#so we had to do half of it again (thank the maker it saved right after i nat 20d the door for omeluum)

[iron-bullogna]

guys this anime beach episode is looking a little weird...

[forever-rogue]

hello, lovely! i've been re-reading your works like CRAZY, you're so talented! 🩷 can i pretty please request for a friends-to-lovers one with eddie where the reader's ex suddenly comes back to her life and tries to win her back, and eddie realizes his feelings for the reader? i LIVE for jealous!eddie too sksksks thank you! 🩷

AN | Nothing good happens when the ex comes to town, right? 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Modern!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.5k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Guess what,” you walked into Eddie’s cozy coffee shop, waving at a few regulars as you made your way over to the counter. He stopped what he was doing and looked at you with expectant eyes, a lazy little half smile on his features, “hiya!”

“Hi sweetheart,” he leaned onto the counter, resting his chin in his hands as he looked at you gently, “lemme guess…chicken butt?”

“Very funny,” you leaned in and kissed his cheek before you reached over and helped yourself to one of his brownies. He always saved at least one for you, which was something that always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, “but no.”

“Do tell then,” he grinned as he turned back to the espresso maker, “gingerbread flat white?”

“Ooh, yes please,” you watched him work in awe before he came back over to you, setting the cup carefully in front of you, “no, the exciting thing that happened to me was that I saw August today!”

Eddie’s face dropped immediately as his jaw clenched, “August.”

“Yes!” you looked happy and somehow that made his stomach churn, “he came into the office today to consult with one of the designers and I saw him when I was leaving! He had no clue I worked there and I had no clue he was there.”

“Your ex,” he pointed out as you lifted up the cup and started to drink the delicious latte, “August, your ex.”

“Yes,” you raised an eyebrow before sighing lightly, “we’re still…well I wouldn’t say friends. But we needed things amicably if you don’t remember.”

“You cried over him for weeks,” he almost shouted but quickly dropped his voice as he narrowed his eyes, “he broke your heart!”

“Yes, he broke up with me, but it wasn’t over anything bad,” you cringed when you remembered that you really had been upset when August had broken up with you, “we just weren’t good together. That’s all.”

“I never liked him,” that was the understatement of the century. Eddie didn’t just dislike August, he hated and loathed him entirely. You’d broken your heart and Eddie couldn’t stand that. Just like he hated the face that he was dating you in the first place. Eddie had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Probably since the day he’d met you over ten years ago, “he’s always been a little bit…scrungly.”

“Scrungly?” you repeated, almost choking on the coffee in between your giggles, “what does that even mean?” 

“I don’t know, just like scrungly,” he flailed his arms dramatic, “either way I don’t like him.”

“I’m well aware, Edward,” you reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, “but it is what it is…and we’re going hang out and go bowling soon.”

“You’re what?” he looked like he was going to explode and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously. You’d always wondered why he didn’t like August but he never really had a solid reason. You figured it was just some weird guy thing, “why are you hanging out with him?!”

“Because he asked if I wanted to hang out and there’s no reason not to,” you straightened up and grabbed your coffee, “look, Eddie, I know you mean well, but you don’t have to worry. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. We’re just going to hang out once and if it’s completely terrible I never have to see him again, and if it goes well maybe we can be friends. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied right through his teeth, “okay.”

“I’ve gotta go,” you took a step back and offered him a small smile, “see you tomorrow for movie and pizza night?”

“Of course,” like he would miss a chance to spend time with you, “love you.”

“Love you too, Eddie,” you promised. If only he knew how very much, “thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey!” you looked up from your phone when you heard the sound of August’s cheery voice. Tucking your phone into your pocket, you walked over and met him halfway to say hello. He pulled you in for a friendly hug, “you look great. It’s good to see you again. Really good.”

“It’s good to see you too Auggie,” you felt your face warm up but decided to ignore it as you walked up towards the bowling alley. You reminded yourself that this was a friendly outing and not a date, “I can’t believe you’re back in Indy now.”

“I can’t believe you work as an interior designer,” he held the door open and you were immediately overwhelmed by the sounds of people bowling, talking, and laughing. You looked at him with a shy smile and shrugged. It hadn’t been a career you would have thought of either, but Eddie had nudged in the direction after you’d helped him design his cafe. Besides becoming friends with Eddie, it was one of the best designs you’d ever made.

“It just sort of happened but I love it,” you walked towards the counter to get your shoes and a lane, “you remember Eddie, right? He helped me get there, he was a huge supporter.”

You both gave your shoe sizes to the bored looking clerk and when he told you the price for everything, you moved to reach for your wallet but August gently pushed your hand away, “I’ve got this.”

“Okay,” you gave him a starry eyed smile as he grabbed both pairs of shoes and started to head towards the lane that was now reserved for you. The bowling alley always had a very distinct smell but it was so nostalgic to be there, “I haven’t been bowling in forever. This was a good idea! I think the last time I went was a couple of years ago with Eddie.”

“Eddie,” you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking from the tone in his voice, “you’re still friends with him?”

“Of course,” you finished pulling on your shoes and looked at him curiously, “he’s my best friend.”

“He’s in love with you,” okay. That was definitely annoyance in his voice and you had no clue why, “I’ll be honest with you, it was one of the reasons we broke up in the first place. Sometimes it felt like you were dating him, not me.”

“I…he’s not in love with me,” your mind was reeling at what he had said and you couldn’t help but wonder - what if? What if Eddie really was in love with you? No…you weren’t even going to bother to entertain that thought, “you broke up with me because of Eddie?”

“It wasn’t entirely him,” he dropped his voice and looked at you sweetly, “but people change and grow, you know? You never know what could happen.”

There was definitely a suggestive tone to his voice that was not lost on you. You only managed a small smile in return before clambering nervously to pick up your bowling ball. You felt his fingers brush along your back as you moved, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin. 

“You never know,” you agreed nervously, voice almost a squeak as you went to take your first shot. That did have you thinking though - would you want to get back together with him? You had never really thought about it…but the idea wasn’t all that bad either. It wasn’t like people were lining up out the door to ask you out…sometimes you had to take what you could get. 

A part of you was excited by the prospect - he was a good looking, nice guy that you did love once upon a time. On the other hand, you didn’t want to open that can of worms and let anything happen that could end with another broken heart. Plus there was the issue of Eddie. Realistically it was a non-issue. But you knew that your heart would always long for and yearn for Eddie. You loved him, you’d known that for a long time, but you always knew that nothing would ever happen or change between the two of you.

August continued to be friendly enough and you didn’t think anything of it, but as the night progressed, you could tell that things had changed. You hadn’t done anything, not to your knowledge anyway, to act flirty or make it seem like you wanted anything but friendship with him. It was his comments about Eddie that had you experiencing a feeling of unease. The way he’d talked about him just didn’t sit right with you.

By the time the two of you felt the bowling alley and parted with August pressing a kiss to your cheek, you’d realized that this definitely had been a date. 

Fuck. You really hadn’t expected this to happen. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since the night you’d gone out with August, Eddie was behaving oddly towards you. You couldn’t quite place it but you hated the idea that he was any bit mad or annoyed with you. 

You’d been texting with August back and forth, and you were both following each other again on social media. You’d made plans for a casual lunch date soon; it was since Eddie had learned about your second outing that he’d been acting weird. You were pretty sure that he was just downright ignoring you. But you weren’t about to let that stop you from being his friend. 

“Hey there,” you walked into the shop when you knew it would be slow and he’d be there. You were almost positive that he’d been avoiding you and had his employees cover for him when you came to the shop. Eddie’s face paled as soon as he saw you, but he still managed a tight lipped smile, “everything alright, Eddie? I feel you’ve been…avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been…I’ve just been busy,” he shrugged noncommittally as he went back to scrub at the counter, “that’s all.”

“You’ve always been a horrible liar, Edward,” you walked up to the counter and offered him what you hoped was a reassuring smile, “did I do something wrong?”

“I…no. You didn’t,” he still wouldn’t meet your eyes but pushed a muffin towards you. Of course he still would save your favorite for you, “it’s nothing.”

“Funny,” you willed him to look at you but the boy still refused, “it doesn’t feel like it. Ever since I hung out with August you’ve been…weird.”

"You don't get it, do you?" He sighed in frustration, tossing his rag to the side and waving his hands around dramatically as you looked at him in confusion. He inhaled and exhaled deeply before brushing his wild curls out of his face, "I want you. I want to date you. I'm in love with you."

"Oh," it came out more as a small squeak than anything as you looked at him to make sure you'd heard him correctly. Eddie looked close to tears as he waited for some kind of response from you. You pointed at yourself before whispering, "me?"

"Yes," he nodded seriously, "you. I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear but it's the truth. And I just wanted to get it out there."

"Oh," this time realization set in. Eddie Munson was in love with you. Not some other girl like you'd always assumed, "you're in love with me."

"Yes. Yes," he felt so nervous he was surprised he didn't just barf then and there, "listen-"

"I'm in love with you too,” your voice was quiet and shaky, but Eddie heard you loud and clear. When he didn’t say anything at first, you completely freaked out and ran through the back of the cafe and into the chilly evening. He followed after you immediately and didn’t stop still he caught up. 

He perked up and looked at you from under his lashes, studying your face to make sure he’d heard you correctly. You offered a small, shy smile along with a shrug, “I’m…nervous. I dunno, I kind of always thought you knew but you never said because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings or let me down.”

“I - ugh, what…I’m - sweetheart,” the nickname sounded so sugary sweet now that you knew the true intentions behind it, “if I had any clue that you felt the same way, I would have said something long ago. I should have just done that anyway.”

“Oh,” your cheeks warmed up, a combination of nerves and the chilly of the winter air as you looked at the pretty boy. You were stopped from saying anything else as big, flat snowflakes starting coming down on the two of you. A grin spread across your face as you held up your hand to catch a few flakes in your hand, “it’s snowing.”

Eddie watched you in awe, enamored by every little bit of you. He reached over and put his hand on your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat as you look at him expectantly. You knew what was coming but at the same time you didn’t want to assume anything, “I really want to kiss you.”

“I really want you to kiss me too,” you grinned as you leaned in closer, meeting him halfway until your lips met his. It was a sweet, slow thing, tender but hungry at the same time. Both of you had been wanting this for way too long, and now your dreams were finally coming true.

A first kiss in the middle of the first snow of the season. How could it get any more perfect? 

Eddie took your face in his hands, and peppered your face in kisses, which only caused you to giggle, “c’mon pretty girl. Let’s get inside and get some hot chocolate.”

“That sounds perfect,” you reached for his hand and laced your fingers together and pulled him back towards the cafe, “c’mon handsome.”

“But first promise me one thing,” he stopped you nervously as you raised an eyebrow at him, “promise me you won’t see him again. He’s the worst.”

“I promise,” you definitely weren’t planning on ever seeing him again, “it’s only you for me, Eddie.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “you’re it for me too, sweetheart. Only you.”

[calyxthenerd]

Okay 6 & 70 and make it Gastina while your at it

Someone recalling a childhood memory

There’s nothing more heart wrenching than watching your fiancé cry because her mother is regressing into the woman she was when she was a kid

“When I told her we were getting married she flipped out, she started screaming at me that I was a child, and that I was making a mistake and I needed to focus on my career, and suddenly I was seven again and she was yelling at me about writing fantasy stories instead of focusing on school because I had a 7 instead of a 10, and that made me stop writing nine years, until I got the guts again, when I met Luna and she helped me be brave and create Felicity” she smiles through the tears, sniffling

“Remind me to thank Luna for that, I’ll be in her debt forever at this rate, for how much she has helped me find you” he kisses her knuckles and pulls her into his lap, stroking her hair as she falls asleep, exhausted from so many emotions

Someone gets injured due to a stupid reason

They were watching a movie in his couch, just cuddling and taking a break from their crazy friends and enjoying their vacation until he had to fly back to England, that peace was interrupted by both of their phones ringing and they sigh, looking at each other and saying at the same time “those idiots got in trouble again” and picking up the calls

“Luna/Matteo did WHAT?!?” They yell, making eye contact again as he scrambles for his car keys and she grabs coats for both of them to not get sick in the biting wind of a Buenos Aires winter

The drive to the hospital was tense, she squeezed his hand in the gear, they got their quickly due to some light violations of traffic laws, but one look at who’s child was driving the car, the pigs police officers turned a blind eye to the infractions

They stormed the waiting area and circled in on the receptionist, Gastón barked “here for Valente and Balsano, came in half an hour ago” “room 241, take the elevator, end of the hall to the right” she provides, not looking up from where she’s fiddling with her keyboard, before she disappears to answer the phone, but by then the young couple is already long gone, Nina rushing to keep up with her husband, who was stalking through the hospital like a man on a mission

They finally burst into the shared room of their reckless best friends, who were surrounded by cops while laying in their beds

“Is someone gonna explain what happened?” Nina inquired, and before Luna could launch into her messy storytelling, one of the officers cut in “These two criminals stole a boat that belonged to a very important political figure and proceeded to crash it into a beach, when they lost control of it and both jumped ship, leading to the little lady who can’t swim to almost drown, and this little idiot got stung by jellyfish in six different places while trying to save her, as soon as you sign the discharge papers as , we are arresting them”

“But we didn’t steal anything!” Matteo protested, just to get whacked in the back of the head “quiet, perp”

“With all due respect sir, they didn’t steal anything, I can get a signed document to you under an hour, proving that the owner of that boat authorized the use of his property by Ms Valente and Mr Balsano” Nina piped in, embodying her mother and the confidence only a lawyer can have

“Listen, young lady, just because you talk fancy doesn’t mean I’m just gonna give up my arrests for you” he replies, his tone patronizing

Gastón joins the conversation “first of all, don’t talk to my wife like that, second of all, and I hate pulling this card, do you know who you’re talking to??”

“Two idiots who got married young, probably because she got pregnant or somethin’” he shrugs

“I am Gastón Perida, son of law maker Catalina Perida, that boat is mine, I am taking my stupid best friend and his girlfriend home and I am sending you the paper work I had to do for the dumb boat this idiot convinced her to buy, because he worked his way into my family” he ranted

“I am so sorry sir, the discharge papers were left in that table in the corner, you and your wife just need to sign them and drop them off in the reception on your way out, me and my men will be taking our leave, I apologize for the inconvenience” and all the officers leave

“Matteo, you asshole, just because we have money doesn’t mean you can just crash a fucking boat”

“Luna, what the heck? I told you not to go on the boat without a life vest or me there! You know you can’t swim, and I am the only one who knows how to actually drive it” they lecture their friends and then turn around to sign off on their discharge, ignoring the protests behind them

“I didn’t know boats were so hard to control!” Matteo whined

“You know I can’t resist doing stupid stuff!” Luna said

“Let’s go home, and you can break the news to mom that you crashed the boat in the first week, before we even got it insured” Gastón snarked

“Fuck”

[darkimpala1897]

I watched a movie recently called surviving lunch and Clayton Royal Johnson was in it playing a character named Danny and my brain being my brain was like imagine Danny and Andy being twin brothers. So of course I have headcanons I'm me.

