for the prompt! :D You didn't specify a pairing, so I'm going with BG3 of course, and originally I was just going to default back to Hector/Karlach fluff since I'm such a sucker for writing that lately. But I decided to go off in a bit more random direction this time instead. XD Def welcome to request a more specific pair if you wanted one though!))

------

The camp is cold and full of strangers. Boo is fluffed up against the chill, and his small beady eyes peer out from the haze of golden fur into the darkness.

The Rashemaar is asleep, and Boo's vantage point subtly shifts up and down with each rise and fall of the man's chest. Is the hamster relieved to be back in his company, after their separation by the doppelgangers? Is there comfort in the warmth of his human flesh, steadier and more solid than any nest of shredded paper and straw?

Who can say? Boo keeps his own counsel.

Sometimes the Rashemaar shifts, rolls over in his sleep. Boo is quick to adjust, walking along the man's shoulder and side and coming to rest again on his back. He does not fear being crushed; he is nimble and quick and alert, and they have traveled many long years together. Perhaps Boo has come to learn the subtle shifts of breath that precede a shift in position; perhaps the hamster's very life is tuned to the rhythm of the man's heartbeat.

Or perhaps not. He is only a beast, after all.

A soft skittering sound breaks the silence. Boo's head twitches, his eyes piercing the dark and identifying the scuttling shadow of a rat crawling up from the dockways. A danger, maybe. An interloper certainly. Slowly Boo uncurls himself on Minsc's body, digging his claws into the human's shirt for leverage. The fluffed out silhouette of his fur compresses into sleek lines.

The rat draws nearer. It casts a long shadow in the lowering moonlight, a twitchy and unstable shape. It has scented the food in Minsc's pack, and it suspects no danger. It is a city creature that knows the meaning of a sleeping human.

It believes it is safe. And it is... from Minsc. But not from Boo.

The hamster leaps, without warning, without a sound. Though Boo has been known to echo his companion's battle cries with a loud squeak, his natural mode of attack requires no announcement. His claws sink into the rat's back and the rat squeals in sudden terror and pain. Its body lashes sideways; Boo holds on tightly at first, then deliberately releases his grip, allowing himself to be launched a foot or so away and land lightly on the cobblestones.

As the pain eases, the rat calms; it turns and glares at Boo with a hatred that, rodent to rodent, needs no translation. Boo stares back unblinking. The message is clear. The rat has stumbled into a territory not its own. If it knows what is good for it, it will leave.

The rat's long, muscular tail lashes as it briefly considers attack. But, despite having no tail, Boo's force of presence is much the stronger, and eventually the rat's head dips in submission. It turns and scuttles off into the darkness, back down the wall that leads to the wharf.

Boo squeaks softly, satisfied, triumphant. He kicks off from the stone floor to land on the mountainous bulk of his companion's body. Minsc stirs, mumbles something indistinct, but does not wake; with a soft grunt he rolls again and Boo makes another leap to avoid being pushed back to the ground, landing this time on the human's bald head. He is careful with his claws now, adjusting his weight so the points do not sink into the skin.

He settles down in this new position, his fur fluffing up around him again. And his eyes once again fix out in the dark, like a guard dog resuming its post.

Is it a gesture of protective loyalty to the man sleeping beneath him? A knowledge of kinship and camaraderie and the battles that lie ahead and behind, and the need for rest while the hour allows? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is merely the territorial instinct of a dumb beast to watch for threats when the sun is hidden.

Who can say? Boo keeps his own counsel.

[welkinsky]

Ok you said more asks so hear you go Love.

Could you do a Forest Guardian Reader x Kiba

how they met (from the first naruto seris when they are all around 12)

and then later by like a few years of how they like start falling in love or just conffes.

Kiba X Reader | Forest Guardian Reader

You have always lived in the woods watching your elders protect your clan from all the riots and the other village's feuds. You never really understood why was it that you had to live in the outskirts when you could always live in the hidden leaf and live a better life with better resources. You had their citizenship anyways.

But as you grew you found out that in early ages it was your clan's job to guard the village and how important it was for the livelihood of people living inside. You always took pride in it. Until one day while training you met a few kids from the village. They were training to be ninjas.

You were observing them from a distance & one of them caught your attention. He had a dog with him. You found it weird because it is natural for only your clan to have an animal with you as a companion.

You tried to have a closer look but then they noticed you. Your instinct was to flee but they looked friendly so you decided to stay and talk. As it turned out they were not even aware that your clan existed which was heartbreaking for a kid because you were so proud of being responsible for their safety.

But you figured that it wasn't their fault after all. They knew what they were taught. You had a great training session with them that day and the guy with the dog Kiba was your favorite among them because you both had somewhat similar skills.

This was your first time interacting with people from the inside of the village and you wanted to do it more! But sadly they had to go and as if he caught onto it Kiba promised to come back soon.

Years went by, and you waited at the same spot at the same time of the day but he never came. But one day your clan was attacked by goons who were not normal ones. They had a similar coat on with red clouds. But you didn't have time to think you had to fight. You were in the main defense team of the clan.

When all hope was lost you were still fighting not ready to give up. You could hear your family shouting from a distance to stop and run but you didn't. You were just happy that they and the other people were shifting to the village now.

Then out of nowhere, you smelled a familiar scent. It was HIM. As you were fighting a bunch of people came and he stood by your side ready to attack. You could see his features clearly. He grew up, and so did you. Will he recognize you?

"Get back Y/N you're hurt!" he said as he stepped in front of you. You stood there dumbfounded. He remembered your name. Then all the fighting and loss of chakra caught up to you as you fell down to your knees.

For the first time, it was not you fighting on the front lines. Someone else was doing it and protecting YOU.

After that incident, your first course of action was to ensure that everyone in the clan was safe. There were some casualties. But nothing serious. You went to the cliff that calms you down always. You needed that after such a long fight.

"You came," you said as you sensed his chakra from behind you. "I did," he said sitting down next to you. "Took you long enough."

"Heh, things aren't that simple anymore Y/N. The restrictions from the gate are way more intense now," he said guilt laced in his voice. "I understand. You grew up to be stronger than I had imagined," you said trying to cheer him up.

He just looked at you, in your eyes. As if, searching for something. "What?" you said tying your hair in a ponytail trying to avoid his intense gaze. "You genuinely waited all this time?" he said as he let your hair loose again, "You look better like this."

He realized what he did and tried covering up, "You don't have to be in warrior mode now heh we're here." then his voice turned genuine and deep, "But you showed them hell. I'm super proud of you kid." he said with a smile.

"Kid? I'm your age you know. But... in all seriousness what do you think will happen to the clan? They have nowhere to go." you knew this was coming. At some point, you'll have to figure this out too. It was not safe outside the walls right now. "We'll figure it out together. You're not alone," he said as he patted your head. 

Later Kiba helped you meet the Hokage so that you can present your plea in front of her. She was stern at first but was understanding. She gave you all shelter and resources till your clan was back on its feet. You spent most of your time with Kiba during the restoration phase. He helped through the process as if he never left and you two have known each other for years. He helped with all he had. Once your houses were restored you had to go back. He hated it, you hated it. But it was going to happen eventually.

Once you got back to your house. You went back to the place where you waited for him but this time it was to just reminisce about this dream life that you just lived with him. You didn't want to admit it but you had it bad for him!

You smelled the same scent. You rushed and he was standing there. "I'm not going to make you wait anymore." He said with a smile as you went in for a hug. "Ah, I wish it was like this forever. I don't want to let you go again Wait um" he accidentally said out loud.

You took a step back and watched him turning into a red ball of embarrassment. To save him from it you hugged him again, "Then don't."

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

Thanks For Reading and for the ask too <3

Naruto Shippuden Masterlist

If you liked it you can check out the masterlist too!

Asks are still open if you have any other ideas as well ;)

[abel-oc]

Doing a questions post for Lyos so I can figure him out! I'll do Micah next. Who reads these I don't care this is for me ! 😈 Taken from blog jovishark

1. Are they happy with their body?

Yes! He can shape shift anyway as per standard incubus lore. But he likes how he looks how I've been drawing him most. He would give himself big boobs even though he's gay in succubus mode though

2. Do they have any secret piercings or tattoos?

Not secret but his ears and tounge are done! Maybe his belly button I'm deciding still. I am toying with the idea of womb markings but they are very stupid maybe a tramp stamp

3. Do they collect anything?

Not really as he doesn't have anywhere to put them, probably leaves knickknacks in Abel's house though ( he wouldn't like this )

4. What is their favorite music genre?

Rock / techno!

5. What music genre, if any, do they hate the most?

Pop and church choir music it's probably cringe to him

6. What is their phone background/lock screen?

No phone! But if he got one probably a selfie

7. What is their shoe size?

He can extend it if he wants .big

8. Do they have a favorite fabric or texture?

Not fussed but ended up with mainly leather

9. Do they have a favorite professional sport?

He probably gets into most of them he would watch sport on TV and get heated about it

10. How do they decorate their living space?

Male living spaces

11. Are they messy, or do they clean up?

Messy! Even without having stuff he manages

12. What’s their preferred sleeping position?

Big spoon

13. Did they have a favorite comfort item as a child?

I don't know if he ever WAS a child. Bigger question

14. Do they have a favorite period in history?

Thought humans used to dress super funny in the 1800s

15. Can they cook? What’s their favorite thing to make?

Doesn't really need to but probably tries, he's ok at best. Frozen pizza

16. What food do they hate eating?

Fish he's not used to it

17. Do they have any allergies?

Maybe like. Holy water

18. What was their worst injury?

Probably bent his dick doing reverse cowgirl or something

19. What movie is most likely to make them cry?

He cries easily I think. I haven't seen many movies LOL idk titanic was popular at the time of the setting

21. Can they dance? Do they like to?

He is probably just ok like he doesn't make a fool of himself but not much further than that

22. What was their favorite birthday gift?

Whatever Abel gives him for the first one they've met for is probably the first thing he's received for it

24. What kind of cake or birthday treat would they prefer?

Ice cream cake

25. What is their favorite animal?

Dogs! Big ones

26. Do they wear perfume/cologne? What is their favorite scent?

Doesn't wear it, thinks Abel's is nice. Likes food smells like bread or beer

27. What smell do they hate the most?

Fish as well

28. What sound do they hate the most?

Nails on chalkboard type noises

29. What video game would appeal to them the best?

If he had exposure to them probably FPS. I think he would like doom

30. How would they relax on a day off/rainy day?

Post coming to human world, would probably go bother Abel with whatever he's doing, maybe he's learning guitar he might play that too

31. Are they combative? What is their fighting style?

Yes, would punch people. Short fuse

32. Would they be the one to start an argument?

Yes. Would insinuate someone was chicken

33. What is their personal style? Favorite outfit?

Kind of bdsm ish punky clothes. Likes wearing as little as possible

34. Do they have a dream job?

No way! He does not dream of labour

35. What do they do if they can’t fall asleep?

Wank !!!

