#the other heels were very stiff and hard to position anyways

[kismetmoon]

another redesign just for you bbg, on the house

[ID: a digital drawing of an original, stylised Flatland character named Chief Jr on a beige background.

Chief is a circle with black limbs, an eye with a glossy eyelid in the centre of his body and a long tail that ends in a vaguely flame-shaped tip. His body has a light and dark grey crescent moon pattern and he is wearing a simple black crown on his top side.

He is facing the left with his right arm held out in front of him. In his right hand, he is holding a cigarette holder between his clawed fingers with a lit cigarette that has smoke trailing from it. His left arm is crossed over the other and his eyelid is lowered in a relaxed expression. His tail is curved into a sideways S-shape beneath him.

End ID].

[229zmi]

HEAD OVER HEELS

PAIRING: Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader

CONTENT: confessions, friends to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.0k

“We need to talk.”

“Holy shit,” are the first words that escape your mouth moments after you open the door and step a singular foot into the hallway.

Before the person in front of you even has the chance to react to your very kind and courteous reaction, you proceed to slowly slide your foot back inside the classroom you were just about to exit, the noise of your sneakers scraping over the metal frame piercing the silence. Kuroo stifles a laugh behind his hand, smoothly playing it off as a cough.

Right as you’re about to shut the door, he swiftly sticks a foot in the doorway and then side shuffles his way in like a crab, all while combatting your feeble attempts to squash him with the door. Once you realise this guy isn’t going anywhere without a word with you, you give up with an aggravated sigh and step aside, giving him the Kubrick stare as he strolls past you.

You’re still glaring at him when he takes a seat on top of one of the desks, using the chair as a foot rest.

The table’s long enough that the two of you could comfortably sit side-by-side on it. He gestures to the empty space beside him, yet you don’t budge an inch from your spot. Instead, you opt to exhibit main character syndrome by crossing your arms and leaning against the wall at an uncomfortable angle. Seconds later, though, you shift your position, awkwardly shuffling to more comfortable pose.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Kuroo says in a stiff manner that leads you to believe he’s got a pre-written speech that he skimmed over only once before shoving it in his pockets. He glances around the room, everywhere but you. Fidgets with his watch, twisting it around and around his wrist. Clears his throat, before speaking up again when it becomes obvious you have nothing to say in response. “Actually— it’s been almost a month since we last talked. Now if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

He raises an eyebrow as if to silently question you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you announce haughtily. You pretend to think long and hard by simultaneously placing a finger on your chin and averting your gaze to one of the cobwebbed corners of the ceiling as you rack your brain for any memory of a conversation with him over these past few weeks. Come to think of it, he’s right, as much as you’d rather not admit that right now. The number of words exchanged between you and Kuroo has been… low, as of lately.

But not zero.

You snap your fingers and smile at your newfound eureka moment. “We talked during our physics lab last Tuesday.”

All he gives you is a placid stare because he’s not really believing what you’re saying right now. Slowly, he responds, “I asked if I could borrow a pencil from you and you said no.”

“‘Cause I didn’t have an extra one.” Lies. Kuroo knows of your susceptibility to ordering cute stationery from sketchy websites online and bringing all of them with you everywhere you go. Nonetheless, he holds back on calling out your fib. “It’s still talking anyway, so I don’t really see the problem,” you say.

“…Okay, then I rescind my sentence. It’s been almost a month since we’ve last had an actual conversation,” he corrects himself, his tone hinting at the tiniest bit of spite. “My point still stands. You haven’t been answering any of my calls or texts. All of a sudden, you go out of your way to sit on the opposite side of the classroom instead of your usual seat next to me. And every time I see you around on campus, you turn around and speed-walk in the other direction before I can even wave hi to you. It’s like watching on you move at 2x speed every time.”

He holds up two fingers and then wriggles them upside down in a way that’s supposed to mimic your alleged speed-walking. Clearly unimpressed, your upper lip curls into a scowl.

“Sounds a lot to me like avoidance, unless you’re purposely playing hard-to-get all of a sudden.”

“Those are some bold allegations.“

“Sure. Maybe they are.” He doesn’t bother arguing with you on that, which you believe is out of the ordinary, and it leaves an unsettling feeling in your gut. In all the years you’ve known him, you can’t remember the last time he agreed with you just like that, no debate or annoying remarks or anything, because it’s always been like this: you say literally anything with no evidence or explanation, and he plays pretend as someone having PhD in whatever it is that you’re talking about.

Maybe, you think dejectedly, you really did ruin your years-long friendship that one fateful day, the day you accidentally had one too many drinks and ended up spewing into the air a mix of vomit, nonsensical philosophies, and a confession you didn’t mean to ever let loose from the sanctuary of your heart. Maybe, things are changing, for the worse; and maybe, a rejection is going to come hurtling at your face soon, sometime in next couple minutes— that is, if you make it through the rest of this conversation without actually exploding internally. Either that, or power-walking away like a coward, the way you’ve been doing for the past month.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watch as Kuroo leans back, bracing his hand against the surface of the table. You think this is the moment; this is when he’ll say something along the vague lines of the two of you just staying friends and leave it at that, and for the weeks that follow afterward, you’ll mull around in your room, sulking over your very first heartbreak until the motivation hits and you get the coming-of-age movie glow-up you’ve always dreamed of.

However, the next thing you hear out of him is far worse than anything you could imagine, making the warmth in your cheeks flare up the second his words register to you — or rather, your words.

“But maybe they’re not as bold as you the day right before you started avoiding me, when you said, and I quote, ‘Tetsurō,’” he pitches his voice to sound more like yours, though the impression is done exaggeratedly, “‘I think I’m falling in love with you.’”

???? Why did he do that.

The nerve of this man. You want to scream. Punch the wall. Kick him in the face. Because if the embarrassment that crushed you like a hydraulic press the morning after your confession was enough to almost kill you, this just brought you straight to your grave without warning, burying you six feet under. You start mentally counting all his eyebrow hairs, partly because you can’t stand to see that heinously satisfied look in his eyes right now, but also because you hope your sudden focus on the forehead region of his face will at least dwindle his confidence by a little bit.

(Though, perhaps the less vengeful part of you is glad to see the familiar smug Kuroo you know so well, as opposed to the prior Kuroo who looked like he hadn’t taken a shit in several weeks.)

“You really suck,” you drawl, finally shifting your attention away from his eyebrows only to send him a glare. “Do you think my feelings are a joke?”

His lips morph into a frown. “Hey, no. I wasn’t—“ He shakes his head, then tries to reassure you, “I don’t think your feelings are a joke, and I’m sorry I made it seem that way. I brought it up only because I wasn’t sure whether you remembered or not and I was wondering if you really meant it.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“At first, I wasn’t going to talk about it with you, especially if you weren’t going to bring it up first, but then you started avoiding me and… [Y/n], I miss you a lot. I miss waking up to your texts and pictures of the ugly squirrels outside your window.” (You mutter something under your breath about how they aren’t that ugly.) “I miss sitting next to you and watching you switch between twenty different pens and highlighters during class.” (You bet he misses switching the caps of your highlighters, too, whenever you’re not looking.) “And I hate acting like we’re strangers whenever I see you on campus because, as funny as it is, it hurts a lot right here.”

He places a hand over his heart with a wounded expression. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you simply let out a dejected sigh.

“I.. I’ve missed you too,” you admit reluctantly. You twiddle your fingers and avert your eyes, wallowing in the awkward silence that ensues after. Kuroo seems to be thinking, centring his analytical gaze onto you as if trying to read your thoughts.

“Did you mean it? What you said at that party last month?”

Wow! Suddenly, that clock on the wall looks super interesting. “You know, my next class starts in a few minutes, I should really get going. See you—“

“I know your schedule,” he cuts in, his tone carrying a certain degree of slyness to it. “You don’t have class until four.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Weirdo.”

“Liar,” he retorts with a sickly sweet smile. For the second time in this conversation, you get the violent urge to scream, punch the wall, and kiss— sorry, kick him in the face all at once.

There’s another silence that follows and that you believe is the worst one you’ve sat through in a while, even worse than the silence you experienced in your first year after mispronouncing the word ‘organism’ during a presentation. You chew the inside of your cheek, feeling your heart thump wildly against your chest. He waits expectantly.

He really isn’t going to let this go.

“I did mean it,” you say eventually. Eugh, yuck! Even just admitting that already makes you want to coil into yourself. “You make me so sick to my stomach with your shitty grin and your shitty charm and your shitty hair, and sometimes I wonder what heinous crime or sin I committed in a past life to deserve this feeling because it never goes away, only gets worse the more we hang out and—“

“Woah, woah, woah. Hold on.” There’s a look of incredulity on his face, almost offended.

“…What?” you say.

“You called my hair shitty.” Again, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes, instead settling for a less-than-impressed expression. “I can’t believe you’d lie and say something like that. It’s practically a fine art, getting it to look like this, you know.”

“I’m sure it is.” You straighten your back and abruptly push yourself off the wall before ungracefully shuffling to the side, towards the door. “Well. We talked. You got your answer. Soooo, I am departing. Goodbye.”

“Wait.” He stands up and chases after you, nearly colliding with your back when you suddenly stop and turn around. There appears to be an unspoken agreement as soon as the both of you realise the amount of space in between your faces: mere inches. Neither of you seem willing to back away. “Before you go, I have something else to tell you.”

“Make it quick.”

A light laugh from him brushes against your nose. You try not to think about it. “You’re in that much of a hurry to get away from me already?”

Your face feels unbearably warm. “Shut up.”

“How sweet of you,” he coos, reaching up to pinch your cheek affectionately. Despite your irritated expression, you make no effort to swat his hand away.

He then leans in close, a debonair grin dancing at the corners of his mouth as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. However, you note that in your peripheral vision, his ears are tinted red and in spite of his confident, teasing front, he still sounds the tiniest bit abashed as he whispers, “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”

[cdroloisms]

Do you consider a possibility that c!Punz never betrayed c!Dream in the first place and whole "I'm sorry, Dream -- but you should have paid me more" thing was a facade and undercover for Punz? Like Dream said that Punz should not associated with him, so it was intentional-

staged disc finale theory my beloved !!! :D it’s definitely one of my favorite theories, though i’m still holding out (for now) as for believing super firmly in one direction or another (tho the staged finale is definitely the one i prefer for Many reasons, haha.) c!punz is so so fun no matter if the betrayal was intentional or not, but oh boyyyy if it was something planned ,,, man . 

*c!dream voice, after quackity starts visiting*: the risk i took was calculated, but man am i bad at math. 

anyway c!punz and c!dream interactions make me soft as heck so have this !!

tw: implied torture, abuse, violence, blood, injuries, emotional distress, panicking, dehumanization, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy mindsets, illness, trauma, flashbacks, starvation mention, suicide mention, death mentions, dark content, dark imagery, prison arc/pandora’s vault themes, c!quackity critical/dark portrayal of c!quackity

Dream comes to in vague moments and flashes. 

There’s a hand brushing over his forehead, too gentle to be Quackity or the Warden, not Techno because Techno is Gone and he has Left and won’t come again, running through the sweat-soaked locks and pulling them back out of his forehead. He’s unbearably hot, shifting around on the ground, only barely registering it moving beneath him. Water, cool and clear, is tipped in between his lips, quenching his thirst and easing the dryness of his mouth. Someone speaks, voice low and rumbling, and even though he’s unable to make out the words, there’s something about the cadence of them and the specific rhythm in which they move and rise and dip that is bone-achingly familiar, enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Through it all, there is always something, someone, lingering in the edges of his vision, a shadow standing near and watching over him; part of him remembers Quackity, remembers the Warden, and recoils in fright; another part of him remembers Techno, remembers the barest flashes of a life before obsidian and lava and pain and hell, and wants nothing more than to get closer. 

When the fog in his head finally clears away enough to think, the first coherent thought he has is oh fuck, I need to piss. 

Which, out of all possible things to think, is probably up there as one of the worst, and he’s sure that when his head feels a little less like it’s trying to actively kill him (ha, let it- it’s far from the first to try) the panic will settle in as it always does. As it is, he’s exhausted, and hungry, and he really really needs to pee- so he forces his eyes open to move away from where he’s probably still stuck in a puddle of dried blood in the middle of his cell.

The second coherent thought he has is this: this isn’t Pandora. 

The realization has him thoroughly awake, eyes snapping open out of his previous fatigue to take in his surroundings, feet kicking out to the weight on top of them that he hadn’t even noticed was there, panicking against his restraints that end up not being restraints at all, giving way easily under his thrashing and resolving to what appears to be a thick blanket when he has the mind to look. With the covers gone off of whatever he’s lying on (a bed?) he’s suddenly, unbearably cold - the prison has always been hot, the lava baking into him and leaving his skin sticky with sweat, and he thinks that the room he’s in is probably not meant to feel like a fucking freezer, but after months of being one wrong step away from heatstroke, anything cooler than the goddamn Nether feels like literal ice against his skin. The room is wooden and cozy and oddly familiar, an open door leading to what appears to be a bathroom and a closed one going who knows where, window panes built into the opposite wall to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice room, all things considered, and Dream fucking hates it. 

He pulls himself to his feet, cursing at the wobbly edge to his stance when he finally manages to stand, his vision wavering dangerously in time to the spinning of his head. His eyes flick between the two doors - he still needs to go to the bathroom, and using it now will lessen the amount of things to get in the way of his escape in the future - but at the same time, there's no knowing when people will come to (hurt him, beat him, starve him, punish him, leaving him bruised and bleeding and half-dead on the floor just as he deserves) him and he needs all the time he can get to get the hell away. In the end, he slinks into the bathroom, ignoring the thudding in his chest as he does so - at the very least, the cabinets in the thing might provide him with some manner of a weapon. 

He’s only just past the door on the way out - a fucking broomstick in his hand because it’s all he could find - when his ears catch on the sound of metal clicking against each other and his eyes fall on the knob of the other door shaking as someone makes their way in. All at once, panic slams into him - goddammit, he should’ve just run when he had the chance - and he directs quick, desperate glances at the window. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, he can book it out of there and disappear into the trees; it’ll hurt, but it’ll be better than getting caught. Anything would be better than getting caught-

 “Dream?” 

Dream blinks. All at once, the same feeling of getting the air punched out of him returns, but combined with something warm and floaty wrapping around his chest, something almost a little like relief - and hell, if that isn’t something he’s not felt for a while. 

“Punz?” 

Punz is standing in the doorway, hoodie rumpled, expression more than a little frazzled; Dream’s breath hitches at the sight of the sword strapped to his side, but their face holds none of the harsh edges and cold-dark-hard hatred that had characterized the Warden and Quackity’s visits, mouth slightly parted and eyes shining with nothing but what appears to be shock and concern. The sight of them, again, nearly has Dream dizzy, a swell of tangled, unexplainable emotion rising to the back of his throat as he sways on his feet. He hadn’t thought that he would see Punz again, he realizes, had never thought he’d see his stupid gold chain and his stupid outfit he never bothered changing, ever, or that same lopsided smirk and pale blue eyes- the last time he’d seen them, it was in that vault, their mouth twisted up in the act the two of them had decided on and eyes shimmering with unease and regret; as far as goodbyes went, it wasn’t the worst, not when Punz was one of the few to never leave him, not really, not when something ached in their expression other than the hatred that had colored all of the other expressionless faces watching him die. Months later, alone in Pandora, he must’ve grown resigned, or something, the repeated reminders that he would die alone and afraid and it would be nothing more than he deserved settling into his skin and against his bones; Punz’s expression twists, visible even across the room, and- oh. 

They must’ve thought the same thing, too.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Punz asks, finally, and Dream decides not to point out the way his voice cracks harshly in the middle, especially when the other man strides forward and starts to awkwardly herd him back in the direction of the bed - covers still thrown to the floor - in the middle of the room. Dream lets them, not replying because he doesn’t really know where to even begin describing the tangled knot of panic and shock that had strung his muscles tense when he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, not knowing if he can really describe it all at all, trying his best not to flinch at the hands flitting in the corners of his vision as he falls back into a sitting position onto the bed. His fingers settle into the mattress, pressing into the bedsheets cautiously and marveling when they fall away under the pressure. Punz watches him, expression odd, gathers the blankets from the ground and presses them over and around him in a way that’s entirely awkward but does leave him warmer than he’d been before, before walking back on his heels with an odd expression that makes Dream’s insides twist. 

“You,” Punz says after a long second, voice wavering, “are a fucking idiot,” and it’s all the warning Dream gets before a white-and-black blur is rushing towards him, arms wrapping around his chest and his vision whites out in alarm and panic. When the pain doesn’t come, he comes back to his senses enough to realize that Punz’s arms are still wrapped around him, shoulders shaking as he holds him close but not painfully, careful not to pull too much against the places on his ribs and back that leave him gasping with small shocks of pain, head pressed against the crook of Dream’s neck and hair tickling his face. Dream can feel his heart hammering in his chest, but as the panic dies something warm and long-neglected stirs in the middle of his chest, and he melts forward with a quiet hum. This is- nice. Really, really nice. 

“What were you thinking?” Punz mutters, too quiet to really be directed at him, hands curling tighter into the folds of the hoodie - oh, he’s wearing one of those, not the same stiff, bloodstained material of the prison uniform that had chafed against his skin, another constant source of pain and discomfort of thousands in the hell that had been Pandora’s Vault  - on him, and Dream doesn’t really know what to do except sit there and blink dumbly, listening to the heartbeat of the person leaning against him rumbling against his ears. It’s oddly calming, has the pressure on his chest lightening enough to take a full breath, and then another, the warmth of someone leaning against him almost too much but not enough at the same time - his eyes burn, and he ignores them. 

“I-” he doesn’t really think that Punz was really asking a question, but just ignoring his question seems rude, too, and even despite the fuzzy warmth settling into his skin and into his bones from the pressure of Punz’s arms around his body and their head against his shoulder, he’s still unable to shake the anxiety of leaving a query unanswered, a constant murmur to listen obey do as you’re told or you’re going to regret it put on a damn good show or suffer the consequences remaining no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He wets his lips when his mouth feels too dry to keep speaking, eyes fluttering closed as he leans forward further, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You-” Punz cuts themselves off with a wet, incredulous-sounding laugh that has Dream jerking back despite himself, meeting their ice-cold eyes when they pull themselves back to look at him. He doesn’t really recognize the expression he wears, Dream realizes with a jolt, the way his lips are pressed together and the churning in his eyes, and his lungs seize in his chest. 

“Sir-”

If anything, Punz’s expression only seems to harden, and the warmth disappears as Dream looks into their eyes - cold, two polished shards of ice, frosted over pools of water in the middle of the tundra, flinty and sharp and brilliant blue. His hands shake as he pulls them back to his chest, trembling from the chill that’s made its home in his muscles and frozen them in place - sir sorry sir please don’t hurt me im sorry please I didn’t mean to

“Fuck, Dream,” he shakes his head, and only then does Dream see the slight wobble to their bottom lip, the waver to their words like they’re struggling to keep themselves together, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 What?

You almost died, you know,” he keeps going, not meeting his eyes as they direct their gaze out the window, “Several times, honestly. Fucking hell- when Techno brought you out- I didn’t think you would survive. I didn’t think anyone could survive that.” 

Dream swallows. He doesn’t remember getting out, doesn’t really remember much at all if he’s being honest; there was the black of the cell, the heat of the lava, Techno promising to get him out before disappearing in a flash of purple, Quackity throwing him against the wall (Where the fuck did Techno go? You better have a fuckin’ answer, pal, if you want your death to be anything resemblin’ quick-) then nothing. Everything. His heart hammering in his chest and blood slick against his skin and the press of metal against his windpipe and pain, the only constant within it all, the only thing that made any goddamn sense when the room seemed to flip and turn and twist and his feelings knotted and frayed between anger-betrayal-distress-sadness-fear-grief, when reality swirled into a dizzying blur of colors and feelings and sounds carving themselves into the inside of his skull- then here. Dream flexes his hand experimentally, marveling at the feeling - the pain is almost gone. 

He’d forgotten how it felt, really, to live and not hurt. 

“Dream,” Punz calls again, voice low and worried, and Dream can’t help the way his head snaps up to meet their eyes and can’t help the flinch that twists his neck back when their frown deepens. It’d been a show, at least he tells himself, because Quackity would stop earlier if he screamed more, but- his hands tremble at his sides, twisted into the sheets of the bed, a near-constant litany of reminders and rules beating like they have a heart of their own in the back of his head. It was a show- he feels himself almost buckle, give in under the force of the stare leveled at him, and hates himself for how weak he feels, pinned under the eyes trained on his own. He’s not sure how much of a show it is anymore. 

“Dream,” Punz repeats, words even softer, and the ugly feeling of shame and anger twists inside Dream’s chest again. Punz- ever unflappable, deadly with almost any weapon and never letting anyone see him as anything but deliberately apathetic - is watching him with an expression so uncharacteristically and unbearably gentle that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “You could’ve died,” he says once again, and the look that paints his face is so terribly vulnerable, feelings pouring over like a cup overfilled, bubbling forward and bleeding from every corner, and Dream- can’t. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of such stark emotion, doesn’t know how how to handle the way his eyes burn and his heart throbs like an exposed nerve, the way everything yawns wide in the middle of his chest into void and emptiness and pain so deeply carved in the space within his ribs that he half-thinks he’s been hollowed out entirely.

“But I didn’t.” 

Punz pulls back, but Dream isn’t looking at him, is staring at the scarred surfaces of the backs of his hands and the knobs of his knuckles sticking out against the thinned-out skin and the yellowed nails he’s pushing against the blanket, the fourth and fifth ones of his right hand missing. They shake, no matter how long he looks at them and how hard he tries to make them stay still, and he can feel a voice whispering in the back of his mind, tone too familiar to ignore. Weak. 

“I didn’t die,” he says when Punz doesn’t reply, looking at his scarred hands, weak hands, broken hands. “So it’s okay. We can keep- we can keep going.”

“Dream-” their voice is a blade scraping against an anvil, nails scraping over his ribs, his hands clamping over his ears before he’s realized he’s moved and his brain screaming at him for doing so once he realizes that he has, “-what the fuck are you talking about?” 

Still, he hadn’t survived months of Quackity’s visits by bending over the second he was pushed, so he forces his tongue to move from where it’s fallen to the bottom of his mouth like lead, feels his eyes go steely even from under the way his vision has already begun to wobble. 

“It’s not over yet,” he continues, trying to keep his words even, “‘cause I didn’t die, so we’re not done. I gotta- we have to reevaluate, of course,” he can’t stop, because the second he stops talking is the second he falls apart, so he ignores the way that Punz stiffens and stills and doesn’t let anything stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth, “because the vault and the prison- um, obviously didn’t go as planned, but it’s fine. Just a minor- um, minor inconvenience. A setback- but it’s not- it’s not unsalvageable- we just have to-”

“Are you kidding me?” Punz cuts him off with a sharp laugh, disbelieving and just on the wrong side of desperate, and the air in Dream’s lungs freezes into a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest, “you- you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Punz?”

Dream’s voice comes out small, himself shrinking back into the bed, keenly aware, suddenly, of how there is nowhere he can go to run - Punz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s spoken at all, one of his hands moving up to tug through his hair, which is - now that Dream is looking - fluffier and messier than he remembers, sticking up in all directions like they didn’t bother to smooth it down.

“You think this is fine? You think that because you didn’t fucking die, that this is all okay?” Punz’s voice rises in volume slowly, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to go hard and unyielding like a threat, and with each word every remnant of the vault comes crawling, clawing back up to the front of his head, a pounding reminder to play his role, put on a show, behave behave behave-

“Goddammit, Dream,” Punz startles him out of his own thoughts, looking straight into his eyes with their ice-blue ones, “have you seen yourself?”

 Have you seen yourself? Lying down in your own goddamn filth like a fucking mutt- prime, you disgust me. 

“Your ribs were basically shattered. Your legs had fractures on both sides, and your back was so fucking torn up that it looked like more blood than skin. You’ve been starved- enough for me to see every goddamn bone in your body, it feels like. Your throat was bruised to hell- I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to speak again, fuck, and like a day after we got here you got fucking pneumonia.” Punz’s breath hitches, “Your skin was a literal fucking oven- I thought you’d bake yourself from the inside out. You could’ve died- you should’ve died.”

 You should’ve died a hell of a long time ago, pal- should’ve saved us all the fucking trouble and offed yourself like Wilbur fucking Soot.

He flinches, and this, Punz seems to notice, eyes widening a fraction before they pitch their voce lower, clearly taking a few breaths to calm down and reaching forward to take one of Dream’s hands loosely in his own, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles. 

“You’re not fine,” he says after a long while, shaking his head. “Hell- I’m not fine. But we’re not doing anything like- like the vault or the prison again, dude. I told you they were shit ideas- fuck. We never should’ve done that.”

“It was worth it,” Dream butts in, because he can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t, can’t imagine a world where all of that was for nothing, “it was worth it-” 

“No it fucking wasn’t, are you out of your mind?” Punz replies immediately, voice overlapping over Dream’s own, “have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? You- look at you! How was that worth it?”

Dream shakes his head stubbornly, already feeling the way his jaw is trembling around the words he forces himself to speak. “The server- it was all for the server-”

“Fuck the server!” 

Punz seems startled by their own shout, drawing back at the same time Dream does, breathing ragged. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, bringing his hand to his face as Dream sits stock still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Fuck the fucking server, okay?” Punz says, finally, voice cracking in the middle, “You lost two damn lives for this server. You got fucking tortured for fucking months for this shitstain of a server. Just- fuck them. I’m not watching you tear yourself to fucking shreds for this- not again. I can’t sit around and watch you fucking die again, Dream, I can’t drag you out bleeding out in my fucking arms again- fuck-” Punz shakes their head, and oh. They’re crying. 