They are identical twins brothers.

There completely and utter polar opposites of each other.

Danny gets mistaken for his brother all the time poor baby but nobody mistakes Andy for Danny It's always like this "Andy dude over here." And then poor Danny is like "No sorry I'm Danny."

Their parents named them Daniel and Andrew so they wouldn't have have names that sounded alike but of course Danny decided to go by Danny and Andy went by Andy

Eddie was the first one to call Danny by his actual name and it went something like this

Eddie: "Danny? Yea you big guy."

Danny surprised that he wasn't mistaken for his brother for once.

Danny: "Danny, you said Danny."

Eddie looking at his papers confused.

Eddie: "Your Danny right, you're not Andy cause that would be just my luck."

Danny just immediately hugs Eddie so thankful someone got his name right.

Eddie shocked pats him on the back: "Okay we are hugging."

Danny runs the drama club which Eddie is apart of obviously

Danny isn't part of the popular group, he's part of the nerds and the weirdos.

Danny is the trouble maker out of the two, he's also very socially awkward.

He has a massive crush on Gareth but because Danny has Andy's face he doesn't even try because why would Gareth love him when he's identical to his worse nightmare.

Danny is a giant klutz, I mean it he's tripped and die constantly it's cute it's not so cute when he drags someone down with him or spills something on someone.

Both brothers have a giant fear of needles and blood they see either and they faint there nicknames are literally fainting goats.

Danny tutors Eddie he's trying really desperately to get him to graduate in 86.

He was not part of the giant man hunt for Eddie instead he was a double agent for Eddie, he would somtimes pretend to be his brother to get information out of Jason and Chance so Steve and everyone could move Eddie around it was like a giant game of shells, he felt like James Bond.

Danny helped Gareth and Jeff get fixed up after what Jason did and the entire time he was apologizing over and over again because he really likes Gareth and he knew in that moment his brother just completely ruined any chance he could have had with Gareth. He tried making it better by going: "I think you're music is pretty awesome, don't listen to my idiot brother. You guys are going somewhere."

Danny sorta accidently broke Andy's arm when he jumped Erica because that was just to far he wasn't trying to break his brothers arm it just happened, he purposely saved Jason from getting split in half though.

Danny made Andy apologize to Erica and do everything she asked for like a month straight.

Danny set Steve and Eddie up on a blind date he sorta was supposed to be the third wheel, he pretended to be sick that day.

In this universe you can thank Danny for Steddie.

Danny and Andy sorta got along after the events of season four but not really.

Danny loves just showing up at Wayne's trailer for dinner Wayne jokingly calls him Eddie's pet because Eddie was nice to him once.

Danny "accidently" locked Steve and Eddie in Eddie's closet because they wouldn't stop bickering, Wayne had to let them out because Danny forgot and passed out on Eddie's bed in which Steve and Eddie just decided to sleep on him.

Dustin likes to joke that Danny is his older brother.

Dustin and Danny act like brothers it's funniest thing ever.

Danny knows how to play the bass and guitar so somtimes at practice he fills in for Jeff or Kevin if their not available.

Danny purposely dresses like Eddie to tick Andy off, he also enjoys stealing his brothers hats even though he absolutely hates hats it makes his head itch. He steals them to hide them.

Andy's nickname for Danny is little shit and then Danny calls his brother Little shrimp because Eddie calls Jason shark boy.

Danny is younger than Andy by five minutes.

Steve threw Danny a birthday party and he turned into a five year old basically because he's always had share with Andy.

Danny is couple inches taller then Andy, Eddie noticed this little tidbit.

Danny and Andy share the same middle name which is Templeton though Andy denys this heavily.

There full names are Daniel Templeton Arthur Harper and then Andrew Templeton Vance Harper.

I think that's everything from this little au of mine but the million dollar question is. Should I write a fic?

[drabbleitout]

Find the Word Game

Tagged by: @artdecosupernova-writing over here, thank you dear! My Words: Most, Definitely, Cough, Fluid, Great, Pain Tagging: @abalonetea, @ashen-crest, @idreamonpaper, @silvertalonwritblr & anyone else who would like to join because I keep forgetting who likes to be tagged! [As always, please don't feel pressured or rushed!] Your Words: Witness, Pit, Exact, Burn, & Forbid

Most

Ryker asked him to wait, needing to get something from his office before they left. Beau stood in the hall, eyeing the breakroom that stood unusually empty. He would most likely have three minutes before Ryker finished searching through his desk and returned –just enough time to start a short brewing cycle on the coffee maker.

Definitely

“Yeah… Yeah… I’m good,” [Garnet] said, half hoping to convince himself. Fingers brushed his face, feeling distant, going numb. His eyes grew heavy. Hard to breathe. Hands on the sides of his face moved him, bringing him back to the surface finding Ives holding his head, leaning over him with those searing white eyes. “Fuckin’ creepy, man.” “Please stay quiet,” Ives said in his same, even voice. It was definitely still him. “You need to save your breath.”

Cough(ed)

Blinking through spots and smoke Garnet raised his arms to guard himself against Valetta bursting through the door. She shoved his arms aside, shouting in his face. "—Answer me!" "Wh-what?!" He coughed. "What did you say to Beau? Why is he so sad?” “I dunno! Why don’t you ask him?!”

Fluid

Rolling on his right side, [Beau] used his left to drag himself towards the bench. It was excruciatingly slow, the work of his limbs making it even more difficult to cool his systems. His regulator was working overtime trying to filter working nanites into his right sectors, cooling unit at max capacity. Shuddering for air he paused at the foot of the bench, willing himself not to cry, not to waste the fluid. ATTEMPTING TO CONNECT TO NETWORK ATTEMPTING TO CALL CAP. RYKER NETWORK UNAVAILABLE CALL FAILED

Great

“Great,” Royston continued to stare at Beau, chuckling gratuitously before motioning to one of the trucks. “Sure, go get fitted up. We don’t have too much to go around, but I’m sure your partner here will be fine.” He placed a hand atop Beau’s head, ruffling his hair. “They’re makin’ them out of tough stuff these days.” INCONGRUITY ERROR KINESICS ANALYSIS…_ > SARCASTIC

Pain

“Ryker is not alright. Ryker will not be okay. Ryker had just gotten his feet under him just so they could tear him down! And no one is doing a damn thing about it!” Ives was screaming again, hands balling into fists. Beau touched him, hands holding the sides of Ives' face, keeping eye contact. Gently his thumbs ran beneath his eyes, catching and smearing away the building haze in his vision. There was pain in his chest, spilling from his eyes, shaking with the overwhelming surge in every system. Yet Beau didn’t cower. “You’re doing something,” he whispered at last.

[icgaminglogs]

Warden Cousland's War Journal

Chapter 5: The Circle

I’m not sure if we should thank the Maker or our own skills for getting through what happened today.

Given that Alistair and I are now wanted men, as Grey Wardens, we couldn’t take the direct road to Redcliffe. We went a little further north, stopping at the Spoiled Princess by the ferry dock on Lake Calenhad. There had been rumors of something wrong at the Circle back in Lothering, but I hadn’t paid much attention then. When we reached the inn, the ferryman himself told us his ferry had been confiscated by the Templars, and they weren’t allowing anyone across the lake. Maybe it was stupid, but considering we had a treaty we could use to beg demand assistance – and with Alistair being concerned by the news – we decided to investigate ourselves.

Getting across wasn’t too difficult; the Templar guarding the ferry was persuaded by using his commander as a threat, which in hindsight is hilarious considering I’d never met the man before setting foot in the Circle. I’m...even with what we saw in there, I’m glad we went. If we hadn’t...Maker, those poor mages…

Knight-Commander Greagoir was none too happy to see us, and even less to let us enter the tower. There had been an outbreak of demons and abominations inside, he told us, and he’d already sent for the Right of Annulment. Andraste’s grace, if we hadn’t gone in, all those mages...there were children in there that would’ve been killed! A more merciful fate, maybe, than becoming an abomination, but to kill children...I know I couldn’t do it. Not any more than I could just walk away while there was a chance to save at least some of the people in there. It took some convincing, and the warning that Greagoir would only accept the word of the First Enchanter as a sign the Circle was secure, but he ultimately let us in.

At first it didn’t look too bad, but the outskirts of a battlefield never do, do they? One of the Circle mages, Wynne – another survivor of Ostagar, I was shocked to see her here after hearing about the massacre from Morrigan and Flemeth – joined us in fighting our way through. Agreeing that it was best to leave some of our party behind in case one of the creatures made it past us, I told Morrigan and Leliana to stay behind with Huan, taking Alistair and Sten along with Wynne and myself.

It was...frightening, honestly. Not the same kind of fright as a battlefield, as at Ostagar, this was...different. Unsettling. Closer to home, maybe, I don’t know, but the entire Circle tower just felt off. I’d never seen demons before today, and I never want to see any ever again. There was one who’d ensorcelled a Templar, drawing off his life force as she made him believe he had a family around him that didn’t exist. Another who tried to trap us all in the Fade...I know the Fade is where we go when we dream, but walking there while awake is not something I’m in a hurry to do again. It was even more unsettling than walking through the ruined tower.

The sloth demon must have been an old one, with as powerful as he was; he created false dreams for all of us, to keep us stuck in the Fade and let him leech off our power the way he’d already done to who knows how many unfortunates. One of those, Niall, was trying to stop what had happened with something called the Litany of Adralla. I’m still not sure just what it is, but it protects against mind spells. Against blood magic.

Apparently a mage called Uldred had...I’m still not sure what. Gone mad, maybe. Become an abomination, that much was clear when we met him. But he had followers, blood mages all, and he staged a coup. Took the Circle by force, and started making abominations out of any and every mage he could get his hands on. Maker only knows what happened to any Templars he caught. We found one, a poor lad called Cullen, trapped in a barrier and half-mad. Uldred, or his followers, had reached into his mind, so he said; he barely believed we were real, and the hate and the fear in his eyes when he looked at Wynne...Maker, it was heartbreaking. I hope he finds peace after this, though I’m not sure how long that will take.

Fighting Uldred was...tricky, and disturbing, but with the Litany we were able to save at least another handful of the senior mages, including First Enchanter Irving. With Uldred dead and the rest of his followers killed – there was nowhere for them to run except straight into Morrigan and Leliana downstairs – the Circle was secure again. At nowhere near the strength it should have been, but we were able to save some of them. That’s not nothing.

Cullen was...less than pleased that Greagoir simply took Irving at his word, but I don’t suppose I can blame the poor man. The kind of torture he endured, I’d probably be seeing blood mages and abominations in every shadow too. He at least didn’t argue the point too hard, and neither Irving nor Wynne seemed to take his raving words too personally.

Irving will honor the Warden treaty with the Circle, though he and his mages have a lot of work to do just rebuilding the place. In the meantime, Wynne is coming with us. She asked leave of Irving almost immediately once things were settled, and I’m not saying no. She’s an incredible healer, and a voice of reason – which makes for a nice change at camp, with Morrigan and Alistair sniping at each other across the campfire half the time. With this matter settled, now we can reach Redcliffe and see just what the situation is with the arl. Maybe Wynne will be able to help him.

[dufreydiaries]

Dufrey Diaries Chapter 4

Rasina and Lucline were trying to move one of the rocks blocking their exit and it was just to heavy for the both of them to life.

“Step back for a moment, Rasina.” Lucline advised and orange magicka flowed in her hands. The warrior jumped away as she brought her hands together and lifted the rock with Telekinesis. She felt her power reserves plummet as she moved the rock as far away from the pile as she could. She set the boulder down wit the last fumes of her power. She fell to her knees, panting from the effort. That was just one rock!

Rasina patted her on the back. “Well, that works. How soon until you can do the next one, Lucline?”

She stood up and shook her head to clear the fog of using all her power at once again. “Underground and away from the stars and sun? A half an hour to recharge myself completely. It will get easier the further we go, as I won’t have to move the rocks so far, but I need to move these first ones as far as possible. I could use my potions… but I only have six of those. Did you see how many rocks fell?” Rasina shook her head. “I counted at least thirteen as they fell. Could very well be more.”

Lucline scratched her head. “We got plenty of air for now. Might be best to save the potions for when we’ve been here awhile.”

Her partner nodded. “You sit and rest. Maybe that will speed the process up. What do you need from the device we came to see?” Lucline pulled out a small crystal. “Here, run this over the entire thing. It will record its image and anything the device can do. I can study the data once we get out of here.” She smiled gratefully at Rasina. “Thank you.” Her crush gave her a smile back that sent her heart racing. “Hey, I can’t move the rocks and would rather not see if my She-hai can cut them. It hurts a lot to break my spirit sword even if it’s temporary. I would rather be doing something useful than fretting while you wait.”

With that said, the two of them set to work. Lucline to rest and get her powers back and Rasina to get what they came from.

*Elder-Scrolls*

Three hours later, Lucline had moved six more rocks aside. She could see the original estimate of thirteen big stones was incorrect and it was closer to twenty. She would use the potions when there were only six rocks left. The air was starting to get a little lived in, but a small power expenditure told her that they had just enough time.

Rasina finally came over and handed her the crystal. “I am certain I got the whole thing. I ran it over every crystal and gear and button individually as well.

Lucline smiled. “Well, look at the over achiever. Should have been a mage, the Guild would have loved you.”

Rasina laughed merrily. “I can’t see myself as a mage. Nothing against magic, but I prefer a blade in my hands than a spell.”

They both laid back on the floor that had not seen its makers in far too long. Lucline asked.

“When we get out of this death trap, what are you going to do first?”

Rasina looked over at her. “I’m going to tell the girl I love how I feel about her and be with her. If she’ll have me. What about you?”

Lucline felt her heart twinge. She had little hope that girl was her, or surely Rasina would have come out and told her.

“Write my siblings and apologize for blaming them for the way my parents treated me.”

Rasina frowned. “For not being the son, they wanted. Then after they had their precious ‘heir’ they spoiled your youngest sister in a way they denied you. I would have been resentful too.”