36. Do they wear makeup regularly? If they don’t, would they consider wearing any?

His red eyeliner is actually permanent I'm thinking he got someone to do it in hell like they must have body artists there / some kind of magic thing. He wouldn't put it on every day. Would wear it if Abel or someone else put it on him, wears lipstick in succubus mode if he has to

37. Do they prefer to be really cold or really warm?

Warm! He hates the cold but also won't wear extra clothes to avoid it

39. Can they drive? What vehicles are they licensed to operate?

He has not learnt, probably wants to ride a motorbike

40. Do they believe in true love? Have they experienced it?

He would but only if he was in love, that would be true love. No one elses would be. Has a somewhat warped perception of love though

41. Are they married? Do they want to be?

Would want to it seems fun as long as he can still sleep around

42. If they have siblings, do they like any of them? Would they rather be an only child?

I need to come back to this if he did they would be sort of distant

43. What do they think is their worst quality? What is their actual worst quality?

I think he knows he's too quick to start a fight. He's too easy to make mad in general

44. Do they lie often? Are they good at it?

Doesn't need to often, would be fine unless he forgot some intricacies like for a convoluted plan etc

45. Are they good at keeping secrets?

Probably not!

46. How do others see them? How accurate is it to how they really are?

I think they are pretty accurate he is very much the same outwardly as he is inside

47. What kind of first impression do they usually make?

Wow this guy is loud

48. What are they most afraid of?

He doesn't want to be alone or die hungry

49. Would they ever kill anybody?

Guarantee he has done this

[toomanytookas]

Sickfics are such a weakness for my soft little heart and this absolutely hit all of the right buttons for me. I just want to print it out and crawl into bed and hold it close to my chest and cry a little with happiness because it’s so wonderfully tender and soft.

My favourite parts of this series are the where we see how familiar and fond of one another Dieter & PA are (be it in a silly or more serious context) and this felt like such a lovely deep dive into that facet of their bond.

I adored those moments where even in their misery (which you captured so well), PA notices how much effort Dieter is putting in to caring for them. I'm sure they have a sense of how much they mean to him, but there really is something about someone looking after you when you're sick that can make you feel so extra vulnerable and loved...

I particularly am obsessed with this:

His iPad, loaded up with movies and TV shows that you're not sure were always on here, or if he downloaded them just for you.

Something about the idea of him curating a catalogue of entertainment for them feels like especially lovely and Dieter-y gesture.

That final beat of Dieter shifting from his slightly manic mother-hen-with-an-umbrella’s-length-distance-between-us-because-germs mode to that soft, cuddly comedown-from-the-stress-of-seeing-someone-so-dear-to-you-be-ill-and-just-needing-to-be-near-them phase just made my heart feel so, so full.

I am falling at your feet in adoration for his comment about their scent. It just screams of their closeness and and gives me little hearts in my eyes as someone who is very scent preoccupied.

I hope you start to feel better soon! And in the meantime are able to get lots of rest and not feel too awful when you're out and about (especially at the concert!).

any other week

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: sickfic. no smut or nudity (shocking, I know). sickness (no vomitting) and associated gross feelings and metaphors. fluff. word count: 2.3k summary: You're sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact is you can't be sick. Not now. Not this week. Not when the only one around to look after you is the very person who pays you to look after him - Mr. Dieter Bravo.

A/N: if you hadn't heard, I have (had? I still feel shit but I'm technically negative and going to see Taylor Swift tomorrow, wish me luck lol) covid, and it's kicked my ass, so I wrote the least appropriate man in the universe looking after someone. enjoy 💛

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"D-!"

You barely get out the first syllable of his name before you're hacking a cough, pressing your palms to your knees as you splutter, bent over in a silent prayer to whatever virus has your esophagus in a chokehold, willing it to please let go.

It's feeling benevolent today, you think, when the clenching grip around your throat gives way a moment later, letting you take in a few blissfully sharp, painful gasps of air again.

Not that the cough has really stopped. That's been a niggling tickle for days now, growing and growing into something bigger as your body has gradually lost the fight with whatever asshole thing has set up shop inside your sinuses. Still, it's eased off enough now for you to raise yourself on wobbly legs, chest heaving and your head too fuzzy to really take in the foyer of Dieter's home, or the man himself as he tentatively creeps down the stairs.

It was going to be a bitch of a week. The last week before Dieter head's off to shoot always was. Full of last minute meetings and prep, and Dieter being all too much of an asshole for you to want to deal with, and you being entirely too much of a cunt to him in return. The last thing you needed was to be sick.

Whatever plague had befallen you didn't seem to give a shit you were assistant to the Dieter Bravo, or that sorry, we're busy this week, can I pencil you in for September? You'd just have to deal, and suck it up, and hope to the end of the earth that you could stay far enough away from Dieter than you didn't get him sick too.

"You look like shit."

You almost jump out of your skin, a muffled voice echoing down at you from the top of the stairs as your eyes strain to focus and find the source of the voice. It sure sounds like Dieter, but you can't tell if it's the cotton wool stuffed inside your own head, or some weird voice he's putting on in preparation for his next role that's making him sound entirely off.

He's there, you're sure of it, your heart pounding in your chest as you wheeze and stare up at a Dieter shaped blur you're certain is wearing a balklava.

You cough again before you speak, your voice a weak rasp of what it usually is, razor blades slicing up your throat as you force the words out.

"Dee? I've got your mail, and those clothes from the designer, and -"

He's coming closer, taking the steps slowly, coming in to focus then wobbling back out of it as you blink rapidly at him and heave in another pained breath.

"You're sick."

Usually you'd argue with him. You take just about any opportunity to talk back to him, just like he does with you. It's how you work so well together. Even now, your head is indignantly saying no. You are not sick. You are perfectly fine and if he could just get off your ass, that'd be wonderful.

But, you are sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact was, you couldn't be sick. Not now. Not this week.

"- your laundry -"

"You're sick."

Any argument is lost in your throat as another cough drags itself out of you, kicking and screaming, forcing you to hinge over again just to stop the force of it all from knocking you flat on your ass. Dieter is retreating up the stairs a little as you watch stars dance across your eyes with each forceful hack of air from your lungs, and even through the pain and lack of oxygen you can sense he feels uneasy about this, about you, and for the first time you think you may have made a mistake.

You shouldn't have come here.

You should have called, or sent a text, and worked from home where you could stay in bed, keeping your germs to yourself and away from him.

When your cough finally eases off again, your head pounding now and your throat burning more than it has in days, you lift yourself up, and admit defeat.

"Okay," you wheeze. "I'll go. I'm - fuck, sorry - I'll call you later. Let me know if you need anything."

Your head spins as you turn, and Dieter thunders down a few more steps before abruptly stopping as you hobble back to the door.

"No!" he shouts down the stairs the moment your hand touches the handle.

You look back at him confused, as he stands there, still keeping his distance, but reaching for you as if force of will alone could stop you in your tracks. And, in a way, it does. You turn to him, propping yourself up on the door, watching him as he tries not to recoil from you, especially now that he can see you up close.

You'd been pallid when you left the house. Now, you felt positively gray. Though you felt cold to the touch, your insides felt like you were roasting alive. No doubt, a few steps closer as he is, he can see the sweat beading on your forehead simply from the effort of keeping yourself standing there and not sliding down the door into a heap on the floor.

"You can't fuckin' drive in this state," he says, flapping his hands at you as his mind kicks into overdrive. "You're sick. You'll crash your fuckin' car. You need rest, and soup, and drugs - the good kind - and a doctor, I should call a doctor, you need to get better, you can't be sick, I can't - because I nee - lo- no!- care - " he stops himself, his mouth flapping as he stares and gesticulates in your general direction before letting his arms flop at his sides.

"I am not getting a new assistant," he settles with, hugging his arms tight around his body.

Before you can tell him he's stuck with you as his assistant whether he likes you or not, another cough beats its way out of your chest, and you slump against the door. Dieter is on you in a second, his balaklava'd face coming into view as he holds you gently by the shoulders as you splutter.

"You - you gotta get in bed. Now."

He's panicking, you know that much. He's never so much as seen you with a hangover, let alone seen you sick. So, you let him guide you upstairs, watching you with wild eyes through the balaklava as you wheeze at the stop of the staircase.

You let him pull you down the hallway, and push you into a spare room. You barely register his hands helping you peel away sweaty layer after sweaty layer of clothing until you're being guided into a soft bed, the sheets being pulled gently over you until you sink into the plush pillows and fall alseep before he's even left the room.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

When you wake, some minutes or some hours later, you're not sure, it's to shuffling in the corner of the room. The handle of the door clicks before it slowly swings inward - that horror movie creak only playing in your head though fitting perfectly with the scene you're watching in front of you. When the door is half open, a shaggy head pokes around the frame, before shuffling in on croc covered feet, cardigan wrapped tightly around itself and mask replacing the balaklava he'd so hastily thrown on earlier.

"Dee?" you croak from the bed, failing to sit up as the weight of the blankets holds you down.

"Stay back," comes his muffled voice from beneath the mask as he shuffles in further. He walks to a dresser kept by the wall. There's nothing in it. There's nothing in this entire room except for empty furniture and blank walls. The only time it sees any action is after some of Dieter's more frivoulous parties, when one too many people can't make it home and need a place to crash. In essence, it's the spare room to the spare rooms spare room - not the guest room, or his room, or the room he'd designated as yours some years ago, that's down the hall next to his own, but the last of three rooms that sit empty nearly year round.

Dieter tugs on the dresser, his crocs gripping to the floor as he yanks it away from the wall and pushes it with a squeak all the way across the floor toward the side of the bed you're trapped in.

"Stay there," is all he says before he leaves you again, the giant piece of furniture slotted right up against the bedside. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and now he's all but blocked in your easiest way of escape. You weren't going anywhere.

A moment later he's shuffling back in, a tray in his hands and what you think is an umbrella under his arm. He's staring carefully down at the tray - balance and dexterity having never been his strong suit - before placing it gently onto the dresser.

"Tea," he grunts, pointing to the tray, "that lemon ginger shit. Some other stuff too."

It's at the end of the dresser, beyond your feet, and not really of any use to you right now, but the sentiment is nice, especially coming from Dieter.

"Thanks, Dee."

He grunts again, shrugging his cardigan covered shoulders before taking the umbrella from under his arm and gently pushing the tray along the top of the dresser until it's within arms reach of you. When he's done, he nods to himself before backing out of the room, and closing the door. You hear the faint sounds of jesus fucking christ being muttered from the other side of the door as he walks away, no doubt to have a shower and rid himself of as many of your germs as he can before he goes about practicing lines and keeping himself busy.

That lemon ginger shit is smelling divine as you lay there, slowly peeling your arms out from the sweaty confines of the sheets. The soothing heat of it is just what you need - if you hadn't forced the stuff on him so many times in the past, you'd be stunned that he even thought of it himself.

Sitting up, an ache in your hips like no other, you groan and reach for the tea, taking a small burning mouthful, and swallowing it down with a gasp before taking another, then another, then another. The burn soothes the raw feeling in your throat, and when you can finally swallow a little more freely, if only for a second, you take a chance to look at the tray Dieter left with you.

Some other stuff, is an understatement.

There's bottled water, snacks undoubtedly taken directly from the stash you keep in his kitchen, plus a few of his own that he knows you steal when he's not looking. Then, there's what can only be described as a miniature pharmacy. Tissues, nasal sprays, throat lozenges, tylenol, cough syrup, and little packets of Liquid IV lined up on the tray for you to take your pick of.

It's exactly the kind of thing you've done for him countless times before when he's been holed up in bed, too sick or too hungover to deal with the world. Now, here he was doing it for you just as dutifuly as you ever had for him. He'd even gone as far to get dressed and leave the house, driving to a pharmacy just for you. You knew for a fact he didn't keep half of this stuff in the house, and neither did you.