“No more. Fuck the server. I’m done, Dream- we’re done with them.” 

Dream blinks, so thoroughly surprised that he thinks the shock knocked him straight out of the building panic attack, leaving nothing but a slight thrumming of anxiety still simmering beneath his skin. Almost instinctually, in a motion he doesn’t really remember but still has the muscle memory for, he opens his arms- and in a similar, near-unconscious response, Punz tumbles into his arms. 

He blinks, not moving his arms to curl around the other, feeling the weight of another person against his again and the sound of their breathing and relearning them both. This is- new, for both of them. Dream was never emotional, not before the prison, not that he wanted to be after it either- but Quackity always had a particular affinity for tearing him apart, shard by shard. And Punz- he’d never been like this, even back in the day, when things were easier and they didn’t bear the constant burden of netherite against their backs. They’d always been stoic, sharp, sarcastic, cool and dry in a way that chafed against Sapnap’s fire and always led to Dream laughing at them sooner or later. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, feeling the heat behind his eyes finally sear too hot and boil over, tears squeezing through his closed eyes and falling down his face. 

“Okay,” he says, finally, and there’s nothing easy about the acquiescence, not when he had poured blood and sweat and the better half of himself into this place, salted the earth with his tears until no more would come and nothing else would grow. He thinks that he will have more to think and more to say and more to protest come the next days, that the binds between him and his goals have been weaved too deep with the fibers of his soul for him to tear them free without sacrificing what broken pieces of himself he has left, but all he can think right now is how fucking tired he is. He remembers Techno’s voice, going through myth after myth to pass time in the prison, and thinks with something like humor and something like grief - let someone else be Atlas for a day. The sky is too heavy right now. Punz’s arms tighten around his body, enough to remind him that they’re there but not enough to press at his still-healing ribs, and he thinks that they might understand. “Okay.” 

[willwriteforhugs]

you saved me- park seonghwa

seonghwa x reader - one shot !

word count: 2k

genre: fluff, meet-cute

synopsis: a busy and cold winter day leads you to a (very close) brush with death. but a stranger seems to be in just the right place at just the right time...

warnings: mentions of loneliness, near car accident (nothing too serious)

a/n: 

me as i open tumblr with the intent of actually posting for once: god i need to go post something so i feel less bad about being alive

so, anyways. first seonghwa fic- which is really just a long drabble. i always knew i wanted a seonghwa meet-cute, and this idea just seemed to suit him... please remember that this is for entertainment purposes only, though, so be respectful! (also, ^^^THIS genre of seonghwa pic, with the grainy filter and the tan...bruh...)

 anyways, i hope you enjoy, and as always- thank you for reading :)

- - -

your breath comes out in short, angry puffs, which you can see reflected in the cold afternoon air. the temperature in seoul is absolutely freezing, and you are not dressed for it. when you had left for work this morning, (in your standard sweater + jeans combo) you clearly were not anticipating that the sky would dump snow all day long. you long desperately for your warm winter coat.

so now, here you are: jogging, but only as quickly as you feel is safe in this weather. your condo is only a few blocks down- hence why you had walked in the first place, and why you hadn’t brought cash to pay for a bus. but god, the cold is just piercing.

the streets are practically empty, because of the terrible weather. so, at the very least, you are spared the embarrassment of having to waddle awkwardly on the ice in front of others.

but, to add to the stress- your day had seriously not gone as planned.

 when you first took it, you thought that the simple receptionist job would be easy- and doubly so with the convenient location. but these past few weeks were proving you wrong, today especially. while being distracted by coworkers, you accidentally put an important client on a somewhat permanent hold, and ruined a potential sale. as if that wasn’t enough, the next call you routed to a completely different office by mistake, earning you a strict talking to by the supervisor. 

so, to put it plainly: you were tired, annoyed, and cold. so. freaking. cold.

heaving a sigh, you continue your jog/waddle towards your street corner, which is two intersections away. faintly, you can hear a city bus approaching, the one that always stops near your work building. from where you are standing, the bus will be driving perpendicular to you, and you cock your head in thought. you don’t need the shuttle itself, since you live so close, but you wonder how close the bus is now...

feeling a sudden burst of energy, you speed up a bit, challenging yourself to beat the bus to the empty corner, even though you know it won’t stop there. this is something you do often- set up little games for yourself. it’s mostly an attempt to stay busy, but- though you’d never admit it, it helps with the loneliness too. when you race against the clock (say, to make a speedrun to the copy room at work) it almost feels like you are competing against an old friend.

you obviously know that you can’t beat the bus, but the thought itself is entertaining, so you throw caution to the wind. your feet slap the pavement as you run, and you hear yourself laugh a little. the cold air rushing by your cheeks helps distract you from your own thoughts.

you sprint through an empty intersection, and as you approach the final corner- having obviously lost the race to the bus- you begin to slow down a bit. but as you near the end of the sidewalk, (which is parallel to the moving bus, whose hulking body is getting ready to pass you) you feel your previous momentum get the better of you. 

you stumble off of the curb- and right into a vicious patch of ice on the waiting asphalt. 

it happens in slow motion: your feet slide harshly backwards, and you scramble for any traction- but to no avail. you hear yourself cry out as you fall forward, right into the path of the oncoming shuttle.

you slam your eyes shut.

but instead of hitting the ground, or the bus, a sudden weight catches you around your middle and lurches backwards. you scream again, certain you’ve already died.

you hear the sound of the bus honking as it speeds by- the only thing traveling faster than it is your frantic pulse.

you hit the ground hard, with all of your weight on your left shoulder and hip. even so, you start with the relief of knowing the bus didn’t even graze you. 

only after a moment do you realize why it hadn’t.

someone had caught you.

grabbed you from behind, and used their whole body weight to get the two of you to safety. 

you lurch forward, startled. as you turn around, you see him lying on the ground, in the same position you were in just seconds before- and you meet the eyes of the person who’d just saved you. 

it’s a man- a young one. and good god, he’s beautiful, too. the boy on the ground before you is seriously the epitome of korean beauty- large, dark eyes, an open face, and full lips. as soon as he opens his mouth, you wonder at how his teeth could possibly be so perfect.

it takes you a moment of staring before you realize he’s speaking to you. 

“um.” your voice breaks. “what?”

the boy scrambles onto his knees, shuffling towards you. “i asked if you’re alright- are you hurt?” his voice is concerned, and his hands flutter about your face- too wary to touch you, but clearly wanting to.

his eyes are more genuine than you can even take in, and you hesitate at the whole scene- what the hell is happening? did you hit your head?

you stutter, trying to make sense of the situation. the boy leans back on his heels as you finally catch your breath. 

your words are breathy, but deliberate. “you- you saved me.”

the boy tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “yes, i suppose i did.” a beat passes before he continues. his eyes, though now bordering on playful, still look worried. “you probably shouldn’t be running in this sort of weather.”

you heave a sigh that comes out in a laugh. “yeah, i realize that now.”

your counterpart picks himself up off the ground, brushing off his front. he then extends a hand towards you. you stare at it for a moment, confused. for a moment, he looks down at you intently, waiting. your puzzlement passes, and you blush as you cautiously place your palm in his, allowing him to help you up. 

“i’m seonghwa, by the way. park seonghwa.” the man- no, seonghwa looks down at you, letting his sentence hang.

you clear your throat, feeling a harsh wave of embarrassment at the situation. “um- i’m y/n.”

seonghwa nods at you, taking a step back. his brow is furrowed. “well, y/n-ssi- you didn’t actually tell me if you were hurt or not. do you feel dizzy? nauseous?”

you throw your hands up in protest, not wanting to cause any more distress than you already had. “no, uh- i’m fine, really. maybe a little bruised, but i’m okay. i think it would be a bigger problem if you were hurt...”

you are not exaggerating- you can only imagine the guilt you would feel if he’d been injured. 

seonghwa represses a smile. “i’m alright too. you did startle me, though. thought i was about to witness something pretty terrible...”

at this, you give a surprised chuckle. “yeah, i’m so sorry...you really came out of nowhere, huh? i seriously didn’t even know you were there until i was on the ground!”

this time, it’s his turn to laugh. “yeah, those bus stops provide great cover.”

the two of you settle into a stiff silence, and you can practically hear your heart pounding- both with leftover adrenaline, as well as the sudden nerves that seonghwa was giving you.

“here,” he says, breaking the quiet. “take this.” he shrugs off his long winter coat, and before you can argue, he’s reached over and settled it on your shoulders. the relief is near instantaneous, but you find yourself a bit too tongue-tied to thank him.

you sigh again, determined to get the words out. “oh, god, i really am so sorry about that, um-” you stutter. “i really should thank you, for the coat. but also-” you take a deep breath. “thank you, park seonghwa, for saving my life.”

at this, the man actually blushes. he reaches a hand to rub the back of his neck. “no, really, it was just a gut reaction...”

you shake your head, insistent. “it doesn’t matter. i could have died, but you prevented that. now-” you can feel yourself gaining confidence. “what can i do to repay you?”

seonghwa’s face, which had previously harbored a look of child-like innocence, suddenly turns mischievous. 

you tilt your head, indicating an answer.

his smug smile is full now, chin tilted upwards. “i actually do have a request.”

“okay, shoot.”

“you’ll do anything i ask?”

you frown, narrowing your eyes in an almost flirtatious way. “i suppose i have a few limits...”

to your surprise, seonghwa interrupts you, eyes twinkling. “you’ll repay me- by allowing me to take you out on a date, y/n.”

your mind goes fully blank for a moment. 

...huh?

you blink in shock, not being able to suppress your initial reaction. “wait, come again?”

“will you go on a date with me?”

you stare at him- this terrifyingly beautiful man was asking you on a date? after you’d fully humiliated yourself in front of him? what on earth?

suddenly, before you can even finish the thought, you find yourself nodding. “i suppose i can arrange that.”

seonghwa’s smile is completely smug at this point. “does tonight work?”

you bite your lip, heart pounding despite the chilly weather. your voice comes out in a whisper: “yes, i suppose tonight works.”

seonghwa tries to bury his smile and looks at the ground. “that’s great.” he pauses, allowing his gaze to flit back to you. “do you- i hope this doesn’t sound weird, but do you want me to walk you home?”

you smile, but shake your head. “it’s alright, i live close. here- i’ll give you my number, though.”

you dig through your work satchel for a piece of paper and scribble your phone number on it. when you extend it, he accepts the slip, still trying to suppress his grin.

a beat passes, and the two of you look at each other intently.

and with that, seonghwa reaches down and gently takes your hand, glancing at your face to make sure the action is alright with you. when you don’t pull away, he lifts it up and presses a soft kiss to the top of your hand, holding your gaze the entire time. his lips are cold, an unlikely and romantic nod to the temperature.

you feel your neck and cheeks go red, but you smile in an attempt to seem casual. “thanks again, seonghwa. for helping me.”

“of course.” the man’s eyes are twinkling again. “as grim as it sounds, i’m sort of glad it happened. if it hadn’t, i probably wouldn’t be talking with you right now.”

you smirk in what you hope is a flirtatious manner. 

“well,” he continues. “don’t let me keep you. after all, you’ve got a date to get ready for.”

seonghwa begins to walk away, then turns back. “although,” he calls over his shoulder. “i’m pretty sure the guy you’re meeting with won’t care what you’re wearing. you could probably show up in your pajamas and he’d still think you were gorgeous. just for the record.”

before you could manage an answer, he turns on his heel and strides away- but even from here, you can tell he still has a goofy grin plastered on his face.

heart pounding, you turn and make your way towards your apartment building. 

despite yourself, you also can’t seem to keep the grin off of your face.

[angry-geese]

Jotaro Kujo x reader

Warnings: nsfw. Smut, fingering, oral (masc reciving), unprotected sex, not the healthiest relationship dynamic, implied age difference, daddy kink. Fem!Reader

Notes: Jotaro being a sugar daddy. College student!Reader, pt4 Jotaro- sort of takes place before the events of DIU but it really isn't clear

It only took a call.

You were still a college student at the time, taking a semester off of your studies. You had no idea what direction you wanted to go with your life, and wanted to get things sorted out before you dove head-first into a major you'd hate. Putting it lightly: the future was terrifying. For the time being, you were working at a coffee shop. It was a decent job- at full time it covered rent for an apartment you shared with a friend. You weren't rolling in it by any means, but you were comfortable enough.

Jotaro frequented your work. You had his order memorized: a single black coffee and a bagel- if he was getting something to eat that morning. Rather boring. A boring order for a seemingly aloof and uninteresting guy. From the very beginning you piqued his interest. You were just bubbly enough to break through that shell of his. He often asked you how school was going. Having thought about majoring in marine biology, it gave you two a lot to talk about. In the end you decided against it, but by then he was already head-over-heels for you.

It wasn't often you found yourself giving out your number to customers. Something about him interested you. It wasn't an immediate thing, taking you weeks to work up the nerve to do it. His reaction was hard to gauge.

You wouldn't receive a text until later that night.

He spent the entire day trying to figure out what to say. So he went with something simple: How are you?

It didn't take long for the two of you to make plans to see each other again. Your first date was to a fancy restaurant. Fancier than you were used to. Working as a barista wouldn't cover a dinner like that, even with tips. Seeing the bill nearly made your soul jump out of your body, but you gritted your teeth and figured you'd eat nothing but ramen until payday. You tried not to look too relieved when he said he'd pay. It was a first date, maybe he was trying to be nice. Then it happened on your second. Then again. No matter how much you offered to pay, he always refused, going out of his way to cover your half. At times it was irritating. It didn't feel fair to let him pay for everything.

You weren't exactly dating, but if someone asked you would deny being single. There was little you knew about him. Obviously you weren't entirely clueless; you knew about his occupation, some small things he liked, one time he even mentioned having a daughter. But it was all very basic, something you could get from one conversation. He was very reserved,

He's not quite sure how it happened. It was only a necklace.

Jotaro just wanted company. Dating someone so much younger made him a bit uncomfortable. To him, there was an obvious power difference. A man his age shouldn't be dating someone as young as you. Sure, you were an adult who could make their own decisions, but it felt wrong. He felt like he was abusing his position, but seeing you bent over his desk wearing nothing but that necklace changed that.

Any time you called, he'd come running. It wasn't always sex. He slept better with someone next to him. Sometimes you'd call him to fuck you against every flat surface of your apartment.

His rough hands trace over the delicate lace of your bra- a gift. Most of them were. Through his pants he hardens against your thigh. You grind down on his lap, your fingers working the buttons of his shirt. His fingers ghosts across your clit through your panties. Wetness pools between your thighs, making the thin fabric of your panties stick to your skin. You're almost embarrassed at how quickly you melt under his touch. Almost.

You should be glad the door to his office locks.

His fingers trace around your clit- not enough to get you anywhere fast- before moving to your thigh. His spare hand palms himself through his trousers. He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. You shift, almost unnoticeable so, desperate for more friction. His expression darkens. In retaliation you grind harder against his thigh.

"Don't be a brat."

"Sorry daddy."

He grunts, seemingly unimpressed with your apology. As much as he pretended to hate the nickname, it made something deep within him stir- almost shamefully so. His hands move to unhook your bra, tossing it aside. Often he ruined them, tearing them in the heat of the moment. He always bought you more.

Anything you wanted he would give to you.

He pulls you so your back is flush to his chest, gently tugging your legs open. Part of you is glad he can't see how you're blushing. His erection presses against your back, painfully hard and leaking against his thigh. From behind, he sucks a dark mark into your neck- you'll have a hard time covering it up in the morning. Not that you mind, you don't have much to do tomorrow anyway. For a moment his hand dips under the waistband of your panties. His free hand kneads the soft flesh of your breast, working your nipples into stiff peaks. He could watch you writhe under him all day. You maneuver your hips so he can pull them down, baring your sex. The sight of him fully clothed while you're completely naked sends a heat straight to your core. When you cross your arms over your chest to cover yourself, he's pulling them away, huffing in frustration. He'd never force you to do something you're uncomfortable with, but he sure did push your limits.

His fingers trace up the soft skin of your thigh. You jolt as his thumb briefly traces across your clit, before his hand comes to a rest on your leg. You know better than to grind against him. Though sometimes you do it just to piss him off. Roughly he shoves presses two fingers into you, moving with quick, short motions. Idly his thumb brushes over your clit. You can't help but squirm. Your moans and pleas only spur him on more. The sounds of your slick sex fills the room. Heat rises up in your cheeks at the lewd noises.

"Please daddy,"

"Please what?"

"Fuck me."

"Not until you cum on my hand first."

You whine. He only picks up the pace. This isn't the first time he's had to stretch you out before fucking you. The building tension in your stomach only serves to make you moan louder, crying out when he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, goosebumps rising up on your exposed skin. Your breathing grows unsteady the closer you get to your own release. Against your bare thighs, Jotaro's cock hardens, leaking precum into his white pants. Your thighs clamp around his hand as you cum hard. He grunts and nips at your neck, letting you ride out your orgasm on his hand. It's only when the overstimulation becomes too much and you cry out that he pulls away, making a show of licking his fingers.

"On your knees."

"Yes daddy."

You slide off his lap so you're kneeling in front of him. His hands rest at his sides.

You waste no time in freeing him from his pants, his hardened cock springing free. Precum weeps from the head, which is flushed and angry looking. He grunts when you finally take him into your mouth. Your hands work the part of his shaft that won't fit- he's to big to fit in entirely. You press kitten licks to the head, slowly pumping him in your fist. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his breathing is shallow and shaky. He groans at the warm, wet feeling of your mouth.

He doesn't want the moment to end just yet.

Jotaro's hand tangles in your hair, pulling you off of his cock with an audible pop. He hauls you into his lap, your knees on either sides of his thighs, your chest pressed against his. Slowly he guides you onto his cock, his hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass. The sent of his cologne is heady and intoxicating. You're half drunk from his touch, your pupils blown, lips bitten pink. Even with the prep, it stings a bit. As you let out a hiss of pain, he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, smoothing a hand over your hair. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size, before guiding you down more. You bottom out on his cock, moaning at the feeling.

Your lust-addled mind barely registers the way he begins bouncing you on his cock, guiding your hips with his hands. The sounds of your moans mix with the noise of skin slapping on skin. His fingers dig into your hips- not hard enough to leave bruises, but hard enough to hurt. You're so overcome with a mix of pain and pleasure that you can't focus on anything but him. He pulls you in for a kiss, but ends up nibbling at your bottom lip until you let him in your mouth. When Jotaro pulls away, a trail of saliva connects the two of you. A splotchy blush creeps up his neck, reaching his cheeks. He's unbuttoned the top few of his shirt, exposing his collarbone. Sweat beads on the planes of muscle of his chest and neck. He groans sinfully as you clench around him. You scramble for purchase against him, your arms wrapping around his neck, nails digging into his back.

His free hand moves to toy with your clit, the other gropes at your hips. He's can't pry his eyes from the way your tits bounce as you fuck yourself on his cock.

"Where do you want me to cum?" He asks.

"Inside!"

Your answer catches him off guard, but he's too close to his own orgasm to refuse. Your own release rolls over you like a wave, spitting you out and leaving you ruined. He clings onto your shaky form, pulling you close to him. Mascara streams down your face, your lipstick is smeared. His hot cum spills into your unprotected womb, leaking from you as he pulls out.

Jotaro takes a moment to admire your fucked-out expression before pulling you into his lap, cradling you in his arms. Your breathing evens out after a moment. You could fall asleep there if he'd let you. He just might. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, content where you are. The sight of your relaxed form makes affection swell in his chest. He uses the moment to press a kiss to your forehead.

The more he tried to convince himself he wasn't in love with you, the worse it got.

[iamdeku]

Peace: Prohero!Bakugou x Reader

This one is basically the same as Positions, except it’s Bakugou x reader. Just another very soft domestic fic. As always, all characters are 18+ unless stated otherwise.

Warnings: Nonsexual nudity. Mentions of kids/pregnancy.

You kicked off your heels the moment you walked in the door, feet aching. A rush of dead air thumped out of you as your back hit the doorframe, the impact ricocheting through your chest. You were too tired to care about that though, too tired to stand properly or do anything but crawl over towards the couch.

You were working as a secretary for Endeavor right now, and you hated it. He was the most unpleasant man to work with, and some days you came home feeling like crying. Today wasn’t one of those days, but it could become one at any moment. You lugged your sore bones over to the couch, throwing yourself over the armrest and coming to rest only halfway onto the couch.

It was there that Katsuki found you 5 minutes later after getting back from patrol.

He had a good night tonight, The streets hadn’t been too busy, and he had crushed every nasty villain that had dared to show their face. All day he had been looking forward to coming home to you, so much so that he had already packed a change of clothes, ready to cuddle in dark gray sweats and a black tank top.

He stopped dead after walking through the door of your apartment though, frowning. He could see your legs dangling over the arm of the couch, and, walking closer, he got a better view of you. It was just as he had expected. They had overworked you again, and now you looked exhausted.

You turned your face up when you heard him open the door, but you couldn’t be bothered to greet him like you normally would. Everything hurt from all the running around you had done today. You weren’t sure how Katsuki worked so hard every day and still kept going, though it might have something to do with the fact that his workout regime was considerably more difficult than yours.

“Hi baby,” you muttered, seeing his face over the edge of the couch.

“Those bastards are still working you too hard, aren’t they?”

Katsuki never beat around the bush. It was part of what you liked about him. You always knew when something was bothering him. You never had to wonder or get self-critical. If he didn’t like something, he would just say it.

“It’s okay. It’s not so bad.”

“I keep telling you, you should just quit. I make more than enough money for the both of us.” He huffed, sitting down beside you on the couch.

His clothes nearly blended into the black material as he tugged you into his lap, settling his chin on your shoulder. You breathed a sigh of relief at his touch, leaning back into him and letting the weight of the day slide off your shoulders. Katsuki’s warm, dependable strength at your back eased your stress.

“Just a little bit longer. I’ll find something better soon, and then I’ll quit.”

You could practically hear Katsuki rolling his eyes.

“Gonna make me start a hero agency just to get you a better job.”

“Pretty sure there are some kind of rules against your girlfriend working for you. Feels like a potential ethical vulnerability, especially for such a high visibility hero. They’d never get off your back about it.” You stretched out against him, toes curling. “I’ll just go work for Izuku when he starts his agency.”

Instantly, Katsuki was up in arms. “Stupid Deku? You’d rather work for him than me?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him better and cup his cheek in your hand. “No baby, of course not. We’ll work something out. It’s a while off anyway, and I can promise you I won’t be working for Endeavor by that time. “

“Better not be. I’m about to show up on his doorstep just to yell at him.”

You smiled indulgently. “You’re so overprotective.”

You felt him soften, even as his arms brought you in tighter, nose pressing into your hair. “Only for you. My best girl.”

You hummed softly as he started pressing kisses into your hair, moving down to your temple and slowly working his way across the expanse of your face. You caught your breath as his lips ghosted over your eyelids, tracing the bridge of your nose. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, eyes unfocused and dazed.

You had nothing to say to that, mouth hanging half open as you stared at him in awe. As much as it was normal for Katsuki to get like this with you, it never failed to surprise you, perhaps because of the contrast of how he was with everybody else. While he so obviously adored you, he could be a little rough around the edges with his friends and family, so when he got sensitive like this it always left you speechless.

“You missed a spot,” you whispered, leaning in and waiting for him to close the gap.

His kiss was slow and languid, taking his time with you as he laced his fingers through your hair. His thumb brushed up your waist, skimming the bare skin under the hem of your shirt and melting you. You turned to putty under his touch, collapsing into him as you breathed him in with a lazy hint of urgency.

He pulled away from you slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips before you snapped it.

“Have you eaten yet today?” he asked, voice low, the rumble of his chest echoing in yours.

“I had a lunch break, yeah,” you said, ready to go back to kissing him.

“Come on baby, you know you need more than that,” he said, scooping you up.

You wrapped your arms around his neck with a yelp, holding on for dear life.

“Katsuki, what are you doing?” you whined.

“I’m taking you to the kitchen,” he said. “You need to eat dinner.”

“I’m too tired for dinner,” you groaned.

He scoffed. “You weren’t too tired to make out with me, brat.”

It only took him a few long strides to get to your small kitchen, opting to set you down on the counter instead of one of your perfectly good chairs. You didn’t mind though, since it gave you a better vantage point to watch him work. You loved watching Katsuki cook, and you especially loved when he cooked for you, as you knew it was his way of showing affection, amongst...other activities.

“What are you making?” you asked, leaning your head back against the cabinet.

“Your favorite,” he grunted, putting the ingredients together.

“Mmmm, yummy,” you said.

“Of course you think it’s yummy, it’s your favorite.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and you watched the muscles of his back roll under his tank top as he moved a few pots and pans around in your kitchen. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind just eating him. The man put the term ‘snack’ to shame. You were trying not to drool over him, but there was just something about Katsuki in tank tops, all that muscle on open display like that for you.

You hopped off the counter, standing on unsteady, protesting legs to stand behind him and begin tracing patterns into his back. You rested your forehead just below his neck, your soft, open-mouthed breaths fluttering down the thin black material he wore. You closed your eyes, soaking up his presence greedily.

“You’re making it harder to cook.”

You huffed, pressing your smile into the ridges of his spine.

“You always do this. Pretend to hate me hovering while you work in the kitchen. Pretend not to love me.”