Lucline nodded. There was more there, things Rasina already knew. She didn’t want to say the words again, especially if escaped ended up not being possible. There was always the chance she would be wrong and there was more stones than she guessed. Would they die down here, suffocated to death?

“Thank you for saying that, but it doesn’t make it right. I need to apologize to them.”

Rasina nodded.  “You’re right. If you want, I’ll read over it before you send it.”

Warmth crept over Lucline. In that moment, she didn’t care who Rasina desired. She would support her beloved as she was supporting her.

“Thank you, Rasina. You’ve meant so much to me, since I was banished to this land. What would I ever do without you?”

Rasina smiled but did not reply. Her eyes fluttered shut and went to sleep. Lucline had to fight off her own urge to nap beside her. She needed to be awake to save them. She rose, her powers restored and shook her hands even though she had no sleeves to free them from. Some habits die hard.

“Come on, stupid rocks,” She grumbled, “If you think you’re hard enough.”

*Elder-Scrolls*

A/N: Another chapter down. Lucline and Rasina are starting to grow on me. See you next chapter.   

[har-rison-s]

mask & seek: 4

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she's from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson's universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn't trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

a/n: fuck, i just realised i've put the wrong synopsis of this story for the last 2 chapters i'm so sorry guys, my mistake LMAO. sorry to break y'all's reality like that, i really am. so hi. because this is the first chapter that really deals with the multiverse stuff head-on, i have to clarify that in this DC universe new york doesn’t exist. i haven’t read a lot of the batman comics, so i’m not really sure if it exists there. but since gotham (at least in my opinion) is based off new york city, i’m writing it so in this au that new york isn’t a place in America. hope you get what i mean :D happy reading. i’m seeing the batman again tomorrow!!!!! beyond excited

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part three

part five

warnings: descriptions of injuries, of fixing one; brief mention of using a knife, mentions of needles and catheters (i hate them so much); slight insecurity talk; oh and the best one - silent pining :)

word count: 4.8k

a/n: (who got you frowning like that baby girl) took me 15 minutes to find a suitable gif, god help. full credit to owner / maker!!! 

y/n grunts and wobbles from one foot over to the other, holding her side. it hasn’t been a particularly successful night, to say the least. one of their opponents had a nasty knife, and, unluckily, she wasn’t as agile to avoid its sting. “my place is so far away…” she whines, thinking of any other place to go where she could tend to her wounds and rest. just a little. only an hour or two of sleep sound heavenly right now. plasters and gauze around her waist sound nice, too. and she’d love some water. or hot cocoa.

bruce’s ears prick up at the desperation in her words, and he turns his head sharply to her. “we can go to mine,” he tells her in his vigilante-husk that she knows fades away as soon as there’s only the two of them in a room without their masks on. she gives bruce a confused look and quizzical eyebrows. he notes her unstable stance and tries to identify her injuries.

“you sure?” she asks.

he’s never taken her to his place before. he’s never even offered to take her there, either, in the last four months of them working together. she doesn’t know where it is, what kind of property it is—but does that really matter? they’ve always gone to her place because it’s in the center of gotham, and she’s just always had the upper hand in that. plus, she has a first-aid kit and wound-tending skills, which—she’s quite sure—batman doesn’t have.

bruce nods and then struts the few steps over to her. he reaches an arm around her shoulders, his other arm circling the front of her torso, holding onto her hand above the problematic spot in her side, “i’m sure,” he tells her and begins to lead her down the dirty old alley, into the depths of the narrows, it seems to y/n, helping her with every step, “i’ll take you on my bike.”

she finds the last remnants of humor in her system and makes a chuckle, “that’s what a girl’s gotta do for you to take her on a motorbike ride—get nearly beaten to death?” she asks him teasingly. bruce has learned over time to take her humor as it is—as humor—even in gloomy situations. and so his lips tug upwards in a half-smile at her joke. but he can’t distract his mind from her being as injured as he was on the night she saved his life. okay, no, she’s worse tonight than that.

“here we are,” he says once they’ve rounded the corner far from the site of their recent fight, and a beautifully subtle motorcycle comes into y/n’s view. bruce rests her against a near-by wall while he goes to unlock the vehicle, and y/n can only make out a “wow” at the sight of the thing. all black and, though it has signs of frequent use, all the surfaces look like silk. this motorbike sure is worth getting beat up for.

bruce unlocks the bike and comes over to y/n again, with two helmets in his hands. he helps her put hers on—y/n’s vision has started to blur and sway a little, and her limbs grow weaker and weaker by the second—then he secures his own helmet on and helps her walk over to the bike, his hand on the small of her back, the other still holding her hand. once at the bike, he places both hands on her ribcage, right below her chest, and, trying to do it both gently and with strength, lifts her up onto the seat of the motorbike.

y/n cries out like a hurt child—first time bruce has seen and heard her like this in all this time—and her face twists up from the pain, her features and the tears in her eyes visible in the as-of-yet open screen of the helmet. it breaks bruce’s heart to hear that sound from her. “i’m sorry,” he tells her quietly, sincerity thick in his husky voice, “i know it hurts.”

she gives him a momentary glance through the slit in her helmet, and their eyes connect in a deeply private look for a few moments. trust, loyalty and submission are dark undertones in their eyes, and for those few moments, they just stare into each other’s orbs, searching them, exploring them, emerging themselves into them, not saying a single word. they’re sure that not even thoughts pass through their minds in that brief time.

their faces close, bruce’s hands on her body. care for her pulsating through them with every pump of blood his heart makes. y/n nearly reaches out and runs her hand across the side of his face. if only he wasn’t wearing the helmet, she could thread her fingers through that night-black hair and be even closer to him than she is now.

he knows her. he knows nothing about the her that she is on the surface. he doesn’t even know her name. but he knows her essence, he knows her depths. and he knows how important it is to her what she’s doing, and what they’re doing together. he hadn’t realized how much meaning it held to him, too, until now. and he, too, almost reaches out to touch her face. both of their shyness wins over their boldness to act.

but when he finally does, having gained the courage and boldness to, he touches her to close the screen protector on her helmet, so she wouldn’t get any dirt, mud or possible rain into her eyes or face while they drive. the air of disappointment hangs between them afterwards—a sour one. but y/n is losing consciousness and willpower too fast to dwell on it much. and he’s supposed to be caring for her so, even though his body screams at him to move his hand lower, to cup her neck from the side in the gentlest, most affectionate manner, he withdraws from her to get onto his motorbike.

y/n is feeling or seeing hardly anything at all right now, but when batman rests his gloved hands on her legs to move them on each of his sides, she almost moans. almost, and thank goodness for that. he finds her arms next and pulls them around his torso, pulling her body closer onto his. “hold tight onto me,” he tells her, “don’t you let go.”

and she tries her best to do that throughout the quick and bumpy ride around gotham. she has no idea where he’s taking her exactly, she couldn’t map it out in her current state if she tried. all she sees are lights and objects flashing past her at lightning speed, and she hears all kinds of different sounds around her, as well. the world blurs into one big tornado milkshake from her point of view, and she can hardly keep herself conscious. but she has to, otherwise her arms will let go of bruce and she’ll fall off. and merely the thought about those consequences sobers her up for the remainder of their ride.

the noises and lights fade away towards the very end of it, and y/n furrows her eyebrows as she feels the world around her go quiet, so quickly and suddenly. she sees only darkness now around her, the single light source in it being batman’s motorbike light at the very front. she moves her head slightly to the side and lifts it, too, to try and recognize her surroundings. as if that’s going to do her any good, what with her state and the unknown place she’s in.

then batman pulls his motorbike to a stop, inside a room or hall—y/n can’t really tell—that has some barely-working lights on the ceiling, as well as rows and rows of something moving, something alive. she can’t see what it is, but it looks like a huge quantity of some small creature.

bruce makes sure to move y/n off the bike before she can slide off it, and he hoists her up bridal-style in his arms, carrying her over to one of his desks afterwards. he lays her down gently on her back, lifts the helmet off her head, and does the same to himself, ridding himself of his cape and armor, too, immediately afterwards. y/n tries to move, tries to sit up on top of his messy desk, tries to get a hold of herself and the situation, but bruce captures her again before she can make any movement. “don’t move,” he tells her in a half-commanding and half-pleading whisper. he takes her mask off—he’s seen how she does it before, and he slips it off with complete ease—and looks into her eyes again. he sees her eyes for real now, and he sees her face, too—hurt. a bruise on her cheekbone, a cut in her cheek. how did he let this happen? her eyelids are fluttering in weak efforts to stay conscious, but she mostly fails. how can she look so heavenly even in a state like this? “just stay with me.” bruce finally tells her before scooping her up into his arms again. she won’t get the help she needs down in his lab cave.

perhaps alfred has some first-aid kits. no doubt he has those, he’s patched bruce up many times before. bruce gets into the elevator and presses the level number for the living quarters of wayne manor. he glances down at his partner, and his heart lurches in his chest. her face has gone pale. he looks down to where her side is hurt, her hand still lightly hanging onto that spot, and bruce gulps. her thick, dark blood is seeping through her suit. it’ll be ruined.

his trembling hand reaches over to the dark patch, and he cups the side in the gentlest way he can, so as not to cause her any more pain. and he feels the wet liquid against his skin, coating his pale pigment a dark color immediately. bruce grows scared of it, of how that feels. her blood on his hands. his first instinct is to let go of her, of what makes him scared. but he doesn’t. he can’t. he pulls her even closer into his hold, and now he looks at her face again. his blood-coated hand absent-mindedly reaches up to her cheek.

he just wants to feel her in his hand, feel that she’s still there, feel that the silk of her skin is still intact. y/n doesn’t feel much of anything at the moment, bruce’s touch on her in those multiple places is such a far-away feeling. one she wants to feel completely, but is miles away from, unable to reach. she’d much rather drift off to sleep now. she feels so tired. there won’t be any harm in simple slumber now, will there?

bruce doesn’t understand how this escalated so quickly. she was joking just some ten minutes ago, and now the very life is fading away from her. bruce doesn’t know if he’ll be able to… he doesn’t even want to say the words. in short, he’s not sure if he’s fully capable. he needs help.

and it arrives sooner than he expects. as the elevator pulls to a stop at the right floor, the door slides open and no other than alfred is standing right behind it. the older man is immediately confused about bruce using the elevator at all, he’s confused as to why the man who will always be a boy in his eyes has come up at all. bruce breathes a quiet gasp of pleasant surprise, and then he almost trips over his own tongue while trying to say something. “bruce, what are you—” but alfred’s question stops half-way when he notices the limp figure in his godson’s arms. and the blood on the figure’s side, the blood on bruce’s hand. and then he sees the desperate look in bruce’s eyes.

“help,” he manages to say, “help her.”

alfred sees the slowly-healing bruises on bruce’s own face and arms, but he nods. the woman in his arms is in need of much more urgent care than bruce himself. alfred doesn’t need any closer inspection to determine her state of health, and how important it is to act now. so without another word, he ushers bruce to the spare room he set up himself a month or two after bruce started his vigilante night shifts. a room with everything that a badly injured person could need. a bed, medical equipment, books, even a tv, and a bathroom connected to it. one of the guest bedrooms that alfred couldn’t bring himself to make into a storage room.

his breath trembling, arms shaking, eyes filling up with tears, bruce carries y/n to the large bed as quick as he can. he and alfred lean over her for the older man to determine what they should do first. cuts along her arms, those two bruises on her face, and the big, bad bleeding injury in her side. alfred looks to bruce. “what were you doing?” he asks his godson, and sees he’s staring at the woman before him with glassy, strong eyes so full of emotion as he’s ever seen.

bruce shrugs. “nothing extraordinary,” he says, “was like any other night. only…” he gulps, “only the thugs had more weapons we didn’t know about.” he shrugs. “i don’t know how it happened,” bruce’s breath hiccups in his throat, his voice now verging on crying, “can you just help her, please?” he finally looks at his godfather. bruce doesn’t care how he sounds. he just wants her to look alive again, to be alive.

“we both can,” alfred assures him, “we’ll need to take off her suit to get to that horrible wound. you do that,” he walks off towards the small trolley of medical equipment in the room, “we’re gonna clean it, and then we’ll have to stop the bleeding first and foremost.”

bruce looks at y/n again. he needs to take off her suit. will she be okay with that? would she be okay with that? he wants to ask her, but, judging by the pale, unconscious look on her face, that’s quite impossible now. bruce just doesn’t wish to expose her to him while she’s unconscious and doesn’t know he’s doing it. but he needs to get over that, over those anxieties. her life is at stake.

so he turns her over to her side just for a moment, while he finds the hidden zipper in her suit and unzips it. she makes a small noise, a near acknowledgement of bruce moving her around. much to his peace of mind, a bra comes into view, the black strap of it hugging around her back. as soon as the zipper is down enough, bruce turns her over to her back again and carefully, with all the caution he can muster up, he takes the suit off.

holes show in places where the suit—and her skin, too—has been cut into. dried blood sticks around the corners of them, but some blood is fresher than some other. bruce gulps at the sight of it, but keeps peeling the spandex off her. once he’s peeled off enough for the biggest injury to be out in the open, he leaves the rest of it be, the elastic fabric bunching around her hips now.

god in heaven, it looks really bad. she hasn’t just been cut, she’s been properly stabbed. somewhere near her large intestine, though bruce doesn’t know precisely where, and just hopes that it’s nowhere critical. alfred has come up beside the bed, where bruce sits with y/n, and prepares some disinfectant and cloths for them both to use. disinfectant. just the same one she always uses on her own and bruce’s wounds. he’d make a smile at that connection if the situation was any less grim than it is.

“here, just—” alfred hands the tools over to bruce, and he quickly takes them.

“i know how,” bruce tells him and immediately gets to work. alfred gives him a puzzled look, and bruce can feel it on his temple as he gets to cleaning her bad injury. there’s so much blood, it’s seeping down into the sheets. they’re gonna have to change them if she’s staying here.

alfred connects the dots. “so she’s the one after my job of patching you up nearly every night, is she?” he asks his godson. alfred begins to prepare a needle and catheter for the stranger’s vein, so he can hook her up on a pain-killer patch.

“think it’s the other way around now,” bruce tells him. alfred shakes his head with an almost-smile. no matter how long bruce holds a cloth to her wound to stop the blood, it keeps pouring like a waterfall.

“she’s losing a lot of blood, bruce,” he tells him, “you know a hospital would do a much better job than us.”

bruce gives him a sharp glare, “and you know why we don’t do hospitals,” he says in a grave voice, “she also heals faster than us.” he adds then, and keeps tending to her hole of ever-pouring blood now that he’s cleaned it. alfred raises his head after adjusting the catheter into her vein. she makes a small noise at that, too, obviously having felt the prick to some extent, no matter how subtle. bruce’s heart lurches in his chest at the small noise, his eyes immediately looking to her face.