Before you know it, your throat is constricting and your lip is wobbling, but another burst of pain rips its way through your chest as you cough again, and again, and again. Your eyes water, the tears forgotten, until the cough subsides. You'll cry later, when your throat hurts a little less and you have the energy. For now, you throw back some tylenol, finish your tea, and flop back down into the sheets, ready for sleep to take you once more.

Over the course of a few days, though you barely see his face again, you know he's been in to check on you by what he's left for you on the tray. A hot bowl of soup and soft bread. More tea. A bowl of yogurt and fruit when sunlight creeps through the cracks in the blinds. A stack of books. His iPad, loaded up with movies and TV shows that you're not sure were always on here, or if he downloaded them just for you. Fresh towels so you can take the most exhausting shower of your life, only to come back out to find underwear and one of Dieter's old worn movie tees waiting for you. Then there's more tea. More food.

He cares for you from a distance, day in day out, until your cough turns to a splutter, and you can breath a little deeper. And so can he.

Around the third day, when you're no longer coughing and feeling far more like yourself, but still too exhausted to do much of anything, you finally see Dieter's face again. He silently herds you into the room he calls yours, shuttering the windows as you crawl under the sheets, and curls into bed behind you.

"You smell different when you're sick," he mumbles into your neck. "Fuckin' hate it."

"Sorry," you whisper back to him in the dark. "I showered, but I -"

"No. You smell different. Sick different. Not gross different. Didn't smell like you."

Smiling into the dark, you let him snuggle into you as you drift off into the most restful sleep either of you have had in days.

tagging my Dieter beloveds: @schnarfer @missredherring @whatsnewalycat @sp00kymulderr @ozarkthedog

@ghotifishreads @rebel-held @amanitacowboy @readingiskeepingmegoing

[luveline]

𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]

warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and- 

A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins. 

Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden. 

"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.

"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly. 

You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips. 

"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants. 

"Well, it's nothing like that." 

The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.

"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it." 

You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move. 

You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door. 

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin. 

"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point." 

"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip. 

"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left." 

Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains. 

The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously. 

"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous." 

"You like her?" 

"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat." 

"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere." 

"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"

"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff. 

"Right," he says. 

You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile. 

"Do you like to read?" you ask. 

Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies." 

"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear." 

He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you." 

You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?" 

"Uh…" 

"I've got pink lemonade." 

"Oh, then definitely." 

You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers. 

Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin. 

"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table. 

"I'm good, thanks," he says. 

"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest." 

"You're a Tempest girl?" 

"Everybody plays Tempest," you say. 

Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest." 

"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."

His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.  

"How did you know that?" he asks finally. 

"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd." 

"I could be." 

"But you're not." 

You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat. 

"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed. 

"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon. 

He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you." 

He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile. 

"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.

You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?" 

"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.

"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.

"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?" 

"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke." 

"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him. 

"What do you want?" Steve asks him. 

"Why do you assume I want something?" 

"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky." 

"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring. 

"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask. 

Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily. 

"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.

Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners." 

"Can I please have a ride-" 

"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry." 

Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?" 

"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way." 

"Uh-huh," Dustin says. 

The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands. 

"I'm sorry about him." 

"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do? 

"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade." 

"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door. 

Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off. 

The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.

When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth. 

-

"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door. 

You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed. 

You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces. 

You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?" 

Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively. 

"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently. 

You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.  

"Skating? I don't have one." 

"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades." 

You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?" 

"Now!" he says.

"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin. 

Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait." 

You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?" 

"Totally," Steve says. 

You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.

You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand. 

Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.

You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best. 

“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.

“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.

“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs. 

“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”

Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”

There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks. 

“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.

“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit. 

“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?” 

“About what?”

“About Springsteen."

You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.

“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.

The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here. 

Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you. 

Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck. 

“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question. 

You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”

Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”

“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”

“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap. 

“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”

“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich. 

You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly. 

“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.

“Robin," Steve chides lightly.

“What?” 

You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.

Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.

She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without. 

“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance. 

Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”

“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying. 

"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!" 

"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly. 

You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice. 

"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.

You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.

Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you." 

"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.

You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids. 

You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"

"Steve is." 

"I didn't bring-" 

"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."

Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes. 

Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails. 

"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him. 

"I'm not good." 

"You're doing great!" 

He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him. 

"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock. 

You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye. 

You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering. 

"I'm sorry!" you say. 

"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out." 

"Thanks to you." 

You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart. 

"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you." 

Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot. 

"I think I might need to sit down." 

"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective. 

You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot. 

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens. 

"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up." 

Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it. 

"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.

"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends. 

"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side. 

"They should lock you up." 

You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him. 

"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out. 

Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner." 

"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies. 

"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking. 

He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close. 

"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that." 

Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?" 

"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight. 

She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red. 

-

Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it. 

He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player. 

Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.  

The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over. 

He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air. 

Have you seen her?

So fine and pretty.

He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you. 

"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight. 

"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through. 

You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!" 

And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground. 

He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him. 

He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude." 

Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty. 

You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath. 

"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."

He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy." 

You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.

"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word." 

His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word." 

The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.

He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth. 

"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.

"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in. 

"Sick. Apparently." 

"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?" 

"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday." 

You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?" 

"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September." 

"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense." 

"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list." 

"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily. 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche." 

You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!" 

"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?" 

His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me." 

"Of course they did. Why didn't you?" 

You glare at him. "I was busy!" 

"For the month it was in theatres?" 

"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!" 

"Like what?" 

"Like school!" 

"Everybody has school." 

"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself. 

"Sorry, sweetheart."

You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."

"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies. 

You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"

He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality. 

Yes, it's love in the third degree. 

You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.

"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?" 

He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.

"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly. 

He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus. 

Dance the night away. 

"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling. 

"You're enough for the two of us." 

You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?" 

"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work." 

"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?" 

"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks. 

You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."

"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer. 

"You'll burn your retinas." 

"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?" 

You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller. 

"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours. 

You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?" 

Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO". 

"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?" 

"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one." 

"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly. 

"Shut up, Steve." 

"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in." 

The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve." 

"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual. 

-

Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect. 

You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge. 

He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel. 

"Y/N. Hey," he says. 

Still nothing. 

He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping. 

"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.

You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.

"Hello." 

"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.

"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked." 

"You're not naked," he says. 

"I'm naked. Stop looking at me." 

Steve turns away obligingly. 

"Stop laughing at me, Harrington." 

"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.

"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep." 

Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car." 

"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."

You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs. 

"You're messing with me," he says.

"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you." 

"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?" 

You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty." 

"So are you." 

"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small." 

"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you." 

"You're sure?" you ask quietly. 

Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure." 

The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his. 

"What are you doing here?" you ask. 

Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy. 

"Steve?" you ask. 

"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers. 

"Woah, thank you!" 

"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month." 

You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?" 

"Nope." 

You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion. 

"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits." 

You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it." 

Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing." 

"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie." 

"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away. 

"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything." 

"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it." 

You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke." 

"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested. 

-

You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is. 

Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything. 

You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place. 

That's a dedicated employee right there. 

You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch. 

"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful. 

"Steve," you say softly. 

"What?" 

"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me." 

He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over. 

"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?" 

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature. 

"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down." 

Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.

Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back." 

"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.  

"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?" 

"It's on." 

Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?" 

"I'm sleeping fine." 

"Are you sure?" 

His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face. 

You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout. 

"You can tell me." 

The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue. 

"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…" 

"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek. 

You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud." 

"It doesn't sound stupid." 

"No?" 

"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs." 

You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then." 

"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common." 

"You see me." 

"When I'm annoying you at work." 

"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday." 

"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator. 

"I can't stop watching the door." 

You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache. 

"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…" 

You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped  completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently. 

You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door. 

"Dustin," you both say. 

"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says. 

You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door. 

"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?" 

"She's got heat stroke." 

"I don't!" you call hoarsely. 

"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?" 

"She has heat stroke." 

You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things. 

"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again. 

The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion. 

"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket." 

You laugh again, twice as loud. 

"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head. 

"What don't you understand about heat stroke?

"Potential heat stroke," you interject.  

"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude." 

"You should take her to the hospital."

You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?" 

Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype." 

"For what?" 

"Top secret." 

You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs. 

Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?" 

"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat." 

Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!" 

"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa. 

"I'm not dying, Steve." 

Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense. 

"Are you good?" he asks. 

"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore." 

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead." 

"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you. 

"Don't die of heat stroke." 

He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What about The Breakfast Club?" 

He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!" 

You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away. 

"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew. 

-

Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.

"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes. 

"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says. 

Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows. 

"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.

"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night." 

Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?" 

"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask." 

Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half. 

Better safe than sorry. 

"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge. 

Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans. 

"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.

His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly. 

"No!" 

"You're her boyfriend, right?" 

"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly." 

Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows. 

"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles. 

Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend." 

Four sets of eyebrows raise. 

"I am! I'm romantic." 

"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says. 

Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look. 

"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?" 

"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly. 

"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.

"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her." 

"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says. 

Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?" 

"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me." 

He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?" 

They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in. 

"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails. 

"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess. 

-

Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me? 

You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath. 

It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression. 

It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever? 

What if I feel this lonely forever? 

You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands. 

Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve? 

If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door. 

Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.

You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit. 

"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance. 

"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.

The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go. 

"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath. 

"Hey." 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!" 

You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony. 

"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me." 

You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay." 

He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path. 

He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" 

A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates. 

"Okay," you say weakly. 

He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk. 

The smell is beautiful. A floral wave. 

The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas. 

"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears." 

"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble. 

"Half the store. The other half's on standby." 

"Standby?" 

"I worried you might not have the space." 

"I won't." 

Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping. 

"Why did you do this?" 

"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-" 

"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion." 

"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal." 

You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious. 

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So." 

"So you got me a florists?"

"Half." 

You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it. 

"They're for me?" you whisper. 

"For you. All of them." 

You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid. 

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity. 

"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone. 

He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that." 

You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly." 

"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first." 

You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose. 

"Do you like them?" 

The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder. 

"I didn't know which one was your favourite." 

All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet. 

You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger. 

"Thank you, Steve." 

"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse." 

"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you. 

"Shit," he mutters. 

You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face. 

"You're okay, baby," he says. 

You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down. 

The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.

Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.

"I know what'll cheer you up," he says. 

You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out. 

Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar. 

"Oh my god." 

"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.

"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand. 

You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.

"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree." 

He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing. 

"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs. 

"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance. 

"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!" 

It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo. 

Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop. 

He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly. 

"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask. 

"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song." 

"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album." 

"You said however long I wanted!" 

"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess. 

"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush. 

When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency. 

"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully. 

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels. 

You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy. 

"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek. 

"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh. 

"Good thing," you agree. 

He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again. 

You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing." 

"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.

"You did." 

"Sorry, I-" 

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again. 

"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness. 

"Yeah?" 

"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?" 

"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.

You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond. 

"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap. 

"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek. 

You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.

"You're beautiful," he says. 

It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks for reading!

[finniestoncrane]

Psst...this is for whoever you want... reader complains their cold in bed and cuddles closer to the character.

And then what Finnie?

AND THEN WHAT?

Let's go bb, you absolute legend.