Katsuki stiffened, and you knew immediately you had said something wrong. He set everything down, turning to face you for a minute and cupping your face between his hands. Bright, searing red eyes met yours in a way that told you this was important.

“I never pretend not to love you. I always love you, and I’m not the kind of bastard who would lie about that.”

You reached a gentle hand up to wrap around his wrist.

“I know, Katsuki. I know you love me. Always. I was just teasing you. M’sorry.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, the gesture more lighthearted as he intertwined your hands.

“Stupid.”

“Still smarter than you,” you snarked, scrunching up your nose.

He just rolled his eyes at you again, letting go of you to turn back to his cooking. He grabbed his apron off its hook, starting to cook in earnest. Before you knew it, your kitchen was full of the smell of your favorite food, and your stomach was rumbling quite loudly.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at you as he plated the food.

“You want to tell that thing to shut up?”

You folded your arms over your stomach. “It doesn’t work like that, idiot.”

“Sure it doesn’t.” He smirked.

You almost picked a fight, but when you saw the finished food you couldn’t bring yourself to. You ate so fast you practically inhaled the food, hungrier than you had known after your long day. When you finished you were full and happy, a warm exhaustion chasing through your veins.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the stiff wood of your kitchen chairs.

“I’ve decided to never move again. I’m just going to die here, with my greasy hair and achy bones and full of amazing food. This is as good as life gets, I think.”

Katsuki turned from where he was busy putting your dishes in the sink. Walking over to you, he picked you up for the second time that night. Pressing you tight to his body, he began to head towards your bedroom.

“This is not as good as life gets, and I’m going to make sure you know that,” he said, voice low and soft.

You were practically falling asleep now, face pressing into his shoulder. 

“Tsuki,” you breathed dreamily, “I love you.”

“I love you too dummy.” He kissed the side of your head to punctuate the comment.

Opening the door to your bedroom, he headed to the attached bathroom, kicking the door open with his foot. He didn’t even set you down on the floor, just positioning you on his lap as he sat on the edge of your bath and started the water. He added your favorite bubble bath, and you smiled, thinking about how good he was with the little details of your life, things like your favorite foods and your favorite bubble bath. You were in so deep, and you never wanted to remember what it was like not to be in love with Katsuki Bakugou.

“You need a bath,” he said. “You stink.”

“Awww, what a sweet way of telling me you listen when I complain about my greasy hair, Tsuki,” you teased.

“I listen to everything you say. I have ears, don’t I?”

You giggled, taking off your uncomfortable work clothes. Katsuki watched as you did, helping out here and there when you got caught on a button or when you nearly tripped trying to get out of your ‘professional businesswoman’ pantyhose. Eventually you dipped into the bath, Katsuki kneeling beside the tub.

With gentle motions, he washed your hair, the hands that could be so violent never softer or more careful than when he was touching you. His fingers skimmed across your skin, tracing the contours of your shoulders with greater dedication than the most devout anatomist. He mapped out the shape of your body with soap and tough hands, up to his elbows in water as he helped every weary inch get cleaned up.

You looked up at him, suds framing the shape of his biceps, doing all of this work for you, and felt a surge of love and affection for this man. You wanted to marry him, wanted to have his children and live a long happy life with him.

“How did I get so lucky?” you wondered.

“It’s not luck. You ended up with me because you have great taste,” Katsuki said.

You laughed. “Maybe so. Even still, it isn’t every day you meet someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

He paused in his motions.

“You would want that? To be with me? Forever?”

You reached a hand out for his, holding it and giving it a brief squeeze.

“Yeah. Is that...” you faltered. “Is that something you want?”

He shifted forward, leaning over the side of the tub.

“Yes, of course. I’ve wanted to put a ring on your finger so long, you have no idea.” He laughed at himself a little. “Want the whole thing. Want to buy you a big pretty house and take care of you and make it so you never have to spend another second at that stupid job. Want to cook you weird food when you’re pregnant and craving something disgusting, want to cover your baby belly in kisses every day. Want to have kids with you, a family, everything. I want everything.”

Katsuki was unexpectedly wide-eyed and breathless, so earnest in his simple desires. You wanted to give it all to him, have it all with him, live out the whole dream.

“I want that so bad, you have no idea,” you told him.

“You’re going to have it. We’re going to have it. Going to give all of it to you.”

You smiled, and your happiness would have been perfect except the soap bubble that slipped from your hair down your face. You laughed, wiping it away.

“Maybe we should finish with this bath first.”

When you were ready to get out, he wrapped you up in your towel, reminding you of when you were a little kid. Your towel no longer reached to your knees, but there was something comforting about it all the same, like being wrapped in a blanket. He laid you out on your bed, wordlessly reaching for one of his own shirts for you to wriggle over your head and down your body.

When you were done, you pulled him down on top of you where you lay, wet hair carelessly soaking into the sheets. Tilting his chin up with one hand, you pressed your lips to his again and again, like a conversation, an exchanging of words. Each kiss had something different to say, something important, and something the same.

You are so good and kind and I love you. Thank you for taking care of me and I love you. I’m so happy I know you and I love you. You are the best man I have ever met and I love you.

He switched your positions, pulling you on top of him so that you lay more on him than the bed. He kissed you back, loving you with chapped lips and intertwined fingers and something deeper that fluttered through you in the deepness of the night and buzzed through your body at his touch. 

He pulled away to, in a moment of redundancy, say what you had already been saying.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. So much,” you whispered.

He rubbed a hand up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head and easing it down onto his shoulder.

“Rest now.” He kissed your shoulder. “I’ll still love you in the morning.”

[bellesque]

can I request a Loki/reader fan fic where Loki and the reader are dating but their sex has been pretty vanilla because he is worried about hurting or scaring her with his darker dominant side and his strength but one day he discovers she is actually into that and he indulges her wishes please? happy birthday and thank you for this!

Kneel (Loki x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

Loki’s a little banged up from battle, you’ve got some very specific (read: dirty) thoughts, and you find that’s all it takes for the God of Mischief to indulge in a few of your fantasies.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings/Tags: Smut (duh), Rough Sex, Wall Sex, Cum Play, Overstimulation, Blow Jobs, Slight Dom/sub Dynamics

A/N: My birthday was on the 12th okay YES I KNOW THIS IS SO LATE but I hope you guys enjoy the first of the three fic requests! Loki kind of just took it his own direction, I’m not sure what happened—anyway, if you guys want a part two to this just let me know hihi okay enjoy!

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

YOU SHOULDN’T BE lying on your cozy spring mattress, with Loki’s arm sprawled across your waist, entirely comfortable, sated from sex, and yet somehow wide awake.

You should be asleep. As knocked out, if not more, as Loki is right now. His breath comes in even pants behind you, a telling sign of the quality of his current rest. While you’re relaxed and your mind is absolutely prepared for bed, you can’t seem to fall into a state of drowsiness.

There are a few late night musings that currently keep you from it. Mostly about, well, sex.

Not that you’re complaining. Loki’s fantastic in bed. He’s gentle, he’s passionate, he’s nurturing and careful… maybe to a fault.

Again. Not that you’re complaining.

It’s just when you date someone like Loki, a literal god, you expect a little more… spice. A little less nice.

But why the restraint? It baffles you. You can tell he’s holding himself back. When you think Loki’s about to slam into you, bruise your hips with the harsh grip of his fingers, he rocks into you with long, slow strokes, kissing your neck and murmuring how amazing you are.

Again. You’re not complaining.

But you wouldn’t be opposed to a little more… bite. As much as you love his romantic lovemaking, you essentially, well—you want to get fucked.

And you’ve tried to make it happen. On multiple occasions. You wrestled him onto his back once, topping him right in the middle of sex. You were expecting him to put you back in your place, even at least instruct you from his position underneath you, but Loki only let you ride him, unbothered in the least.

Okay, maybe you weren’t clear. Maybe he just thought you wanted to try a new position. Fair, fine—it was only the first attempt, you told yourself.

The second time around, you thought you were a bit clearer with your intentions. You got on all fours, wiggling your ass at him as you arched your back and whispered in a sultry tone, “Come get it, mischief.”

Except he rubbed a palm over your ass once and flipped you right over.

It’s not that you’re undesirable. You know Loki loves you with his whole heart. Your gut tells you that there’s more to the rejection to your advancements than he lets on.

Do you come on too strong?

No, you’re sure you don’t. You got the tiniest taste of the forbidden fruit once and just from that, you just know the desire is somewhere inside him, buried deep.

Oh, that moment. That singular, unrestrained moment gives you shudders until now.

You clenched around his cock particularly hard, and Loki rutted into you with a sharp snap of his hips, burying himself deeper, his teeth biting at your earlobe.

You let out a surprised gasp of pleasure… and that was it.

So what do you have to do to get that moment again, repeated into hours and hours of mindblowing, rough sex?

-- 

(As it turns out, nothing.)

You drape Loki’s arm over your shoulders, doing your best not to buckle under the weight of him. He’s so fucking heavy, and he knows that—instead of putting his weight onto you, he pulls you closer towards him like some kind of reverse crutch. You huff in frustration. “Lean on me.”

“Which would leave us one too many injured. No, thank you.”

You pull on his singed sleeve. “Lean.”

“Can you handle it?” Loki manages to sound amused despite the current grimace on his face.

A flare of annoyance rises in you together with a fleeting thrill. “I-I can handle it,” you say, neck heating up at the double meaning.

He probably doesn’t think much of it. But you—it’s been eating at your subconscious for a consistent few nights now. Especially when you’ve watched him train every day, those lean muscles rippling and covered in a light sheen of sweat, in preparation for today’s battle.

One which you know he lost.

You and Loki are quiet when you enter the Tower in the dead of night. The weight of defeat hangs heavy in the air, and Loki’s stiff and distracted when you enter the elevator and punch in the button to your designated floor. Carefully you maneuver around him, making sure not to brush against any of his bruises and scrapes, and tilt his chin so you can see him in the elevator light.

Loki gazes at you affectionately, some of his previous frustrations now disappearing from the creases in his face. “You’re awfully concerned, little one. Have you forgotten Asgardians heal faster than mortals?”

“Just let me look at you.”

“You’ve looked at me before.”

“I don’t need your smartass mouth right now.” You brush your thumb against the corner of his mouth, noticing a cut running along his top lip. You soften. “What happened?”

Loki exhales, his expression hardening when he turns away. Your hand falls from his face and the elevator dings. Wordlessly you support him as you walk to your room, keeping in step with him and making sure his limp isn’t too bad.

But hell. He’s heavy.

Once you make it inside, you don’t press further—instead you clean his wounds, help him bathe, and make sure he eats and drinks despite his insistent “I’m fine.” You wear him down. It’s part of your charm. It’s what you do best.

Loki holds you after that. Says nothing about the battle of today’s mission, or his scars; he tucks your head under his chin and rubs your back while you listen to the steady beat of his heart until it lulls you into sleep.

 --

“Do you want to see?”

The deep rumble of Loki’s voice makes you stir. You open your eyes, groggy, and peer up at him. From the looks of it, he’s been awake for a while, staring contemplatively at the ceiling.

“What?” you say, a beat late. You admire his face, no matter how stoic he seems right now.

He looks at you. His face has mostly healed, the cut on his lip now a light scar. “What happened.”

You perk up immediately. “Only if you want to. I mean, you can trust me.”

Loki nods, bringing your foreheads together. Instantly you’re a spectator in the middle of battle. The stench of blood and sweat are pungent in the air, the clatter and clang of weapons mixed with battle cries roaring in your ears. There, a few feet away from you, is Loki.

Pride and attraction weave together and swell inside you as you watch Loki in his element. Graceful. Cunning. Strong. Powerful. You’ve seen him fight, but… but not like this.

His opponent moves to punch him—but Loki catches his fist easily. He anticipates it. Doesn’t even flinch. His heels don’t dig into the dirt like his opponent’s do. The scepter in his other hand pulses blue and he kicks it off the ground, using the momentum to swing it into the man’s face.

“Yield,” he growls, shoving the scepter’s blade against the man’s crumpled form.

Ah, fuck—the way you mishear it and think he says kneel doesn’t exactly help your tendency to gravitate towards dirty thoughts. Your pussy clenches as an image of Loki snarling that single word to you flashes in your mind. You see yourself submitting pretty easily, sinking down onto your knees, eyes trained on his Loki’s pleasured face, and—

The room comes back into focus as you’re whipped back to reality. Loki’s staring at you with wide, curious eyes. Near disbelief, pulled with slight awe.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

His beautiful green eyes darken, a smirk stretching across his lips. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and your heart slams against your ribcage as Loki slowly rolls on top of you, pinning you beneath him.

“I saw… while our minds were connected…” He laughs in a short, breathy kind of way, head falling on your shoulder and nipping at your collarbone. A sharp spike of arousal courses within you. “Oh, sweet, is that what you want? For me to ask you to…” He brings his mouth against your ear, dropping his voice to a seductive purr. “Kneel?”

A shudder slides down your spine.

“Or perhaps”—he trails the tip of his tongue around the helix of your ear—“a command.” Loki bites down on your earlobe, quick and sharp and hard, and heat pools like molten lava in your center. “Kneel.”

Your head is spinning. How is it that you’re so turned on already?

Loki shoves a hand between your legs and you whimper. His fingers hook at your damp underwear, pulling it to the side and trailing a finger along your seam.

“Look at how excited you are,” he breathes. “Already so wet, my love?”

You release a shaky exhale. “Loki…”

He pushes himself off you, but not before he whispers, “Turn around and take your clothes off,” in a rough voice.

Your throat feels like it’s dry and watering at the same time, anticipation rushing into you like a waterfall. You flip over, kneeling on the bed—you hope to be kneeling in front of him soon—and shuck off your pajamas.

Once you’re naked, you’re about to ask Loki what to do next—but without warning, he pushes you down, and you fall forward with a faint squeak as he straddles you from behind. You feel his strong, bare chest heaving against your back, his hard length throbbing between your butt cheeks.

Oh, he’s heavy—in more sinful ways than one.

“You’re going to kneel for me later, little one,” he says, his breath warm against your nape. He positions your arms overhead, your fingertips grazing the headboard. He runs his palms along the outside of your body, until his hands close around your hips.

And then he yanks your bodies up, your hips rolling backwards into the air while your torso remains flattened on the mattress. Loki pushes a knee between your legs and nudges them apart, and you suck in a breath you didn’t know was knocked out of you. He rubs his large palms against the side of your ass cheek.

“Will you follow when I instruct you, pet?” He slaps your ass, hard, the meat of it jiggling even after his palm connects to you.

You bite down on your lip. “Yes.”

“Good.” He smacks your ass again, that same intensity as earlier, and you whimper from the pleasurable sting.

“Do you like that, pet?” He rubs circles over your ass.

“Yes—”

He deals another blow, and you arch your back further. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Loki, yes!”

A satisfied growl emerges from the back of his throat, and hooking his forearm over your torso he brings your back against him. His hand finds its way onto your breast, which he kneads and squeezes, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

He bites down on your neck when your head falls back against him, sucking on your sensitive spot and drawing moan after moan from you. Your body is extremely warm now, the need to be stuffed with his cock growing, but at the same time, you want to savor this moment. You don’t know how long Loki’s going to play this game with you.

He releases the skin of your neck with a quiet pop. “Get on the floor, sweet,” he rasps, “kneel for me.”

With your thighs trembling, you crawl to the floor, obediently awaiting him with your chest heaving. Loki slides off the bed, standing in front of you, his cock at your eye level. He’s so hard, veins traversing over his thick shaft that throbs ever so slightly.

You want it in your mouth.

Loki rakes his fingers through your hair and guides your head onto his cock. Your lips slide over him slowly, taking in his length until the head hits the back of your throat.

You hollow your lips and suck once, and Loki hisses.

His grip on your hair tightens considerably, trying to get you to swallow him deeper, and you do until you gag a little. Loki stiffens, and you place your hands on his hips and brush his sides slowly, trying to convey that you’re okay.

And then he’s actively guiding you by the hair, cock sinking into your mouth in a steady tempo while he alternates between stroking your hair and neck.

“That’s it. Good girl. Deeper, love,” he husks, hips moving gently in time with you. He looks down at you with desire written all over his face. “Suck my cock. You’re doing so well. Faster. Ah—your mouth is exquisite, pet, come now… milk my cock, make me cum…”

You hum against him, your tongue fluttering against his frenulum, and Loki curses, hips moving faster while you bob on his length. Your tongue swirls around the head when you pull back and you suction your lips at the base of his cock, and soon Loki’s holding your head in place, your jaw going slack as he jerks into your wanting mouth.

You can tell he’s close, and your wetness intensifies when you visualize his cum sliding down your throat.

But then… then he’s pulling out of your mouth and pushing your head back when he pulses with the telltale sign of release. Instead of cumming in your mouth, his seed shoots out in thick ropes over your chin and chest as he groans out his orgasm.

You scramble forward after admiring the spurt of his cum from so close, and you wrap your lips around his cock before he can finish cumming, sucking on him with newfound vigor. He groans again, fisting your hair even tighter, keeping you in place while you flutter your tongue against the ridges of his cock head. You swallow his load, and some if it dribbles down your chin and onto your breasts.

You know he’s watching you, and in the spirit of being bold while you have this chance, you do something bold. You look up at him through lidded eyes, and using your fingers to scoop up some of the cum on your chest, you bring it to your face. You pop off him and slide your cum-covered fingersinto your mouth sensually. You suck and lick your digits, keeping innocent eye contact, and watch his eyes darken.

“You’re a cum thirsty little slut, aren’t you?” he growls, collecting his cum on his fingers and shoving them into your mouth. “Suck. That’s it, like it’s my cock.”

Your pussy is aching for attention now, your body taut with arousal, and you suck on his fingers like your life depends on it. “You taste so good, Loki,” you whisper. “I just want to be filled by your cock. Your cum. Loki, please, give it to me…”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and hoists you up by the nape of your neck like it’s easy. Oh fuck, his intensity and his strength are dizzying. He throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and he smacks your ass.

From this position, you have a clear view of his glutes. And his muscled back. You reach down and just give a tiny squeeze—

He slaps your ass again as he walks you two to the side of the room. “You think you can speak out of turn, little one? Touch my body without my express permission?” He sets you down on your feet with surprising, firm gentleness, and pins you against the wall by the window. “You’re lucky I want to be inside your pussy right now,” he mutters before sealing his lips over yours in a blistering kiss, tongues battling as his hands grope and squeeze at every part of your body. After he sucks on your tongue and leaves you panting and lightheaded, he distances from you to spin you around so your front is to the wall.

He bites down on your shoulder as his cock slips into you and you cry out in pleasure.

“Hands up,” he orders, and you brace your arms against the wall as he pounds into you from behind with unrelenting speed.

You moan, fingers clawing at the wall, trying to find something to ground yourself to. “Loki, your cock, it’s perfect—fuck, Loki, cum inside me, once, twice, fill my fucking cunt—”

He pushes your feet farther apart and lifts you up slightly, the angle causing stars to explode behind your eyes. “Fuck!”

His own hand comes up to brace against the wall beside yours, and he drives deeper into you still. Somehow. “You want my cum, pet? You want to be filled so much that my cum drips out of this delicious cunt for hours?”

Your pussy clenches around him as your orgasm begins to build with a ferocious intensity. Your closed eyes snap open when there’s a noticeable cracking sound by your head.

Cracks spider out on the wall from where his fist is. And that… that single revelation, evidence of his strength, is enough to topple you over and into orgasm.

“Touch yourself,” Loki grunts suddenly, his hands clasping around your wrist and shoving it between your legs.

“I—” you gasp, a shudder wracking your body as your orgasm pulses, “I’m still—”

“Do it.”

You swallow, shaking fingers finding your clit and you rub yourself in rapid circles; Loki hasn’t slowed his pace one bit, and from the overstimulation it doesn’t take long until you’re cumming again.

“That’s it,” Loki coaxes, your toes rising off the floor with every strong, unyielding thrust, “cum all over my cock. Good girl.”

With his cock still inside you, he brings you towards the bed, feet off the floor. He maneuvers you so you twist on his cock and your chests are pressed together. Your back meets the soft mattress and you look up at Loki hovering above you. One of Loki’s hands is braced on the headboard; the other circles your clit lazily. Your mouth stays parted as you stare up at him with glassy, sex-sated eyes.

“Loki…” you say, weak. You feel like jelly, but you aren’t exactly ready to give up the euphoric state of bliss you’re in. “You… you can go even harder—if, if you want to.”

His movements slow to a stop and his eyes fill with quiet adoration. “Are you sure that’s what you want, sweet? I never want to hurt you, or scare you, with my strength.” He manages a small though equally sexy smirk. “And I am a very strong Asgardian as it is.”

You clench, bringing Loki deeper inside you, and he groans. “As hard as you want,” you affirm.

Loki’s eyes widen imperceptibly and his pupils dilate in the same millisecond. And then he’s kissing you fiercely, shoving your knees up over his shoulders and he bottoms out, both of you moaning at the sensation.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you almost can’t hear it. His hips are then slamming into you at breakneck speed. He pins your arms above your head, sucking another bruise into your neck at the same time. The sounds of your sex obscenely fill the room, your already swollen, overstimulated clit stimulated even further with every stroke, and soon you’re screaming hoarsely that you’re about to cum.

Your third—fourth, fifth?—orgasm unravels when you start gyrating as he thrusts into you, your body convulsing with the pleasure that shoots through you. Loki cums seconds later with a shout, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulses inside you. He murmurs dirty nothings against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses in between.

He pulls out of you, nuzzling your neck, and his hand travels down towards your spent cunt. He spreads your juices across your swollen lips. “How are you, dove?”

“Never been better,” you slur, letting out a relaxed sigh. It’s true. It’s like a nagging itch has finally been scratched.

“Are you sure about that?”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Loki grins, dark mischief and desire clouding his eyes. “Quite bold of you, pet, to assume we’re finished.”

He flips you onto your stomach again, his cock hardening behind you as he pulls your arms toward the headboard. There’s a click and the gleam of a metal chain shines in the morning sun.

Loki presses a kiss to your neck, nibbling at the spot behind your ear and whispers something that makes your skin tingle with fresh arousal.

“I’m far from finished with you, pet. Now. On your knees.”

[flying-nightwing]

Throne of Blood (3/3)

Hello there! Last part of Throne of Blood, I hope you appreciated this little serie! I loved t write it tbh, it was a nice change from the usual DC stuff I write. If you want a bonus chapter, let me know! I thought about doing either a prequel for when they invaded the castle, or some headcanons if y’all have some.

Ps: I realised I kinda made Bruce to be the bad guy here, oops. Sorry about that, but to my defence, family drama was something I built toward from the beginning 😅 Full disclosure, I have nothing against Bruce and Damian pls don’t come at me

Masterlist in bio / pinned!

Pairing: King!Jason x reader x Roy

Word count: 4414

Warnings: same as the last parts (cautious nsfw) + family drama lmao

"--and the might of the casc… cascade could never compare to the ce… cerul… cerulean of her eyes. She was his hope, the only thing he cherished, none of his posse...ssions could ever be worth as much as a minute with her"

You paused to breathe as you reached a paragraph break. You could feel Roy's relaxed stare on you, a small smile ever present on his lips. His hand was absentmindedly rubbing your knees that were lying over his thigh, while his other arm was snugly wrapped around your waist. The quiet crackling of the fireplace indicated the need to add a log, but neither of you wanted to move from your nestled position. Eventually one would have to, though, before the room grew cold. 

"I like it when you read to me" Roy hummed, almost like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. But if you knew one thing about him, it's that he carried very little shame when it came to love. He would never intend to hide his thoughts when they came, and you admired that about him. Still, you couldn't help but look down in embarrassment. 

Him and Jason had taught you to read some months after you joined them, when he passed you a map to find a town's name and you had to tell him you couldn't. Ever since, you worked often on your reading skills, leafing through whatever seemed interesting from Jason's library. But you weren't a natural, far from it. 

"I can't even pronounce all the words correctly" You mumbled. "It must be hard to follow sometimes"

He gently pushed your chin up so he could look into your eyes again. It didn't matter for one second for him that you didn't have the diction of an erudit or the flow of a poet. All he wanted was to hear your voice and watch your eyebrows knit in concentration when you butted on a difficult word. He liked the little things so much better than the finished product.

"I think it sounds perfect"

The corner of your lips rose slightly at his praise as your heart skipped a few beats. Even after all the time you spent together, he always managed to find the right word to make you love him even more, if it was possible. His constant and unconditional support was your crutch, the thing you could rely on no matter what happened, the safe space in which you would never feel judged for what you couldn't do. 

"You know" He began again when he noticed you had trouble believing what he said. You wanted to believe him, but deep inside he knew it was harder for you, and he understood all too well the feeling of not being enough. "I couldn't read either before I was taken in by my warden"

You tilted your head to the side, frowning slightly. You had never known. 

"Took me years to get average at it. And you should have seen my writing-- Hell, you should see it now, it's catastrophic" 

You couldn't help but giggle along as he laughed. It was contagious.

"It's the same with Jason--No wait, the brat actually taught himself how to read somehow" He blinked slowly, like he was still surprised by it. You weren't really, you knew Jason was even smarter than you were aware of. Than anyone was aware of. "But his writing was terrible until he got a proper tutor, that I know of for a fact"

"But his writing is so…" You trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Exquisite"

"Now who's pulling out the big words, uh?"