“what do you mean, bruce?” alfred asks. bruce just looks at him momentarily.

“she’s enhanced,” he says, “doesn’t work exactly like you and me would in these cases.” alfred’s still confused, but he brushes it off, telling himself he’ll probably find out later or won’t need to. the important thing now is to make sure this woman survives the night.

“what about her blood? does that regenerate faster, too?” he asks, and then shakes his head again. “we’ll need to get more for her. you don’t know her blood type, do you?”

bruce doesn’t, but he can find out. he finally dares to look below her face, where those sacred letters lie, an abundance of information with them. that tells him everything.

y/n parker

birth date: 04/06/1994

city of origin: queens, new york city, NY

occupation: barista at saint jeremiah's coffee

former occupation: waitress at mudd's cave

OPEN MEDICAL FILES? the system suggests.

bruce hesitates a little, processing all this new information on her all at once already, but then nods at the system’s question. an out-poor of medical records, vaccines and tests done comes up in his vision. thank god he didn’t take out the lenses in the cave, or this would have taken a lot, lot longer.

allergies: lactose, strawberries, tulips

blood type: AB+

chronic diseases: none

blood type AB+. the same one as bruce’s. he looks to alfred, who meets the younger man with an awaiting look. “she has my blood type,” he tells him the discovery. and she wasn’t born far from his birthday, either. just a couple months earlier. how curious.

“interesting,” alfred says finally, “i’ll try not to drain you too much, bruce, so i’ll take just a drop now and we’ll see—”

“take as much as she needs,” bruce says with dark determination in his eyes, “i’m not injured.”

“can’t exactly let you die, sir,” alfred argues back and prepares another needle and an empty plastic patch to withdraw bruce’s blood. bruce doesn’t care what happens to him. alfred might take every drop of his blood if it meant y/n would be saved. saved. certainly an interesting word.

alfred knows what bruce thinks of himself in this case. he never cares what happens to him. what matters to him is what happens to the world. that his job has been done, that it has been done well. bruce doesn’t care if he dies, either, as long as his message and goal has been fulfilled. this time, the world is swapped for y/n. she’s all that he cares about, all that matters right now. y/n. what a name.

knowing this, alfred fills two of those empty patches with bruce’s blood. just to see if it might be enough. the prince of gotham has to admit he feels light-headed already, he guesses his worries and stresses, and over-all regular exhaustion from the fight before have been slowly draining him, too. but he helps alfred patch y/n up with cotton and gauze to secure her injury, protect it from the outside factors.

alfred handles the patching up itself—plasters, balls of cotton and gauze. bruce merely helps move the unconscious y/n around slightly, so that alfred has no trouble wrapping the gauze around her waist, so that they don’t make her injury worse. bruce’s hands splay on her partly-covered hips, the very tips of his fingers only digging into her skin very slightly to lift her hips up and down from time to time. bruce has to say he feels awkward and not right, handling her the way that he is, while she’s unconscious and ignorant of the way he touches her.

but that over-whelming care he feels for her, that has gained almost an animalistic trait, seeps through and makes that anxiety of his sink. he’ll just have to tell her about what he and alfred did while she was unconscious, and she’ll understand. there’s no way she won’t. he won’t tell her, of course, how right her silky flesh felt against his rough hands, how well she fit into his hands, and how his first instinct was to touch the rest of her skin, as well. he’ll keep that to himself, and will hope that urge will pass with time.

after her injury has been wrapped up and secured in isolation from any harm, the two men of wayne manor work to settle y/n into bed properly. while alfred changes the sheets, bruce lays her on a near-by couch, and rids her of the rest of her suit, throwing the ruined piece to the ground. thankfully, she’s not as badly injured anywhere else in her body, so she can rest now. bruce searches the cabinets next to the large bed for any clothes, and, luckily, there are a couple pieces laying about. he chooses sweatpants and one of the plain shirts for her.

while he pulls the pants on her with ease, bruce experiences trouble with the shirt. how can he put it on if she’s connected to the blood patches through her vein? he has a bit of trouble figuring it out, but at once he does. he pulls the shirt over her head, puts her mobile arm through the sleeve, and then carefully puts the attached-to-the-patches arm through the sleeve, as well, but leaves the small wire that’s pumping blood into her to snake upwards. it now runs across her upper arm and sneaks out through the top opening in her shirt, further running up to the adjusted patch, just closer to her now.

she doesn’t make a noise or move at any point in all this ruckus, and bruce is glad to see her at peace. she’s not as pale anymore already, and her breathing has regulated. she’s healing herself and is getting the amount of blood she needs. as she now lays in the bed, dark grey sheets tucked around her, pillows in the same dark grey tone tucked behind and below her, bruce just watches her. alfred is cleaning up their medical equipment, but he’s doing it quietly in another corner of the room. bruce hardly acknowledges his presence at all. he just watches her as he sits in bed beside her.

how her chest rises and falls with long, even breaths. how her eyes flutter here and there—she must be dreaming—and how her fingers twitch slightly at her sides. he hopes it’s something pleasant she’s dreaming of. y/n. his whole world seems to have changed now that he knows her name. y/n parker. it doesn’t change her in his eyes, and it’s strange that he knows her name. he’s not entirely sure he wanted to know her name, now that he does. it’s strange.

her origin being new york city explains… exactly nothing. bruce doesn’t think he’s heard of a place like that before. the system showed him a state, too, behind the city, but it didn’t ring a bell, either. what could she be doing here, in such a place as gotham, if she’s from there? it sounds like a famous place, one bruce should know. but he doesn’t. though, he reckons, he’ll spend some time searching for it during the day, once she’s all settled in under the covers.

even though he wants to be at her side at all times. he wants to be here when she wakes up, he wants to be here with her when even the smallest thing happens. but he also has her suit to work on. that ruined, full-of-blood suit. after this incident, he can’t let her roam around the city in spandex and rely on her agility or his protection to keep herself safe. he won’t hear any protest from her about it, either. he can’t let her be this vulnerable to these thugs, or to anyone for that matter.

bruce blames himself for what happened to her. he never cares what happens to him, either if he’s fighting alone or together with her. he didn’t even catch one of the thugs striking her with a knife, brutally stabbing her, until the very end of the fight. how could he have not seen it? how could he have not heard it happen? he should have been by her side, should have kept a closer eye on her. yes, they’re both kind of independent in their fighting styles, but still, they work as a team, they’re supposed to be looking out for each other. how could he have let this happen?

the dawn rises and ignites light across the sky, which can be perfectly seen through the window of this bedroom. bruce sees it only when that light hits y/n’s cheek in a soft manner. he turns to look around the room, then, and finds alfred sitting in a chair in one of the corners. bruce rises to his feet and draws the big curtains closed, so that y/n wouldn’t be bothered by light from the world and could sleep as long as she needs to. he feels a sour tone as the last ray of the sun caresses his own face, but he pulls the curtains completely closed.

“you should get some sleep, too, bruce,” alfred says quietly as he rises from the chair, “she’ll be alright without you. just needs time.” he walks over to the door. bruce turns to look at him.

“how much?” he asks in a hush. his and alfred’s eyes connect. the older man shrugs.

“a couple days, if she gets better.” he answers. “a week, just to be sure.” he tells bruce. “if she doesn’t get better, well… then we’ll really need to get her to a hospital.”

bruce averts his eyes from those of his godfather’s, but nods. neither of them are doctors, scientists or miracle-workers, even if they try to be. so they can’t always expect themselves to be able to do everything. some things are out of their hands.

“i’ll send breakfast up for you, you need your strength. then you can get some rest,” alfred informs bruce, his ringed hand tapping on the thick mahogany door, “as for her,” he looks to the sleeping woman in the bed, “we’ll get her a meal as soon as she wakes up, alright?” bruce nods in response, still not saying anything. “good night, master wayne. or should i say—good morning.” alfred says and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. bruce knows he’s exhausted, too. the paper work usually keeps alfred up at night, but when that’s not the case, then it’s bruce that keeps him up. this time, it’s both bruce and his accomplice.

alfred will enjoy to get acquainted with the woman when she’s in a much better state, because, dare he say, she’s been keeping bruce busy in a healthy way, and she’s been caring for him now that bruce forbid alfred to do so. bruce has also been in better moods lately, and alfred can only thank her for that. he just has yet to know this wonderful person.

with half of the sent-up breakfast in his stomach, the blood loss and exhaustion wearing his body down and the darkness of the room due to the drawn curtains, bruce can’t keep himself awake anymore. sitting by the bed in one of the bigger sofa chairs, on the side she lays in, and watching her, he feels himself nodding off every once in a while. eyes drifting closed and head dropping onto the mattress. so he finally gives himself that sweet release—bruce gets comfortable with half his body on the mattress and half still in the chair—and lets slumber take complete control of his body and consciousness.

if anyone wants a tag next time, please let me know :)

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[cyborg-franky]

Hi! Congrats on the milestone first off :) Secondly, I would love a Lucky 13 prompt with Ace (the light of my life) in modern AU and female reader! If the number is already taken, feel free to choose another number in the lucky category! Thanks so much and again congrats <3

Thank you! here is some firefly love for you <3

Ace x GN reader [sorrrry] SFW Prompt: Confessing feelings [Good Ending] Word Count: 647

You’d always admired Ace, he was a great commander, his entire division seemed to love and adore him, how much respect he had gained, his age didn’t matter either, he was just a very likeable man. The Moby Dick bobbed along on the sea without a care in the world, you were sat across from Marco, staring over his shoulder as you ignored the food on your plate.

The phoenix chuckled, snapping his fingers to summon your attention, the blond’s grin just grew when you stared at him, dazed, and confused. The knowing look on Marco’s face was enough to tell you, he knew what caught your eye, why your attention wasn’t on the conversation about, what was it? Birds? Medical stuff? Thatch’s big dumb hair?

“Sorry” You didn’t even try to make excuses anymore, your commander was well aware of your hobbies, such as watching Ace wherever he went. Marco’s light chuckles soothed your worry that the older pirate might have been annoyed with you.

“Tell him yoi”

“tell Ace I like him? I mean I think I’ve been more then obvious in my attempts to get him to come to me” you said, somewhat bitterly as you straightened up.

“Ace has some self esteem issues, he would never let himself believe someone could have an attachment to him, trust me, it took me weeks to get him to realize we didn’t all want him dead when he first joined” Marco hummed, thinking back to when the raven-haired pirate had first joined.

“Yes but I am thinking about my crippling self-esteem issues right now Marco” You added, a hand to your chest as you rolled your eyes.

Marco’s lop-sided grin changed into a smirk when he heard the tell-tale sign of Ace’s heavy boots clopping against the deck, the flame user happily sitting beside the doctor, looking at your plate that still had food hungrily.

“Ace” Marco began, the smirk growing, amusement in his half-lidded eyes as he watched you grip the edge of the desk.

“Our friend here is in love with you, like I told you weeks ago, why don’t you tell them how you feel yoi?” Marco chuckled, pleased with himself at the reaction of both the younger pirates, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, enjoying the chaos he had caused.

“I am going to pluck you” You hissed at your commander, your entire face was bright red, Ace’s matched, the hue on his cheeks just brought out his freckles more, and your heart stopped.

What had Marco meant? That Ace shared these feelings? Ace grabbed Marco’s arm and started to shake the doctor, just earning another amused laugh from the zoan as Ace struggled with his words.

“WHY?” Ace said burying his face against Marco’s shoulder.

“I am far too busy to deal with you two coming to me and complaining about your feelings for one another, I just had to be the middleman yoi” He was pleased with himself, playing match maker in such an erupt way.

Ace peeked at you, most his face still pressed against Marco’s arm, as if hiding in the purple fabric would save him from the situation. He took a breath, pushed himself off the emotional crutch that was the phoenix.

“Y…yeah like birdbrain said.. I love you too, I just…” He shrugged, gestured to the space around him “You know, me”

“I understand, I do… I’ve liked you for awhile..” You watched as he offered his hand.. waiting for you to take it.

“I’m leaving” Marco announced, his job here was done and he didn’t fancy watching you and Ace stare into one another’s eyes.

“Can we? Are we?” Ace’s voice seemed so unsure, you took his hand, giving it a squeeze, nodding your head, the biggest smile on your face before Ace broke eye contact.

“Also, can I have your food?”

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@iloveportgasdace @undercoverweeeb @slut4animedilfs @acesmarigold @sanjithesimp @fire-fist-ann @rivvd-art @angeltani @secretsnailor @mimi-ya @simp4ace @aifozu @useless-potatho

[cinnaminsvga]

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font. 

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious. 

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie​ because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

���Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

[caws5749]

Dazed and Confused, The Quarantine Series, pt. 35

A/N: FINALLLYYYYYY!! I'll be writing a TON tonight (or at least, that’s my plan, which may very well change). I’m enjoying writing so much, and perhaps it will turn a bit into a DWN

Masterlist

By the time Natasha had returned with the food, you’d fallen fast asleep. Talia was so exhausted that she would probably sleep through the night and when Nat saw you on the couch, your neck bent at an angle that looked less than comfortable, she knew you’d probably do the same. 

“Hey,” she murmured, gently rubbing her hand along the length of your arm. “I’ve got food.” 

“Mmmm... ow.”

“Yeah, you fell asleep at a weird angle.”

“I can tell,” you grumbled, stretching. “Thanks for picking up the food, baby.”

Your girlfriend nodded, opening the bags and handing you some food. “Think she’ll wake?” she asked, nodding at the sleeping little girl across the room. 

“With the smell of the food, maybe. But she’s exhausted. I probably would have slept through the night if you hadn’t have woken me.” 

“Probably,” Natasha agreed, taking a seat next to you and taking a bite of her food. 

“Steve got a little too happy watching us with a kid,” you stated after a few minutes of silence. Though your girlfriend was exhausted beyond belief, her eyes widened significantly as she recalled that moment from earlier. When she didn’t say anything, you turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable, a neutral mask placed carefully on her face. You weren’t quite sure why. 

“What is it?” you prodded gently. 

“Nothing, Y/N. I’m just tired and can’t think straight.”

Not wanting to push and not quite having the energy to even do so, you nodded and focused on the food in front of you. All you wanted to do after eating was to curl up and go to sleep with Nat, but you couldn’t do that and it was starting to dampen your already low spirits. On top of that, you would be sleeping on the couch for the evening. 

“Should have set her down on the couch,” you joked. 