Huddling For Warmth

Rogue Scenarios/Ficlets kjhkjhasd ok this was cutie and i liked writing it. i know it's not usually my thing to be soft and gentle so i hope this was ok! thank you for submitting it ;-; 💜 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: nothin' it's just fluff, but no lil friends come near this shit anyway

riddler

"Eddie...pssst...Eddie!" You prodded his arm. "Mmmmph"...what...what!?" He woke up in a start, instincts and prior experience kicking him into fight or flight mode. "What is it, what's wrong?" You inched slightly closer to him. "It's cold." With a deep sigh, he rolled over, facing you. "Yeah, it will be. We're in the sewers." "Well, could I maybe scooch in a bit closer?" Another sigh, deep and exaggerated as he rolled back over onto his back. And without answering, he raised his hand up, letting it fall back down around your shoulder, using his fingers to gently push you. You followed his gesture, rolling into him, and letting out a contented little mewl when he didn't immediately shove you off of him, your arm around his torso, clinging to him. The embrace was warm, tender, and being close to him, breathing in his scent and feeling his heart beat against your palm shifted your mood. "You know, Eddie. There's other ways we can warm up." He shifted back around to face you, hands around your back, pulling you into a kiss. Too tired to say much, but he wasn't too tired to heat you up.

scarecrow

"You better have gotten me up for a good reason." You stared nervously at the ceiling, your bodies in the same space, but distant enough that no part of your skin touched. "It's very, very cold, Jonathan. "Yes. It's my preferred temperature for rest." There was no use in pushing it further. His stoic responses sounded prepared, as though he knew this were bound to be a discussion and he wasn't willing to compromise. You shifted around, curling up, knees almost to your chest in attempt to hold in as much heat as you could under the thin sheets. But just as you were warming yourself, the cool sensation of skin against skin brushed over your back, goosebumps forming at the sensation as Jon let his long, chilled limbs wrap around you. And though he was making you colder, realistically, the gesture was filled with a warmth unrecognisable to Jonathan Crane, and it was soothing enough to set you right for an evening of comforted rest.

penguin

The bed was resplendent with it's decadent silk sheets of lilacs, violets and mauve. But as pleasant as it was, you were missing something. You rolled over to see him laying on his back, embroidered satin pyjama shirt monogrammed with his OC, which you traced with your finger, stirring him out of his sleep. "You good, sweetheart?" "Yeah, Ozzie, just a bit cold." No further words needed, he was scooping you up in his arms, holding you against his chest, almost on top of him, the embrace tight and comforting. You were instantly warmed by his arms, his soft, hot stomach against yours. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, letting his lips stay there a bit longer, the warm air from his sweetly pointed nose pleasant against your skin, tickling you and eliciting a soft giggle. He held your hand, his large fingers laced between yours, tugging you in closer to him. It was easier to fall asleep when you felt so warm, so safe, so loved.

[atsukashii]

vi. son's of the sea

✗ synopsis : imprisoned for a crime you did not commit you are hidden in a cage from the world. vowing to end the queen who dealt your life sentence, you bide your time in the dark waiting to strike. however, your early promised freedom comes on a whisper in the dark, taking the form of dark eyes, and grey wind swept hair carrying the scent of the sea.

✗ pairing : osamu miya x reader

✗ genre : pirate au, royalty reader, fantasy au mutual pining, fluff + a pinch of angst

✗ warnings : mature content : mentions of alcohol, language, death (mentioned)

✧･ﾟ:* previous | m.list | next *:･ﾟ✧

The world around you is hidden by various shades pinks and oranges as bright light hits your closed eyelids. The fact your body seems to rock ever so slightly is the first thing you notice. The second is the your bones seem to feel heavier and heavier with every movement. 

An uncomfortable throbbing in your back begins to dissolve any chance of returning to sleep. The pain only worsens the more you recognise its existence, and the thought of someone knocking you out again doesn't seem like a bad idea.

There's a soft thudding noise coming from somewhere near you, and the longer you lay rocking ever so slightly in almost perfect synchronisation to the noise does your mind go into alert mode.

Fighting away the lingering exhaustion to your eyelids, you finally blink awake finding yourself staring at a weathered wooden ceiling. It's worlds away from the cold grey stoned cell you'd seen every morning for months on end.

The cell.

Flashes of your escape surge your mind in rapid succession. The explosion, the jump. You'd somehow survived the drop and the swell of Blackwater Bay. And there amongst the rocks they had been waiting.

You can recall familiar swirling storm cloud eyes, the strength in his gaze as he told you to hold on to him. 'If ya let go you’ll fall and there’s not going to be anything I can do - you’ll die.'

Your bones had screamed at you as he moved, one hand free and the other clutching your thigh in such a tight grip you could almost still feel his fingers pressing into your skin.

And when he had stopped-

A ship.

Straining your head slightly to the right, the soft light becomes blinding forcing a hiss of pain from you as it seems to pierce your brain. A rough voice chuckles from out of sight, followed by a subtle scraping of metal the harsh light dims until it doesn’t make your head pound. 

“Apologies about the light, I thought you could do with some fresh air.” Something rings loud and blaring inside your head that says you should know this voice, possibly even fear it, but as you loll your head to face the stranger, you can’t bring yourself to be afraid. 

From behind a dark wooden desk with his back to a wall of closed curtains which sway slightly at the still open windows behind them, you take in the two toned male. His brown eyes, far too keen and observant, to the point it would instantly make one uneasy to be under that gaze. 

It was his face though that should have alarmed you. Not from the fact that he was a stunning male to look at, but the fact that it was branded on thousands of wanted posters across the five seas. It was one of the many that had been plastered to one of the walls in the Roost, but amongst the others crossed out with large marks of ink, the captains expressionless face had remained unmarked.

“I didn’t get to properly introduce myself last night upon your arrival.” His words shocked you slightly, not expecting his calm and approachable advance. The fact that you weren't sitting in another cell or chained to the bed shocked you even more. Because here you laid, on a bed that was too uncomfortable after sleeping on a straw mat for months, with a wanted pirate seated near you looking at you as if you weren't a stowaway on his ship.  

“My name is Kita Shinsuke, captain of this ship.” Court etiquette drilled into your brain since birth has you forcing your groaning bones to shift. The captain doesn’t say a word as you painfully shuffle yourself into a sitting position, only releasing a long held breath once your back settles against the headboard of the bed. 

“I’m Y/n.” Is all you say. You know that he is aware of just who he dragged half dead out of the ocean. For gods’ sake he had now made himself more an enemy of the empire by blasting a bloody hole in the side of the coastal wall of the Azure castle for you. There was no way this keen-eyed captain did not know just who you are, but still you’re not going to project your misguided formal ranks to anyone. 

“Just Y/n?” He asks with a knowing look. 

“Just Y/n.” You reply following a resounding nod. The captain only watches you for half a second more before leaning back casually on his chair. 

“Alright then.”

“I don’t know why you did it - but I am in debt to you.” You manage to get out through your hoarse voice. As if only now noticing it, Kita rises out of his chair, grabbing a silver tumbler and filling it with what you hope is water. 

“It was nothing but pure selfishness on my behalf.” He says, passing you the goblet which feels far too fancy to be drinking water from, but your aching throat has you reaching for it anyways. 

“As for the debt, there is something that I believe you may be able to assist me with.” He doesn’t say anything more as he suddenly steps back, leaning against the edge of his desk. 

His actions stir confusion in you, your brown furrowing. You'd expected him to clarify just what on earth that means, but hushed whispers break your silence. 

“Shut your ruttin mouth! Do yer want to piss ‘em off?” Comes a failed quiet hiss from the other side of the wooden door to the room. Your gaze volleys between the direction of the door and Kita, catching him rolling his eyes before moving back to the chair behind his desk. As if this were a completely normal situation. 

“Yeah because it’s my big mouth Atsumu that's going to wake em up.”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it!”

“You morons, you know that the captain’s in there and very much awake.” A third voice groans and you can't help but raise a brow as the door suddenly opens, causing two figures to tumble through the entrance and spilling onto the floor. It's the blonde head of hair of the two that draws your focus. 

Rubbing the back of his head with a sneer strewn across his stunning face, Atsumu Miya look's like he had stepped out of your memories. Sure, he was older by a lot, but the mischievous glint that glimmers in his brown eyes is the same. The moment he shift's on his knees, his head turning to you, that sneer morph's into the same confident smirk he had perfected as a child. 

“Don’t you lot know you should give sick people peace and quiet to heal?” Kita speaks, shifting his nonchalant expression to the duo on the floor who look seconds away from pointing fingers at who's at fault it was they were in the room at all. 

“I saw the state of her back yesterday and just wanted to check up on how she is doing is all.” Your gaze briefly leaves Atsumu's shining one as you glance at the other person on the floor. His voice calls at your memory more than his face, so it takes you a moment to realise he was the one who somehow had snuck into the Roost to warn you. 

He nods at you before grumbling, “Hitoshi Ginjima.” Not quite knowing if he was being blunt on purpose or if that was just him, you simply nod back. 

“And your excuse, Atsumu?” Their captain asks, and as you look back at your childhood friend you can’t help but smile slightly at his teasing grin. 

“Just blessin' the princess with my dashin' beauty.” There’s a groan from behind him and a smack to the back of the head sends him bowing over once more. 

The scene causes a wave of nostalgia to course through you, having seen Atsumu been smacked over the back of his head by his twin and father countless times. Never hard enough to hurt, but just to admonish a child that saw it as acts of love.

“Get out the lot of you, she needs to rest and your ughly face isn’t helping Atsumu.” A stranger steps over Atsumu’s bowed figure as he cups the back of his head. The dark haired foreigner simply offers a incline of his head to his captain before walking to your bedside. With a hard gaze but somehow somewhat friendly smile, he nods to you. 

“My name is Ren Ōmimi, and I'm the doctor aboard this vessel.” He begins to explain. “You’ve got a nasty infection in the lacerations on your back. Luckily we got to it in time but you are incredibly lucky. Another few hours and you would be carrion.” His words bring a silence to the room causing the dull pain to spark to life once again. During your time in the Roost, not once had you thought you would be taken out by infection, instead the queen was constantly making sure your wounds were clean so you could suffer for longer. You'd thought that the guards would have gotten to you by then. Hearing just how close you were to the gaping jaws of death does nothing to you. You let the words slip away, not focusing on them as you look at the doctor.  

“You’ve been out for two days,” Ren says as if reading your mind. Tuning to his crewmates, he settles the two still on the floor with a glare. “Get out, I need to treat her wounds.” 

With a begrudging moan, Atsumu raises off the floor but the feral grin that covers his face as he steps out the door offers nothing but promised trouble. 

“I’ll bring you an ugly face that you’ll appreciate soon princess.” With those fleeting words, he’s gone. The captain following quickly on his heels, obviously wanting to give you some rare privacy. A luxury you'd gone without for so long it felt unnatural. 

“I apologise that we have no female’s on board that could help with this.” Ren says as you shuffle forwards. “It’ll be easier to treat it if you lie on your stomach”. It’s odd in a way, that the pirate doesn’t drill you with the same sneering leer that the guards had as you lay down on your stomach, pulling the back of your shirt up, revealing your back. 

 “It’s fine.” Compared to the people at the prison, this man was as innocent as a fly even if he had a dagger sheathed at his side. 

“Can I ask how this happened?” The crack of the whip is still as loud in your ears as it was just days ago. Without wanting to, your body instinctively inhales as a dulled spasm of pain shocks its way across your back, forking up to your shoulder and out towards your spine like splintered lightning as Ren coats the wounds with some sort of herb ointment. 