"Shut up" You laughed, lightly hitting his chest with the book. “Don’t mock me”

“I’m not!” He argued, giving you wide, innocent eyes. He looked too cute for his own sake. “I swear I’m not. You’re just adorable when you get all flustered”

“We better start gearing up now” You evaded the subject, clearing your throat. “Jason will be expecting us--”

“Just one more chapter” He interrupted softly, caressing your waist. “Please?”

You held his stare for a moment before you were convinced, and you nodded, a sheepish smile on your face. You opened the book to the page you had marked and found the paragraph you had stopped to. 

“As he was sitting by the window, he couldn’t help but think about the ar-arrival of the spring, only a few weeks away if nature de...cided to be kind--”

“My Lord, my Lady” 

You paused your reading and looked up. This time, it was Roy who looked the most annoyed of the two of you. 

“It’s time”

You sighed and nodded, putting down the book on the table. Roy was clearly disappointed, but he helped you nevertheless get back on your feet, being careful not to pull on your bandages too much. You were healing well for your condition, you could now walk around and sit down without much help. Still, Roy and Jason didn’t like the idea of leaving you on your own for too long, just in case someone tried to come for you. You definitely couldn’t wield your axes just yet, so it made you an easy target even if you weren’t bed ridden anymore. 

You walked out of the chamber beside Roy, him following your slower pace without complaint. You reached the other end of the hallways and entered another room with chests and racks, where your equipment was kept. You began putting on your suit, the one you had made when you rode beside the Red Hood, well before he was king. It was all black with a red pointed arch on the chest that imitated Jason’s sigil, which was outlined with a single silver following your collarbone. It rose up the back of your neck and was reinforced to protect your vitals. 

“Could you help me pull it up, please?”

Roy nodded as he finished to lace his arm braces, stepping right behind you. He picked the stiff fabric and gently tugged it over your shoulder, brushing his fingers against your skin along the way. He was even more careful with your injured shoulder, making sure it wasn’t bent in any way to fit through the suit. He and Jason had advised against you wearing it, but you were stubborn and refused to show weakness in front of the enemy. Besides, it looked great on you. Roy then buttoned up the suit on your back and up your neck before giving you a kiss on the temple. 

“Close your eyes, I’ve got a little something for you” He whispered in your eyes, and despite your initial confusion, you did as you were told and shut your eyes. You felt something being passed over your head and gently rest on your shoulders, then straps being adjusted on your sides. “You can open the now”

You did as he said and looked down as he gently directed you to the mirror on your left. He had placed a beautiful piece of equipment that paired well with the colors of your suit, lightweight and practical, that covered your shoulders front and back. You usually went without, but it was appropriate considering another arrow in the back would do you no good right now. And since you most probably wouldn’t be using your axes anyway, you could do without your full shoulder movements range. 

“Where did you get this?” You asked as you trailed your finger on the skillfully crafted metal. There was no doubt it had been made for you by how it fit with both your body and suit. It must have cost a fortune.

“The blacksmith in town, the one living near the gates of the castle” He began. “His son was killed by the guild of thieves that lived uptown, the ones we wiped off right after the undertaking. He wanted to thank us somehow, and when he learned about what happened to you, he made this as a present”

“It’s… Very beautiful” You breathed out. “I’ll have to thank him later on. This must have taken so much time to make”

“But you deserve it” He said as he placed a light kiss on your jaw. “You deserve the best. And the best suits you”

“Thank you” You nodded, taking his hand. The leather of his archery glove was rough against your skin, but it had also become a comfort born from the endless days you spent training and hunting on the road. It was tied to some of your best memories with him, and it still amazed you how a simple touch could bring it all back vividly like that. “Come on, Jason must be waiting for us”

You went down to the court, where Jason was talking with the commander and some generals. Upon hearing your footsteps, he perked up and turned around, taking you specifically in. He smiled and nodded, heading for the three black steeds, groomed and in full armor, in the hands of the stable hands. You followed him and grabbed the reins of your mount, carefully climbing on its back and sitting in the saddle.

“Are we ready?” Jason asked.

“Of course” Roy replied first, then both of their eyes set on you.

“Let’s do this” You nodded firmly.

With a kick of your heels, you took off the court and onto the bridge, in the direction of the Wayne Kingdom.

---

“Soooooo…” Roy trailed off. “Do you think he stood us up or..?”

You looked away from the horizon and to Roy, who was slouched over the pommel of the saddle while his horse was trying to dig for grass through the snow. “Maybe he’s trying to ambush us”

“I don’t think so” Jason mumbled, his eyes still set northwest. His back was straight with a hand resting on his hips, the other holding the reins tight. His horse was attentive, chewing on its bit in anticipation. “It wouldn’t be like him, not while we’re on this hill anyway” 

You nodded as your fingers flexed around the reins, a bit bored and definitely not impressed by the opposite party being late to their own meeting. There was barely any wind over the field, and the thick cover of the cloud didn’t let the sun rays through. Still, smoke came out of the horses’ nostrils with every breath they let out. 

“There they come”

You glanced forward again at Jason’s warning, seeing a small party of riders coming your way. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, walking rather than trying to reach you at a trot. The closer they came, the better you could point out characteristics for each rider. The one at the front was wearing all black with a cape that fell over the pale gray horse he was riding. It was almost white, but the dark skin around its eyes and nose proved differently. The second rider was on a smaller chestnut horse, and was a child. You blinked a few times, but his youthful features were obvious. The two other riders some paces behind were an escort, soldiers with steel armors and banners from their kingdom. 

After a long waiting for them to actually be at hearing range, they finally stopped a few meters ahead and assessed your party. Jason was visibly tense, but his blue eyes gave nothing out on how he was feeling about seeing his father in front of him after all this time. They stared at each other for long minutes before the piercing glance of Bruce Wayne set on you. You clenched your jaw, not backing down, until his eyes finally left you. 

“Your… Friend seems to have healed quite well” The older king spoke first.

“Don’t act like you give a fuck” Jason sneered. “You were the one who made this coward attack on her happen in the first place”

“Watch your mouth, runt” The child on the side almost barked. “You’re speaking to a legitimate King, unlike you”

“And who the fuck might this goblin be?” Roy said before he could stop himself. While the child looked appalled, Roy was still very relaxed on his horse. He might have been the only one to be, even if you did want to laugh at the outburst.

“I am the blood son, the true heir to the throne” He replied with all his might, except it didn’t quite have the desired effect, since he was on a pony, for one. “You peasant will respect me, or--”

“Damian, please” Bruce interrupted firmly. “Now is not the time to settle this”

“But--”

“Why am I not surprised that you fathered a brat?” Jason leaned forward, feeling taunting for a moment. “Which one of your concubines had enough bad luck to get pregnant? Selina? Or was it Richard’s lover, whatever was her name? Or maybe Talia, oh memorable Talia--”

“Don’t speak of my mother that way” Damian pulled his sword out. 

“So Talia it is” He smirked. 

“We are here to negotiate peace, not fuel a war” Bruce replied sternly. “I can do much worse than an arrow in the shoulder of a loved one, you know it. So be careful what you’re advancing about my family”

“Then keep your son on a tighter leash” Jason said, his face returning to a serious expression. “I still haven’t made my mind about keeping peace, don’t give me reasons to leave this meeting before we can discuss it”

“I should be telling you this” He squinted his eyes slightly. “You have thrown over a stable ally of this kingdom and stole the crown, then taken prisoner the King of Blüdhaven without giving a follow up on his state. You are in no place to threaten a war, yet here you are”

Jason waited a few seconds, not letting his stare waver. Then, he sighed and whistled. The plains were silent, until the faint sound of hooves cantering on the crisp snow grew closer to your position. Soon enough, you were passed on your left by another rider, slowly walking around you and toward Bruce’s party. Dick had a neutral expression as he turned around, stopping at Bruce’s side.

“Here” Jason waved his hand dismissively. “Your golden son, unharmed albeit slightly vexed”

“You should still pay for a crime like this” Bruce said.

“It’s fine” Dick tried to appease the tensions. “I do not wish to further this conflict, I have done enough already as it is”

“Why didn’t you fight back, Richard?” Damian asked in a judging and accusatory tone. “This is a disgrace to our family, and a display of weakness--”

“I was trying to avoid a much worse escalation of this conflict by owning a diplomatic mistake I made in the first place” He bit back. “What would you even know of politics, spoiled child?”

Roy laughed, and the sound only seemed to anger Damian more. You were in the middle of a family conflict, and unlike him, you didn’t know this side of the family well. You didn’t really know how to act, so you observed what would go down rather than actively participate. 

“I find the ginger man’s insolence unwelcomed in this matter” Damian said, trying to wash down the humiliation his brother had just handed to him. “He’s got nothing to do with it, and he’s got no title. He shouldn’t even be speaking”

“He speaks because I say he can” Jason defended Roy in a heartbeat, his tone strong and authoritative. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve got a crown and you don’t, which puts me above you in status and therefore my wishes outweigh yours”

Your eyebrow rose slowly as your eyes met Roy’s, who had an equally stunned expression. Jason had never used his status against anyone like that. It even seemed to take Damian by surprise, which was, with what you had learned about him in the last minutes, a hard feat to accomplish. If you were honest with yourself, while you loved Jason as a humble king, you were curious about the other side of him, even if he would show it in private.

“Your crown was stolen” Bruce reassessed. “The Kingdoms surrounding yours have decided this gesture would not stand. I wished a peaceful surrender from you, but it doesn’t seem like I will convince you to do so. You have three days to abdicate, until the next full moon, or your kingdom will be taken back by force”

“You think this is wise?” You finally spoke up on instinct, and all eyes turned to you, looking at you with surprise. You weren’t about to let those threats stand, especially not from Bruce. “Ever since King Jason came into power, he wiped out a guild that stole from families and murdered good people. Our kingdom is the safest for miles around, so much we get waves of new settlers even in winter. He lowered taxes on the population so much that most towns in the country have become flourishing trade posts in the span of a year, and instead taxed the nobility and cut on useless balls and dinners. Nobody starved last winter, and nobody is starving this one. Do you think the word didn’t get out to the other countries around? People are starting to want this for themselves too, and you think putting them through a devastating war will make things better? It will only make them resent you, those who didn’t already. We have people in every castle you know of who are ready to turn against you the second they get wind of aggression--”

“Bullshit” Damian called.

“Are you ready to take the risk?” You raised an eyebrow at him, before returning your glance to Bruce, who betrayed no emotion. “You will lose this war if you start it. You should consider your people before you send them to slaughter”

Silence fell over the hill for a moment.

“... What she said” Roy grinned, breaking the silence.

Bruce looked at Jason for a reaction, or most likely, some sort of opposition to what you had just said. Instead, he only readjusted his reins and straightened his back. “You heard right,” He said, not wavering. “You have three days, until the next moon, to annulate the warrants and back down. Think about your people, Bruce. Make the right decision”

With that mocking reprise of his father’s previous words, he turned his horse around and left him dumbfounded. With one last glance to their party, you followed Jason, trotting, then cantering away and back into your borders. Once you passed your soldiers’ road control, you slowed down to a walk.

“Huh” Roy exhaled as he leaned forward to glance at you over Jason’s horse between you two. “I didn’t know we had spies in other kingdoms”

“Now that I think about it,” Jason blinked a few times, his brows slightly furrowed. “Neither did I”

You shrugged. “Maybe we have them. That would be neat” 

You saw confusion, then astonishment flash in their eyes like their reactions were synchronized.

“Wait, did you just--”

“Did you fucking lie to Bruce in his face?” Roy cut off, almost yelling. Then, he laughed. “In his face?”

“By the time he realizes, no, if he even realizes I bluffed, we’ll have a solid plan to ward him off, no matter what he does” You explained. “We win”

“How did you manage to convince him?” Jason had an innocent incomprehension written all over his features, like a child in front of a magic trick. He was adorable. “You had me convinced”

“Oh, boys” You grinned. “You think women survive this long in the world without becoming excellent liars? How do you think I managed to infiltrate the staff for a week before we invaded the castle?”

“By… Um” Roy trailed off. “Cleaning well?”

You laughed. “People had questions, my dear. I had to build myself a credible life to feed them, so I wasn’t thrown out of the castle instantly. Lying to the enemy is a skill I learned to cultivate a long time ago”

“You’re awesome, you know that?” He sighed, a loopy smile on his face. Jason still had a starstruck expression on his face, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

“Wouldn’t hurt to hear it again, I must admit” You teased back, jutting your chin up. “But there is one thing that would be better… Last one in the bedroom owes the first one a shoulder massage”

You didn’t wait for them to register your words before kicking your horse to a gallop, no doubt closely followed by them.

---

The dancing light of the candles of the chandelier left a soft glow on your naked skin, moving around and spreading warmth as it crawled up and down your body. You were sitting upright as hands moved gently on your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive area of your still healing wound. In your laps was Jason’s head, your hands threading slowly in his black hair as his eyes were shut close. He wasn’t sleeping, his breathing made his chest rise too fast for him to be. But he was relaxed, his neck muscles were untensed on your legs and there were no harsh lines on his face. 

You looked behind you when Roy’s hand stopped massaging, pulling your hair to the side and kissing the back of your neck. 

“You really gotta get a faster horse” Your lips curved upwards. “You’re always losing these races”

“I think my horse’s speed is just fine” He whispered back. “Besides, you are both right where I want you to be”

Jason smirked. “Losing is always suddenly part of someone’s plan when they never win”

“Laugh all you want” He sighed, dramatically laying down on his side beside you, then leaning forward close to Jason’s ear. “We all know I end up winning anyway when you beg my name like a prayer, My King”

You could feel the shiver travel up his spine on your laps, as well as the sudden shift in the tension in his muscles. You played along and let your hand slightly pull his hair, which surprised a moan out of him. His eyes opened wide, the blue of his irises being quickly consummated by the black of his pupils. Then, his glance set on Roy, something hard to read beside the promising spark in it.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a, what, fourth go at it today?” He raised an eyebrow as his hand brushed his cheek. “I didn’t think you jaw recovered from earlier”

You laughed airily as Roy grinned mischievously. “Maybe you can take that voice when you put that brat child in its place” You suggested as you trailed up your hand up Jason’s bare chest. “I’m sure he would be happy to get back on his knees if you did”

Roy groaned at the suggestion, already imagining the whole scene behind his fluttering eyelids. However, Jason didn’t quite follow up on his reaction. “Don’t tempt me with…” He trailed off, then noticed the mood change. “Hey, is there something wrong?”

Jason blinked, then shook his head and gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine” He muttered, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Roy’s lips. 

“No, something’s bothering you” He insisted gently. “What is it, Jay?”

Jason sighed, shaking his head. “It’s nothing” He replied, looking up to the ceiling. “Don’t worry about it”

“It’s clearly not nothing” You said as your hands threaded softly in his hair. “What’s eating at you?”

A silence followed your words. It was like Jason was searching for the right words, like he wanted to say it so bad but something else was holding him back. You were patient, however, and you didn’t mind that he took his time to tell you. You knew he would talk when he’s ready.

“It’s what Bruce said” Roy beat him to it, speaking barely over a whisper. “Isn’t it?”

You looked in between the two men, noticing how Jason did not deny Roy’s words. It was like they were having a silent conversation for a few seconds, before Roy put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s how he didn’t see him as part of his family anymore” Roy spoke up, addressing you this time. “How Bruce didn’t seem to have any regret about replacing him in any way possible”

“Even after all this time” Jason gulped. “He won’t even stop reminding me he didn't care”

“Oh, my love” You reached for his hand and grabbed it, intertwining your fingers with his and giving it a squeeze. “He doesn’t deserve you beating yourself up about him like that. You’re worth so much more than anything he could even give you”

“She’s right,” Roy nodded. “We’re your family now, not him. Not him ever again. And I promise you we’ll never betray you that way, we’ll never set you aside. You’re our lover, you’re our King, you’re the most important person for us, and we would do anything for you”

You could see the crystal gleam of tears pooling in his eyes before he blinked them away, resisting the urge to break down. Jason had not often known true affection until he met Roy, then you. He felt like he didn’t deserve either of you, and sometimes he wondered why exactly you decided everyday to stay by his side. But you did stay, you did support him and guided him when he needed it. He wouldn’t have been anywhere near where he was right now without you. 

“You’re both so good to me” He whispered, adoration clear in his voice as he glanced at you, then Roy. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be wonderful either way” You smiled as you slipped beside him, careful not to pull on your bandages. Soon enough, Roy joined him on the other side, snuggling into him. “You’d miss on major cuddling, however”

His chest rose in a silent chuckle as he pulled you and Roy just a little bit closer. “Give yourselves more credit, I’d crash and burn without you both by my side”

“Let’s not bother with what ifs, yeah?” Roy replied, his lips curved upward as he kissed his shoulder. “It only matters that you’re here with us today, and that you are a damn good King. The rest doesn’t matter”

“The rest doesn’t matter” Jason repeated in a mutter, nodding lightly. “Only you. Only us” 

[silkling]

Falsely Accused: Revelations

Prowl leapt to the side, hissing as neglected joints protested a movement that had once been as natural to him as breathing was to an organic. His leg gave out, and he fell to one knee. Wing’s blade stopped micrometers from his throat cables. It hovered there for a beat, then the larger mech swung it around his back and sheathed it. He knelt next to the fallen mechling, frowning.

“Prowl?” he said gently.

He released a shuddering vent, then pushed himself up. Prowl had had regular fuel and recharge for the past quadricycle since he’d accepted Wing’s offer. He wasn’t better yet, and wouldn’t be in top shape until he saw a medic, but already the food and rest was helping him. He’d need a repaint desperately, but being able to use the ship’s washracks had gone a long way in making him look better, appearance wise. He’d rested for the past few orns, but then this morning he’d asked Wing if they could spar. The jet had carefully agreed. So far, he wasn’t doing so well.

“Prowl?” Wing asked again.

“I’m fine.” he said, forcing himself up. Wing followed. “Let’s keep going.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes I’m certain!”

Wing frowned at the harsh reply, and Prowl recoiled. “I’m sorry.” he said. “I just-“

“I understand.” Wing said soothingly. “I just don’t want you stressing yourself too much. There is time, Prowl. You don’t need to recover immediately.”

“You don’t even know what I’m trying to recover from.”

“No.” he agreed. “But I know it was bad, and I know it has weighed on you and hurt you. I know you need to let yourself recover naturally, or you will only hurt yourself more.”

The mechling was still, gaze directed at the ground. After a moment, he nodded. “I…understand. But I want to continue. I want to know how much I’ve lost. Please.”

Ah. So that was it, Wing realized. His spark ached in sympathy for the hurting Praxian. He wanted to figure out how far his skills had dropped since…well, Wing knew. He didn’t want to tell Prowl, but he was sure he had a decent idea.

“Alright.” he agreed. “A little bit more today, and then you need to rest and recover. We’re currently headed for an old friend of mine. He’s a Neutral medic. He’ll help you. Once you’ve been properly seen to and physically recovered more, then we can start with your training.”

Prowl looked at him, then nodded slowly. Prowl had already told him they were heading to a medic first, so that wasn’t new information, but it seemed he appreciated being told what to expect until then and after it.

“Good.” Wing smiled, keeping his EM field soothing and calm. Then he stepped back, slipping into an easy stance and deciding to forgo his blade. “Ready yourself.”

Prowl slipped into an easy stance, and Wing moved. He went in for a chest strike, but the slim mech danced away in a smooth two-step maneuver. On the second step, his weight shifted and he was sliding underneath the white jet, coming up straight and spinning in the same movement that he lashed out with a servo. Wing smoothly ducked and rolled on his heels away from the attack, then dipped low under the Praxian’s arms and came up on his right side, and lashed out with a palm aimed at the side of his helm.

He fully expected the mechling to see the strike coming and dodge. He wasn’t moving fast, and the hit wasn’t even a very hard one. It would be easy to move away from. So he was very surprised when his palm made contact, and the Praxian stumbled, legs buckling and sending him to his knees.

Wing was kneeling beside him in an instant, one servo on his shoulder to steady him and the other reaching for the newly-cracked visor. It had already been old, so he wasn’t surprised he’d damaged it by mistake. Before his fingers could touch it, Prowl was gripping his wrist, his field flaring with panic. Wing paused, and his helm tilted.

He had a feeling he knew what this was about. He strongly suspected that Prowl’s right optic was damaged. Most likely something he’d sustained during….well, Wing was fairly certain he knew when it had happened.

If he had to guess, the optic itself was likely broken, or damaged in a way that threw off Prowl’s depth perception or ability to distinguish shapes. It’d explain why he acted like he did. He had noticed how the younger cyber-ninja didn’t like anyone on his right side, and if he could he always put himself close to a wall, with the wall to his right. He never let a mech out of his left side. Wing was certain there was something wrong. He just needed to know exactly what.

“Prowl.” he soothed. “I need to see. We’re going to a medic now, and Blades will want to know how damaged your optic is if he’s going to be able to fix it.”

Prowl tensed. “It’s not damaged. I just don’t like mechs reaching for my face.”

“Oh? Is that why you never let someone on your right side?”

Prowl was silent.

“Prowl.” Wing said, voice soft. “I need to know. It needs repair, and depending on the damage level it might affect how I go about your training. I promise, I won’t hurt you. But I need to know, mechling.” he murmured.

Prowl stared, and then his grip on the jet’s wrist loosened and dropped. Wing reached forward, and carefully slid the visor off. He dropped his optics to it, setting it by Prowl’s knee, and then his gaze rose to his newest student’s face.

He froze.

Oh, Primus. It was worse than he thought.

Prowl’s right optic was black, like a dead mech’s.

Wing had seen this before, but never with optics. Sometimes,a Cybertronian was hurt severely enough, usually in one of their limbs, that the wires and circuitry and connections that linked that limb to the processor stopped transmitting or processing any energy or form of life. The limb, in those scenarios, would essentially die. The only fix was to amputate, replace all the dead wires and connections, and attach a new limb. Unfortunately, that was an operation with a very, very low success rate. It was almost like, in those cases, the connection at the processor itself was dead. Wing knew that there was no medic who could fix Prowl’s optic. No one who might be skillful enough would be willing to even try. The optics were already delicate enough to replace, but to replace the connections and circuitry between it and his processor…there was too much risk. This wasn’t the type of optic injury that could be fixed by removing the damaged one and giving him a new one.

Prowl was half-blind, and would be for the rest of his life.

“Oh, Prowl….” he breathed, his servo cupping the mechling’s face, his thumb swiping under the black, sightless optic that should have been a twin for the lovely blue one shining bright from the left side of Prowl’s face.

“Don’t.” he choked.

“Don’t what?” Wing asked.

“Don’t…” he trailed off, then started again. “I don’t want pity.” He spat the word like it was a curse.

“Prowl, no.” Wing said, aching inside for the broken mechling in front of him. “It’s not pity. It’s…” he shook his helm. “It’s grief, Prowl.” He fought to keep it from his voice. The Praxian needed his strength right now. “I’m grieving for you.”

“…why?” He didn’t seem defensive anymore, just tired. Tired and confused. It hurt Wing to know a mech so young was so wary of any form of kindness.

“Because it’s not right, Prowl.” he said gently. “An injury like that…it doesn’t happen on accident. Someone did that to you.” He squeezed his shoulder, gaze soft and sad. “You didn’t deserve this, Prowl. You deserved so much better.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“No.” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” When Prowl’s gaze dropped, Wing moved his servo from his cheek to his chin, tipping his face up. “Do you hear me, Prowl?” he asked gently. “You deserved better.”

The Praxian stared, his single working optic overbright and shining. His vents hitched, and Wing’s resolve to wait for Prowl to come to him for assurance crumbled. He tugged the mechling into his chest, guiding his helm to rest in the crook of his neck. Prowl was stiff for a moment, and then he sagged and started shaking. He didn’t make a noise, aside from the hitching of his vents, but Wing would feel the wetness gather where his face was pressed.

The ninja master sat there, holding the crying mechling who had never once been told that he hadn’t deserved his fate, and tilted his helm up. Primus was a cruel master sometimes, he thought ruefully. Their Creator had infinite kindness and love, but there were times where he simply forgot to direct his attention to those who needed it the most.

Wing shifted his gaze when he sensed a presence by the door of the ship’s small training room, finding Drift standing there. His older student stared, a knowing look in his optics, and bowed his helm before turning to leave. Drift would know what to do. After all, it had once been him in Prowl’s position, though then there had been no senior student to step in.

Eventually, the injured mechling tired himself out, his frame going limp as his exhausted, overtaxed systems forced him into recharge. Wing shifted him, one servo grabbing his visor, and then he was lifting him into his arms and standing up. He carried Prowl to his room, setting him on the berth and putting the visor on the nightstand. He carefully tugged the blankets up around his sleeping student, then headed to the door.

He paused before he left the room, casting a glance at the cracked visor. They were near a space-port. They could dock for a groon or two so Wing could send Drift to purchase a new visor. With how tired Prowl was, he likely would sleep all through the stop anyway.

Prowl shifted in his sleep, rolling to curl up on his side, and Wing smiled fondly before he left the room and let the door slide shut behind him. That could come later. Right now, Prowl needed his rest.

——————————

When Prowl woke, he was confused. It took him a moment to realize why he was in his berth, and then the memories hit. His optic onlined slowly, and he sat up. His blanket fell, pooling around his lap. Had Wing put him to berth? It certainly seemed so.

He winced when his tanks growled, a quick check to his HUD informing him he was low on fuel. He pushed the blankets off, then slid out of the berth. His gaze landed on his visor, and he reached for it. As soon as he picked it up, the crack grew, and the visor fell into two pieces. He stared, before his doorwings slumped and he set the broken visor down again. Right. Of course that would happen. Primus really did have it out for him.