“Trying to get into bed with me that badly?” Nat smirked. 

“Yes,” you answered seriously, though you were overcome with a fit of giggles two seconds later. At your antics, your girlfriend rolled her eyes. 

“You need sleep.”

“So do you, the bags under your eyes are designer.”

++++++

A high pitched scream had you shooting up, your hands out in front of you as you tried to assess the threat. After a few seconds of looking around, you found nothing, save for a five year old who was thrashing about on your bed, clearly having a nightmare. 

You scrambled off of the couch and towards Talia, shaking her gently. 

“Talia, hey, sweetheart, you’re okay,” you soothed, your heart beating rapidly at the fear that shone in the child’s eyes. She cried out a phrase, one in a language that you couldn’t understand. After Talia repeated it, you recognized it as most likely Arabic, but you still couldn’t understand. Thoughts flashed through your mind quickly as you wondered whether or not Natasha spoke Arabic. You were fairly certain she knew a bit, even if she wasn’t fluid, and so after a few more moments of Talia crying, you quickly ran from the room with the promise that you’d return. 

Nat had stopped locking her door at night after a few months of dating you and so you had no trouble running into the room. At the first sound of her door opening, your girlfriend was up and was out of the bed within seconds. 

“She had a nightmare and she’s only repeating phrases in Arabic and-”

“She’ll be okay, Y/N.”

You could only hope that was true as you both rushed back into your room. Natasha was by Talia’s side in less than a second and was quietly murmuring to her in fluent Arabic. The girl quieted promptly at the recognition of her first language, going as far as to scramble into your girlfriend’s lap. Though a bit shocked, Nat scooped her up and rocked her back and forth. 

Sighing quietly, you sat down on the couch, feeling relieved. You took the moment to worry about the little girl, before thinking of your girlfriend. Once again, she’d done what no other person could seem to do. As she sat there with Talia on her lap, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell. This was a woman who’d done countless for you, loved you unconditionally, supported you through everything, and was now waking up in the middle of the night to help a child she didn’t even know. 

You had already been wondering if she was the one, like truly the one, but you couldn’t be more certain in this moment. You knew you’d marry her. 

You were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even realize how silent the room had become. 

“What are you thinking about?” your girlfriend asked softly. Catching her gaze, you could tell she was amused and had seen the smile on your lips. 

“You,” you shrugged, before focusing on Talia. “She’s asleep.”

“I’m afraid to move her.”

“Maybe in a few minutes you can move her. She’ll be further into sleep.”

“What were you thinking about me?” Natasha asked. 

“How much I love you.”

“And how much do you love me?”

You laughed quietly at her antics. “More than you know.”

Quiet fell as she took in your words. 

“Enough to want to marry you,” you added, a whisper. 

“You want to marry me.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but you couldn’t tell whether it was born from a place of fear or happiness. 

“If you don’t want to or - it’s fi-”

“Y/N, stop. If I could come over there, I’d slap you and then kiss you. Of course I want to marry you. Just maybe not right now.”

A tear fell down your cheek from happiness. Someone wanted to marry you. The love of your life wanted to marry you. Natasha Romanoff wanted to marry you. 

At your tear, Nat must have thought something different, because she gently set Talia down on the bed before moving over to you. 

“I do want to marry you, Y/N,” she repeated, pulling you into your arms and pressing her lips to your forehead. 

“No, babe, I’m not sad, I’m happy,” you cried, more tears flowing. Pushing you back, Natasha’s thumbs wiped at your cheeks, shaking her head with a slight smirk. 

“Will you cry this much at our wedding?”

“Probably more,” you admitted with a watery chuckle. When you yawned a moment later, Nat kissed your cheek before standing. 

“I think we should go back to sleep.”

“But you just told me you wanted to marry me,” you pouted. 

“And I will tell you again in the morning.” 

++++++

“Baby, wake up.”

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes before finally opening them to a beautiful red-head. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she smiled, amused. “Bruce wants to give Talia a check up. He’s worried about some of those cuts and bruises.”

You turned your head to look over at the girl still sleeping in the bed. You looked back at Natasha. “She’s probably not going to like that.”

“She’ll be scared,” Nat agreed, before tapping your thigh lightly. “But, it has to be done. Come on.”

“No, cuddle with me.”

“There’s no room on that couch. You’re a space hog.”

“That’s not true,” you lied, knowing full well it was. 

“You have to get ready. He expects Talia at nine,” she replied. You sighed, yawning before sitting up. When you did, Natasha rewarded you with a kiss, one that you wished lasted longer. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen with Talia after I wake her.”

++++++

By the time you’d stumbled into the kitchen still half asleep, Bruce was speaking to Natasha and Talia. With Talia seemingly doing okay with Bruce, Nat stepped towards the coffee maker to speak with you.

“He wanted to get acquainted, make her feel a bit more comfortable,” she explained.

“It seems to be working,” you nodded, pouring yourself some coffee. 

“Do those cuts and bruises hurt?” Bruce asked, causing you to turn your head. You didn’t think he’d begin the visit in the kitchen, but perhaps he thought it would make it easier. 

“Not really.”

“Good, that’s good.”

He continued asking a few questions, you and Nat listening in. When it came time for the physical exam, he asked that you make your way to the med bay. Talia didn’t seem too phased, making you feel a bit calmer about the entire experience. She let Bruce push on her abdomen, look at her cuts, and even wash them out. The only thing she requested was hot chocolate after the ordeal, which you were happy to provide. 

As you were sitting on the couch in the living room with her watching a movie after her exam, Steve came up to the three of you. He looked apologetic, which puzzled the other two adults in the room. 

“Steve, what is it?” Natasha asked. 

“There’s a social worker here for Talia.”

“They’re taking her away? Just like that?” you questioned, already standing. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, holding his hands up to get you to stop for a second. “They just want to talk to her and see if they can figure something out. They can’t just leave her here.”

You knew that was true; you knew that she couldn’t stay here with you and it’s not like you’d even thought about having her stay but you certainly hadn’t wanted her to be taken away. Though you knew all of these things, you left the room, tears brewing in your eyes for a reason you couldn’t quite distinguish. 

“Y/N.”

You kept walking, ignoring the threat of tears falling down your cheeks. But your girlfriend didn’t stop, chasing after you until finally catching you down a few hallways. 

“Y/N, stop.” 

Her hand caught your upper arm, tugging and turning you around. Shock crossed Nat’s face as she was met with tears. 

“Y/N, what’s- why are you crying? I know it’s upsetting but-”

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?” Natasha questioned calmly. 

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

[thebadbatch]

Could I have a Hunter x reader imagine with scenario 12 and prompts 6 from sad and prompt 9 from angry/jealous/protective ? Female reader would be great :) thank you!!!

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! I really do hope this is what you were looking for! If there's anything your unhappy with let me know and I'll change it for you! :) I hope you enjoy it!

Hunter x FemReader

Plot: The reader gets into a troublesome situation during a mission with Hunter, luckily he's there to help!

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and Injury!

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

Stay with me

Cid had another mission for you and the rest of The Bad Batch, which in all honesty, you were pretty thrilled about due to the high pay in credits. It would definitely give you enough to get your new gun upgrades with your share. Though, as the others had reminded you, the higher the pay the harder the mission would be and in all honesty you didn't take their words seriously until now. Currently, you were dragging yourself in your custom armour through the desert sweating and desperate for some kind of shade. Hunter was walking beside you, chuckling at your tired self as he fiddled with his knife. Only you two had been assigned to this area, the other four sticking with the ship to do some mandatory repairs. 

"Are we almost there?" You sighed, making sure your blaster was still hooked securely against your hip and trying your best to keep up with Hunter who really didn't seem to mind the heat. He laughed a little more, turning toward you as he softly grabbed your arm to pull you closer. 

"Keep up, soldier." Hunter reminded, placing his knife back against his arm and gazing around the deserted and broken ships covered in sand. "We shouldn't be too far off, we should head to that ship over there." His finger pointed toward a half broken star destroyer which seemed to have been deserted for many years, luckily for you two. 

"It looks uh, pretty broken up." You tilted your head a little as you both grew closer. "Is this definitely where the shipment is?" Hunter crouched alongside it, checking for a control panel he just knew was nearby despite the sand coating most of it. 

"Affirmative." Chuckling at his words, you crouched down beside him placing your knees against the sand that sunk down a little. You were familiar with this from your home planet, remembering how sand was always accompanied with a huge ocean - unfortunately not here though on Jakku. You swore if there was water right now you'd definitely be in it, kriff the credits. "Found it!" Hunter grinned as he slammed the control panel with one punch, the door opening and allowing sand to fall into it along with you two. The drop wasn't much, just enough to make you wobble a little and lose your footing. Hunter luckily had caught you, his arms around you which caused your face to heat up. Thank stars for your signature helmet, though you were pretty certain Hunter had picked up on your increased heart rate. Adjusting yourself with a little cough, you allowed your eyes to scan the ship you were on whilst activating your helmet torch with Hunter doing the same. 

"Right, find the supply shipment then we can head back to the Havoc, right?" You began to follow in his footsteps, keeping your blasters in your hands. 

"Yeah, sounds simple enough but there are gonna be some obstacles I'm certain." Hearing the footsteps belonging to you both echo around the metal hallway you both lingered in, you allowed a light sigh. 

"Obstacles? Like what?" You practically felt his grin with his blaster in hand ensuring the coast was clear. 

"This is your first time at Jakku, right?" You could only nod in response, genuinely curious to the dangers you both may face. "This place is home to thieves, outlaws and scavengers - just be on lookout alright?" You smirked under your helmet before turning the corner with him. 

"Nothing we can't handle, right?" Hunter stifled a laugh as you both approached another room, slamming the control panel down as it opened - surprised to find the room well lit with electricity pumping through the circuits. Keeping your blaster on you, you began to look around the room keeping an eye out for the crate you were assigned to collect. 

"Here." He grinned, turning toward the box and typing in the code Tech had given you both to open the crate and bring it back. "Right let's take it out of here and get back, I'm getting a bad feeling." With a quick nod, you pressed a button on it causing it to levitate as you pushed it forward, following Hunter's footsteps as a new layer of tension appeared. Something was up and he knew that, you both didn't want to run into any trouble. Though then again, it seemed too late for that as you were pulled back with a blaster placed to your head - your helmet being removed and tossed aside like it was nothing. 

"Hunter-" Your voice called, genuinely quaking as your blaster was tossed aside as well, clanking against the floor which made him turn around and pull out his knife beside his blaster. 

"Shut it, girl." The man snarled, pulling you closer and tilting the blaster against your head. "I believe that you're taking something that belongs to us, so in return I think we're going to be taking something that belongs to you." Hunter snarled and stepped forward, keeping his blaster pointed toward the man who held you and his knife threateningly turned toward the other person who had taken your gear. 

"Back away from y/n otherwise I swear to Maker you won't live to see tomorrow." 

The man who held you laughed, turning toward his friend who grabbed your blaster and pointed it toward Hunter who didn't hesitate to shoot at him. The blast unfortunately missed the man but hit the gun, resulting in it being thrown back across the room.

"Now you've just made a stupid mistake haven't you?" He growled, shooting down at your leg causing you to cry out for Hunter - falling against the man who moved the gun back against your skull. "Now drop your weapons and the girl lives, simple solution don't you think?" Hunter's face turned from seriousness to panic at your pain, reverting quickly to anger as he threw his gun and knife down against the floor. 

"Kill me but please, just leave y/n." His words were gentle as he knelt on the floor to the man's request, hands behind his head and his eyes grew glassy at your pained state. 

"What do you think we are? Generous?" He chuckled a little, his laugh a little psychotic. "Shoot him." As the other person raised the gun to Hunter, you screamed and kicked with your legs straight into the man's knee and once he fell back, you stomped on it ensuring it was broken. Dodging the bullets that the man on the floor and beside you shot, you kicked the gun away from him and held it yourself - shooting the other person with ease before collapsing against the floor. Hunter rushed toward you, grabbing his weapons and ensuring they were both down for the count. A movement from the other person made him snarl as he shot out at him before picking you up against his chest securely. 

"Y/n! Y/n come on stay with me." You sighed a little against his chest, whimpering at the sting of pain the bullet had caused against your leg - it was definitely bleeding but it was difficult to treat underneath your armour. Grabbing the crate, he laid you on top with your helmet and blaster beside you, pushing you out and straight back to the Havoc as promised. Whilst he was running with you, doing his best to keep you conscious, his words were pretty gentle. "It's alright Mesh'la I've got you, you're gonna be okay." You couldn't help but allow a smile to fall against your face, you felt awesome. Saving Hunters life definitely got you first dibs on rations until the guilt wore down - if it ever did for him anyway. You wouldn't let anybody hurt him just like he was about to give his life for you. Finally reaching the Havoc Marauder, you heard Hunter's pleas for help as he rushed in - Tech soon at your side with the others. 

"I'm fine." You coughed out, attempting to sit up only to wince at the pain as your armour was removed leaving you in your blacks so that Tech could assess your wound. 

"You're not fine but you'll live now you're here." With his words, he applied a bacta wrap to your leg after burning the wound shut. Your face was scrunched up with pain, Hunter holding your hand and threading his fingers through your hair. 

"Good girl." He smiled, keeping you back against him. Smiling against him, you held on gently before he huffed a little. "But don't you ever be that reckless again, I had a plan." Laughing a little, you turned your tired gaze to him. 

"Oh yeah? I didn't see you doing anything." He blushed a little at your words as he gently held you closer to him. 

"I'd lay down my life for you, y/n - I hope you realise that. I'd do it willingly, I always will." You nodded gently before pressing a light and thankful kiss to his cheek. 

"You won't have to with me around, now don't be so stupid next time." You chuckled gently as he smiled down at you as the others gently gathered around ensuring you were alright. As protective as he is, you knew he'd want to get his revenge somehow - their death wasn't enough. As long as you were alive with him though, you knew he'd be alright. He wouldn't go off the rails anytime soon with you keeping him in check. 

"Stay with me, y/n."

[pascalpanic]

Cooking in the Crest (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: You become sick of the endless prepackaged food you eat while living on the Razor Crest. From a holovid, you and Din try to learn how to cook.

W/C: 3.2k

Warnings: FOOD is a big warning here; this is all about food, cooking, and eating; some language, and mentions of violence and blood because Din is a hunter.

A/N: this was a request by lovely @binarydanvvers !! I hope you guys like it too :))

The Razor Crest was not exactly built to be a home. The beat up old ship, a pre-Imperial piece of garbage, was mainly meant to be a freighter, to carry loads and supplies around. It had a bunk, yes, but that was mainly for the pilot to sleep. Some ships were elaborately built and crafted to house people, even families; this was not one of them.