By the time the guards had finished with your punishment, you’d been able to almost feel each of the nine tails of the whip slowly digging away at your back. 

Not quiet knowing how to answer the question, you simply rest your cheek against your folded arms and shoot the pirate a look.  “A man’s pride is such a delicate thing.” 

Maybe you’d said it as a test, expecting a grunt of offended anger, however the low laugh that meets your ears instead surprises you.  “Having been in this kind of work for most of my life, I can agree with that.”

“Do you say that as a pirate, or a doctor?” You can’t help but ask, a small smile pulling to your lips despite the stinging pain of him working on your wounds. 

“Both.” Ren replies, a smile of his own forming as he finishes up. Reaching down to grab bandages off the back of the bed he speaks, “you wouldn't be surprised to know that men's pride gets more in the way when you’re trying to help them not die.” Not a surprise indeed. It’s not until he tells you to sit up so he can bandage you does his face begin to flush.

“I’ve got to bandage your wounds. I’m so sorry if this-” Maybe if you had been a different person, you may have hesitated. Rather, you shrug your shirt off, leaving your torso bare. To his credit, Ren’s eyes do not stray from his work on your spine, even as the bandage's wrapped around your chest and shoulder. 

“Even though you are the only female on this ship, I want to assure you of a few things before the captain releases the rest of the hounds on you.” Ren says once more, breaking the silence. 

“Everyone on this ship is aware of where you just escaped from, and we’re not naive enough to not understand that your experience there was anything but traumatic…” He manages to get out before finally taking a step back and holding your shirt out in front of you to grab as he still stands at your back. 

You continue to listen as you slip it back over your head. 

“Our captain is a man of honour, and all of us are too - even if there are a few questionable cases.” You have an idea that he’s talking about Atsumu. “I can guarantee that nothing will happen to you on this ship from the hands of one of our crew. Our captain would have their hands for such a thought.” Turning back around to face the tall man, you nod your head in thanks and wring your arms, immediately marvelling at the lightness of your limbs.

Without the dragging weight of the iron shackles, the movement feels almost wrong, looking at it feels wrong. Like there should be something there, that something is now missing. 

“Thank you.” You get out, not taking your eyes off your free hands until he speaks again.

“There’s no need, it's human decency.” Ren shrugs before levelling you with a look. “Your back is going to take a week, maybe more to heal properly - those cuts were very deep when I got to them, and it will leave a permanent scar.” This time it’s you that shrugs, flexing your wrists simply because the movement still feels strange. 

“I suppose I'll have a few of those,” Raising your hands until the red and still fresh scars around your wrists come into view. Without having to look down you know there will be matching ones on your ankles, but you’re not bothered by them. You’re just grateful that the bloody things are off. 

“I can give you some ointment to reduce scarring.” He offers, gathering the supplies left on the bed. 

“No it’s alright.” looking at your finally clean hands and arms, you can’t help but smile. “I don’t mind them.” Or the fact that you smell clean and not like piss - but you don’t voice the last part. 

Another soft knock sounds from the door, and it's the warm brown eyes of the captain’s that meet your gaze once more. 

“There’s not much, but it’s better than what you currently have.” Kita says in greeting as he slips through the door with a small neatly folded pile of fabric in his arms. It takes but a moment to realise they are for you, and another second to look down at the pathetic clothes you’re wearing. 

Brief embarrassment surges as you take in your bare legs and the very very large white long sleeve collared shirt that drowns your figure. These are not the clothes you jumped into the ocean in.

Flicking his doctor a nod of thanks as he passes, Kita looks back to you. 

“Your shirt was stuck to your wound so Ren had to cut it off you. And even if we wanted to save it for you - it reeked of piss.” He explains as if it solves everything. Taking the clothes and sitting down on the bed you furrow your brow. To be honest, you’re not all that bothered with the fact that at one point someone has seen you naked. They had to remove your clothes to get to the festering wound - it was life or death so it wasn’t that horrifying to think about for you. Yet you couldn’t help blurt out your curiosity. 

“May I ask who changed me?” 

The captain it seems was incredibly difficult to read. With a completely void expression you weren’t quite sure what to make of the silence that followed your question. Not until he turned his head towards the window, breaking your gaze and you saw the pink blush on the tips of his ears. Well, that would make it somewhat easier then. 

“That would be the sailing master on this vessel.” At your own blank expression, the captain's stoic face broke into a small smile. 

“Our navigator. A close friend of yours I believe.” It’s the amusement swimming in his dark gaze that has a blush burning across your cheeks. 

Did he mean Osamu? Oh gods… 

“Change your clothes and come out when you’re done. I’d like to introduce you to my crew now that you’re awake.” Were his parting words as he slipped back out of the door, finally leaving you utterly alone for the first time. 

Instead of immediately changing, you decide to take a quick snoop around the room. Not really looking for anything in particular, but simply getting familiar with your surroundings. 

Upon the desk near the bed, it’s piled high with various different items, coins, charts, leather back books that look so old and withered that if you were to pick it up it may crumble in your arms. 

The one thing that did catch your gaze was the wooden picture frame sitting next to the unlit lamp. Treading on silent feet, you round the desk until you can see it without disturbing anything on the desk. 

The image has you smiling for a reason you’re not sure of. You can immediately tell that the young boy perched on the lap of the old lady is the captain. But it's the expression of laughter and happiness covering their faces that has your heart clenching tightly in your chest. Kita couldn’t have been older than seven - close to how old you had been when your mother had passed. 

‘You are the embodiment of my heart walking outside of my body darling.’

Turning away from the picture, you trudge back to the bed and change. The white blouse is oversized yet comfortable, and the charcoal pants hugged your figure a bit too tightly - that would need to be rectified, but for now it was okay. The black weathered and beaten boots were slightly too big for your feet, so you were conscious of your steps as you opened the door, facing the captain once more. 

His gaze flickered over you in an assessing look, nothing more, before nodding. One day, you internally decide, I'm going to get a smile from this stoic man.

“If I didn’t know better, you could have passed for being a pirate.” He was a man of few words you were coming to realise as he turned and led you down the hall. 

‘Track your exits, your windows, where every person stands and where any liftable item is’ You could hear your fathers voice breathing down your neck. Back when you were a child, you had grumbled and groaned every time he came to oversee your lessons, lecturing you on things you’d heard countless times before. Now you wish you could hear him nag at you about etiquette or your stance or even your rats damned hair that never wanted to behave. 

The moment you both breach the external door, you wince again at the bright day light. You can't even remember the last time you stood in direct sunlight like this, so you take a moment to close your eyes and breathe in the air. The salinity of the breeze if familiar, but the lack of reeking fumes of your cell is a blessing. Exhaling, you block the full force of the sunshine from your face with your hand. Holy hells its bright.

You hear rather than see the scuffling of feet as you follow Kita’s back as he walks out onto the deck. When you manage to look up, a crowd of men stand in front of you, their gazes flicking between trying not to gawk at you in curiosity and to their captain who stands to in front of them. But as Kita clears his throat commanding their attention, there are more than a few admonished faces. 

Part of you knows that you should probably be looking at the captain as well, but your eyes become cemented on a man standing to the far left of the crowd, leaning against the ship railing with his arms crossed. 

There’s a soft breeze as the boat is moored, but it's still enough to whip his hair just enough to catch your eyes. His head is tilted towards the sky as if he is too just taing in the sunshine for the first time today. Your breath catches in your throat as he tilts his head back as Kita begins talking, but his eyes - those grey eyes - they immediately fall on you as if he knew exactly where you were. 

He’d always seemed to know where to find you when you were children so it wasn’t that much of a surprise. But now, seeing him in the bright sunlight, dressed in a dark grey shirt rolled up to his biceps, the front basically half undone showing his golden skin and the medallion hanging around his neck.

Osamu Miya was a man. 

It hits you just how far your youth is from you now. Gone was the scrawny boy you had known, with dreams of becoming the greatest swordsman in all the land to rival his father. 

Instead now here he stands, a pirate, the navigator of the Nine Tails. And you share the deck, no longer known as a princess, but a supposed murderer. 

There’s another cough by your side and you slide your gaze back to the rest of the crowd as Kita begins to make introductions. 

Apart from the twins, Ren, the captain and Ginjima, the rest of the faces held no familiarity. Kita’s first mate was the first to take a step forward and hold out his hand for you to shake. 

Aran Ojiro he had said, another quiet and seemingly level headed male, and an apparent opposite to many of the other men who were practically shoving each other out of the way to speak first until you were holding back on a laugh. 

The sound collapsed in your chest as gold eyes filled your vision. 

Him. Familiarity rang loud in your head as you looked at the man standing in the centre. You know him, you’re sure of it. As if reading your mind, Kita interrupts your train of thought. 

“Suna-”

“Rinatrou,” You finish, not realising you’ve said the words out loud until all eyes are on you once again. The attention normally wouldn’t phase you, but as you stare at the young man in front of you, it dawns on you just how vulnerable you are. Even with training your father had pushed you towards in your youth, you are still a woman on a boat full of wanted pirates.

I will not be afraid. Drawing courage from god knows where, you look level Suna with a blank stare.

“Your father was on the council underneath the king.”

“Yes.” His single word answer tugs at a string of anger buried just deep enough to glance over, and you find yourself wanting to snarl. 

“I passed him in the hall the day i was first dragged to the Roost.” Suna says nothing, simply listens as you let out your tangled thoughts. “He did nothing then, and every day since.” The men around you are so quiet that the only noise coming from the ship is the thudding of the waves lapping against it, and the creaking of the wooden mast as wind whips around the rolled up sails.  “He’s a piece of shit.”

“A fact that I am vividly aware of.” If he was half as much of a piece of shit as his father, you have no doubt that Kita would not have let him on his ship - no matter how much he may have needed his aid. You could hold no grudge against the boy you’d seen on and off in court since your childhood for the actions for his father. Because you knew first hand, that children are not always the same as their parents. Your brother and the current king are a prime example. 

The thought of Wakatoshi has you looking away from Suna, as if simply looking at him brought vivid images of your older brother to mind. What had he been told? That you had died? Or was he still unaware of your fate, thinking that the king's mother was simply taking you under her wing? 

“— could be.” Kita’s voice speaks quietly and you wouldn’t have picked up on it at all had there not been a gentle tap on your ankle. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see blonde hair and a smug grin and you fight the childish urge to kick him back. 

You may be grateful for Atsumu pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts, but you aren’t going to tell him that. Noticing your lack of attention, Kita simply turns your way and repeats what he said without a care in the world. 

“We’re looking for something, and I think you might be able to tell me where it could be.” You must look as lost as you feel after hearing that because Kita simply waves away his crew, telling them to return to whatever they were doing before leading you back inside. 

Entering the room that you were in before, you begin to realise it’s the captain's quarters. Kita doesn’t give you much time to stew over it as he rounds his desk, pushing things aside until you realise that the top of it is not made of wood, but a large map. 

A very old one, with cream withered paper, ripped and missing some of the corners, yet somehow it seems brand new at the same time. But more than the fact it is possibly the largest map you’ve seen, you realise you’ve seen part of it before. 

“It includes the Dead Isles.” You point out, leaning over the desk, looking at the archipelago of islands far off the coast of Hyogo. 

“It includes all the Dead Isles.” Kita corrects, making you tear your eyes off the paper and look at him. 