Another growl from his tanks reminded him of his hunger, and he heaved a sigh before turning and leaving his room. There was a small rec room in the ship, where the energon dispenser was. He’d go there, and avoid Drift if he saw him. Wing knew about his optic now, so there was no hiding it, but he wasn’t ready for the racer to know, too.

Prowl arrived at the rec room, his optic finding Wing sitting in a corner by the view port. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the jet. He’d accepted the mech’s offer, but he couldn’t yet think of him as “Master Wing”. He had yet to address the other bot as such. He supposed a part of him wasn’t willing to believe that Wing actually cared. Another, smaller part of him still clung to Master Yoketron.

The mech in question obviously sensed him, because Prowl found himself pinned under the force of his bright amber optics. A smile stretched across his faceplates, and the white bot nodded.

“Hello, Prowl. Recharge well?”

“Yes.” he answered, walking over to where Wing was seated.

“That’s good. We made a short stop while you were out. I asked Drift to pick up something for you.”

Prowl blinked, surprised. “For me? That’s not necessary.”

“I think it is.” Wing smiled, then pulled something out of his subspace and set it in front of the Praxian.

Prowl’s vents froze. It was a visor. It was a very similar make to his old one, but it was slimmer and not as long. When he reached out to touch it, he could tell immediately that it was a much better, lighter material. More durable, too. Slowly, he lifted it, waiting to be told it was a prank and to have it snatched away. Wing did no such thing, and Prowl was soon pushing it into place over his optics. He could see through it even better than his last, and when he looked to the nearest reflexive surface he realized that the visor glowed faintly like his optic did, but it did so uniformly. It wasn’t dimmer or dark on the right side, the side that covered his dead optic. Looking at him, it’d be impossible to tell he was half-blind.

He swallowed, deciding to cautiously take this at face value. “Thank you.”

“Of course, little one. I broke yours, it was only right to replace it.” He smiled. “I also picked up a couple extras, in case that one breaks as well.”

Here, Wing pulled a small box out of his subspace and set it down. Prowl was quick to grab it and slip it into his own subspace, not wanting to take the chance of losing the spare visors to a change of mind when they were the only thing keeping the world from learning about his optic.

Wing smiled sadly, though for the life of him Prowl still didn’t understand why. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Prowl.” he said. “You know I knew Yoketron. I think it’s time I tell you the full story, if you wish to hear it.”

Prowl stiffened at the mention of his old mentor, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. All he could think about was how he wanted to learn more about the mech who had given him a home and a purpose.

“Please.” he whispered.

Wing smiled. “Yoketron and I were students together.” he explained.

Prowl froze. “You…what?”

“We were students together, at the same time and under the same master.” He explained. “This was before the war, of course. Back when the Cyber-Ninja Corps was larger. Our master commonly took on pairs of students. One the senior student, one the junior. The senior student could help their junior, if need be, and they’d train together, live together, learn together. When the senior student graduated, our master would take on a new student, and the one who was previously the junior student would become the senior while the new one would become the junior.” Wing said. “It was a common way to teach students, back then. Yoketron was the one who decided to start only taking one student at the time.”

Prowl stared, carefully turning that information over in his processor. “You…were more than just cohorts, then.”

“Yes.” Wing agreed. “Yoketron was my junior, actually. And he was our master’s last student. After he graduated and after he achieved the title of cyber-ninja master, he was given the role of Master of the Corps.” The jet’s smile turned soft and wistful. “We were Amica. I will miss him dearly.”

Prowl stared, and then his gaze dropped. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. His master had had an Amica? He almost couldn’t believe it.

“It’s not your fault, mechling.” Wing soothed, chuckling. “You are not to blame for his death.”

He was still, not knowing how to respond. For mega-cycles, he had been blamed for his Master’s death. He didn’t know how to react to someone telling him otherwise. He didn’t know if Wing meant it. He probably did, the jet was rather genuine in all the the he he did. Pits, but Prowl didn’t want to think about Yoketron. The memory still sent jagged bolts of agony through his spark.

“Your Master.” he said, grasping a topic to focus on. “What was his name?”

Wing laughed, helm tilting. “Her name, actually. Master Windblade was a femme. Cyber-ninja titles don’t differentiate between gender. Every bot of a certain rank has the same title, regardless of their frame type or whether they’re a mech or femme.”

“A femme?” Prowl asked, stunned. “There was a femme as the Master of the Corps?”

“Is that so surprising?” Wing asked, frowning.

“Femmes, ah….” Prowl trailed off. “Most are not involved in positions that would involve any degree of combat or political power. They are primarily medics, or work in similar soft fields, if they work in the Autobot forces at all. Femmes are rare, and most of them are civilians.” he said.

The jet went still, frowning. “Oh? Is that so?” he murmured.

“Yes.” he said quietly. “They are…highly discouraged from pursuing anything violent.”

Wing shook his helm. “Yet another failing of the Autobot leadership.” he sighed.

Prowl was confused. “Another?” He knew High Command weren’t perfect, in fact he knew that the structure of the Autobots on Cybertron was twisted at best, but he had a feeling Wing wasn’t talking about that.

“Yes.” he said. “Did you know, little one, that there used to be a multitude of flight-frames among the Autobot and civilian population? Before and even during the war, our species wasn’t divided into just Autobot and Decepticon. There were many who were neither. Now, those who refused to pick a side must live away from our homeworld.”

“As Neutrals.”

“Yes. And during the war, there were quite a few Autobot flyers. A rather famous one was a soldier called Whirl. A group known as the Aerialbots fought together and dominated the skies. There was even a mech named Blades, though he worked more in rescue and medicine than in active combat.”

“So what happened to them all?” Prowl asked. There were no flyers on Cybertron. In fact, before his imprisonment, during which he’d first learned of the Neutrals, and before meeting Wing, he’d assumed that all flyers were Decepticons.

“They were forced off planet with the Decepticons. Most became Neutrals. I suppose the Autobot leadership wanted to create a certain narrative, and their flyers didn’t fit into it.”

Prowl frowned, then something occurred to him. “Blades…that’s the medic we’re going to see?”

Wing smiled. “Yes. He’s a skittish mech, but he has a good spark. He just wants to do good for others.”

Prowl nodded. “You know a lot about this.” he said.

“I should.” Wing said. “Master Windblade was a jet. As am I, as you’ve noticed. After I completed my training, she asked if I wished to continue advanced training to become a paladin. I agreed, and when she completed Yoketron’s tutelage she took me off-planet for the rest of my own training. It was shortly after I’d become a paladin that Cybertron sent us a message telling us we wouldn’t be permitted to return.”

Prowl was stunned. Of course he’d always known that there were no Autobot flyers, but he hadn’t thought that meant Autobot High Command had forced the ones it did have to leave their home. But if he was being honest, he wasn’t too surprised. He remembered what his people had done to him. He knew they had an astounding capacity for cruelty.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Wing shook his helm. “It’s quite alright, Prowl. Cybertron hasn’t been home for me in a long time. I preferred exploring the stars, if I’m honest.”

Prowl hummed, then lifted his helm as something the mech had said caught his attention. “You mentioned…becoming a paladin?”

“Ah, yes.” Wing smiled. “Paladins are a part of the cyber-ninja corps. It’s a title. To earn it, a cyber-ninja who competes their full training must be willing to take on additional, advanced training.” He gestured at his back, where the hilt of his sword, a gem glinting in its pommel, sat sheathed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my blade.”

“I have.”

“It is what is called a Great Sword, and is the final step in becoming a paladin. Master Windblade was one, too. The gems in the blades give them immense power and a small degree of…sentience, almost. When a paladin in training becomes ready for a Sword, they are taken to the Vault. It’s a location far off of Cybertron where all the Great Swords are kept. When a paladin-hopeful arrives, they must visit each blade, and if they are deemed worthy, one of the blades will choose them and bind to their very spark.”

Prowl blinked. “So your sword…”

“Is tied to my spark, yes. It’s name is Knowing Light. I can use the blade as a simple sword, without drawing on its power, but when I do use it’s full strength it forms an active link to my spark. Using the energy of my spark, it makes itself far more powerful and stronger.”

“And what’s the consequence of that?”

Wing laughed. “Shrewd, aren’t you? Yes, there is a consequence to linking and powering a Great Sword. Each time a paladin does, it drains just that much more of their life force. The blade is not to be used lightly. One can fight with it without drawing on its power, but if you wish to make it stronger you must sacrifice some of yourself to do so.” he explained.

“So…you’re a paladin.” Prowl was staring, optic wide behind his visor. “If you bind your spark to your blade, does that mean it’s bound to you and you alone?”

“Indeed.” Wing chuckled. “No other can use Knowing Light as long as I live. I am currently training Drift to become a paladin as well. One day, he will visit the Vault and see if any of the Great Swords deem him worthy.”

Prowl nodded. That…he’d never known about that. It wasn’t in any records at the Dojo. He didn’t think that knowledge existed in the Corps anymore.

“And me?” he asked. Did Wing intend to make him a paladin, too?

Wing shrugged. “Only if you wish it, little one. It’s a great deal of work, and a rather heavy burden and responsibility. If you only want the training to graduate as a cyber-ninja, I will be happy to give just that much to you. If you wish to take the path of the paladin, then I’d be most honored to guide you in that journey.”

Prowl wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Wing really meant it, he thought. He had a choice in this. The jet would teach him whatever he wanted to learn. His tanks growled, and the mech startled before laughing lightly. He stood, and before Prowl really processed anything he was back from the dispenser and setting a full cube in front of him.

“Slowly.” Wing reminded gently.

Prowl nodded, picking up the cube. “Thank you.” he murmured, lifting it for a long, slow sip. He swallowed, sighing as he felt his tanks begin to settle with the promise of fuel.

“I…have a question.” he said.

Wing hummed as he sat back down. “And I shall endeavor to answer it.”

“The medic, Blades…do you know him?”

“Quite well. Drift and I both have enough medical knowledge to treat ourselves of basic injuries, but we go to Blades whenever it’s something more serious.” he explained.

“Do you think he could….” He trailed off. How did he even ask?

“He can’t fix your optic, Prowl.” Wing whispered.

“No, no!” Prowl looked up. “I….I know. That’s not what…”

“Then what?” he asked patiently.

“Do you think he can change my frame?”

Wing froze. “Prowl.” he said carefully. “A frame reformat is not a good idea.”

“Not that, either.” Prowl shook his helm. “Just…” he trailed off, catching his reflection in the dark window beside them and wincing. “I can’t look at myself without seeing who I was before and remembering everything I have suffered.” he whispered. “I don’t want a reformat. Just…cosmetic changes. Minor ones, and a new paint job. I know it is selfish, but I do not want to look at myself and only see an echo of the past I’ve lost.”

Wing tilted his helm. “It is selfish.” he agreed. “But selfish is not bad, Prowl. Everyone needs to be selfish, sometimes. So long as you do not live your life as such, there is nothing wrong with being selfish in your personal matters.”

Prowl swallowed, throat feeling thick. He didn’t say anything.

Wing smiled. “Blades can very easily after your frame cosmetically. And a new paint job is also easy. Drift wished for the same when he became my student. I will not deny it to you.”

Prowl nodded, gaze dropping. He wondered why Drift had needed such changes. Perhaps, now that he was here, he’d have time to find out and get to know his senior.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

Wing chuckled, nodding. “Of course, little one. You deserve to feel good about yourself. I won’t deny you that chance to.”

Prowl stood abruptly, tucking his cube to his chest. Wing watched, but said nothing. This was getting too much. He appreciated everything he’d been told, all the respects and cares Wing was extending to him, but he just desperately needed some time to himself to he could process it all and assure himself it wasn’t a cruel trick. It would take time to learn to trust again, but he thought he could come to trust Wing, if things continued like this. He turned, heading for the exit of the red room with the cube in hand. At the door, he paused but didn’t look back.

“Thank you.” he said again, ignoring the tremor in his voice. “I hope you have a pleasant orn, Master Wing.”

And then he was fleeing down the hall back to his room.

Back in the recipe room, Wing was still. That had been the first time Prowl had addressed him like that. He paused, and then he was smiling even wider.

Yes, he’d made the right decision.

He could feel it.

———————————————————————————————————

And here we finally have it! The reveal of what happened to Prowl’s optics and where Wing knew Yoketron from! I wanted to incorporate the idea of the Knights into this somehow, and since Axe and Dai Atlas are canonically cyber-ninjas I thought why not make the Knights an extension of the Corps, just under a different name? I thought it fit.

I also really liked the idea of ninja lady Windblade teaching Wing and Yoketron. In my mind, Wing was a hellion and a wild feral child who liked having fun, and Yoketron was the surly, egotistical, rude little jerk. She whipped them both into shape, though!

I’d also like to apologize for the wait since my last fic, and give y’all a heads up. Updates and fic request fills will be slower coming. They’ll still happen, but for now I’ve closed requests until I can fill all the ones I have and write for my other series too. This is all cause I started my freshman year of college recently, so that’s going to be my primary focus for a while. I’ll write in the times I have to spare and post when I can, but it won’t be regular. Thank you all so much for your support, though! It really means a lot and is what makes me keep writing!

I hope you liked this fic, and if you have any thoughts be sure to let me know!

Until next time, folks!

[sedated-love]

ShigarakixReader smut

Tenth post of October!! 

TW- Piss, Noncon, Voyeurism

Hope you guys enjoy! If you like it, please take the time to reblog <3 It helps a ton! Also if you have any suggestions for what I write in the future, please feel free to leave them in my ask box!

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

“Shit…”

You cursed softly under your breath as you made your way across the ball floor, noticing just how bad of a position that you were in. You were sent undercover to this villain’s ball as a spy to try and gather information, but you didn’t realize just how many villains there would be. The worst part is that everyone of them that you recognize, wants your head on a silver platter for tonight’s main course.

You were thankful it was a masked ball but the half mask covering your face didn’t stop you from feeling completely naked and vulnerable as you tried to weave your way through the dancing villains. You hadn’t even realized this sort of thing existed until you were sent as a pro hero to go and infiltrate it. A ball for villains to dance and dress up almost sounded fake after all but it very much wasn’t.

You would like to say you weren’t worried, but it felt like the smallest of wrong moves could get you killed and honestly it could. With the number of villains here, it wouldn’t take long for them to rip you to shreds limb by limb. Just the thought had you shivering as you grabbed a shot off the tray of a server walking past, not caring what kind of alcoholic beverage it was as you closed your eyes and shot it anyways, feeling the burn immediately settle in your chest. You were going to need it for tonight.

“Drinking already~?”

You practically jumped out of your skin when a voice you recognized appeared behind you and you slowly turned around to see Shigaraki…aka the man who probably wanted you dead the most here out of everyone. You choked down your anxiety to offer a smile, handing the shot glass away to the server before turning all of your attention to the villain who was easily recognizable as he used a muzzle as his mask of choice. How fitting. You always did think he seemed a little too feral to be without one.

“It’s never to early for a drink…”

You kept your voice steady, not liking the way the villain’s eyes were traveling your body since you couldn’t tell if he wanted to kill you or eat you. Either way you didn’t really like the outcome. “I suppose.” His eyes dragged their way back to yours and with the way he looked at you, you felt like you weren’t wearing a mask at all. You felt completely vulnerable and suddenly you wanted to dart the other way but that would completely blow you cover so instead you stood still in front of him, trying to keep yourself from looking too suspicious.

“Care for a dance, M’lady?”

He offered his hand which you noticed was gloved. A part of you was thankful as you had seen his quirk in action more times than you’d like to admit, and you weren’t looking to get disintegrated any time soon but you still didn’t reach to take his hand. “Well, actually, I was just about to get going so…” You went to turn on your heel as you politely declined his offer, knowing that dancing with your number one nemesis was about the worst thing that you could do.

After all, that made him about a million percent more likely to figure out your true identity and you weren’t desperate for your demise just yet. Though you were quick to freeze when you felt that gloved hand wrap around your wrist, forcing you to turn back to look at the villain. “I suggest you dance with me~” He spoke barely above a hushed whisper, which made him barely audible with the music in the background drowning everything out unless you concentrated hard.

His tone, despite being soft, told you that this was no suggestion. He was demanding that you take the floor with him but still you offered a tightly lipped smile, doing your best to not appear rude while still being firm. “I really do have to get going…” You looked down at your wrist where his grasp tightened to a point it was almost painful. You had to hold back a wince as those red eyes stayed focus on you, devouring you alive.

“I’m sure you have time for one more dance.”

He pulled you by your wrist against his chest with ease. His other hand, which was now painfully obvious to you wasn’t gloved like the other, rested against your lower back. His pinky being raised was the only thing keeping all of your particles in one piece. “Unless, of course, you want everyone here finding out who you are, hero~”

Your body tensed as you realized he knew exactly who you were already. You racked your brain for what must have given it away when he answered your question, leaning in close to your ear as he whispered. “I’d notice your frame anywhere…you think I haven’t memorized it by now?” A soft purr left his lips as his eyes wandered down your body, making you feel like you were completely naked despite wearing a decent amount of clothes. “Every measurement…every curve has been scanned into my brain. I could recognize you out on the street even if you were wearing a baggy hoodie and jeans just from the degree of the angle your jawline makes~”

He ran a gloved finger along the outline of your jaw, causing a shiver to go through your spine as you looked up at him with a horrified expression written all over your face. The expression just seemed to amuse him though as he offered you a smirk before dragging you towards the dance floor. “It’s time for that dance, M’lady~” He didn’t give you a chance to argue as you were pulled around in his grasp like a doll. Your hands were moved to rest on his shoulders as both of his held onto your waist besides the one pinky which hovered over your frame in almost a teasing manner.

“What is it that you want from me?”

You couldn’t help the question that had been wracking your brain as your bodies slowly began moving with the beat of the music. You were absolutely surrounded with no escape. The mass majority of people that wanted you dead were surrounding you while the one who wanted you the most had you right in the palm of his hands…literally. Now you just needed to figure out what he wanted, and you didn’t see the harm in asking. After all, he proved he already knows who you are and if he wanted you dead immediately, he could have killed you by now.

He proved that with the way he had his pinky carefully hovering over your hip. As if one wrong move and he would have you turned into nothing more than a pile of ashes at his feet. “It would be easier to ask what I don’t want from you…” His voice spoke softly as he seemed just as dangerous with the muzzle on. Like either way he would manage to bite you with the way he was looking down at you.

“I’m gonna make you mine.”

A shiver rolled its way down your spine with the way he said that and you wanted nothing more than to sock him in the face but you were pretty sure causing that much attention to yourself while you were surrounded by the countries most powerful villains wasn’t the smartest idea. He had you trapped right where he wanted you. “I’ll claim you right here in front of everyone~ You’ll be my own little hero pet~”

The unease that flowed through your body at the sound of that left you stiff. It took everything you had to keep your feet moving with the beat as you slow danced with the criminal. “You’re fucking sick, you know that?” You kept your voice hushed but you couldn’t help the disgust you felt. He wanted to claim you? What sort of sick nonsense was that? You weren’t some toy to be chosen in front of a room of toddlers but that’s exactly how he was treating it.

“I’ll show you just how sick, I can be.”

A sadistic look twisted on his face as he grabbed a handful of your hair, dragging you towards the center of the ballroom. You had to stumble behind him to struggle and keep your balance as he pulled you along with ease, an act that quickly grabbed everyone’s attention as you struggled against his tight grasp. You were promptly forced onto your knees as all of the villains in the room made a circle around you and the music cut. All eyes were on you.

“Now that I have everyone’s attention!”

Shigaraki yanked off the mask that was the only thing keeping your identity hidden, disintegrating it in his grasp as you heard the hushed whispers of all of the villains surrounding you. This wasn’t good. “I’ve seemed to find a little spy amongst our numbers tonight~” The man standing above you kept you held down with his hand place firming on your head, his index barely lifted off as he spoke proudly to everyone around you.

You could feel all of the eyes digging into you, ripping you apart already as if the only thing holding them back was Shigaraki. You didn’t know whether you were grateful or just wanted them to get it over with already. “I’m going to claim her as mine!” The cheers that filled the room pounded into your core. It was like everyone knew exactly what that phrase entailed besides you. Though you were going to find out very soon.

Using his clothed hand, he undid his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers until his hard member popped free and pressed directly against your face with where he was holding your head. You wanted to jerk back in disgust but doing that would have that index finger pushed down faster than you could pull away.

You were completely stuck there, with his cock in your face, in front of everyone. “Be a good little hero and fix my problem~” Shigaraki used his index finger and thumb to press against either side of your cheeks until your jaw was forcibly opened, not waiting another moment before he shoved his cock down the back of your throat. “Bite and you’ll end up a dust bunny~” He tightened his grasp on the top of your head as if proving his point as he started roughly thrusting his hips, not seeming to give a care in the world that everyone was watching the two of you.

If anything, it seemed to make him all the more excited as he throbbed against the back of your throat. He didn’t bother being gentle as he started using your throat like a flesh light, pounding roughly against your face with no care in the world of how you gagged under the rough treatment. You had to force yourself to concentrate on breathing through your nose as the thick cock pushed its way down the back of your throat with every thrust. His rough grip on your head giving you no wiggle room as all you could do was sit obediently on the floor in front of everyone and suck on your worst enemies’ cock.

You gagged with every thrust, tears starting to stream down your cheeks as he used your throat as he pleased. You felt dirty and used as the villain effectively claimed you as his own, but little did you know that he wasn’t finished. His thrusts got sloppy as he approached his orgasm and he gave you no time to prepare before he shoved your head all the way down on his cock, cumming deep in the back of your throat and forcing you to swallow every ounce of his cum.

A groan left his lips as he looked down at you, pumping your throat full as he took in how completely wrecked you were underneath him. The tears streaming down your cheeks doing even more for his ego as he rocked his hips through his orgasm, only pulling out once he had become completely soft against your lips.

You coughed softly, your throat feeling sore from being used so ruthlessly and your face was a wreck as a mixture of drool and cum slid down your chin. Your cheeks burned hot with embarrassment and you wanted nothing more than to hide away completely, already brought to shame just from being forced to do something so lewd in front of everyone you hated…but being embarrassed wasn’t enough for Shigaraki.

He wanted to make you feel so ashamed that you wouldn’t have the dignity to ever come back from it. Which is exactly why he grabbed you by the back of your head, shoving his flaccid dick against the back of your mouth before using his other hand to pinch your nose. “Drink.” He gave you no other warning before he started releasing his warm piss down the back of your throat, letting out a soft sigh of relief as he released himself in your body.

You felt your entire face burning with shame as you had no choice but to drink his warm liquid, closing your eyes as you took all that he had to give to you, feeling absolutely filthy as he emptied himself inside of you in front of everyone. “Good girl~” He waited until he was completely done to uncover your nose and pull himself completely from your mouth, grabbing you by the front of your clothes just to pull you closer to his face as he leaned down until your lips were almost touching.

“The shame that you feel right now ties you to me. Don’t forget it~”

He placed a soft kiss to your lips before letting you drop completely, turning to look at the villains who were all watching your limp body. “The girl belongs to me now. Anyone who lays a finger on her…” He grabbed the face of a random person standing behind him in the outline of the circle, watching as he disintegrated to dust at his feet. “Will suffer a similar fate~”

[slasherholic]

request: Now my friend, what if we got another drunk Michael but the reader gave a shot at snuggling against drunk Mikey boi?

synopsis: Michael gets himself drunk off his ass. You take advantage. This is technically an epilogue to this nasty little piece right here, but reading it is not required (or recommended LOL)

warnings: mentions of abuse, reader has a female body, angst with a helping of fluff

All the Way Down | Michael Myers x Reader | NSFW

The concept of mercy, you think, as Michael’s bloodied fingers alight again on your skin, dragging up the front of your tender throat, drawing another unsteady, shuddering breath from your lips, can go fuck itself—because compared to last weekend, Michael’s play tonight has been dreadfully merciful.

Evening has fallen. The suburbs are quiet. The sky outside burns a brilliant orange and the light that drowns your bedroom is blistering. You sit entangled between Michael’s legs like a statue overgrown by vines. Since the sun began to set, he hasn’t allowed you to move an inch from his lap.

You do not want to look ahead at your reflection in your standing bedroom mirror. You do not want to glimpse your naked body or your tired eyes or the ugly reality of Michael’s markings, and though it seems a stupid thing to be grateful for, you are grateful your eyes do not have the option of straying anywhere but the ceiling; Michael’s busy hands are making sure of it.

His fingers clamped around your jaw force your chin upward at a painful angle. He traverses the flesh of your neck tirelessly, exploring your throat like territory he has yet to claim—as if he hasn’t done so a hundred times over already. The lazy sweeping of his calloused fingers across your skin stings like salt in an open wound, and you grit your teeth tightly together to keep the whimpers from escaping. They dribble out anyway.

You hate that sound. You hate that it is coming out of you. Most nights you wouldn’t dare try to stop your wounded little noises, but right now, it doesn’t matter. Because Michael isn’t trying to hurt you.

You know the ache in your jaw would be a splitting pain were that the case, a shocking sensation, unbearable. You know the disobedient tears escaping your squeezed-shut lids would not be trickling down your cheeks in such bitter silence.

Michael’s invading fingers do not poke and prod so much as sweep lightly over your rawed skin, tracing back and forth along the rope markings worn into your flesh like divots into soil. Cruelty is not his intent—he’s just being curious.

You blink softly as another set of tears slips down your face, and think to yourself that there does not exist a better feeling in the world than when Michael is holding you, and not being cruel.

And you are seized up stiffer than a corpse against his chest despite it.