You could tell that from the moment you walked aboard. This was not built to be a home, but the Mandalorian and his little green child had made it one. It was endearing, really. It was still cold and harsh, not exactly welcoming, but there were little touches. A sling for the baby to sleep in above the man’s bunk. A few scattered toys for the kid. Extra clothing tucked away, and what seemed to be a makeshift kitchen.

It can hardly be called a kitchen. It’s more of a food storage area. The Mandalorian man has stored packets of food, dried or wrapped, water, and other assorted food necessities in a small corner of the ship. There’s also a device for heating meals, like the just-add-water foods he carries so many of.

The baby doesn’t complain. Well, he really can’t, considering that he cannot speak yet, but he never pushes away the food. Of course, his favorites are frogs and occasional organic things he picks up on the surface of the latest planet, but he’s never refused a nutrient bar or an instant bread loaf. The kid is always hungry; he’ll take anything.

You’ve been traveling with Din for a while now. He entrusted you with his name not long after he entrusted you with the care of his foundling. He’s a kind man, surprising beneath the layer of impenetrable beskar, with a warm laugh even through the modulator.

In this time, you’ve become exhausted over the endless routine of microwavable carbohydrate packs with dried proteins. A nutrient bar is a nice switch, but it’s endless days and nights of bland food. “Do you even eat? Does your species photosynthesize or something?” You’d asked Din once, teasingly knocking on his beskar.

“I’m human,” he assured you, voice dry. He presents himself as tired of your endless teasing, but you both know he could never be. You’re the energy, the entertainment to him and his little green child.

“I doubt that,” you teased, nudging his hip with your own as you walked past, the baby on your other side, giggling at your words.

The kid is smart. He can’t yet speak, but he can recognize meaning in words and the emotions you convey with your tones. You’ve been steadily working on teaching him the right morphemes to form words, but he’s just not quite there yet. He made a little babbling noise at his father, then turned and looked up at you, grinning with tiny white teeth.

Din must eat, you’ve come to notice. He never takes the helmet off; you’ve never heard his voice without the modulator, you’ve never seen him eat. But the stock of food dwindles at a quicker pace than it would for one and a half people, so he must consume some of it. You’ve noticed that the dried proteins or instant spicy grains go quicker- those must be his favorite. You’ve made mental notes several times to pick up extra when shopping.

As the three of you take off from the last planet, a lively and populous city center, your stomach is happy with its contents: you and the baby had gone on a culinary tour, trying different local delicacies. You glance at the kitchenette in the corner and wince at the protein bars. Surely you’ll be reduced to eating the dry and chalky sustenance the next time you’re hungry.

The baby sits in your lap, bouncing excitedly as the ship lifts off. He coos and waves his hands excitedly as Din turns and navigates, though it’s nothing too bumpy for the little thing to handle. There’s a jolt when you leave the atmosphere, and the baby squeals as the stars rush past when Din maneuvers the Crest into hyperspace.

Once the course is set, Din turns to you. You wonder what he’s thinking; it’s a shame you can’t see his face. “We should be at our next location in about a day.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, heightened over the prospect of eating more dried, flavorless food. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Do I know how to what?” Din asks, cocking his head.

“Cook. You know, make food in a way other than using the microwave.”

Din stares at you for a minute. “No, I really don’t. I’ve never had reason to.”

“You don’t consider eating this bland shit eternally a reason?” You ask, folding your arms. The little green baby on your lap mirrors your actions, looking at his father. “I don’t either, but I think we both need to learn. I’m sick of this endless dried food and nutrient bars and instant grains.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Fine. How?”

“How what?” You ask, taunting him back from his earlier sarcastic question.

“How are we going to learn how to cook?”

You shrug. “We could take a cooking class on some populous planet. They have them for couples.”

Din looks at you, sharply even though you can’t see his face. “Okay, well, two people,” you chuckle, though you can’t help but notice the rigidity of his body. You’re skilled at reading his body language by now; something changed in him when you said couple. “Why the hell not?”

“Because, cyar’ika, I am a Mandalorian. I’m not exactly going to fit in with the happy honeymooners at a cooking class, searing bantha for my beloved.”

You frown at him. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Din. Work with me here.”

Din is frowning beneath the helmet. You can just tell. “I don’t exactly take orders from you.”

“It’s not an order,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a request. Please.”

Din sighs. He’s quiet for a minute. Then: “Fine.”

“Yay!” You grin and brace his beskar helmet in one hand, pressing a kiss to the visor. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“I don’t know how fun that can be,” he grumbles.

-

The holonet turns out to be a surprisingly vast resource for cooking and recipes. You’d never expected this much to be uploaded to it. There are traditional dishes from Tatooine, Naboo, anywhere really. The first struggle is deciding what to cook.

You stop at another populous planet next. Thank the Maker, you mumble as you put the baby in the wrap carrier that straps him to your chest. “We’re gonna make something good, huh kiddo?” You ask and smooch the baby’s little green head. He just coos in return.

Wandering through the planet, you find various little specialty shops, and you mark off the list you’ve created. Spices from the shop specializing in them, fresh vegetables at a stall, meat from a grocer. When the foods are all collected, you return to the ship, where Din has purchased a portable heat source to be used for cooking.

The business Din has on the planet goes quickly and he’s back before you know it. You’ve barely had time to clean the vegetables under the small refresher sink before you hear the clink of beskar and the baby’s excited laughter at his return.

You carry the bowl of vegetables and grin as you spot Din on a crate in the corner, wiping down his armor of blood. “Welcome home, bounty hunter,” you tease as you arrange some crates to form a table and chairs and set the holoprojector in the center. “How’d we do today?”

“Wonderful,” he grumbles as he wipes a smear of mud off his chest plate. He finishes then looks at your arms, holding the ingredients. You set them down and the hot plate as well. “We’re cooking now?”

“I’m hungry,” you shrug.

Din nods. “I suppose. Do you want me to get piloting us out of here and then we can start?”

You shrug again. “We paid for a full day and night. Might as well use it.”

He nods and begins removing his beskar, leaving him in just his flight suit and helmet. You cock an eyebrow at him and tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t wanna get any food on the beskar.”

This makes you genuinely laugh, throwing your head back. “Oh, blood and dirt and mud are okay but no food? You have some odd standards, Din.”

No one has called him by his name since he was a child. You’ve never even said it aloud save for once or twice. The sound of your voice saying it is like the sweetest music; he could listen to it eternally. He’s a little nervous inside, tingly and fluttery from the feeling. Thank the Maker his helmet doesn’t let it show.

“Go wash your hands and let’s get going,” you order him, stacking two extra crates and setting the child on top so he’s the same height as the two of you. He’s delighted by the view, looking around.

You put the vessel on the hot plate then turn it on, unsure of how quickly it heats. Din returns not long later, sitting on his crate across from you. “First step?”

To answer his question, you turn on the holovid. A cheerful Zabrak narrates for you and shows you the steps, starting with the first: to chop the ingredients. Din reaches for his leg and you shoot him a glare, pausing the video. “You were not about to use that knife to prepare our dinner.”

Din just looks at you. “Why not?”

“God, you’re impossible,” you laugh, though it’s lighthearted teasing. “No, use this, a clean one.” You hand it over along with a few vegetables. Din starts cutting with neat precision, the yellow tuber vegetable falling in perfectly round slices to the surface you’d laid down before.

The baby whines in protest; he wants in. Looking around, you scramble for something before giving him the softest vegetable and a plastic utensil. “How’s that?” You ask him.

He’s delighted, slicing his vegetable and mirroring his parents and the video. When the step is finished, you press play again and it informs you to add some of the oil and cook the vegetables first.

Din pours them in, causing a sizzle from the hot cooking vessel. “Ooh, it must be ready,” you grin and drizzle some oil over the top.

“I don’t think that’s the order we were supposed to do it,” he points out, rewinding the video.

“Oh well,” you shrug and stir the vegetables. The aromatic plants waft from the steam, making you sigh in happiness at how wonderful the recipe smells, even now. “Can you smell under there?”

Din shakes his head.

You frown. “I’ll close my eyes. Lift your helmet and take a smell, it’s delicious.” You squeeze them shut as if to prove you’ll do it.

He would never trust anyone else like this. He’s surprised he even trusts you enough, but he unlatches his helmet and lifts it just enough to catch a whiff of the delicious smell. He sighs happily too and puts the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You open your eyes and smile at him. “Well, we’re not doing terribly! What’s next?”

The video plays a little longer, telling you the next steps: add the spices to the cooking vegetables, stirring them in, then the broth you’ve purchased.

Picking up the bag, you rummage through for the intended spices. “You wanna do this part?” You ask Din.

“I’ll probably mess up.”

“Give it a shot,” you say with a warm smile and hand him several small pouches of spices and a measuring stick.

His fingers are thick and worn without the gloves, and the sight of them pinching the bright orange powder and sprinkling some in the pot is truly humanizing, indicative that this man is Din, not The Mandalorian like you knew him as before. He does that with the required spices, choosing to go by heart rather than the measured values.

You go next, adding the broth to the pot and closing your eyes to listen to the beautiful hiss of the liquid against the hot metal. “Do you think you could cook on beskar?” You tease Din. The man just shakes his head.

The recipe then indicates for you to cut up the meat and add it before covering and letting it boil. Din uses the sharp knife you’ve provided to once again, neatly slice the meat and add it to the pan. “You’re quite precise with that thing,” you inform him with an impressed nod.

He snorts. “I know the ten quickest ways to kill someone with it.”

“Still, precise to do that,” you laugh. You cover the pot and sigh, setting a timer on the holopad to the amount of time needed before the meal will be ready; thanks to the specialized tech in the hot plate, it won’t take long at all.

The baby shows you his knife work with the mushed vegetable. It’s considerably less impressive than Din’s, but you ooh and ahh over it all the same, making the baby beam with pride. “Your knife work rivals your father’s, little man,” you tease the baby and poke his side.

“Yeah right,” he snorts again and leans back against the metal wall of the Razor Crest’s hull.

While the food carries on its quick cooking, you prepare three bowls and spoons to eat with, setting each in front of where the three of you sit. The bowl is much smaller for the child, but he seems just as pleased.

The timer dings and you clap your hands together in excitement. “Let’s see!”

Lifting the lid, the smell that wafts out makes your stomach growl. “Oh, this is going to be good,” you sigh, setting the lid aside on the heatproof surface and scooping some into each bowl. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warn your boys as you a hand them their respectful bowls.

“It sounds wonderful but… you know I can’t eat it,” Din reminds you.

That makes you frown. “Of course you can. We made it together.”

“No,” he sighs. “I can’t eat it because I’d have to remove my helmet.”

The idea crosses your mind as quickly as his words. “Well then.” You stand and push your crate aside, then pull him up and do the same. With your bowl of stew in hand, you plop down on the floor and turn your back to him. “Now you sit with your back to me.”

“Cyare, I-“

“Just humor me, Din. Please.”

He sighs and gets on the floor, groaning at the creak of his joints and popping of his back. Din presses his back to yours, sitting with his legs splayed carelessly to either side. “There. This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Now eat. I won’t look, and the kid is your foundling, he can see you.”

Din is hesitant at first. He sits there for a moment while the baby slurps his dinner, pondering what to do. Then he remembers how much he trusts yoh. How you’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for you.

He removes his helmet, setting it to the floor with a heavy clunk. “There we go,” you smile and reach behind you to pat his chest. “Eat up. I bet you’re hungry from that hunt.”

“Hungrier from making this,” he grumbles as he scoops a spoonful, ungracefully shoving it in his mouth and moaning in content. “Oh, that’s damn good.”

“Isn’t it?” You laugh, eating some yourself and smiling at the flavor. “Seasoned just right,” you affirm him, resting your head back against his own. You can feel that he has hair- well, now you know he isn’t bald.

“Cooked properly thanks to you,” he reminds you.

“Ha! I don’t know shit about cooking. Thank that holovid,” you chuckle, nestling your back against his. You can feel every little notch of his spine, the lumps in a perfect line cascading down his body, as his back presses against yours. He’s warm, and you can feel him breathe in and out slowly- he’s relaxed. Good.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you eat your meals. The kid has long finished his tiny bowl and has passed out in his seat, which makes you laugh. He’s missing the sight of his helmetless father thanks to a post-meal nap.

No words need to be exchanged. There’s meaning in the silence, in the fact that you can hear his breathing and his real voice, the hard gulp of his throat as he swallows yet another bite. Maker, he’s so wonderfully human. You absolutely adore it.

When you’re done with your stew, you set your bowl to the side. Din does the same, and his back relaxes against yours. Neither of you are quite ready for him to put the helmet back on, so you breathe the unfiltered air with him, listen and feel him breathing, try to take in every detail of what his body feels like pressed to yours, even if it’s back to back.

“Din?” You ask softly after a few moments.

“Yes, cyare?”

“I promise my eyes are closed,” you tell him.

“What do you mean-“

Din is cut off when you close your eyes but turn, kissing his cheek. You can feel stubble beneath your lips, and above it smooth skin. God, he feels so damn warm. With your eyes still closed, you hug his neck. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Din breathes slowly, forcing his heart rate not to accelerate into hyperspeed. “It’s not putting up with you,” he admits. “It’s enjoying you. I really do.”

The words make you flushed and flustered, honored that this strong and silent type has used such eloquent words to compliment you. “Thank you. For all of this, Din. Thank you for letting me know you.”

He’s grinning ear to ear, and he turns his face to kiss your cheek back. “You can know me all you want to, mesh’la.” Din puts his hands over your arms and takes one last moment in your arms. “Well, we need to put the child to bed, and I’m legally supposed to be wearing my helmet right now.”

You turn and sit with your back to him, smiling and nearly giddy from the moment. “Who’s gonna yell at you if you don’t? Mando police?”

Din groans and puts his helmet back on, ignoring you. When you both stand, you hug him for real this time, chests pressed together. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he mumbles through the modulator and presses his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss. “Let’s do this more often.”

“I agree,” you nod and kiss his helmet one last time.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal

[morosemagick]

Warriors of Menace | Finan x Reader One Shot

My entry for Rosie's 100 Follower Challange!!

Prompt: “You are very well behaved today. What have you done?”