The Dead Isles archipelago didn’t appear on many maps, because no one had been able to completely cartograph the archipelago. The shallow reefs, razor sharp rocks and rumoured monsters of the deep, many people who had tried had died. And what land they had found was barren, unable to provide fertile fields for the people to farm - they had forgotten about much of the world and hence named the Dead Isles. 

“You mean to tell me that this is a complete and accurate map of one of the great mysteries of the known world.” You ask, not quite believing what he was saying. 

“It’s not one hundred percent accurate.” Osamu’s voice is like a whisper in the wind, and you find yourself utterly unable to do anything but watch as he shifts next to you, pointing a finger on the small cluster of Islands. Those grey eyes like swirling storm clouds shift to you, drawing you in until you feel like you’re standing in the middle of that hurricane where everything is still and quiet. 

Standing in the eye of a storm, that's how it feels when looking at the navigator.

“I wanted you to look at it and to see if anything looks familiar to you.” Kita finishes, dragging you back to reality and the task at hand. Anything familiar... its a map, of course its familiar. With furrowed brows you look over the map once more. What were they hoping for you to find? 

Nothing about the islands or their placement seemed to stand out to you. With a defeated sigh you let your eyes roam over the rest of it. About to voice your failure, you see the beautifully drawn design around the map. Many of the maps and charts you perused as a child were part of heavy tomes, artfully designed to be more appealing to the eye than factual. 

Parts of the map were similar to those, with depictions of the sun and moon, sea monsters spoken about in folktales and myths told to get children to behave, and constellations scattered around the border. 

It was one of those constellations that seemed to call out to you, as if there was a hand on your shoulder, urging you to look at it more. As if to say This one, can you see it?

You wouldn’t need that gut feeling to know that it was important. No it was the constellation that you had been obsessed with since you were but a child. A trident, with a crown of stars above the teeth.

You knew that constellation, that story. One that was passed down from person to person from your mothers people. A people from the Broken Islands that had all but died out, their myths and gods with them. 

So why on earth did they have that constellation on here?

Kita is already looking at you when you glance up for confirmation. And the light in his eyes tells you that you’ve just confirmed what he had thought. You know what he hoped you would. Did this have to do with the Kaimana constellation or its myth? Or could it be something more. 

Your brain whirls as you realise that this may be more complicated than simply looking at a map. That this may have to do with the entire hidden history your mother had known but was unable to fully share with you - and if he was riding on getting any major information from you he is going to be severely disappointed at your lack of knowledge. 

“You recognise the constellation.” Atsumu stated, sitting in the chair beside his captain, leaning back on two legs, but looking at you as if it weren’t a question that you might recognise, but a predetermined fact. 

 “I do, I read about it as a child.” You see the look Osamu shoots you out of the corner of your eye. One that calls you a rutting liar at the withheld truth of just how obsessed you had been with the story behind it. It’s Kita’s expression that has you explaining yourself. 

“My mother was from a small island tribe in the Broken Islands. They didn’t really have a written history, but instead their history and stories were passed down from generation to generation.” You start, looking back down at the map again.  “She died when I was a child, so much of that knowledge was lost with her. She had always said I’d needed to be older to hear some of the stories. Afterwards, I searched the royal archives for anything I didn’t know, or asked my father. But the books in there held only shadows of their knowledge.” 

Once again, you turn to the captain and finally stand up straight. “If it is information you want from me, I’m sorry but I don't think i'll be of much use to your cause.” 

“So far I you have been.” Kita points out before reaching into his coat pocket.  “Years ago I obtained an amulet. The night of your brother's coronation, we only infiltrated the event to make a trade deal.” Something in your chest aches at his words. You know, deep down you do, that the night you’d seen Osamu again hadn’t been out of pure curiosity on his behalf. Albeit you hadn’t known he was a pirate, you’d been blinded by the shock that he was there and alive to think of much else. So you shouldn’t be hurt by the truth, but yet here you are, your heart throbbing in time with the subdued pain in your back.

“Osamu said that you have far more knowledge of the ancient constellations and their meanings than he does. And considering much of what I have been told of them are obscenely contradictory to what they are now known as, I want someone who’s more knowledgeable on it than a simple ‘have read in passing’ hunch.”

“Why?” You ask before your brain has to chance to overthink whether asking outright is the right thing to do. What on earth are they looking for that may possibly have something to do with long lost constellations and stories. 

“I traded the life of my enemy’s first mate to get this back after it was stolen from me, because somehow, I just know that it’s important.” The captain’s voice was resolute as he pulled something out of his pocket, brandishing it on the desk for them all to see. 

There it is. 

The thick golden chain looks as if it was freshly polished, without a single scratch or mark upon it. At the bottom of the linked metal lies a large circular amulet. The branded large sea dragon wrapped almost around itself, its eyes embellished with two small sapphires has your heart dropping into your stomach. 

It’s back. 

When you were seven, you’d been diving off the main dock trying to find coastal clam shells when you’d gotten your foot stuck in some leftover fishing net that some of the fishermen had lazily just dumped under the wharf. You remember the panic, the fear as your chest burned from lack of oxygen. You’d struggled to see as you tried to hack away with your small fishing knife at the rope. You remember the black dots dancing in your vision, your heart thundering inside your skull until it was all that you could hear. 

Your body reacts the same as you look into the small sparkling eyes of the sea dragon. Its just as beautiful as it always had, the gemstone eyes just as hypnotic as when you’d looked at it, slowly falling asleep as a child. 

“Where-” your voice sounds foreign to you as it breaks. “Where did you get this?” With trembling fingers, you let your fingers brush over the metal. It’s so cold in comparison to the warmth you were used to, from hours and hours of resting against one's skin. 

“Why?” Maybe it’s the lack of explanation, or the blaring curiosity that has the small ember of anger flickering inside you from earlier exploding into a fiery rage. Maybe it's the fact that it is here, still in one piece that has your anguish burning to life. Or maybe, it’s because you are staring at the proof that this, this scrap piece of metal is here and she isn’t. “Because that,” You’re pathetic broken tone completely eclipsed by your fury as you shove a shaking finger at the amulet. “-was around my mothers neck when she was pushed out to sea on her funeral pyre.”

©️ 2022 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[arvinsescape]

Attention.

A/N: I’m back! Felt ready to post something, I’m not sure on a schedule yet but I’m going to try and start posting a few things again! Things are looking better at the minute and I’m in a better head space.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of smut.

W/C: 5.1K.

Your chest tightened the longer you sat there, glass of wine in your hand as you slouched in your chair. The tears you felt building behind your eyes burning your eyeballs as you blinked rapidly to hold them back. You knew he’d been distant recently, spending less time with you over the last couple of weeks but you hoped tonight that’d change, apparently not. You’d been sat here now for forty-five minutes waiting for Tom to show up and so far? Nothing.

The looks you were receiving from the waitress were beginning to annoy you, you hated pity, you really did. She knew who you were and who you were waiting for, she’d served you many times before in this restaurant, she was lovely and probably didn’t mean anything by her pitiful looks. You reached for the bottle of wine as you refilled your glass, the waitress making her way over.

“Are you ready to order?” She asked and you looked up at her with a sad smile receiving one in return.

“I’ll just take the bill please.” You said in defeat as she nodded in understanding and disappeared. You almost jumped in your seat as the one across from you scraped across the floor, Tom making an appearance.

“I’m so sorry darling, I got held up.” He said as he reached for your hand across the table, you gave him a tight-lipped smile and allowed him to place his hand over yours. Not wanting to cause a scene. “You look beautiful.” He said as he ran his thumb along the back of your hand and you smiled at him.

“Thank you.” You sighed out and he furrowed his brows.

“Are you okay?” He asked and you nodded. “You sure? I’m sorry I was fifteen minutes late baby.” Baby it made your heart flip in your chest, he hadn’t called you that in almost three weeks, it was always your favourite pet name he gave you. That and Princess had the ability to make you crumble at his feet but not right now, the ache in your chest intensifying.

“Forty-five.” You corrected quietly and his furrow deepened as the waitress returned, bill in hand. She looked almost as surprised as you had to see Tom sat across from you.

“Do you still want the bill?” She asked and before you could speak Tom interrupted.

“No, sorry to mess you around but I got my times mixed up. I think we’re good to eat now?” Tom asked you and you shrugged in response. Tom and the waitress both looking at you for a straight answer. You felt bad holding her up and messing her around, it was a busy night for her, you could see that.

“Yeah, we’re good. I’m sorry for messing you around.” You smiled apologetically and she smiled in response, dismissing your panic and taking Tom’s drinks order and yours for a second bottle of wine.

“Darling- “

“Don’t Tom, I’m not in the mood.” You interrupted and he nodded slightly in response, neither of you a fan of making a scene in public. “How was your day?” You asked as you took in a deep breath, ready to make this as civil as possible. Tom sensed it, he knew this was going to be short lived, the civility between the two of you would end as soon as you stepped foot through the door to your home.

“It was, yeah, it was good, nothing to report.” He shrugged and your anger brewed, he was late, got held up but didn’t have anything to report? “Yours?”

“Yeah, was good, busy day in the office but other than that it was fine.” You said with a small smile.

This continued on, the dinner being far from what you’d been hopeful for. You ate, made small talk, finished your drinks, paid the bill and walked home. It was cold on the walk home, your arms covered in goosebumps, silently cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket. You rubbed your hands along your arms to try and create friction and warm your cold arms.

“Here.” Tom said as he handed you his blazer, you were feeling stubborn, wanting to give him the cold shoulder.

“I’m good.” You said.

“Y/N,” he warned, he knew he was in the wrong, but that didn’t stop him worrying about you and being his usual protective self. “I know you’re angry with me and we’re gonna talk about it but you’re cold, please don’t be so stubborn, I don’t want you to get ill.” He said as he placed the blazer around your shoulders.

Your heart lifted as you became encased in his warmth, became encased in his scent you’d missed over the last couple of weeks. You pulled the blazer on properly, hands digging into the pockets to try and warm them up, it was working, slowly, nothing like when it was in Tom’s but that wasn’t an option right now. The feeling of dread hit you as you made your way up the driveway and into the house, the inevitable argument you were about to have settling in your chest.

You made your way into the living room, Tom following carefully behind as you took your heels off and greeted Tess, bag finding its way to the floor. You took in the living room, the TV in standby but the orange light of his PlayStation catching your eye. It was in rest mode, a sign he’d been on it before heading out to meet you and showed his intention of firing it back up when he returned. It made your blood boil, that’s why he was late.

“Darling..” he trailed off as he watched the realisation set in on your face.

“Were you late because you were gaming with the boys?” You asked and watched as Tom cringed at how awful it sounded.

“I swear I lost track of time.” He defended and you nodded as you walked passed him and into the kitchen. “Princess, I’m sorry.” He said as he followed you, your eyes moving to the calendar on the fridge. Your hand writing catching your eye, you had written the correct time, you’d reminded him that morning as well. “Y/N/N?” He asked carefully and you spun on your heel to look at him.

“You’re an arsehole.” You stated simply and he let out a sigh as he nodded.

“I know. I swear I thought you said half seven, not seven.”

“You would still have been late.”

“I lost track of time.”

“Thought you got caught up?” You fired back and his face fell.

“Come on, I’m trying here.”

“Really hard, I noticed.” You spat out sarcastically and you saw the flash of confusion behind his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I’m just used to it at the minute.” You shrugged as you walked passed him again and up the stairs, Tom hot on your heels.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter, go back and play with the boys, I’m sure that was how you wanted this evening to turn out.” You said, voice far more stern than you’d expected considering the heart ache and tears that were starting to take over at the situation.