His closeness is suffocating. His dangerous body presses in all around. His heat against your spine is a smothering inferno, and pin-pricks that feel very much like ants crawl all up and down your naked body, across your arms and legs and breasts, compelling you to break away from the raging fire that is Michael. Your instincts scream at you to writhe, to thrash, to struggle, to fight him.

You don’t. You wouldn’t dare. Because a struggle is not what he is after right now—a struggle might cost you your life. Michael’s presence alone is not what you fear; rather, it is the dreadful, heart-stopping state of his sobriety.

Or his tragic lack thereof.

He reeks of alcohol. His slow exhales sweep across your cheeks and invade your nostrils, hot and sour, grossly-sweet. The dark hunger in his eyes, that familiar coldness you have grown so accustomed to, has dulled as though buried. What brief glances you have dared to exchange with him in the mirror have not had the usual effect of halting your racing thoughts in their tracks nor frozen you like a deer caught in the headlights. What you see in his languid stare instead is unfocus, a dullness that borders on shocking. Michael is not just drunk; he’s shit-faced.

And now you find yourself captured in the arms of a man who could kill you with as little thought and effort as one squashes a bug on the sidewalk—and any lingering shred of self-control that existed in his primal mind has just been stolen away by a pint of alcohol.

Your evening Mimosa was what had done him in.

The bottle of champagne had been an impulse buy at the store; a tempting offer that you were in no position to refuse. The intrusive thoughts flared up anyway as you set the bottle down in your cart, eager to hound you—Champagne? Really? Tonight of all nights?

You swept them eagerly under the rug. This was to be no celebration, no commemoration of having survived another seven days of Michael. The opposite could not be truer. It was a Saturday evening, and college is shit, and you wanted nothing more than to get drunk off your ass and forget where and who and what you are for a while.

The pitcher had sat filled to the brim on the counter. The phone rang in the hallway, then. Your mother was on the other line.

You stayed on the phone with her while she talked herself to tears. She told you all sorts of things which, in truth, you only vaguely remember—you hadn’t been very present. You think she was calling to congratulate you. To tell you that she’s proud of the person you’ve grown up to be. She mentioned your schooling, and that had you crying, too, because college is no longer something you can be proud of. It hasn’t been for a long, long time. It is just an excuse to get away from Michael for a while.

Never had you come closer to spilling your awful, dirty little secret than during that phone call. How sickeningly easy it would have been to interrupt your mother’s praise and to let the messy truth about the monster in your house trickle out.

You maintained your fragile composure until your mother hung up the phone. The moment the line went dead you went back into the kitchen to chug and chug and chug.

Your heart plummeted. The pitcher was gone. Where it had gone was hardly a mystery.

You sprinted up the stairs by twos. You snatched your keys from your purse in your bedroom. You had nearly made it to the front door, and then Michael had ambushed you from the downstairs broom closet, and it was over. You’ve been his lap accessory ever since.

Your soft sobbing has long since waned, the runaway tears drying into salty stains on your cheeks. Now is not the time for crying; now is the time to be still and silent and to pretend with all your muster that you are an oversized doll, lifeless, incapable of hurt. You know that if you do something to excite Michael’s violence in this state—if you make him want to hurt you—you will lose your life.

Beneath you, Michael shifts his weight clumsily, tucking one leg under his body, as if the stiffness from the floor has just now crept into his bones. At some point his coveralls had fallen away from his shoulders to pool around his waist. As he tosses you in his lap you snatch up handfuls of the loose fabric, bracing against him.

He’s hard again, you realize, as the heat of his arousal sheathed in your body pulls out and away, leaving you uncomfortably empty. His cock is hot and velvety between your slickened thighs, the throbbing head of it poking and prodding at your cool skin as he realigns himself with your hole, doing so with obvious difficulty. A little sound escapes you when he pushes in again—the stretch of him is unusually forgiving. You slide easily back down his length, glued once more to the skin of his bare pelvis, stuffed full of him.

Michael’s second unintentional mercy is that the sex tonight had been everything but painful; your mimosa had turned the act into a sluggish, lazy crawl.

He had all but collapsed onto your bed, content to let gravity drag you right down on top of him. You had waited against his chest for minutes, breathless, shuddering at the breeze sweeping across your bare nipples, as he struggled to solve the puzzle of how to get his coveralls down past his hips. Upon his rediscovery of the missing piece—his zipper—the rest of the picture fell into place.

His hot hands clasped beneath your armpits to lift and lower you onto his waiting cock. He filled you at a languid, merciful pace. You had shuddered and heaved and braced for pain as he eased himself into you again, again, again. The stretch was snug but never splitting; the dreaded pain never arrived. Relaxing around Michael’s cock became all-too natural, and when he spilled himself inside of you, it was more than not-painful. It was tight and close and warm, warm, warm. It was good.

The goodness made you cry.

The tears might have been gratitude, or relief, or joy, if only Michael was sober, and not tremendously shit-faced. Instead they were just tears. For all his tenderness, you had only the alcohol to thank.

Michael had migrated from the bed to the floor soon after, and there his inspection of your body began. His hands have been all up and down your skin since—but his cock hasn’t left its place inside you.

For better or for worse, you suspect you no longer register in Michael’s numbed mind as a living thing; not as prey, not as a toy. You are simply a hole. Tight and wet and warm. He wouldn’t rather stick his cock in any other hole, and he most certainly doesn’t plan on leaving this one anytime soon.

Your thoughts snap back to the present as Michael’s hand comes suddenly free from your jaw. His hot fingers disappear from your neck, and they don’t return. The ghost of his careless pressure still lingers, an ache that penetrates deep into your cheeks; but it is far from the worst ache Michael has ever given you. You bear it in silence.

He grabs you around your waist. You feel his core muscles tightening up against your stomach, his thighs stiffening beneath your bottom, and you know before he does it that he is going to try to stand. Your heels dig against the small of his back. You capture desperate handfuls of his shirt.

It doesn’t feel right to touch him this way. It doesn’t feel natural. It doesn’t feel allowed. Even so, Michael’s hands don’t leave their place around your waist—he makes no effort to stop your advances. His solid chest is a more familiar resting place than any pillow and you settle into it with a hesitancy that gives way to utter uncaring. Thudding up through layers of deadly muscle throbs his dark heart, pounding against your cheek, rhythmic as a metronome, hideously soothing.

It occurs to you that you could stop that beating heart tonight.

On any other night you would not have dreamt it; but Michael slipped up. You can be free of him. Your life is still salvageable.

Only half believing it, you promise yourself that if you are given a chance, you will kill Michael before the sun comes up.

You marvel at how efficiently the alcohol has sucked away all his deadly grace as he staggers to his feet. Planting a hand on the corner of your dresser to steady himself, he begins to shuck his sagging coveralls the rest of the way down his legs with one foot, leaving him naked from the waist down. The coveralls slump into a heap on the ground. You utter a little cry when he nearly trips on them.

You hope that Michael will carry you to bed now. You hope he will collapse onto the mattress and pin you hopelessly beneath his body. You hope that he will not give you the chance to take his life. As he teeters past the bed, your hope droops. As he steps out into the hallway, it withers and dies. The nightmare charges down its tracks with no end in sight.

When Michael begins to descend the stairs it occurs to you that he is most likely going to stumble and fall and break both of your necks. You turn your face into his chest. You shut your eyes. You pray that it will happen.

By the cruelest of mercies, it does not.

He sways off the final step and rights himself on steady ground, and you are still alive to feel his forceful hands absently groping and kneading the flesh of your hips, his steamy breath beating down against your scalp. You are still alive to fulfill your promise to yourself.

He turns sharply into the downstairs hallway, away from the front door, and the relief now churning in your gut is just as cold and sickening as the anticipation had been. He’s not going to try and take you somewhere—he’s just hungry.

In the kitchen, Michael snacks with no regard for how you still cling to his chest. When wrappers litter the tile you suspect you’ve been forgotten. You peek over his shoulder as he finishes, watching the cold air billowing out from your open fridge as he begins a wobbly zig-zag in the vague direction of your couch.

Michael melts into the cushions. The couch may as well be on fire with the quickness you draw back your legs to avoid being crushed by his weight. He settles, his breaths filling out his frame deep as ever, even deeper. Your eyes are squeezed shut tight; You can’t look at him. You are afraid to look at him. You’re afraid that you will see something other than the cold, unfeeling face of your monster, that you will see something passive and unassuming and human, and then you won’t be able to do it. You won’t be able to kill him.

Michael’s heart thrums away beneath your cheek, utterly unassuming, unaware that its timer is ticking down, down, down.

The friction of your legs shifting against him seems to remind him of you all at once. He is quick to restrain your waist again. The back-and-forth effort of his cock rocking between your legs is sluggish and absent. He fucks you slowly, and it is good.

Michael’s thrusting slows to a lazy pistoning and then stops altogether, his tremendous heat spilling deep inside your core for the second time tonight. With his release, his powerful body softens like clay beneath you. You mold easily against his form. A minute passes, then two, then three—then more than you can keep track of. Michael’s cum oozes between your thighs and makes a mess on his own lap, but if he is aware of the wetness he is no longer present enough to care.

You open your eyes for the first time in a long time. You peer up at Michael’s face. His dark lashes are pressed shut now, drawn together gently in a delicate balance that you suspect might be offset by something as faint as a draft. He is not asleep.

You can change that.

Your right arm is numb and tingly from disuse as you reach up for Michael’s neck. You bury your hand delicately between the couch cushion and his nape. Your nails meet the base of his neck to stroke and knead between his curls which fit like rings around your fingers. You pet Michael like you love him.

What remains of Michael’s alertness dissolves into your tender touch.

His eyes twitch beneath their lids as you trace his scalp. Your breath catches in anticipation of those icy eyes snapping open, latching onto your face with a penetrative stare. Michael’s eyes are hypnotic in the most draining way. His fixed gaze reminds you of your place in the universe; of how tragically far down the food chain you sit. It would perhaps be humbling, if it were not so terrifying.

You are not surprised by your dry eyes as you pet Michael. You had not been expecting any tears, and you still don’t. Not even as it occurs to you that this will be the last time you ever touch him. Not even when you repeat those words in your brain. Not even when they become the syllables on your chapped lips.

Even when you are mouthing your unheard goodbyes to Michael, you find that you have no tears to cry for him.

You try anyway.

You dry heave silently against his sternum for a time. You gasp and shudder. If not for Michael, then for yourself.

The tears do not come out.

Soon, Michael’s head tilts back against the couch.

And his rosy lips part faintly, gently,

and you know that he’s asleep.

You test how deeply. You cautiously snap in his ear—and are met with no reaction. You clap this time, waiting for his eyes to snap open and focus on you dully. Still nothing. The alcohol has claimed him.

Some tiny thought sears through your mind; it’s time.

You slide cautiously off his thighs. Your brain is running on automatic now.

You go into the kitchen. You retrieve a knife and come back. You stand over Michael’s head, gripping the handle with both fists, hovering the blade over his perfectly bared neck, preparing to plunge it swiftly downwards. Your mind is racing. Your hands are quaking. You could put an end to so much suffering here and now; you could spare so many lives from the disaster that is Michael. He would be gone within a minute. He probably wouldn’t even feel it—not while he’s like this. It would be a quicker, easier, and more merciful death than he deserves, and it is a nicer thought than the image of what they’ll do to him when he gets caught, which just by having thought, you fear you might be sick.

You have the power to put Michael down gently tonight. You can do it. You can. You just have to want it.

You recall the ghost of his fingers sweeping across your rawed neck and you tell yourself you want it. You take a deep breath in and out and find that your body aches deeply, bruised and sore all over, and not just from last week. The months of weathering the calamity that is Michael seem to weigh on you all at once. You shudder and shake and tell yourself you want it. You heave and gasp silently. The knife in your hands trembles so hard that you fear you will drop it and wake him.

You want it; you want it like you have never wanted anything. You didn't know what hate was until Michael choked and sliced and squeezed his way into your life and smothered your mind and took yourself from you. You want him gone. You want him out. You want him dead.

Your dangerous fantasy runs rampant for ten more heedless seconds.

Then, with a silent wheeze, you double over and sob quietly into the upholstery.

You could never kill Michael. You could never. The desire to do so is an invasive, unwanted menace. You despise him down to your marrow; but your sick yearning for him is rooted even deeper than bone.

With trembling hands you return the knife to its block in the kitchen. Sinking back down into his lap is a risky endeavor, and you do it anyway, slowly, with the utmost of care. Michael does not wake. You press your face against his chest and grab greedy handfuls of his shirt and heave big wet sobs into his pectoral. You are not going to hurt Michael. You are going to punish his slip-up with just the opposite.

You are going to shower his body with affection in all the ways that would get you bloodily murdered during his conscious moments.

As your eyes roam openly over Michael’s sleeping form, you decide that his exposed skin humanizes him in an uncomfortable way. You do not consciously associate his coveralls with his illusionary identity as something predatory, as something more than human, but the association is there nonetheless. The coveralls cover his skin like the mask covers his face. Neither conceal Michael’s truest nature—both expose him for what he is.

For such a predator to shuck away his coverings and bare his human skin seems almost slanderous to you, a poetic injustice, a violation of the natural order of things, a disturbing display of humanity which he has no business dabbling in.

And what you think does not matter. Here is your monster: Half-naked. Drunk off his ass. Woefully vulnerable. It is a grotesquely human fate, one he wears like an ill-fitting coat. You despise how humanity looks on Michael.

And you despise how quick you are to drink it all in.

The tears linger in your eyes as you reach for his neck and envelop as much of its thick circumference as you are able. Your thumb settles lightly over the bulge of his Adam’s apple. As he draws breath, swallowing against your hand, his cartilage bobbing beneath your fingers, you shudder. Michael’s neck is not a place you are allowed to touch. To do so is to flip your dynamic of predator and prey on its axis—to do so is to upset the balance of nature itself.

You explore his throat as eagerly as he had done yours.

Michael’s pulse pounds against your fingers like an animal determined to break free of its cage. Powerful, unstoppable. You feel foolish for even having considered trying. You let it throb against your hand for a time, hypnotized by the fact of his living, his warmth, his momentary vulnerability, his sheer existence.

You become braver, then. Your second hand moves to join the first, and you cup Michael’s neck with a tenderness that he has never offered you. He is gone, you tell yourself, buried in sleep, and you need not fear him. You can have your way with him.

With this confidence you begin to knead Michael’s shoulders. Your touch is slow and your squeezing is careful. You move from his clavicle to his bicep, working your thumb over the knots wherever you encounter them with the deftness of a potter. You gauge Michael’s reaction as you work; you wait for that flicker of awareness on his restful face that would halt your massage in its tracks. Instead, his head slumps deeper into the couch cushions. His eyes roll beneath their lids, but his awareness never comes. He is entirely yours.

You touch Michael everywhere. His shoulders, his chest, his obliques, his naked thighs. He is sore in many places; you can always tell where because his lips part slightly in response, exposing his glinting teeth for an instant, then falling into restfulness again as you ease the knots of tension away. You know that you are playing with the hottest fire as you massage Michael without his permission. You are also too far along to quit.

As you bundle up greedy handfuls of his worn undershirt, rolling it slowly up and over his hips, over his ribs, his pectorals, you know your curiosity is reaching stupid heights. Come down now, you tell yourself, before you plummet and splat on the sidewalk; in other words, before Michael wakes up and strangles you into unliving.

Then your eyes glue to his exposed torso and your rational thoughts are swept away like a paper boat in a flood.

Rarely have you seen Michael naked. Even when you tempt him into the shower he does not bother to strip, finding it fit instead to unzip himself down to his cock and drench his coveralls until they sit slick against his muscles, hinting at his form—but not revealing it in its entirety.

It occurs to you that Michael is beautiful.

You allow your gaze to linger on the wide muscles of his torso before pressing your hands flat against his steadily rising abdomen, shuddering at his too-warm skin, drinking in his strength and power with your fingertips. You note a few things about his body to satiate your curiosity; his belly button goes in instead of out. His dark pubic hair is as curly as the hair atop his head. And he has more scars than you had ever noticed.

The ones littering his arms and abdomen and chest are glossy and round and pink and you know, somehow, without knowing for sure, that they are bullet wounds. You feel around the perimeter of one rubbery scar on his oblique, and think, this gun did not stop him—this did not put him in the ground. It did not even take him off his feet for long enough to be captured and contained. What Michael is will never be contained; not by walls, and not by bullets. He will follow his dark instinct until he breathes his last.

The thought has tears springing to your eyes all over again. Michael is hardly human; and yet, he is bitterly so. He is nature’s harsh truth. Michael, you muse, is the part of humanity that we have stuffed deep down over countless millennia and denied a voice. He is a force of uncivilized, wild, primal nature. He is the inevitability of the Earth. When the rest of us are gone, he is what will prevail.

You decide all at once that you would like to know what it is like to hug Michael. And now your head is tilting forward to rest against his sternum, and you are wrapping your arms around his thick middle, and without really thinking about it you are hugging him, as tight as a lover, and though you know he’s worlds away from that, you can pretend.

Michael’s chest grows and shrinks against your embrace. You hug him until he begins to shift agitatedly against the couch, until you can feel his muscles twitching at your confinement, eager to break free, eager even in his unwaking to regain control. You don’t press your luck. Your arms come undone and you let go of his body.

When you pull away from him, your heart stops.

His eyes are open. Staring at you.

You woke him up.

His face is dull and blank, as blank as an empty canvas, completely unreadable. You shiver. In just a moment his gaze will fix on your face and harden like steel, and that dark hunger will creep back into his features, and his suffocating intensity will roll over you like a thundercloud. You wait for Michael to see you.

He blinks like a cat. Watching, considering. But not acting.

Panic spikes your pulse as his hands come suddenly up from the couch. He grips your arms just below your shoulders. You exhale unsteadily, trying and failing to keep your breathing even. You know better than to hope and yet you can’t help yourself; please don’t hurt me, you beg him wordlessly. Please don’t ruin me this time.

Moisture pricks at your eyes as his fingers tighten around your skin, holding you fast.

Your world pitches sideways as he rolls side-down into the couch and for a moment you are breathless. His startling strength is the only thing not subdued by the alcohol—he sweeps you right down with him.

The claustrophobia is immediate. Behind you, Michael’s head comes to settle on the armrest, and you realize all at once that you are sandwiched now, crowded between the couch cushions and the bulk of his body, crushed against him. His method of restraining you is incredibly escape-proof. He will suffocate you this way.

You breathe and breathe, your ribcage rising and falling snugly against his arm. You suck in air and wait for the precious commodity to run out.

It never does. To your utter dismay, to your sweet relief, you have been spared a little pocket of breathing room between the armrest and the couch cushion.

Michael’s fingers wrap suddenly around your throat. Your heart beats loudly in your ears. When he doesn’t squeeze, you realize that he is not going to hurt you. He only means to hold you. The gesture is a possessive one: you are his, and you are not going anywhere.

Michael does not move after that, and soon he is gone again. You listen to his thumping pulse for a while. You feel his breath, and his heat, and his weight. You know with all your being that your life is not in any danger tonight.

Your eyes droop. Soon, you follow him down, down, down.

[pokeexehasstoppedworking]

Love Doesn’t Do Encores Ch8 Battle Gym Leader Milo

(I have read somewhere sheep love dandelions so Im applying that fact to wooloos. I would also like to note that all side quests shall also be considered a part of the story.)

It would be nice to wake up without pain in your neck, sides, or back wouldn't it? That's what you wished you could do as you were shaken yet again the very next morning by someone. The four of you had decided to set up camp in the nearby camping grounds near the stadium since the day was starting to come too a close and you still weren't used to not sleeping on anything between you and the ground besides the thin floor of the tent and had fallen asleep feeling the hard ground beneath you and it must've taken you at least a good three hours before you had fallen asleep that night. Your sobble softly snoring sleeping on your head. And this morning was just like the rest when you woke up with a slight pain in your neck and back, popping them as you stretched. And with what happened yesterday you must've looked a sight-

"You look like you haven't slept in a month." Yep. It was Gloria decked out in her white gym uniform again ready to take on the day and battle ....or so it seemed.

You yawned and rubbed at your neck. Giving a groan as you already felt your sobble climbing on your back to reach it favorite riding spot and you gave him a look when he flopped half of himself over your shoulder. You were starting to see a pattern with this little guy liking to hitch a ride instead of walking himself.....Hm. Well if he was gonna stick with you for a while maybe you should give him a name? But right now you were more concerned with how much you were yawning. "Haha. I wonder why."

"Is she up?" Victor's head appeared in the opening of the tent next to his twin's and rose a brow at you blinking at the sunlight. "Oh...Wow you weren't wrong? Real case of bed head there, Y/n."

"Glad to know I can scare off Prince Charming," you sarcastically stated, "Although I wasn't expecting any kissing from any royalty anyhow."

Gloria snorted and Victor quickly held up his hands. "WHA- I-I didn't mean to be rude I swear it's just-"

"Ah. It's fine." You cut him off moving to grab your lumpy backpack/pillow at this point and made to crawl out of the tent. "Im always like this in the morning anyways. All I need is a quick hair brush and Im fine. ...What time is it?"

"Pretty early in the morning. We can all head on over to the stadium if you want but we'll still have to wait. Milo's still battling someone at the moment."

It must've been one of the trainers from before you guessed as you completely crawled out reaching up to straighten your hair out in an attempt to look presentable from a night of little sleep. "I guess he's still busy today. Kinda makes me wanna rethink my whole business liscence schtick if this means I'm gonna run a business like that."

"Business stick?"

"...Nevermind. Help me put away the tents then we can head on over to the gym ok?"

The four of you scrambled to put the tents away as you fumbled to get yourself looking half way decent. You doubted anyone would pay too much attention to you being only one random person sitting in the crowd of possibly hundreds of more people...That reminds you. You looked over your shoulder at Gloria who was currently in a pretty deep conversation with her twin whil Hop (tried to-) wrestle the tent down into it's more compact form. Victor mentioned she had stage fright. Not as bad as before stage fright, but still stage fright. He mentioned she had gotten A lot better but it seemed there was still some left since you could still remember her stiff smile and the way Hop had assurringly held his friend's hand out on the field there, which was real sweet of him. You could definately tell he was related to Leon. But it won't be the same here. It's not like you or anyone else would be there to encourage her while on field. The best any of you could do was cheer her on from the stage. Guess the two of you would have to roll with the punches as they were about to hit you. It didn't take too long to pack everything away, and you had helped Hop with his struggling battle to put the tent away. As soon as it was tightly packed away and placed onto Hop's back, you turned ready to journey to the stadium-

"Hey." Gloria's voice stopped you mid step as she pointed back up the way from the stadium. "Before we head on out I need to buy me some dandelions."

You gave her a look like she was crazy. "Dandelions? What would you buy dandelions right now for?"

"Milo's still busy right? Then we have time to get some before we go!"

You had zero idea what in the world Gloria would want with dandelions especially before her first gym battle, but you agreed since it meant you'd have some more time to straighten your hair out. So you agreed and she proceeded to buy dandelions at the florist shope. Stuffing them into her white uniform's pants pocket. She had bought a good amount and you wondered what in the world they were for. A gift for Milo perhaps? By the time the four of you made it back down to the GIGANTIC stadium. Her brother turning to her as you three stopped by to part ways. From here you could hear the cheering from the hundreds of people within and briefly wondered for a moment exactly where all these people came from. Certainly not this small town unless they traveled to see the matches. Which seemed more likely.

"Don't forget to show them your League Card to get in," Victor reminded her.

"I know."

"And stay calm."

"I know."

"Have a clear head and think things through alright."

"I KNOW!! Vic I'll be fine! You guys should get seats and watch me kick some butt!"

You heard him groan and shake his head. "Just....Don't forget what we talked about earlier alright?"

She nodded her head before giving him a smile and turned on her heel to trot on over to the front doors, which was guarded by more of those security people from the first stadium. Hop caught your attention when he nodded his head towards the stadium and you agreed following him as he turned to walk towards around the far side of the stadium with Victor hurrying to following behind. The three of you walked around until you came to two large double doors with stairs leading up and up into the stadium and you followed them screams and cheers becoming more and more promanant until you exited through the top and found yourselves high up and in side the stands....Huh. There wasn't as many people as you thought there would be. There was still a lot of people filling the seats around you but there was considerably less than at he opening Ceremony. There was still a good chunk of empty seats scattered about even with the large crowds. Surrounding the field was hundreds of seats with spectators cheering loudly and chattering likely excited for the next battle with Milo but said Gym Leader was no where to be seen on the field. Your guess was that he was taking a small break before the next battle to be had. You still followed behind them as they walked down the steps(thank GOODNESS that it wasn't as loud as the other stadium. You didn't think you could take that loud of a racket again.) and the lot of you were able to be seated a lot closer to the field this time thanks to the variety of open seats. As the three of you sat down the cheers of the crowd soon turned into loud but managable to your ears murmurs. Your sobble had taken to pushing itself up half on your head to look around interested but you reached up to take him into your lap instead. Neck still stiff from your awkward sleeping position.

It was then you noticed there was no one on the grassy fields below. "Hey. Where is everyone?"

"Gloria must be going through the challenge right now," Victor said it was easier to talk to him now than at the Opening Ceremony. "It took Hop about twenty five minutes to make it through so we'll have to wait and see what happens."

"It wasn't too hard," Hop commented crossing his arms, "In Postwick it's practically a need to know skill how to herd wooloo. A right of passage if you will. That challenge was practically begging me to solve it!"

That's right. Hop and the twins were born and raised amongst these pokemon. This should be fairly easy for them you thought. Or more likely hoped.