Warning: Absolutely none, just a shit ton of fluff lol

Words: 2121

Tagged:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @for-bebbanburg @evelynshelby @lauwrite1225 @obipoelover @magravenwrites

Life is much different for you now than it was five years ago. Long gone are the days where there was a shyness about you, and your nerves rattled at the idea of forming friendships of this ragtag band of warriors. Time has been good to you, and after years of being a part of this little, mix-matched family founded by Uhtred of Bebbanburg, it’s safe to say you knew these men well. You understand all of their quirks and knew all the signs of how they behaved. The good days and the bad days were easy to recognize, and when mood swings would accord or the occasional argument between them would happen you’d know just how to put out the fire.

It’s this ability to understand these misunderstood warriors that brought you close to Finan, and in what felt like a blink of an eye… you were his wife.

And he was an excellent husband.

You understood him the most. Finan could not hide his moods from you. Happiness, frustration, anger. You knew the calling card for all of his moods, and he knew all of yours. When you first realized he had feelings for you, you could pinpoint all the little things he would try to do to get you to realize he loved you. It was heartwarmingly adorable and you didn’t let him go long without telling him you felt the same. Since your marriage, you have been a unit in sync. There is nothing Finan can hide from you after almost four years of marriage.

Including when he’s being an absolute menace.

You're in your kitchen making lunch, a large pot of stew over the fire because part of you already expects to feed more than just your family. It’s what you do at this point. You may have married Finan, but you feel like you married the whole crew of warriors with the way you care for them. The food is just about done when, just as expected, Finan comes bursting through the front door with Sihtric in tow.

By the way they come in giggling like children, you know they’re up to no good.

“I know you are not tracking dirt through my home, Finan,” You tell him as you stir your wooden spoon through the pot, and you can hear your husband coming up from behind you.

He kisses the side of your head, “I would never, darlin’,” Finan snickers, placing a hand on your rather round belly, “And how is the wee man today?”

“You are going to regret calling her that when she reveals herself as a daughter,” You smirk as you glance his way and he gives you another kiss, “Speaking of wee men, where is Aethelstan?”

“With Osferth and Eadith,” Sihtric explains as he sits at your table, and you can hear Finan walk around your home. When you glance back, he’s making the table for four.

“And what is he doing with Osferth and Eadith?” You ask as you fully turn around to look at both men, only to find them poorly failing at hiding their smiles, “Finan?”

“Yes, my love?” He asks as he returns to your side, and by his smile you know he's up to no good.

"Where is that boy of yours, and do not lie to me," You tell him with a raised brow and arms crossed so he knows you mean business.

You call Aethelstan just his when the two of them are on your nerves, but the boy is yours. Even though, technically, he is not.

"He's doing us a favor, Y/N, he will be home shortly," Sihtric tells you, trying to save Finan from whatever hole he's currently digging himself.

"Uh-huh," You smirk and now Finan is carefully trying to push you away from the food you are cooking, "What are you doing?"

"Finishin’ for you," Finan tells you with another kiss on your head, "Go sit, I'll bring the pot to the table."

You glance between the two men and head to the table anyway, sitting down next to Sihtric, "Who are you two, and what have you done with my husband and his best friend?"

"We are always this compassionate, Y/N," Finan chuckles as he brings over lunch, "Oi, go grab bread," he whistles to Sihtric and the Dane stands and does as he's told, "You shouldn't be workin' so hard when you're busy makin' us such a wonderful child."

Okay, now you know they're up to no good.

Before you can ask what they’ve done, Aethelstan all but bursts through the front door, slamming it rather hard for a child before realizing you are at the table staring at him. He smiles wide, the cheeky grin a telltale sign of trouble he picked up from Finan in the year of you raising him. He walks directly to you, like he hasn’t done a thing wrong, and places a kiss on your cheek. (Another sign he’s gotten from Finan, as well.) “Hello, Mother.”

“Go clean yourself up before lunch, you little trouble maker,” Your smirk at the boy, and Finan ruffles his hair as he runs off. The two of you aren’t really supposed to let him call you by those names, but neither of you has the heart to tell him otherwise. Besides, it’s already been a year and if he wants to call you Mother and Father that’s exactly what he’s going to call you.

Aethelstan cleans himself up and then joins you all at the table, sitting down across from Sihtric and next to Finan. The two of them move in sync as they fold their hands over together above their food, and to the side of you, Sihtric lowers his head in respect for your religion.

“Thank you, Father, for this delicious meal we are about to receive, and for this family you allowed us to grow,” Finan prays and you just stare at him with eyebrows scrunched and your lip curled into a smirk.

Because you know that getting Finan to pray before meals is usually a hassle.

“In your name, we pray,” Aethelstan continues, “Ahem.”

The three of you sign to your God and Sihtric just keeps his head down till you are done, and then the three men start to eat. You, however, just continue to stare at your husband until he finally looks at you and smiles, “What?”

“You are all very well behaved today,” You start to tell them all, and Finan just smiles wider as you lean forward and rest your chin in your hand, “What have you done?”

“You know us, Y/N, nothin’ too awful,” Finan starts to explain.

“It’s true, Y/N,” Sihtric adds as he rips himself a piece of the bread loaf, “We only do things out of love. That’s just the kind of warriors we are.”

“Aye, he’s right.” Finan agrees as he continues eating.

“Oh, I am sure,” You say in response even though you don’t believe any of them, but luckily enough for them your too hungry to push the topic further. So instead, you start to eat the lunch you’ve slaved over and enjoy this time with your family.

The meal is mostly quiet, albeit some sweet words of gratitude from the men at your table, thankful for the meal you prepared for them. You almost make it through the whole thing in peace, when a knock at your door startles the men.

“Finan? Sihtric! I know you are in there,” It’s Osferth, and he sounds rather frustrated. He knocks on the door again, a little harder, as the two men at your table start to slowly rise and head for the back room. “Open up! We need to talk, now!”

Finan and Sihtric start to sneak for the back door, shit-eating grins on both of their faces, “We were not here, Y/N, we have not been home all mornin’.” He tells you as they make their escape, leaving you there to roll your eyes and answer the door yourself.

When you open the door to greet Osferth, he looks absolutely flustered, “Osferth, how are you today?”

“Lady, I have been better,” He’s always so polite, the sweet former monk, and no matter how many times you tell him not to call you lady, he cannot seem to shake his manners, “I hate to bother you, but I need to speak with Finan and Sihtric.”

You chuckle, folding your arms across your belly, “You just missed them, but I have some stew left over from lunch if you are hungry.”

“I should be on my way, I really need to speak with them,” Osferth explains as he rubs at the back of his neck and you chuckle at the shyness he holds after years of friendship.

"Osferth, come in and tell me what my husband and Sihtric have done," You open your door wider and move to the side so he can come in, and after a second of hesitation, he sighs and complies.

Osferth walks over to the table that Aethelstan has managed to vanish from without you noticing and slumps into his seat, "I am going to kill them." He groans half-heartedly.

You laugh, grabbing him a clean bowl before joining him at the table, "What did they do?"

"Sihtric told Eadith I am interested in her, and then Finan had Aethelstan pick flowers for her saying they were from me," Osferth sighs heavily as you serve him some stew, "They've ruined everything."

"I thought you did fancy Eadith? What's the problem?" You ask him as you put the bowl of stew in front of him.

"She does not think of me in that way," He groans, looking defeated, "Now she'll think I'm a pervert who only wishes to hump her."

"Or she will think you are shy, and that Finan and Sihtric should mind their own business," You tell him as he eats through his frustration, "My husband may be a menace, but he does the stupid things he does out of love."

"She does not think of me in that way, Y/N," He tells you as he temporarily lowers his spoon, "She is beautiful… and I am just- a baby monk."

You laugh with a big smile across your face because your friend couldn't be any more wrong, "Is that really what you think? Osferth, she is clearly fallen for you."

"Do not pity me, Lady, I do not need your lies to lift my spirit," He tells, looking defeated as he finishes his stew.

"Enough of this," You tell him as you take away the dirty dishes and rise from your seat, "You will go to Eadith and confess your feelings, or I will send Aethelstan to do it for you."

"Y/N-"

"Go! Now, before the day is over," You command, shoo-ing him from your table, as he reluctantly rises, "And be sure to come back to thank me when it's over."

He groans as he walks out of your home, making you laugh as you start cleaning plates. A moment or two after he's gone, you can hear creaking coming from your bedroom, and then two big arms wrap around your body.

"Where is Sihtric?" You ask your husband, not needing to turn around to confirm it's him because you would recognize these arms anywhere.

"Gone home to his own wife," Finan tells you with a kiss, "Enjoyin' his final days before Osferth certainly murders us all."

"He will not murder anyone," You chuckle as you turn around, still in his arms, "Osferth may not have your confidence or Sihtrics' flirting skills but I am positive he will find that Eadith shares his feelings."

"How are you so sure?" Finan scrunches his brows in confusion, "And what do you know of how Sihtric flirts?"

You chuckle, standing on your toes to reach your husband's lips as you give him a kiss, "I just know things, my love, it is my gift from God."

Finan grabs you by the cheeks as you lower yourself, kissing you with much more passion, his lips still on yours as he growls, "If I find out Sihtric has tried to bed my wife-"

"It was long before you were mine," You tell him with a smirk, "No need to start anything over it now."

"That is my gift, mo ghrá," He snickers as his kisses move from your lips to your neck, "I am a Warrior of Menace, after all."

You couldn't argue with that as your warrior brings you back to bed, determined to show you just how much he was yours.

An excellent husband, indeed.

[yesokaythatsfine69]

The Beach (Levi Ackerman x reader)

Description: During the beach scene in attack on titan. I changed this scene a bit because I felt it could be more light hearted and more fun after the cut. So be aware that it may not be that exact scene (in terms of what gets said) but roughly the same idea.

Characters: Y/n, Levi, Hange, Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie

Pov: third person

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff and just chill vibes.

A/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEVI ACKERMAN! Hello! As of right now I'll be focusing the next several pieces on AOT. This is the third and the final piece I'll be writing about Levi. Feel free to request any Levi Ackerman writings at any time though. Have a good read!

Word Count:

Song suggestion: This has nothing to do with this piece but I've been jamming to Judas by Lady Gaga so if ur not a nerd listen to it.

*none of the Gifs used are mine, full credit goes to the maker

The dust that Scout's horses picked up enclosed around them, swallowing them up in a thick cloud of brown. The air was similarly thick around them.

Her hands were shaking, clutching the reigns of her horse, pulling them close to her chest. Y/n wasn't scared though. The things she'd experienced in the almost four years since she'd joined the scouts had changed what the concept of fear was for her. She felt tense- anxiety ridden. She felt like something was about to happen, and the way Eren spoke- it definitely was.

They passed a wall, and Eren's voice cut through the long silence. "I'm sure of it. This is the place where they turned the Eldians titan, which means just up there."

He beckoned them on, rushing his horse forward. Armin swallowed harshly, his eyes meeting y/n's for a beat. They shared a look, that displayed their mutual concerns before it broke.

Y/n had kept close to Armin, whose presence often calmed her. It was strange, but Armin never hid his emotions or disguised his fear (something her friends did so often.) And there was comfort in that. It made her feel less vulnerable.

Levi often teased her for that- but she knew he respected their friendship. Y/n looked to where he rode ahead of her. His hands were steady, expression focused. It unnerved her how he could be so calm.

She blinked away her focus, returning her gaze back to looking straight ahead. Eren led the group to what appeared to be a cliff, and when they reached the top...they saw.

The group seemed to all stop at once, realizing what they found. It was silent, except for the blowing of the waves before them. It was water- the ocean. They all stared, stunned.

Sasha and Connie had mutual expressions of open mouth wonder. Y/n just stared, aghast. Eren on the other hand looked unsurprised and almost bored.

One by one they slipped off the backs of their horses, most rolling up their pant legs and trodding into the water.

Y/n did a little dance in the water, laughing as Connie playfully splashed Sasha in the eyes. Sasha screamed in pain, "my eyes!" After she recovered, she splashed Connie back. Or tried to. At the last second Connie ducked and the salty sea spray hit y/n dead in the face instead.

"Sasha!" Her friend giggled sheepishly. Y/n tackled her into the water, the two becoming completely soaked. Connie chuckled at their antics, pointing his index finger at them with his right hand and keeping his left to his chest. The two girls shared a mischievous look which caused Connie's laughter to die out immediately.

"Take him down!" "Hiya!" Working in sync the two tackled him into the water. The three resurfaced and giggled at each other's soaked expressions. "It's so salty!" Jean was a few paces ahead of them and had just drank some of the water.

"Jean what the fuck. You really need to stop putting things into your mouth if you don't know what's in them." Y/n stood up, twisting her hair to relieve it of some water. Raising a brow, Jean leaned towards her. "Says the girl deep diving into it. Armin says there's nothing in here but salt anyway, and besides someone was bound to drink from here. I just saved them the extra hassle." Y/n flicked water at him. "How gallant of you."

Eren's monologue interrupted them then, they way he sounded close to tears, his voice creaking at the last sentence begged for their concentration. "Will we finally be free?" No one spoke, whatever light mood that existed now diminished.

"way to kill the mood Jaeger." Jean muttered, but he seemed just as solemn as Eren. "Don't worry, I'll lighten it up." Y/n shoved Jean down, and into the water. He landed with a surprised yelp and everyone turned, broken out of their private misery.

"Really y/l/n!" Jean spat, his cheeks dusted with blush. Y/n giggled, until she was cut off by Jean grabbing her and pulling her down into the water. "Shit!" She gasped out, landing in the water beside him.

"Are you serious! Jean, I just rang out my hair!" Jean opened his mouth to retort when sasha and Connie interrupted, shouting "Dog pile!" Jean and Y/n's eyes widened. "No!" "Wait-!" As Kenny once said, kaboom.

Now, all four of them were completely soaked, but none of them really cared. They bursted out laughing, each pointing at one another in amusement. The reflex seemed almost unnatural- it'd been so long since her last belly laugh. Connie, Sasha, and Jean felt similar and the tears they shed weren't just from their chuckles, but something deeper.

Y/n left the three to splash each other, waddling over to Armin, Mikasa, and Eren. Eren still looked off into the horizon but the tenseness in his shoulders seemed lighter. "What do you have there, Armin." She spoke softly to her friend, marveling at the shell he had gently lying in his palms. "Some sort of shell..." His gaze met hers. "I'm sure there have to be hundreds here." Y/n smiled.

"Did you think it'd be like this? Big, breezy, and beautiful?" Armin looked up, looking beyond Eren. "Maybe something close...I just never expected to actually see it...let alone feel it." They shared another look before they turned to Mikasa. She had gotten closer to Eren, but her gaze was in the water. She was kicking at it, her expression unreadable.