“I’m confused here, I know I was late today but I feel like I’m missing something else.” He said as you walked into the bathroom.

“Just me.” You mumbled out in hopes he wouldn’t hear you but he did. Your hand moving to the shower to turn it on and let it warm up.

“What?” He asked, a hint of anger to his tone.

“Nothing, just leave me alone.” You snapped.

“I don’t want to, you’re obviously upset with me and I want to know what’s going on.” He said, arms crossed over his chest.

“Makes a change.” You spat at him and his face turned to one of anger, you were both growing more and more irritated with one another.

“You gonna tell me what you mean by that? Or are we gonna continue with the riddles?” He asked, voice stern. Although he knew he’d fucked up, he hated when you got into one of these moods when you were either too angry or too upset to be straight with him.

“Can you just leave me alone while I shower?” You asked and he huffed before making his way out of the bathroom and you slammed the door shut, locking it for good measure. You needed to get your thoughts straight, pull yourself together and allow yourself to cry, you’d wanted to all evening.

You took your dress off throwing it into the basket as you undressed and got into the shower, letting the warm water raise your temperature, the walk home had left you cold. You let the tears fall as you let the heart ache set in, a part of you wondered if he didn’t know he was doing it, but then wouldn’t he miss you too? Wouldn’t he miss the closeness you’d not had for a couple of weeks.

Another, more insecure part of you wondered if he’d met someone else, he hadn’t touched you in a good few weeks, not in that way. It was unusual for you not to be all over each other, not when he was home, so it left you wondering if he just wasn’t interested anymore. It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried, you had, wearing things around the house that usually got him going but recently his eyes would flick from the TV and then back to it. The tears fell faster at the thought, you loved him, god you loved him more than you could bare at times.

You finished up your shower as you tried to compose yourself, letting the anger set in because you couldn’t focus on the heart ache right now. You’d just cry in front of him and you didn’t want to do that right now. You got changed into your pajama pants, they felt strange to wear because you barely wore them, a hoody was pulled over your head as you placed your hands into the pocket.

You made your way back into the living room where Tom was, the TV still off which surprised you. Tom’s head snapped in your direction, his eyebrows raised at your attire, it was unusual for him to see you in pajama pants, you usually wore them when you were ill and trying to cling to any warmth that you could. You couldn’t shift your thoughts from your head, the thought that he just wasn’t attracted to you anymore.

“Tom,” you let out in an almost pleading way, the anger you wanted to hold onto slipping. His eyes found yours and softened at the clear sadness and heart break in them. He moved carefully from the couch, making his way over to you, standing in front of you as you found his feet suddenly interesting.

“Hey,” he said as he placed a hand under your chin and tilted your face to look at him. Your eyes were red and rimmed with tears threatening to spill. “Talk to me.” He almost pleaded, voice soft.

“I” you started before a sob choked your throat. “I miss you.” You said as you fell into his chest and cried into it, your hands fisting his shirt as your tears stained it. One of his hands found your back whilst the other found your hair, massaging your scalp slowly.

“I’m right here princess.” He said as he stroked your hair. Your anger rose at that, he had no idea how distant he’d been.

“You haven’t been.” You said sternly as you pushed back from his chest and took a step back, his hands falling from your frame.

“What? I’ve literally been home for a month.” He said, confusion evident.

“Not really, your precious boys have been more important than me.” You spat, that anger you wanted to hold onto was back and you didn’t want to let go of it.

“What do you mean?”

“Your fucking PlayStation Tom. Your golf dates with them. Your complete lack of any sort of interest in me.” You shouted at him and he huffed, his own anger taking over.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. I’ve been here, I’ve been with you. I miss the boys too you know.” He said, voice colder than you was expecting.

“I get that, I do.” You acknowledged. “But you don’t come to bed with me anymore, in fact you come to bed when I’ve fallen asleep these days. You fail to tell me when you’re going to play golf with the boys, I find out in the morning when you’re already set to go. I asked you to give me your sole attention tonight and you couldn’t, the boys coming first.”

“I have apologized for tonight, I don’t know what more you want. I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve been prioritizing the boys, I haven’t meant to.” He said that coldness still in his voice.

“It’s not just that. You’re dismissive, if you’re not online with the boys you’re playing some shite and that takes all your attention.” You said, you’d created a distance between the two of you, your arms now folded across your chest, mirroring him.

“So you want attention?” He spat out.

“Don’t patronize me.” You spat back as you pointed a finger at him. “You don’t call me anything other than my name at the moment, the last couple of hours have been rare in the past couple of weeks. You haven’t touched me.” You said, anger faltering slightly in the last sentence.

“What are you talking about? That’s not true. Not touched you? I distinctly remember you straddling my lap the other day.” He shouted at you.

“To try and get your attention Tom.” You said, anger falling from your voice. “To try and get you to notice I’m still here. We didn’t exactly do anything, you didn’t even turn your fucking console off. Tom, you haven’t slept with me in almost three weeks.”

“You know, if you wanted me to come off my console, you could’ve asked.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” You said sadly and his face fell, the anger was disappearing for the both of you now.

“Look, I’m sorry…” He started as you interrupted him, a question that had the room falling to silence.

“Is there someone else?” You voiced your insecurity, your true fear of why he was so distant. He’d been back a month, you’d slept together once and he barely made time for you, what if he had found someone whilst he was away. You knew he hadn’t cheated, he wouldn’t, you knew that but that didn’t mean he couldn’t become attracted to someone that wasn’t you.

“I haven’t cheated on you.” He said softly after a while, stepping towards you carefully.

“That wasn’t what I asked.” You said as the tears started again, your hand that was wrapped in the sleeve of your hoody coming to wipe at your face. It wasn’t long before Tom’s hand encased it and pulled it from your face, his eyes finding your own, the heartbreak in them was so evident you regretted ever asking the question.

“Baby, no. There isn’t anyone else, not for me. I would never, I couldn’t, you’re perfect princess.” He spoke and it was so honest that it pushed that insecurity way into the back of your mind again. “I’m sorry.” He spoke, your hands in his as a tear made its way down his face.

“I just want your attention Tom. Not all the time, I understand you miss the boys, I do. But I miss you too Tom, I didn’t say anything because I thought tonight would fix everything but it just made it worse.” You spoke more to yourself than him. “I just feel like you haven’t missed me half as much as I’ve missed you.” You finished and with that you took your hands from his and made your way upstairs, leaving Tom with his own thoughts.

You went into the bedroom, closing and locking the door as you made your way into bed, pulling the covers over your frame as you cried into your pillow. It was almost half an hour later when you heard Tom try the door, you could almost imagine his face when he realised it was locked, this wasn’t something you’d done even in your worst shouting matches.

“Baby,” he called and you heard his forehead make contact with the wood of the door. “Can you open the door for me? I just wanna hold you, I’m so sorry.” You heard the sadness in his voice, the pure heart break with himself.

“Tom, I just wanna be on my own right now.” You said, it felt contradictory to the argument you’d had but you just wanted to be by yourself at the minute.

“Okay, you know where I am if you need me.” You heard him sigh as he disappeared. It took a while but eventually sleep took over.

**

You woke up to an alarm blaring and Tess barking furiously, it startled you awake as you bolted out of bed, unlocked the door and flew down the stairs. You had to stifle a laugh as you took in the sight in the kitchen, Tom was batting a tea towel across the fire alarm as Tess barked and ran in circles around his feet.

You quickly made your way over to the kitchen door, opening it as Tess shot out, you made your way to the window and opened those too. Tom looked at you with an embarrassed smile gracing his lips as the smoke made its way from the kitchen and outside.

“Sorry.” He said once the alarm had stopped blaring. You laughed as you looked around the kitchen, it looked as though a bomb had gone off.

“What were you doing?” You asked amused.

“Making you breakfast.” He said shyly as he bit his lip.

“That was never gonna be a good idea, unless it was cold.” You teased and he laughed, it was no secret he wasn’t the best cook in the house.

“I’m sorry, I was just, I don’t know.” He concluded as he watched you begin to clean the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to wake you up so abruptly either.”

“It’s okay.” Your heart warmed, you know what he was trying to do and it felt like a small step in the right direction. “I know what you were trying to do.” You said as you made your way in front of him and kissed his cheek. “I appreciate it.” The atmosphere was way better than last night but there was still a sadness in the air.

“You locked me out.” Tom said, voice laced in nothing other than sadness, you felt guilty but you needed to be alone last night.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just, I needed to be alone.” You said, hand on his cheek as you swiped your thumb over it. He nodded, his hand finding your hip as he squeezed it slightly.

“I get it. I’m sorry.” He said as he carefully leant forward and caught your lips in his own, you smiled into the kiss, it felt nice to have everything out in the open, a weight lifted. “I love you.” He murmured as he pulled back, forehead resting against your own.

“I love you.” You smiled before taking a deep breath and looking around the kitchen, lightly patting his cheek with your hand. “We should clean this place up.” You laughed and he nodded.

**

Almost twenty minutes later and the kitchen looked normal again, your laughs filling the kitchen as you tried to work out how he’d done half of the things he’d done.

“Do you wanna go and grab something instead? I don’t think I should try cooking again.” Tom teased and you grinned.

“I’d love to.” You said as you made your way back upstairs to get changed, Tom joining you.

“I’m sorry.” He said and you looked at him, ready to respond before his phone rang. “Hey mate.” Tom said as he placed the phone against his ear, you busied yourself with fixing your hair. “Not today.” He said, you knew he was talking to one of the boys and your heart hammered in your chest, was he gonna ditch you for them again? “Taking Y/N/N out.” He said, happiness lacing his tone. “Maybe mate, I’ll see what she wants to do.” He said, phone between his ear and shoulder as he fixed his belt.

“Been a bit of a shit boyfriend recently.” Tom said and you heard the laugh that filled the speakers, Harrison. “Shh.” You suddenly heard Tom interrupt his friend, “she’s literally right here.” He said and you felt your chest tighten, what could Harrison have to say that you couldn’t maybe overhear? “I will, cheers mate, bye.” Tom said as he put the phone down and placed it in his pocket, you shook your thoughts away as your eyes met his in the mirror. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You said as he held his hand out for you and you took it as he interlaced your fingers.

You made your way towards your local café, a place you absolutely loved and Tom found endearing, a lovely old lady ran it and it was cheap and cheerful. A stark contrast to the usual places you and Tom would eat, but you loved it here.

“Y/N.” Mary said as you both walked through the door, a warm smile on her face. “You brought Tom too, I feel underdressed for an A-list celebrity to be here.” She said and you giggled.

“You know he doesn’t care.” You said as you hugged her, she was like a grandmother to almost everyone who stepped through the door.

“Thank you by the way, my grandson was over the moon when I took him your autograph.” She said to Tom who smiled, a small blush creeping up his cheeks, he may have been famous but he was forever humble.

You ate your usual and drank your coffee as Tom focused his attention on making you laugh. It worked as he placed some icing sugar on your nose that was on the tip of his finger. You shook your head as you wiped your nose with a laugh. You’d really missed him over the last couple of weeks and you couldn’t be more thankful you’d finally said something last night.

“Tom, I’ve told you before, you don’t need to tip me so much.” Mary said as she watched Tom place a ten-pound note in her tip jar.