"Is this being broadcasted on TV as well?"

"No. Only the Entrance Ceremony and the Champion Matches at the end of the year will be. All the battles at the stadiums are recorded though, but they're uploaded to the Gym Challenge League's official Poketube website. So Mom would still be able to watch us if she wanted too. It helps with the pacing of TV channels and networks and makes it more convienet for anyone watching."

Ah. That makes sense. Guess you just had to wai- ....You blinked and squinted your eyes towards the field and pointed. "Hey. Who's that?"

Both boys looked towards the stadium's giant TV and Hop answered. "Oh. That's Dan. He's the gym's referee here, but he doesn't usually step out on field unless the battle's about to begin."

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! THE BATTLE BETWEEN GYM LEADER MILO AND GYM CHALLENGER GLORIA SHALL BEGIN!!"

All three of you looked rather surprised at what was just said by the blonde man before Hop said what the three of you were thinking. "WHAT?! Already?! How could she have finished the challenge that fast!? It's barely been ten minutes."

You weren't sure yourself but were distracted by the sudden amount of cheers from the crowd as two more figures stepped onto the field. From the far left came Milo, the same man who worriedly apologised for letting his wooloo knock you over and from the right came Gloria..but she looked a bit different. Unlike last time, instead of stiff her movements were fast, jogging her way to the middle keeping her eyes slightly downward as the cameras caught her image and placed them on the screen for everyone to see. The two of them met somewhere in the middle of the field by Dan and although you could see their lips moving as they exchanged a few words you couldn't hear anything. You had guessed you wouldn't unless they had microphones to speak into. Before long the two bowed to each other before turning on their heels and walking away from one another. The flash of Victor's camera making you blink as he proceeded to capture his sister's first real battle of the league. Hop watching with a set determined face. The referee taking a few steps back himself, most likely not wanting to get caught in the crossfires.

"Here we go."

In one fluid motion with a cheer from the crowd, Milo threw a ball out and in a flash of light out came a gossifluer. Gloria mimicked the motion with her own pokeball and to your light surprise it wasn't a scorbunny. It was a corvisquire. The crow bird like pokemon gave a loud caw as it fluttered there awaiting orders. You didn't remember her catching that pokemon. Must've been one of the new ones she managed to capture back before you left Motostoke.

"BATTLE BEGIN!!"

Immediately Milo pointed and his lips moved in yelling in order. Immediately his gossifluer responded by a wind blowing around itself and suddenly leaves danced around it it a tiny tornado before being flung forward towards the bird pokemon. Razor Leaf move perhaps? Gloria's small form (or big form on the giant tv depending on which one you were watching) pointed back and barked something and like a blurred shadow the bird thing shot forward, dodging the leaves thrown at it, and like a seagal plucking a fish from the sea, the tiny gossifluer was quickly snatched up into the claws of the crow thing. You could only watch in worry for the poor thing as the corvisquire flew up, up, up until it would've been considered out of bounds of the gym. Before plummeting like a rock down below. THEY'RE GONNA crash!! Was the first thing in your mind as they went and just at the right moment the pokemon snapped it's wings back up and easily managed to fly away unhurt. A sigh of relief escaped you. Thank goodness....Only...it no longer had the gossifluer in it's claws. Your hold on your sobble increased making it give you a confused chirp, as your f/c eyes instantly went to the part of the field it would've crashed into. Only to catch the part glimpse of a light going back into the pokeball in Milo's hand. That could've only meant that Gloria managed to one hit K.O. the poor pokemon. That didn't sound right, unless the corvisquire she caught was pretty strong or-...Oh no. It couldn't be that- No time to wonder on that now as Milo sent out another pokemon who looked like a walking puffy dandelion. Eldegoss if you remembered right. While Gloria kept her corvisquire....before returning it. Guess she was changing it after all.

"ALL RIGHT!! DYNAMAX TIME!!"

You didn't have time to ask Hop what he meant. A bright red glow oozed out of the band Gloria wore upon her arm as she held her pokeball, it quickly was surrounded by the glowing energy before becoming bigger in her hands. She stumbled a bit seeming to have trouble with the added weight where you for sure thought she'd fall, before uprighting her self and turning around. With her teeth grit, Gloria raised the gigantic red pokeball above her head and tossed it. Your eyes followed it as it sored as high and far as she could- CRAP!! Your hands came up as an explosion of red appeared out of no where like multiply giant fireworks, followed by a whoosh of wind strong enough to push your body back and an UNGODLY giant cry in such high volume you could've sworn your ear drums could burst. There was a very loud chirp of panic and your eyes opened in a panic down to your shirt just as your sobble dove under it to escape the now......FREAKING. GIANT. BIRD THING!!! THAT THING WAS MASSIVE AS YOU STARED AT IT FLYING!! Thank god the stadium was built big enough for that thing to flap it's wings!! Speaking of which every flap sent a gust of wind flying from it, making Victor have to hold hit hat with one hand as he continued taking photos! Good gosh! No wonder your sobble was shaking against you! That'd thing give would give you nightmares too! A red circle of dynama clouds hung over the Corvisquire and it's black body now had a red shine to it. Looks as if Milo had decided to do it as well, because he did the same process of returning his own pokemon and adding the same red energy from his dynamax band. Giving the precious red pokeball a few pats with a smile before turning around and with one arm chucked it into the air behind him. Once again you had to shield your eyes from the bright explosion of red as the giant eldegoss made it's appearance with a slam down on the field that disleveled the ground and shook the stadium from under you. In an instant Gloria pointed towards the dynamaxed grass pokemon and must've given some kind of order you couldn't hear. Because it was at that very moment what you could only describe as a giant whirlwind of a tornado whipped from the corvisquire and straight for the eldegoss in a dead hit. That's right. Dynamaxing was a cool thing, but neither pokemon could dodge each other's attacks they were too big. Dynamaxing was a test of brute will to see how much you could hold out. And you were pretty sure Gloria had the upper hand but not because you thought she was super strong. The high winds made the three of you clutch your seats as it hit the eldegoss head on. If your hair wasnt a mess before it was now. Once the winds (other than the powerful breezes from the bird's wings) died down, you nearly choked seeing Gloria's form on her hands and knees clutching the grass to not be blown from the dirt. HOW WAS MILO STILL STANDING!? With a shriek of it's own the eldegoss leaned it's large head forward and you were surprised when three large green seeds fired off from it's head and landed with giant thuds under the bird's feet. Thank goodness Gloria was already ducking. What sprouted forth was GIGANTIC green mushrooms and grass surrounding it, then it exploded in a giant flash of green light. Giant glowing petals made of energy shooting everywhere before disintergrating into thin air. Green waves of energy washing over the crowds as the bird gave off a giant eagle cry of it's own but still flying in tack. ...That was one tough chicken!

"Eldegoss's Dynamax Move!! Awesome isn't it!?"

You couldn't answer. Another giant eagle cry pierced the air making your ear hurt and two black jet streams poured from it's wings. You watched in horror and shock as the dark jetstreams encircled the poor grass pokemon. Encasing it with a dome of black before exploding in a blast of black. The eldegoss crying out in pain as is tilted towards the ground- OMG! That thing was gonna crush Milo!! The eldegoss went out in an explosion that sent dirt clouds flying up everywhere as it timbered glowing brightly through the dust clouds as it magically shrank down winthin it's own mess. You all watched with baited breath as the clouds spread out and covered the famous gym leader as well, Gloria's bird pokemon glowing a bright reddish color before beginning to shrink down until it was back to it's normal size. It's normal size being about as big as Gloria herself (which was still pretty big but when again you remembered how big corviknight are supposed to get), and perched back onto the ground right next to it's trainer who was staring from her kneeled position as the dust literally settled. At least the giant gusts of wind weren't pushing you against the seats anymore. Maybe you should suggest to Leon to install seat belts on these stands. As the dust finally settled with great relief you saw Milo, unhurt and waving his big sunhat to shoo the dust away. Behind him was a giant crater in the ground and disheveled land. All that was left behind from the battle that had taken place.

"THE BATTLE IS OVER!! VICTORY GOES TO GYM CHALLENGER GLORIA!!"

The absolute UPROAR of the crowd's cheers along with Hop standing up to shout his own cheers to his rival/friend and another flash from Victor's camera signaled him capturing the shocked look on his sister's face just standing there looking around herself....Before you saw the brightest smile Gloria's ever given on her face and hugged her corvisquire making the poor pokemon wobble on it's feet as Milo placed the hat back on his head. The gym leader took a moment to look behind him at the disheveled field and big crater in the ground before looking back to the teenager and approuching her. Gloria seemed to notice because she stopped hugging her pokemon to face Milo with wide eyes as he approuched her. The two exchanged words for a moment before Milo held out his hand in a fist with a smile. Wide eyed she took a moment to stare at it before slowly holding out her own hands and he dropped something into the palm of her hands. Wide eyed and staring straight at it, it only took her a few moment for her to hop about excitedly and hold up the small thing in her hands. The cameras zoomed in enough for you to see that she was holding the same badge Hop had showed you the other day on the TV. She did it!? Her first badge! One more step on your way home! ...At Least you hoped. In the end the two of them shook hands and soon after excited the field as the three of you exited the stands, you taking your sobble and putting him on your shoulder again. The poor shaking pokemon calming quickly noticing there wasn't anymore giant pokemon. Hm. You might have to put him in your backpack from now on if he was gonna react all scared and hide like this. By the time the three of you excited the stands Gloria was already waiting outside the doors she went in. Smiling and bounding over towards you waving the badge around in her hand.

"LOOK AT THIS!!," she yelled excitedly shoving the badge in your faces the bronze-gold shining in the sunlight. "On my first try too! I told you I could do it!"

"You must've took my advice then."

You gave Victor a curious look. "Advice?"

He nodded. "Yeah. We used to play VR battles when we were younger as practice since we didn't have any pokemon. I suggested she pretended it was like the game and try her best."

Oh. Well that worked out pretty well for her anyways. Hopefully it'll work for the next battle as well, but you were a bit concerned that Gloria(and Hop-) only won because Milo and his pokemon was overwhelmed and tired by the onslot of trainers coming so early. But you were reluctant to say so. Not only because you didn't want to disturb the progress of the game's story more than you might have already did just by being here, and because you didn't want to hurt either of their feelings. Weighing your options, you decided that not mentioning it was the better choice for now.

"Congrats! I knew you could do it!," you complimented as she smiled wider.

"Thanks! I guess Hop and I must be on the same battling skill level then!"

"HECK YEAH! Wouldn't expect anything less from the greatest trainers to come out of Postwick!" You chuckled at him. "Oh by the way. What'd you do with all those dandelions you bought? Did you give 'em to Milo or something?"

A sly smile spread across her face. "Nope! I'm surprised you didn't remember."

He rose a brow. "Remember what?"

"Expert on wooloo huh?" She shook her head. "Wooloo love eating dandelions! That's why you barely find any of those flowers where wooloo graze or on farms in general. The objective was to get the wooloo to knock over the hay bails right? What better way than to get them to chase after you with their favorite food?"

Wow. That was actually a really smart idea you had to admit. Growing up in a farming community must really pay off. Hop's jaw practically fell open with this new revolution and his hands hands came up to grip his head. "AW MAN!! Why didn't I think of that!? I got my own wooloo for crying out loud!"

"Hey. It's ok. You're still smarter than me when it comes to science and research. You'd be a pretty good scientist too!"

"Science? Really?"

Hop nodded with a sigh. "Yeah. But it's more of a hobby, I just find learning stuff interesting y'know. But my main goal is to become the next Galar Champion!!"

"Not if I beat you to it!"

"Bring it on, Glory!

"Speaking of becoming champion," you interrupted the two, "Have you guys figured out which person you're gonna battle next?"

Both of them paused before looking at each other and Hop shrugged. "Well, there's really no particular order you have to have to battle in so I can pick anyone I want to battle next. It really doesn't matter as long as you get the eight badges for your Badge Circle...." She looked at you. "But Mr. Milo suggested I should go battle Nessa instead. He said she might be a good challenge for me."

"Nessa? Isn't she that model lady you showed me before?" She nodded.

"No way! That's where we were headed too!" Hop smiled. "This is a great chance to do a bit of traveling together!"

"Hey that sounds like a great idea! But first I want to check out this Turrfield treasure."

You all looked at her confused. "Turrfield treasure?"

She nodded. "I heard from a kid that there's supposed to be some kind 'o treasure around here. I think I figured out the riddle since then and I wanna go check it out before we leave."

"What kind of riddle?"

She made a thinking face. "Uh...Hang on a sec. What did she say how'd it go again? Some treasure lies in Turffield and the way to find it is with the standing stones and a riddle."

"Standing stones?"

"She means the ruins around Turffield," Victor answered you seeing the confusion on your face. "Some people call them 'Standing Stones' since most of them stand upright with their strange carvings."

"Seek the standing stones with Grass before the other ones," Gloria recited, "Use well that strength and find then the strength of it's strength in the end. Dally not if you've a mind to find what time has left behind...I don't know what it means tho."

"I do! It's about Pokemon types duh."

The three of you looked at Hop. "How did you solve that mystery?"

His answer was to point upwards towards the small florist and gift shop. "You remember the gift shop up there we were in?" You nodded confused. "They have this brochure in there with info on the Geoglyph and Standing Stones. I got curious after what Glory said about the thing and had a lil peek. It turns out one of the older standing stones has symbols that spell the word 'Grass' on it. And then there's two other's with 'Water' and 'Fire' cut into 'em too. It's like the three pokemon types. Grass types are usually stronger than water types but water types are usually stronger than fire types. And Fire Types are usually stronger than Grass types. It's a whole cycle of advantage type strengths."

You all were completely floored with such a logical and smart answer to come out of the teen but Gloria seemed the most impressed when she suddenly grabbed onto his hands making the poor boy freeze. "NO! WAY!! Oh my eevee! That makes so much sense! Hop you're a genius!!"

....He blinked a pink hue coming to his cheeks. "I-...I-I am?"

"YES!," she insisted eyes wide, "Who else would've been smart enough to figure out that riddle in one day!? And make the connection with pokemon advantages!" She gave him a tug and he stumbled a bit as she pulled his hands. "C'mon! We gotta go check 'em out! You know where they are right?"

"Wha- GLORIA!! What about our travel plans!?," Victor shouted after her gesturing towards a road that if you looked, was the way out of town.

She waved him off tugging Hop quickly down a different path back towards the Geoglyph. "It's just a quick look see! We'll meet you guys at the Pokemon Nusery on Route Five!!"

"GLORIA WAIT!!.....UGH!!" Victor facepalmed himself with a groan as he stood there and you blinked. "This is why I'm glad she has a traveling buddy." He looked back up at their disappearing forms with a scowl. "She gets one idea in her head there's nothing stopping her from getting it! Then she just rushes off into it without a second thought."

"Then I take it she didn't tell you about tresspassing on the Chairman's mine shafts."

"She did WHAT?!"

"Uh...Nevermind," you deflected pointing down the road. "Should we uh...Go wait for them?" In the end Victor huffed, shook his head, and turned on his heel to begin walking down the road. So you took that as a yes and made to follow him. "So....Where's the way to this Nessa person?"

Victor took a minute to respond with a sigh. "I'm not too sure. I know it's all the way on the other side of Galar in a coastal town called Hulbary. So it's safe to say it'll take some time if they insists on battling her gym next. Let me check my map." You watched and walked beside him patiently as Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Turning on to where the screen lit up and then spoke. "Hey Rotom. How long would it take to travel from the town of Turffield to the town of Halbury?"

Now you know you shouldn't have been surprised considering all phones had a rotom pokemon in it acting as this world's version of 'Hey Google' but you still blinked at the almost robotic voice answering him back. "ZZZZT. Follow on Route 5 to your destination. By Flying Taxi it would take approximately a week. By foot near a month."

"A WHAT!?"

He gave you a look. "Flying is a lot faster than walking, and Halbury's all the way across Galar from here. Of course it would take that long to travel by foot." Oh...right. Not a game. R.I.P your poor feet and the many night of awkward sleeping positions to come. He looked back to his phone messing with something on the screen a few times. "...According to this, Route Five starts once we pass the Pokemon Center and cross Turrfield Bridge. From there it's a straight course right across country to the east coast. It might take a while but it's the most convenient one for all of us."

"Isn't there a train or those taxi things?" Even if you REALY didn't want to try using those birdbrain powered taxi's you didn't like the sound of you walking across country for about a month either.

"Even if we got a taxi you heard Rotom. It'd take like a whole week of flying. And the corviknights need time to rest and eat and sleep too. They're living things just like us. Even cars, trains, and planes need to stop and need time to tune up and refill on gas don't they? And besides there's no train stations or Flying Stations set up in Turffield. If you want a train you'd have to travel back to Motostoke which is half a week, or you'd have to call a taxi from there to pick you up. Besides Gloria has a whole year to complete this task. One month out of eleven more isn't going to hurt anyone."

Except your feet and sleeping abilities but you couldn't argue. He was right. You traveled for four days and waited five for Gloria to get her first badge. You could do it again but longer. As the two of you walked down the road, the town began to fade away a bit behind you as you two traveled down the road. You both were just crossing over a small hill when you noticed a small cabin like building with a sign above his door reading: Turffield Pokemon Nursery. That must've been it! It looked as cozy as it did cute. And a little bit a ways from it was a bridge. That must've been the Turffield Bridge Victor spoke of earlier. Maybe you two should wait for the other two inside? It was pretty sunny out and you've been in the sunlight for a while. As you two walked towards the building, some movement near the bridge caught your eye and your eyes turned towards said movement. And your vision was filled with blurs of black and red and your hearing clogged with yelling. Your hand instinctively coming out to grab Victor's shoulder. The teen stopped from the tug on his shoulder a few yards away from the Pokemon Nursery before giving you a confused look as you stared. He followed your gaze just as what was happening finally registered in your head. It was those goons again! The weird ones that looked like they just stepped out of some kind of rock concert! The same ones from the hotel back in Motostoke! Why were they here tho? Two men who looked about your height a bit taller, were standing there on the bridge just as it connected with the road and backed against a part of the bridge was another man who looked all dressed up to be a doctor. Blue jumpsuit and a mask over half his face as he held up his hands to the men. Now yelling could be heard.

"OI! Just hand over that bike already!," One of them shouted pushing the smaller man's shoulder once, "We need it to cross this long bridge!"

"N-N-No!" The doctor man stammered out backing further against the wall of the bridge. "I-I bought this with my own hard earned money f-f-fair and square! What would two blokes like you even do with it!?"

"We're gonna use that bike ta chase around Gym Challengers! It'll be a scream!," the other said before cackling out with laughter.

"WHAT!? N-NO WAY!! I-Im not letting you two meatheads use my bike to chase around innocent children!"

"...Victor?"

"Yeah I see it." He peered around you brow raised looking at the scene before you two. ''Who the heck are those guys?"

You didn't answer, just stared as the two brutes jabbed the man again demanding his bike (or lack there of as you couldn't see one-) be handed over to them. How mean! But what really caught your attention was mentioning chasing around gym challengers. Now you couldn't remember if anything like this had happened in game but chasing around innocent kids for whatever reason just didn't settle right on your gut. There was two kids with you that were challengers and one could easily mistake Victor for one if you weren't careful.

"....You stay here." To reiterate your point you pulled Victor to the side of the road and firmly planted him there. He blinked and opened his mouth- !? He blinked again once you shoved your backpack into his arms and began walking. Your sobble giving a small chirp of surprise with the sudden movements. "Hold this."

"Wha- H-HEY! Y/N! What're ya doin'!?"

"C'mon old man! Give us the darn bike and we'll leave ya alone! You can get another one!"

The man scowled up at them. "T-Then why dont the two of you BUY one!?"

"Money's tight man! Just give it to us!"

"HEY UGLY!!" Dust sprayed everywhere or at least over one of them. As the three men turned to the sound of a woman's voice only for one of the weird rockstar wannabes to receive a splat of dirt picked up from the road to hit him square in the face and have the rest of it cover his front body. The man sputter/screamed out and hands immediately went to wipe at his face. Luckily none got in his eyes so no pain, but that didn't stop the annoyance. Especially since when he looked back up there was a girl standing there hands on her hips and sobble half hiding behind her head as she point. You gave them the angriest scowl you could muster. "You two KISS lookin' airheads leave that poor man alone! He already said no so beat it before I make you!!"

Behind you Victor's jaw dropped and the two goons seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment. Looking between the two of them confused before scowling and looking back to you. Crap. These two were both at least a good foot or two taller than you were. You hadn't really thought ahead but no turning back now.

"Oi! Girly, why don't ya mind your own business?"

"Yeah! This doesn't concern you!" They said leaning over you. Unknownt to anyone your sobble was starting to get a bit teary eyed at the two above him.

"It IS my concern if you're going around hassling innocent people! What'd the guy do to you two?! Back off and leave him alone before I call Officer Jenny on your arses!" Really you didn't know if this region had an Officer Jenny, but it seemed to work as their scowled wavered a bit.

"Whatcha gonna have us arrested for!? We haven't done any crimes yet!"

"Yeah yet! And what about you two planning on scaring everyone you see?"

"Last chance Girly!" One poked your shoulder as if to intimidate you. "Mind your own busines-"

"WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

The three of you were interrupted by a loud almost baby like wail as you immediately cringed from it being from directly next to your head. You hissed hands coming to cover your eyes in a panic feeling tears start to sting from them. Was the pain of the yelling so loud you started crying?! If you could've seen past your furious wiping and tears you would've noticed the other men starting to cry as well, face paint starting to run down their faces.

"AAA!! M-Man what's goin' on!?", one shouted to his companion.

"I-...I D-DONT KNOW!! LET'S JUST GET OUT OF HERE OK!?"

They fled. Bumping into you and knocking you over in the process. You yelped as you fell to your butt on the dirt road and your sobble let out a choked hiccup as it was jostled from your head and onto the grassy ground in the men's haste to escape. Well...the baby cry was gone at least, but there was still a few hiccups from behind you as you hissed and used your sleeve to furiously wipe at your stinging eyes. WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT ALL ABOUT!?

"OMG! Y/N! ARE YOU ALRIGHT!? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?"

"Here young lady. Turn your head up." You blinked crying to see past the stinging of your tear soaked eyes and someone gently grabbed your jaw. A Second later a wet cloth was wiping at your eyes. Almost instant relief came from your sore red eyes as someone wiped at them. "There we go. Lucky for you I always have a Sobble Tear Cloth handy on me due to how sensitive the little ones can be." Once you got enough clear vision you could see the faces of Victor and the doctor man who were both kneeled next to your fallen body. "There now. How do you feel?"

".....Peachy,'' you mumbled shaking your head from his grip. "What was that?"

"Your sobble crying. When sobbles cry it's like someone chops a hundred onions near you. It's a defense mechanism that's highly affective as you can see. The effects take a while to wear off but luckily for you I happen to be an expert on these kids of things." Grabbing your arm the man carefully helped you on your feet and smiled behind the mask. "Thank you kindly for the help. But you didn't have to, Im sure they would've left sooner or later."

You waved a hand sniffing as said sobble began to immediately start climbing up your pants leg again. Combined with your wooloo bowling trip, you must've really looked a sight. "It's fine. Can't be worse than being knocked over by a wooloo. Are you alright, Mister?"

He nodded. "Yes. Thanks to you. Here. Let's get you to the Nursery. There's some eye drops in my office that might help you further. I work there as one of the nurses with the caretaker and her assistant."

You nodded and with the urge to wipe at your eyes the Docter and Victor helped you stumble walked your way towards the Nursery, your sobble continuing to climb up your body with little difficulty as it reached your shoulder. You felt it touch your cheek and give a small chirp but at the moment you paid it no mind trying not to fall over.

"Hey, Vick-...Oh wow. What happened? Was Y/n crying or something?"

Oh great. Well at least they finally showed up.

"Ill tell you later. Opening the door over there and let's get her inside."

The next thing you knew you were inside a cozy looking house and was given eye drops. It took a few minutes for you to go back to normal and the redness around your eyes to subside. But by the time it did you were feeling way better and sitting on a green couch. One hand petting your sobble who happily accepted the affection with a smile. Hop and Gloria had returned from their small search a little bit after you had managed to chase those men off, and they happily explained their trip from standing stone to standing stone...But unfortunately didn't find anything other than an old ten dollar bill that someone most likely accidentally dropped while visiting them. And Victor got to scold you about just walking up to strangers like that. Weren't you the grown up here? Glad to know everyone was ok tho. The elderly lady at the center had offered the four of you tea as thanks for helping to rescue their nurse and Gloria excused herself to check out the Center's Free Pokeboxes in their own rotomi stations. When you asked about it Hop was happy to explain.

"Oh. Free Pokeboxes are basically boxes from people's rotomi boxes. Usually Nurseries and Centers get a whole lot of them if a pokemon's trainer passes away, or if they were donated or abandoned to the system. From there they're sorta put up for adoption or released back into the wild if no one claims them within a year or so.....Y'know I think Ill take a look too. I might just find a neat new partner." He got up to go join Gloria currently flipping through options on the rotomi leaving you with Victor sitting on the couch.

You sighed. "Man. Some day it's been huh? A riddle solved. A gym battle won. And now a nurse was saved."

"All thanks to you. But please maybe don't be so reckless next time. I was afraid something bad might've happened to you by what those brutes yelled running off."

"Oh? What'd they say?"

He hummed. "Um....I think....'You're too strong!" He tried to repeat in a failed attempt at a deep man voice. "If you stay in the Gym Challenge you're gonna cause problems for our lady! You haven't seen the last of us! We're gonna make sure you stay out of our lady's way!'..Or something like that."