"hmmm." Y/n hummed, tapping her chin. She took off, running past Eren and to the left of him. "Hey! Y/l/n, don't go out too far!" Levi called after her. At the left edge, she stopped, bending down and searching fervently in the waters.

"There must be hundreds..."she mumbled to herself, brow furrowed in concentration. "Ah hah!" She straightened, a single white shell lying in the palm of her hand. She ran back, to armin, mikasa, and Eren. She skidded to a stop directly in front of Mikasa, who gave her an amused look.

Y/n dropped to a knee, sticking up her palm. "For my favorite Ackerman!" "Oi!" Levi grunted from behind her and Mikasa blushed. "Thank you, y/n." The young girl smiled, gently picking up the shell. "You are my favorite y/l/n." Y/n crossed her arms. "I'm the only y/l/n." Mikasa smiled a bit brighter.

Eren had turned towards them, snapping out of his gaze from the unusual commotion. He had watched the two interact and the way Mikasa had gently lifted the shell and just as gently cradled it caused the corner of his lips to upturn.

Y/n noticed. "I can find you one too, Eren. Although I'm afraid finding one as pretty as Armin's is impossible and thus out of the question." Eren softened and shook his head. "No, thank you, y/n." She stood up from her position, and was immediately wrapped in a quick hug from Mikasa.

"Oh! What's this?" Hanje lifted something reminiscent of a burnt rock from the water, gently rubbing her fingers over it. Y/n drew closer, allowing Hanje to explain all of the oddities she found. Y/n nodded along, only half understanding what her friend was ranting about.

Finally Hanje gasped with delight- cutting herself off. "there's more over here!" She pranced away from y/n, pausing several steps away and bending down to search for more.

Finally y/n turned to Levi, who had already been watching her. He seemed so out of place it was funny. His arms were crossed and he looked disinterested...but y/n knew that he was just uncomfortable. They watched each other, taking their differences in.

Really Levi couldn't believe how different two people could be. There y/n stood, a breeze sifting through her hair, her entire outfit completely soaked, and a stupid grin on her face. She was some brat- he'd admit it.

"You're going to get sick, y/n." She smiled, wading through the low tide to where he stood. "You'd love the chance to take care of me." "Tch, I deal with you enough as is." The two had shortened the distance between each other.

The wind ruffled his undercut. "It's a lot less scary than it looks." Y/n gently nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm not scared." Levi gave her a sharp look and anyone one else would've slinked away, but y/n wasn't anyone else- especially not to Levi.

Gently she took his hand in hers, squeezing it softly. He narrowed his eyes, the silver orbs twinkling against the sunset. He interlaced his fingers with her own though, his deep admiration for y/n often undermined his "tough guy" resolve.

Y/n smiled at him, "Okay old man are you going to roll up those pants or will I have to?" Levi sighed, grumbling under his breath as he bent down. "If I get sick from this-" she rolled her eyes. "Levi it's water. The thing you bathe in, clean with, drink. You will not get sick."

He pulled a sock off. "Tch, I once saw you find a piece of uneaten bread hidden behind books in the library, and watched you eat it without question. I don't believe anything you say about what's healthy and what's not, brat." Y/n helped him fold his socks neatly next to his shoes. "That was one time!" He paused. "And it's scarred into my memory."

Again, y/n rolled her eyes. However, the smile on her never even flinched. She grabbed Levi's hand and yanked him forward. He gasped, but y/n only sped up. "Oi, oi, oi, wait! You're going to fast, we'll-" They splashed into the water, splashing it up to their faces.

Levi's eyes were wide, and he seemed absolutely at a loss for what to do with himself. Finally he met her gaze, and saw how she looked at him. Levi felt his cheeks flush. "Tch, fine it's not as bad as I thought." He turned to leave, but she yanked him back to her.

"hey, hey, hey mateo, mateo." She pulled him so that his side was resting against her, he turned back to y/n. "Stay awhile." She said gently. Her smile had changed now, and Levi noticed. His shoulders relaxed. He realized now why this was so important to her. This could be the last chance they had.

Then she kicked water at him.

"Y/n!" She laughed and backed deeper into the water. "You may be humanity's greatest titan fighter..." She began to move her arms around wildly. "But I am humanity's greatest Levi Ackerman fighter." Levi sighed, unamused. "You got water on my pants!" He moved towards her.

"The target approaches, seemingly irritated." She backed away. "Tch, Seemingly?" Levi's hand balled into fists. "He's going deeper into enemy territory, what will y/n do?" "Y/n should run." Levi got closer.

He jumped at her, and she tackled him, the two landing into the water. Once again y/n became instantly soaked, and Levi was now in the same boat, wet completely from head to toe. "It is salty!" Levi gasped out, his arms still wrapped around y/n. "Did you think we were all lying before?" Y/n laughed, watching as Levi struggled to get salty water from his eyes.

He pulled his fist from his eye, finally looking at y/n. She was soaked, probably more than he was, but she was as radiant as could be, her eyes shining, her smile wide, and her hair blowing softly. He stared at her several seconds, lost in how beautiful she was. Sometimes he had a difficult time believing that someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him. "I love you." He clutched her tighter to him.

Her face became more serious, and she closed her mouth. Y/n gently put a wet thumb on his cheek. "I love you too, Levi." They stayed there, in that moment together.

"and yet I'm only your second favorite Ackerman." Y/n sighed, going to pull away, but Levi grabbed her and to her surprise he laughed.

"What's so funny?" Levi and y/n turned, Connie, Sasha, Jean, Hanje, Eren, Armin, and Mikasa all stood over them.

"None of your business, brats." Levi said, crossing his arms. The group shared a glance. "Oh, no, guys wait-" Connie, Sasha, Jean, Hanje, and Mikasa attacked, jumping to tackle them, splashing and creating a mini hurricane.

Armin and Eren watched, still standing. Armin was smiling, whilst Eren's expression still remained cautious. The tension he had carried moments before abandoned him though, and it seemed as though now for the small moment they had, they all realized- only now could they truly live it.

Today was today and that was all they had for certain.

"There's water in a place where water should definitely not be!"

"Don't make me drown you!"

"Who's foot is this?"

"What's gonna happen when we leave? Will we still be wet?"

"GODDAMNIT I KEEP SWALLOWING IT! WHY DOES IT BURN!"

"you all are no match for my skills- I am unconquerable!"

"Yeah, I'm never doing this again."

Armin turned to Eren. "Sometimes... sometimes I believe that it'll never get better than this." He took a breath and Eren put a hand on his shoulder. "Right now...I think...I think you may be right, Armin."

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A/n: hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this, feel free to request more Levi Ackerman or to give critism. Merry Christmas!

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

[alderaani]

Maybe a mixture of 65 and 58 with Wolffe or Rex please?

58 - Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed

65 - One Small Kiss, Pulling Away For An Instant, Then Devouring Each Other

A/N: from this prompt list! thanks so much for requesting something, i’ve been having a crisis of confidence over writing the past couple of weeks, but this got me back in some sort of groove. 

warnings: slight injury, canon-typical violence, very mildly suggestive. 

Wolffe x gn!reader:

He hasn’t spoken to you in hours. You eye the rigid line of his back across the hangar as he directs the men unloading munitions and salvaged equipment, the sharp, pointed motions of his hands and the angry jerks of his bucket as he snaps off orders spelling out his agitation.

“Maybe I should -,” you start, before Sinker interrupts, his hand on your shoulder forcing you back onto the crate you’re sat on, while one of the medics wraps your ankle. 

“Uh, no you shouldn’t,” he says. “Give him some time to cool off. You gave us a real fright out there, you know?”

You wince. It had been a split second decision down on the surface, an unexpected attack that had left you pushed at the edge of the camp and separated from the rest of the 104th with a new batch of shinies who hadn’t even earnt their paint yet. The detonators in your backpack seemed a better option than getting gunned down, but setting them had put you perilously close to the blast zone. You don’t remember much past the wave of heat and the sensation of flying; the next memory you have is waking up in the transport with your head in Sinker’s lap, his pinched face staring down at you.

“That’s what he’s mad about? But -,” you splutter, eyes darting between Sinker and Wolffe’s distant figure. “Would he have preferred I just wait to get shot?”

You go to stand again, but pushing against Sinker’s grip is like wrestling with an iron bar. The medic yanks on your trouser leg, too, grunting that you need to stay still. 

“Of course not. But, come on, you know he gets stupid about you. Think he’s more mad with himself that he let it happen.”

You frown. Now that doesn’t make any sense. “What? Sinker, what are you talking about? What you mean, he gets stupid about me?”

Sinker stares at you in silence for a couple of seconds, while the medic - Gruff, you think - shakes with laughter. 

“...Boost was right.” He shakes his head in bewilderment and a small amount of disgust. “I actually can’t believe it. You really are that oblivious. Maker, not a braincell between the pair of you.”

He eyes Gruff, who has finished with your ankle and has moved onto sluicing out the gash on your forearm to assess the damage.

“Can you believe this?” 

Gruff snorts. “I try not to believe anything around here, you leave me out of this, Sinker.” 

“What are you talking about?” You whine, glancing over at Wolffe again and jolting when instead of meeting the back of his helmet, you find his visor staring back. He stays like that for a second before stiffly turning away, his hands clenching into fists. You want to be angry, furious with him for pinning this on you, but instead you feel your eyes sting. Dropping your gaze, you sniff hard, blaming the way your throat constricts on the hard day rather than the furious set of Wolffe’s shoulder.

“Oh no, I’m not gonna be the one to let that tooka out of the bag,” Sinker laughs, then catches sight of your expression. “Hey, are you - osik. Look, he’ll come back round. He just doesn’t like getting scared.”

You’re about to snap something back, how you didn’t exactly enjoy almost getting blown up either, but if you speak you’re not sure if tears will come out instead. You’re saved by Gruff pushing to his feet.

“That arm needs stitches and if we get up to the medbay I can use a bone knitter on the ankle. Give me a hand, Sinker?”

You only look back once as they hoist you up between them, your stomach dropping like a stone when you find Wolffe is nowhere in sight.

-

Things seem only marginally better the other side of the fresher. It’s never the same without water, and you stayed under the sonics too long, trying to wash away the phantom feeling of grime, so now your skin feels tight and dry. All you want is to curl up in your bunk and sleep for the next several rotations, but rest won’t come. 

Every time you lie down all you can think about is Wolffe turning away from you, and then you spend the next twenty minutes oscillating hopelessly between rage and wanting to find him and apologise. 

The knock on your door is actually a relief - it pulls you away from sitting at your desk, rolling your comm in your hand and trying to convince yourself that typing out a message when you’re tired and emotional is a spectacularly bad idea.

At least, it��s a relief until you see who’s on the other side.

“Never, ever do that again.”

Wolffe looms over you, quietly furious, his bucket under one arm. You let go of the door controls and try to step backwards, but he follows, boxing you in between your desk and the wall. After a second of staring at him, jaw working soundlessly, rage floods through your bones to settle hot in your belly. 

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” You snap back. “You’re behaving like a child.”

Wolffe slams his helmet down on the desk, expression spasming. “Didn’t have - you could have died.”

“So could you!” You protest, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were being attacked, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Wolffe snarls, running an agitated hand through his hair. “And you decided to get yourself blown up.”

“To save the men!” You counter, pushing up close to him as anger outweighs intimidation. “You’d have rather I just let them get mown down by a pack of B1s?” 

Wolffe scowls and pushes in too, so that you’re chest to chest and glaring directly into each other’s faces. 

“ Of course not, I - They’re trained soldiers. Trust them to do their job next time and work with them instead of being a distraction.”

A distraction? The absolute nerve of him. You make a small shrieking noise in the back of your throat and drop backwards to try and relieve the urge to smack that stupid frown right off his face. What’s almost worse is that the words actually hurt. His attention and approval always mean so much to you, more than you’re willing to admit even to yourself. For him to treat you like a wayward child...it stings. Badly. And you never go down easy when you’re backed into a corner. 

“A distraction to who?” You spit. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass about this. The others have to make calls like that all the time and run the risk that it won’t work out, and you never go after them about it. What the hell makes me so different?”

Wolffe splutters. “Because - because -”

He breaks off and swears something in mando’a. For a second, you think he’s going to push you. His hand comes up, but instead of shoving it fists in your shirt and pulls. 

You stumble into him, his other hand catching your hip and pinning you against the plastoid, and you open your mouth to ask him what the hell he’s doing - 

His mouth slants over yours.

Your mind goes blank, screeching utterly to a halt. The world narrows down to the dry press of his lips, the heavy weight of his hands, and you cannot believe this is happening. Almost as quickly as it starts, though, Wolffe lets you go with a small gasp, so abruptly that it gives you whiplash.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes wide. His tongue darts out and touches the curve of his bottom lip. “I’m -”

In the half-second it takes for you to catch up, you realise several things: Wolffe just kissed you. He kissed you, and Sinker was right; you are both idiots. You would really like him to do it again, but instead the bastard is now trying to apologise for it. 

Without really considering it, you slide your hand round the back of his neck, sinking it into the hem of his blacks and tugging him back down. Your back hits the wall with an oomph as you press your lips urgently to his, pouring in every desperate month you’ve spent pining after him as your free hand scrabbles for purchase on his armour.

For a moment Wolffe is totally rigid, a taut line of shock, his lips stilled against your own. For a moment, you think you’ve completely fucked this up. But then he makes a noise, a little groan in the back of his throat, and his hand comes up against the wall next to your head, returning the kiss hungrily, desperately. His other arm snakes round your waist, and you could drown in him, you really could. His hand dips under the hem of your shirt and you gasp into his mouth at the warm touch. Wolffe huffs and licks in, the first slide of his tongue and the slick wet heat of his mouth electrifying something in your veins. You whine, high and needy, hitching upwards as far as you can. 

Without breaking contact Wolffe’s hands slide down over your ass, grasp under your legs and lift, wrapping them around his waist with only a small grunt at the effort. You pull his bottom lip into your mouth and graze lightly with your teeth, savouring the shudder that runs through his body before pressing back in, sealing your lips together as he moves, carrying you with him.

He stumbles backwards, hands steady under your thighs, until his knees hit the back of your bunk. Then he goes down, catching you so that you land with your legs either side of his body. It dislodges your mouths and he stares up at you, his eyes wide, his lips kiss-bruised, a flush high in his cheeks. 

“Shit,” he says again, but his voice is soft and dazed. You laugh softly as he clears his throat, hand coming up to thumb over your cheekbone. “I, uh, guess we’ve got some things to talk about.”

“Yeah, but later.” you say, leaning in and stealing another kiss. “Much later.”

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