“The service was exceptional as always.” Tom shrugged as he placed a kiss to her cheek in goodbye. He used to tip a lot more but Mary had in return started not charging for the two of you to come in, the ten-pound tip seemed like the most she’d accept without throwing in freebies.

“You are a charmer Mr Holland.” She smiled as she hugged you.

“Is he?” You teased and Mary laughed.

“He is, however, he’s lucky to have you.” She smiled as she pinched your cheek. “About time he got down on one knee.” Mary teased and you saw Tom tense slightly, your heart sinking at his reaction, was that not something he wanted?

“Don’t scare the poor boy.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood in your heart.

“Not scared.” Tom said with a smile as he took your hand in his and laced your fingers together.

**

You had an amazing day, went for a walk and talked to each other, it felt nice, normal. You still had a heavy feeling in your heart, thoughts of what Harrison had said that had caused him to quieten him so quickly invading your mind. You tried your best to shrug it off, it could be anything, your insecurities getting the better of you. You were cuddling on the couch watching a film when he suddenly got up.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He waved off as he made his way out of the room.

It wasn’t long before he placed himself next to you, envelope in his hand. You furrowed your brows as he handed it to you.

“I know I’m a few days early but here.” He said and you opened the envelope, pulling out two tickets to the Maldives.

“Tom, what?”

“Happy birthday.” He said as he kissed your cheek and you smiled, looking at the date on your ticket, you were set to go on your birthday, a ridiculously early flight time stamped on the ticket. “I know how much you love it there and I wanted to get you something nice.” Tom said and you smiled at him.

“Nice is a bottle of perfume. Tom, this is so expensive.” You scalded and he laughed as he pulled you into his chest.

“Nothing’s too expensive when it comes to you.”

“You cheesy fucker.” You laughed as you kissed his t shirt covered chest. “Thank you. Is that the surprise Harrison wasn’t supposed to ruin?” You asked and Tom laughed.

“Yeah.” Tom lied through his teeth, the actual surprise was currently in his office drawer. The black box hidden beneath scripts he’d been reading over. He was glad that you hadn’t asked about his golf trip last week, it was never a golf trip in the first place, he’d gone to your parents to ask permission, Harry promising to cover if you asked if they’d been together.

**

“It’s gorgeous.” You said as you sat on the decking outside your hut, feet in the clear water below. Tom sat next to you, taking your hand in his.

“Yeah, it is.” He agreed as he played with your fingers. “That’s why I was so caught up with the boys, I wanted to make sure this trip was perfect, we were running through ideas.” Tom suddenly said and you turned to look at him.

“How much planning can one holiday take?” You teased and he shrugged as he placed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“You know me.” He said and you laughed. “The lack of sex though, there was no excuse for that, I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere.” He said with a small smile and you placed your free hand on his chest as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, you’ve made up for that.” You bit your lip, your legs still aching from the activities that had taken place no less than ten minutes ago. Your thighs, neck and chest covered in marks he’d left, you bit your lip thinking about it as you removed your hand from his chest and traced the marks on your thighs.

“I suppose I should let you in on a little secret.” He said and you furrowed your brows looking up at him. He smiled before standing and bringing you with him. “I’ve been distant because I’ve been planning something.” He said, both of your hands in his. You gasped as he got down on one knee in front of you. “I wanted it to be perfect.” He said as he fished around in his pocket. He pulled the black box from them.

“Tom.” You gasped, heart soaring, you were at a loss for words.

“When you asked me the other day if there was someone else, I was so heart broken. Princess, I’m sorry, I’ve been so stressed about asking you this question, so scared I’ll get it wrong that it sort of took over. I love you more than anything, you are the only woman I’m interested in, I’ve never in my life felt more at home than I do when I’m with you. I have never met someone who understands me the way you do, who’s as supportive as you are. I want to give you everything you deserve and more, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Y/N L/N, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” He asked and you were both crying, both letting happiness consume you as he opened the box.

The ring was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, it was all too much, the happiness you felt was too much and you fell onto your knees in front of him, hands grasping his back as you pulled him into you. Head finding his shoulder as you cried into it. He held you close as he too cried into your hair.

You pulled back after a while, looking into his eyes and you swear you couldn’t be happier. That’s what Harrison had mentioned that he didn’t want you to hear, that’s why he tensed in the café, he was probably worrying you’d mention you didn’t want that.

“You gonna keep me hanging?” Tom asked as he wiped at your eyes. It dawned on you that you hadn’t given him an answer.

“Of course I’ll marry you.” You said and he released a breath he’d clearly been holding. He took the ring and slipped it onto your finger, the sun catching it and making it sparkle in the most brilliant way.

He lifted you both to your feet, hand finding your cheek as he pulled you in for a kiss, your hand slipping into his hair as your other held his bicep. He deepened this kiss as he slipped his hand to cup your neck, his other finding the curve of your bum as he squeezed. You giggled as you pulled back slightly.

“Wanna go for a swim?” You asked and he raised a brow.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged and he laughed.

“Okay darling.” He said as he stepped back slightly, he was so close to the edge of the decking that you couldn’t help it. You bit your lip mischievously as you placed your hands on his chest, he looked down at you and his eyes widened, he was too late to act as you pushed against his chest. He lost balance but not before grasping your hands which meant you fell with him, both your bodies hitting the water which made for a large and loud splash.

You both resurfaced, your body gravitating towards his own as you wrapped your legs around his waist, arms loosely hanging from his shoulders. His hands finding your thighs, your hands making their way into his now wet hair, he smiled up at you and pulled you in for a kiss.

“I love you.” You both said in unison, pure happiness filling both of your hearts.

[andypantsx3]

i could literally die right now + either deku or kirishima, andie u pick!

Surprise I picked not Deku because I was scared lmao.

Falling | Kirishima/Reader

Prompt: “I could literally die right now” Word Count: 1220 words Tags/Warnings: pro hero AU, fluff, SFW Notes: Thank you @bobawithpomegranate for beta reading!!

It had been ten minutes since the last time you had felt your arm.

It was currently wedged sideways between the door of the subway and a particularly sour looking salaryman, whose scowl was so intimidating you didn’t dare ask him to free up some space for you. Not that there was any space for him to shift into, as the entire car was packed like a sardine can. 

You had no space to go either, balanced precariously over what looked like a college student dead asleep in his seat, wet locks of red hair spilling out from under the hood of his sweatshirt. This close, you could catch the lingering scent of some orange peel body wash, a welcome reprieve from the other smells that came with close train quarters.

He was cute, even with his features slack in sleep, a tiny scar over one eyelid, and looking bone-deep exhausted like he’d just come from an athletic meet. If the wet hair and telltale swell of muscle under his Crimson Riot hoodie was any judge, he probably had. Not that you had been staring long enough to speculate…

You were still looking—not staring—when the salaryman next to you shifted, and you felt the familiar prickle of blood flow returning to your arm. You wrenched your arm from between the man and the door—only to find that had been the only thing stabilizing you as the train lurched to a stop. You stumbled, hands grasping at the air in front of the salaryman. His eyes met yours, and in a moment that seemed to stretch for a small eternity, he moved minutely backwards.

Your hands clenched just short of the fabric of his suit and you tripped sideways. 

Directly onto the lap of the sleeping student.

The sharp bone of his knee slammed into the side of your thigh as you went down, hard, your cheek stinging where it met the jut of his collarbone. You were frozen in shock for a moment, limbs locked up, before you were sliding sideways, angled towards the floor.

There was a startled snuffling noise, and a strong arm locked around your waist, hauling you back up against a hard chest.

You cringed, flushing all the way down to your toes. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

You looked up, only for your tongue to freeze in your mouth. Looking up at you was not a sleeping college student. With his eyes open and a small grin bearing those trademark sharp teeth of his, you suddenly realized exactly who it was you were using as a seat—pro hero Red Riot. 

Though he was fresh enough on the hero scene that it was possible for him to take the train like this without being recognized, you imagined it wouldn’t be long before that would have to stop. Though you knew little about heroes, even you knew he was rocketing up the ranks, fueled by his boyish charm, roguish good looks, and a frankly illegal set of washboard abs custom-made for magazine spreads.

Washboard abs that you could currently feel pressed up against the side of your arm.

Your brain rapidly entered panic mode and you tried to throw yourself sideways off of him, but Red Riot caught you again, laughing wryly.

“Careful there!” he said, “You almost ate floor. Wouldn’t want you to bang up that cute face of yours.”

Then he paused, seeming to realize what he’d said, a hint of a blush speckling his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I mean—”

Your brain went entirely offline as you gaped at him. Had he just tried to fan service you? How did he even know you knew who he was? Were you that obvious?

God this was so embarrassing.

“No, it’s okay!” you yelped, “You don’t need to apologize, I know my face isn’t actually—uh—you know. Anyway—thanks. Yeah, thanks for saving me, you—”

The crackle of the overheard interrupted you, the train conductor’s staticky voice announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize for the delay. We’ve got an obstruction on the track, we will be delayed just a short couple of minutes.”

Red Riot was staring at you through the announcement, a little wrinkle appearing between his brows. “What do you mean your face isn’t actually—? Actually what?”

Your entire face went hot. Oh my god, did he want to have this conversation? For real? You didn’t need reassurances, you needed to get off of his lap and disappear, stat. You wondered how feasible it was to pry open the doors and leap out into the subway tunnel, to disappear into the darkness and never be seen on the surface of the earth again.

That was the only solution here.

“This is so embarrassing, I could literally die right now,” you said instead, moving to clamber off of him. “I’m going to get off now, I’m sorry I fell on you.”

Red Riot’s arm clamped down, however, jerking you back against him. When you looked up at him, he seemed just as shocked as you were by the move.

“Sorry, reflex,” he said, shifting uncomfortably underneath you. It only emphasized the firmness of the muscles under you and you wondered frantically if the flames of your embarrassment might burn so hot that you would actually catch on fire.

The train conductor’s voice crackled back to life, “Ladies and gentleman, please don’t be alarmed. There is a fight taking place on the track and we have been asked to shelter in place. Please remain calm and stay in your seats, we will be passing along directions from the Public Safety Commission as they arrive.”

Red Riot perked up underneath you. “A fight! That’s my cue! I’m um, a hero—I don’t know if you’ve heard of me? I go by Red Riot...” 

You nodded vaguely. He knew you knew, didn’t he? Why else would he have said the fan service thing…?

Red Riot smiled, another flash of those sharp teeth. Then he stood up abruptly, hefting you in his arms and whirling to place you gently down in his seat, still warm from his presence. Your face went impossibly hotter, a weird fire starting in your abdomen at the casual show of strength. You stared up at him with wide eyes.

Red Riot smiled again, then rummaged around in his pocket for something, movements rushed.

“I, um, don’t have a lot of time right now. Gotta get to the fight,” he said, producing a pen. You wondered what he was doing with it, until he took your hand, flipping your palm up.

The pen pressed into the skin of your palm and you thought for a moment that he was signing his autograph, until he capped it. “Don’t feel any pressure. Only if you want! I just thought I’d take a chance since it literally fell into my lap. I’ll, um, maybe see you later,” he said. 

“If I don’t ‘literally die right now,’ that is,” he added, laughing.

And then he was gone, pushing through the crowd of people to get to the door of the train.

You looked down at your hand. In an untidy scrawl, he’d written:

Eijirou Kirishima

And underneath:

080-1XXX-5678. Date?

You covered your face, your cheeks burning. Oh yeah. You could literally die right now.

Current event masterlist in pinned.