Well that perked your interest. You stared at him. "Our lady?...Does that mean someone ordered them to go after Gym Challengers?"

He hummed a more worried look coming over him. "Could be. But I wouldn't know who or why. Who'd want to go after the Gym Challengers?"

That was a very good question. You wracked your brain for a moment. Was there any person in the game with a pack of goons? And was there any lady out to stop the gym challengers? Your memory turned up nothing as you sighed and sunk back into your seat on the couch as you did. Those goons were at the hotel and now here as well. That couldn't just be a coincidence could it? No...You had a feeling there was something linking those guys to whatever's about to happen to you. Too bad you didn't know. As you both silently sat there, another person walked in through the door and up to the counter but you paid them no mind even as Gloria approuched them.

Eventually you sighed. "I wouldn't know either it seems, but just in case I think we should all be keeping a really close eye out for anymore of those guys and let Leon know the first chance we get. As the saying goes better be safe than sorry."

"Couldn't agree more. Especially since this is concerning my friend and sister."

"What's concerning us?"

Oh that was Hop. You turned. "We wanted to tell you about-" You blinked coming face to face with a grumpy purple face in the arms of Gloria as she held the tiny pokemon clinging to her like a baby. ...You pointed. "Where did you get that?"

"My Toxel? The lady that just came in wanted to drop it off. Somethin' bout hatching it and not being the pokemon she wanted or some speel. I couldn't just let a cutie like this go into adoption or tossed out in the cruel wild after just being hatched." She held it up to her face as she smiled. "Look at how cute you are! Who'd wouldn't want acutie pie like you?" The baby toxel in her arms responded by reaching an arm out and grabbing her nose. Aw! Cute.

You shook you head with a smile before standing. Lifting an arm up with your sobble clinging to it to allow it to freely crawl back onto your shoulder before you stood up slinging your pack over your shoulders. "C'mon. I'll tell you as we walk. The sooner we start the sooner we can reach Halbury and our next step of this little adventure."

[cheesyficwriter]

Hey! First of all, I loved that drunk Hermione fic. Will u pls write a angsty Romione smut fic with #6 of angst prompt list?

Hi Anon! I had so much fun writing drunk Hermione, so glad you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for the ask 💜 my first thought was that I actually have written something similar that fills the #6 angsty smut prompt (also includes "fuck you" as the prompt does 🤣), in a chapter of one of my completed multi-chapter fics, Lost in Translation. If you haven't read it, you can feel free to check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019949/chapters/68639082

Buuuut, I thought of another angle, so here you go 😀 rated M for mature themes and sexual situations.

One More Time

It was a Saturday night in late August and the Leaky Cauldron was filled to the brim with many young adult witches and wizards who previously attended Hogwarts. They gathered occasionally, once every few months, to catch up over pints and share stories from over the years.

Ron was seated on a stool at the bar, alternating between chatting about the Chudley Canons' most recent season with Seamus and flirting awkwardly with the unfamiliar blonde who had sidled up beside him only a few minutes after he had walked into the pub. 

Yet, he didn't miss the flash of brown, curly hair that appeared and disappeared from his view frequently throughout the evening. And he was left entirely too frustrated by the notion that this particular person had their eye on him. After about the fifth occurrence, Ron grabbed his pint and politely excused himself from the disappointed woman next him, as he walked through the crowd, pausing at various points to greet old friends. 

Old friends and lovers, that is. Ron stopped short just behind the familiar stature of one of his oldest friends, who also happened to be his ex-girlfriend. She was chatting away with Luna, seemingly oblivious to him standing behind her. It had been quite the year since they had decided, or rather Hermione had decided, they were best off going their separate ways. We argue too much, she had said, there is no way we can make this relationship work and we should end it before we lose our friendship completely. However, Ron thought bitterly to himself, there didn't seem to be much of a friendship left between them anyway. They had barely spoken over the recent months, instead exchanging only a few lackluster letters back and forth about their various travels and work endeavors. Of course, he had seen her quite a bit through mutual friend outings, but it was all very stiff and cordial. Their relationship wasn’t the same anymore and breaking up didn’t seem to resolve any issues between them. 

From Ron's current position, he could see Hermione surreptitiously glance over to the spot at the bar where he once was, brows now furrowed over in confusion as she found the spot to be vacant. Luna cleared her throat and gestured for Hermione to look backwards and it was then that Hermione's head whipped around to face Ron, and her lips parted in surprise. 

"Ron...hi," she breathed out quietly, almost too quietly to be heard over the boisterous noise in the room. 

"Why are you watching me, Hermione?" His tone remained neutral and flat, not bothering with any sort of formal greeting. 

Hermione instantly frowned at the question. He surveyed her face as it contorted into anger. "What are you going on about? I am not watching you." 

“You are. I’ve caught you five...no, six times, if you count the last look I just witnessed.” He pointed to his previous seat at the bar. Hermione turned scarlet from his words and Ron could see a muscle in her jaw twitch. 

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed anything with the way you were gawking over Rosie Cantini,” she sneered back. Was that the blonde’s name? Ron wouldn’t have known because he was too busy trying to sort out Hermione’s infuriating glances, although he would never admit that to her. 

“You left me. You don’t get to come in here and act like a jealous girlfriend when I’m just trying to enjoy my night.”

Hermione scoffed in his face, as her nostrils flared. “Oh, that’s rich! I haven’t been bothering you, have I? And may I just point out that you are the one that approached me tonight. I am not jealous!”

“Sure you’re not,” Ron spat out, just before he stormed off towards the loo without bothering to wait for a response. 

Hermione felt the rage pulse through her veins. She spun quickly on her heel and followed Ron determinedly to the opposite side of the pub, bypassing anyone who tried to get her attention along the way. She managed to reach the door he had dragged himself through just before it closed and she pushed it open wide with all of her might, fueled by the anger that flooded through her.  

Ron's eyes went round as Hermione propelled her way into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind her with a flick of her wand. She added silencing and locking charms before turning towards Ron, her eyes blazing with fire. 

“Are you bloody mental?” Ron shouted, his temper sparked by her invasion of privacy. 

"If I am, so what? I'm not going to just let you run off in the middle of a conversation, like a petulant child! Is it too hard to think that we can both be civilized adults about all of this?" 

"Fuck you."

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ron growled through gritted teeth, taking a step forward. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as he had her effectively pinned now to the back of the door. “Fuck you, and your rules, your incessant nagging, and your constant need to always be right. For once, just admit that the sight of me with another woman drives you mad.”

Hermione’s pupils flared and her lower lip quivered slightly, as her rage-filled expression morphed into a burning one filled with desire. 

Her lips were on Ron’s before he could even process the change in her tempered gaze. Ron let out a guttural moan as he pushed her hard into the door with a bang. One of his hands slid up to cup her cheek, his tongue gliding across her bottom lip just before he bit down on it, causing Hermione to whimper and dig her fingernails into his back. Ron’s other hand trailed its way down her body until he had firmly gripped her arse tight, driving her pelvis into his hardened erection poking through his trousers. 

He lifted her up off the floor, her legs wrapping around his hips instinctively, and he deposited her bum down onto the cold, solid countertop next to the sink. 

"Just one more time," Ron mumbled against her lips, already hiking her dress above her hips. 

"Yeah….one more time," Hermione agreed through labored breaths, her hands undoing the buttons on his trousers. Although, they had said this very same statement one month ago, right before they shagged on Hermione's kitchen table. And the month before that, and the month before that…

In one fell swoop, Ron had shoved his trousers and boxers down to his knees and Hermione slid out of her knickers to reveal her pulsating flesh. Not even having to ask about protection, knowing Hermione always took the potion regularly, he positioned himself at her entrance and pressed into her until he filled her completely. 

Both let out immediate grunts of pleasure, each comforted by the familiarity of the other’s body. Hermione gripped the edge of the countertop for leverage as Ron slammed into her over and over again. He buried his nose into the curls that bunched around Hermione’s shoulders and Hermione’s teeth grazed his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt. Neither took the time to comprehend the situation they had found themselves in, both instead choosing to absorb the sensation of skin against skin as they clung together. 

Their pleasure-filled moans echoed off the silenced walls. The anger that had been building between them had boiled over and the fast release was mutually satisfying. 

They didn’t speak. They never did, even when he would show up at her flat randomly, or when she would grab him by the arm at one of Ginny’s quidditch matches and pull him behind the stands. 

"We can't keep doing this," Ron eventually whispered, his voice raw and hoarse. 

"I know."

Ron nuzzled his nose with Hermione's. Her scent was intoxicating. Her body seemingly fit perfectly with his. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was consumed by her. He wasn’t quite sure if that feeling would ever go away.  

"Come home with me."

Hermione’s eyes glistened as she stared into the depths of Ron’s deep blue orbs, not willing to look away. "Okay."

Maybe tomorrow would be the day they would finally let go. Or maybe not. Maybe they aren’t ready yet. Or maybe they never will be. Maybe they were both still clinging to the hope, the hope that the other person would realize that they are meant for each other and that there is just simply nothing else that matters. 

[skullrock]

the campers, chapter five

chapter five - the disappearance 

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: You struggle with your feelings for Steve; something sinister lurks in the woods.

warnings: swearin’!

word count: 5.7k (I know this is ridiculous but I do not apologize...)

a/n: the is The Chapter folks! you can catch up on the series here! a big thx to the catsluts for beta reading this and instilling confidence into me when I thot this series was going to die by my blade I love u

===

The next day is a Monday, and you have a two hour break between lessons. You head to the lake with Steve, intending to learn how to play the coveted Kayak Ball.

“Do not splash me.”

Steve quirks a brow. “Or what?”

“I’ll flip your kayak.”

“You don’t have the muscles -”

You move quickly, splashing him with your paddle. Steve laughs, splashing you back.

“This isn’t what I was promised,” you say. “I was promised a game involving a ball.”

Steve twists and grabs the ball he’d brought - red, slightly smaller than a dodgeball - and holds it up with one hand. “This is the ball we use.”

“And you just… hit it with the face of the paddle?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t seem so hard.”

“We’ll see,” he beams. “Paddle back a bit.”

You do, creating a distance between you two. “C’mon, Harrington, let’s go.”

Steve throws the ball in the air and whacks it with the face of his paddle. It spins towards you, and you hit it with the paddle, almost like it’s a baseball bat. Steve drops his paddle and catches it.

“Jesus Christ, it’s not a bat.” He puts the ball down and lifts the paddles again. “You use the momentum it has to just tap it with the paddle.”

“I’m not good at this,” you frown, putting your paddle down.

“You tried once.”

“And I know my limits.”

“Here,” he says, paddling towards you quickly. He positions his kayak beside yours and reaches out for you. “Let me show you.” He leans far, balancing himself and the kayak while wrapping his arms around yours. When his hands come over yours to show you how to hold the paddle to tap the ball, your heart speeds up.

And you realize that Steve has really, really nice arms.

And nice hands.

And he smells really incredible.

Your stomach flips, a heat spreading from your chest up to your face, shading it pink. You stop breathing momentarily as Steve lifts your arms, showing you how to face the paddle towards the ball.

“Like this,” he says quietly. “And then you just - tap!”

“Oh.” You feel tense, because Steve’s breath is on your neck, and it tickles, and wow, hey, that feels good, actually,and oh, shit, it should not feel good.

Steve leans back into his space, brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

You turn to look at him, but you’re caught up in the little freckles that move down his jaw and to his neck. Steve leans forward. “Y/N?”

You shake your head, relaxing. “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About how cool Kayak Ball is?”

You think quickly. “About how it would sound better if it was called Paddle Ball.”

Steve scrunches his nose. “That’s already a thing.”

“Is it?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Guess nerds can’t know everything.”

You splash him with your paddle again, head still reeling a bit from the odd realization you had when his arms wrapped around yours. You want him away from you - he’s too close right now, and you’re starting to notice the blonde highlights in his hair. “Let’s try again.”

“You sure? I’m probably going to beat you, anyway.”

“Let’s go, Steve!”

He flashes you a smile and paddles away, allowing you to swallow down the thoughts you just had.

You felt absentminded the rest of the game, continuously messing up, trying not to look at him. You were at war with yourself, trying to understand what the hell just happened. Maybe Steve was attractive - there’s no harm in that, right? It seems like basic knowledge to everyone else at camp, so why can’t it be basic knowledge for you? Admitting that he’s cute doesn’t mean anything, right? Or does it? Are you still in some odd competition with him? Would you have lost if you liked him? Oh, God, do you like him?

“Hey,” Steve calls. “Are you okay over there?”

Your eyes had focused on the water instead of on Steve. You look back to him. He’s frowning, looking at you with concern.

You shake your head. “I’m just thinking about stuff. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot, too,” he admits, resting his paddles. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“What have you been thinking about?”

Steve smiles and looks down to the water. “How happy I am here.” He looks up. “How happy I am that we’re friends.”

You can’t stop the blush that rises. “And why are you so happy that we’re friends?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “I guess I just think we get along really well.” He pauses. “Well - now we do.”

You smile softly. “Yeah, I think we do, too.”

You both stare at each other for a while, just smiling, before you realize what you’re doing. You check your watch and sigh. “Shit, I’ve gotta go to my next lesson.”

Steve clears his throat and looks away. “Oh - yeah, me too. We’re taking a hike today.”

“You sure you can handle that?”

“Probably not.” He points to himself with his thumbs. “I’m definitely outta shape.”

“Shut up,” you hiss. “You’re in perfect shape.”

“You thi-”

“Have you talked to Mia yet?”

Steve tenses slightly. While he’s very interested, something just feels off about seeing someone at camp. It’s a bit convoluted, he thinks - what’s he going to do when camp ends? He doesn’t just want to make out and leave. He wants more than that. And he’s not super sure if he’s going to find that with someone here. Still, he had talked to Mia at breakfast, and they agreed to have dinner together. She was beautiful - dark skin, dark hair, charming eyes. So he doesn’t know what his apprehension was.

“We’re having dinner tonight,” he responds, voice a bit stiff.

“You mean sitting together in a crowded cafeteria?”

Steve huffs. “I’m not sure what else there is to do.”

“Take her for a walk,” you suggest. “At sunset. On the lakeshore. That’s romantic.”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

“When was the last time you talked to a girl?”

Steve’s chest twists. “It’s been a while.”

“Just give it some time. She thinks you’re cute. It’ll work out.”

You start to paddle back to the shore, and Steve calls out to you. “See you later?”

“Sure!” you call back. “As long as you don’t get lost in the woods!”

Steve wonders why you always say that, but he realizes it actually is quite on the nose.

===

You didn’t expect to have an identity crisis over Steve Harrington, but here you were.

You pace your dorm that same night before heading to dinner, talking to yourself out loud. “He’s just cute. He’s cute. That’s it! Thinking he’s cute doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.” You take a deep breath. “He’s just cute.”

But it didn’t help that Steve had changed so much. You couldn’t even call back to the memories of him being an asshole, because they weren’t relevant anymore. Well, they were, but you can’t hate the present Steve for it. He’d obviously gotten better. He was a dork, he was funny, he was kind, he smelled like pine and berries and -

“Shit!” you sigh, falling onto your bed. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, as if it would erase him from your memory.

You hear a knock on your door and another counselor, Brooke, pokes her head in. “You comin’ to dinner?”

You sigh and sit up. “I guess.”

“What’s your damage?” she asks. “You look hung up on something.”

“Nothing,” you say, standing and grabbing a jacket from the closet.

“You’ve been so upset this year. Is it because of Steve?”

You whip around to face her. “It’s not because of Steve!”

Brooke holds her hands up in defense. “Christ, okay. Then what’s it about?”

You pause, the fire in your eyes dimming. “Does - does thinking someone is conventionally attractive mean you like them?”

She scoffs. “What? No. You can say someone is cute but not like them.” She walks around you and sits on your bed. “But who is it?”

“Brooke -”

“You gotta tell me. It’s the rules.”

You sigh heavily. The cabin had made a pact that they’d tell anyone about their crushes - and all that got you was everyone talking about Steve. Now you’re thinking about Steve just like they are, and it gives you heartburn.

“They go to another school,” you say slowly.

“Cut the shit,” she says. “Is it Josh?”

You freeze - Josh! He’ll do. “How’d you know?”

Brooke beams. “I just know. You guys have this cute little love-hate relationship.”

Love-hate. It makes your stomach turn. “You got me.”

“C’mon,” she says, standing and taking your arm. “Let’s go to dinner and spy on him.”

In theory, it was a good plan - but you knew you’d be looking at Steve the whole night.

===

By the end of the week, you feel like the crisis has been averted. Mia and Steve were eating meals and spending their free time together, and the distance put between you two helped. You chalked it up to your brain going crazy over nothing, anxiety grasping at straws. You were starting to feel happy for him and Mia, who seemed to be having a good time together.

Steve sits with you instead of her Friday at lunch, though. Outwardly he passes it off like it’s not a big deal, but he knows he’s fucking up. He just needs some separation is all, and he hadn’t seen you in a while. He just wanted to catch up - that was it. Nothing wrong with that, right?

“How was your week?” he asks. “Do anything fun?”

“Not really,” you admit. “What about you?”

He shrugs. “Been okay.”

“Just okay?” you laugh. “You and Mia seem to be having fun.”

He stiffens just as he did on the lake. “Yeah, it’s been good.” He clears his throat. “So - I took the kids on a hike Monday.”

“Right, how’d that go?”

“Really great,” he says. “We found a really nice waterfall and the water’s deep enough to swim in.” His eyes light up. “We should go!”

You pause. “Yeah, sure. That sounds… fun. When?”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“I am,” you say slowly. “Uh - should Mia come?”

“She’s got a project to do with her class. Is that okay?”

No, you think. You’re afraid of being alone with him again, afraid of the feelings coming back. “It’s cool.”

“What about two? It’ll give us time to sleep in.”

“Let’s meet at the fire pit,” you say, collecting your things. Your anxiety was creeping back in, face flushing. “Two o’clock.”

“I’ll see you then.”

As you walk away, Steve watches. He’s not sure what his deal is, but he really likes hanging out with you. He’s not sure if it’s relief from making amends with you, or something else. He just knows he enjoys your company - maybe even a bit more than he enjoys Mia’s.

He shakes that thought out of his head, though, and goes to gather his things. But the kids suddenly appear, slamming their trays down in an array around him. Suzie’s accompanied them, acclimating well with the group.

“Hey, lovebird,” Dustin says, smiling.

Steve’s stomach churns. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s nice to see you with a girl that likes you back,” Max says. Steve glares at her, but he knows she’s just kidding.

“Can we talk about anything else,” Mike groans, and El swats his arm gently, shushing him.

“What’s her name again?” Will asks.

“It’s Y/N,” Lucas responds casually, beginning to go ham on a jell-o cup.

Dustin and Steve both freeze. Steve’s blood feels cold in his veins and his eyes widen. “What?” he asks hoarsely.

Lucas looks up, mouth full of jell-o. “That’s her name, right? The one you were just sitting with?”

Steve feels sick. “No, I’m seeing Mia.”

The table goes silent, and Max kicks Lucas under the table. He throws an arm out, apologizing to her with his eyes, and Mike almost cackles. He doesn’t for fear of retribution from El.

“Sorry,” Lucas says, turning to Steve. “You guys just hang out together a lot.”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Steve says defensively.

“Had me fooled,” Lucas shrugs.

Max turns to him with wide eyes. “You are so tone deaf!”

“What? Am I wrong?”

Everyone’s quiet, because he isn’t. It seems very obvious from their outside perspective that Steve is into you, except he isn’t. Or maybe he is. He can’t really unpack that right now.

“Gotta go,” Steve mumbles, grabbing his tray and heading off. Dustin gets up, patting Suzie on the arm to tell her I’ll be right back.

Dustin catches Steve just outside. “Don’t listen to them.”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, the other resting on his hip. “I don’t - I don’t want people to think….” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

But Dustin understands. “Do you?”

“What? No,” Steve says quickly. “We’re just friends, Dustin, honest.”

Dustin nods. “Then don’t worry about what they think.”

Steve runs his hand through his hair again. “I’ll try. ‘m gonna try to find Mia.”

“Good luck, my liege.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but smiles softly. He extends his arms for them to do their handshake, starting to giggle about halfway through. He gently punches Dustin’s shoulder when they’re finished. “You mean a lot to me, dude.”

Dustin grins toothily. “Go get your girl.”

Steve salutes and walks off, but his good mood falters. He considers cancelling your plans tomorrow, but pushes past that. You’re just friends. You’ll always be friends. A simple hike and swim tomorrow isn’t going to change that.

===

The next day is gloomy, but it’s good for hiking. The air is cool on your bare arms as you and Steve head off into the woods, small bags in tow.

“It’s about three miles in, so I hope you don’t mind a hike,” he says, rolling his shoulders to adjust the straps of his bag.

“That’s the point of this, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes and elbows you gently. “Don’t forget swimming.”

“Did you find it yourself?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure I’m not the first person to find it,” he explains. “We don’t have waterfalls in Hawkins, so it’s pretty neat.”

“You sound easy to please.”

“I am,” he grins. “Can’t you tell?”

“Do you live by the woods?”

“Oh, God, yeah,” he says. “My backyard is lined with them. It’s kind of all there is in Hawkins.”

“Do you like them?”

Steve goes quiet, remembering all the bad that’s happened in them.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say.

“They can be… intimidating,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “These woods aren’t like those ones at all.”

“How so?”

“Well,” he starts. “These ones are brighter. More welcoming. The trees aren’t too thick, so the sun can come through. It’s easier to see through them.”

“Scared something’s hiding there, Stevie?”

He blushes at the nickname, but he frowns. He stares straight ahead and avoids the question. You glance at him and then back at the trail, the silence not bothering you so much. You just appreciate the company, even if it makes you anxious.

Eventually, you both come across a clearing, a waterfall and swimming hole centered in the middle, surrounded by trees and rocks and moss. It was beautiful, and you whisper, “Holy shit,” out loud.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Steve smiles.

“You’ve really outdone yourself.”

He smiles over at you and you head to it, putting your bags down. Steve takes his shirt off, rolling it up and shoving it into his bag, keeping his shorts on to swim in. You divert your eyes from him as you peel off your own shirt and shorts, leaving you in a bathing suit.

Steve stares, and you blush heavily. “What?”

He blinks. “I feel underdressed.”

You sigh in relief and fold your clothes. “That’s your fault.”

You both get in, gasping the entire time because the water is so god damn cold, and wade for a while to get used to it. The cold water brings you to your senses a bit, and you feel more comfortable with him. You smile cheekily at him and say, “It’s nice to be somewhere that we can actually splash each other.”

His eyes get wide. “Don’t splash my hair.”

“Why? Don’t want the product to run out of it?”

He whips his arm and splashes you with water, making you gasp and shout. You rear up to splash him back, but he lunges for you, pulling your arms down.

“Don’t,” he laughs, tugging on your arms before pulling away. “I’ll sue you.”

“Your dad has a good lawyer, huh?”

It’s a low blow, but it only slightly hurts. “Of course.”

You both talk and wade for hours, the water slowly starting to feel warm on your skin. The clouds hang heavy in the air, but the atmosphere is light around Steve. He does some stunts for you, like front flipping off of a peak, and you clap sarcastically for him. He stops after a while, resting in a shallow part of the water as you float in the deep end.

“Steve?” you ask.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

He laughs, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Are you still having nightmares?”

He stills and frowns. “No, I haven’t had any.”

You’re silent for a moment. “Do you usually have them?”

“I do when I’m at home.”

You’re quiet again, the sound of the water taking up the silence. “It sounds like a lot of bad stuff happened at home.”

Steve can’t help but to laugh, as it’s the understatement of the century. You frown at him, and he shrugs. “You could say that.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“It’s okay.”

“Well, I’m here for you.”

“I just don’t get it,” he says after a moment, pulling himself out of the water.

You furrow your brows and laugh. “What don’t you get?”

“How you’re so nice to me.”

You laugh again, confusion etched on your face. “Am I always an asshole or something?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I just… after everything….”

You frown and swim to him, resting your forearms on the rock he’d climbed out onto. “Do you want me to be an asshole?”

“No. I just - I deserve… you shouldn’t be nice to me.”

You pull yourself out now, sitting beside him, frowning more. You look at him for a while, pulling your knees up to your chest. Finally, you whisper, “You said you don’t remember.”

“I don’t,” he says softly, staring at the moss that stretched up the cold stone. “I just... don’t remember.”

You feel anger bubbling in your gut. “How don’t you remember?”

“I remember some things.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I remember one time I tripped you and you fell on the gravel. I remember that your blood was so red. I remember feeling so bad, but I made my friends laugh, and that was more important to me.”

You turn to him, pointing to a long scar on your knee. “You did this that day.”

He stares at it for a long while before looking up at you, tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

You soften a bit. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember when Tommy stole your clothes from the pier. I remember telling him to stop, but he asked me if I was a pussy, and I didn’t want to be… so I just. Let him do it.”

“That sucked,” you say. “That really fucking sucked.”

“I can’t even imagine,” he says, so quietly that you can hardly hear him. He shakes his head slightly. “Everything else I remember doesn’t matter. I don’t know if it’s from concussions or what. I just… try so hard to forget who I was. But it doesn’t work.” He sniffles. “Because I know… I know that I did those things. And I’m sorry I can forget while you have to remember.”

It’s quiet for a while. You absentmindedly trace your scar with your index finger, brows furrowed hard. It’s odd to feel like this around him - like you’re mad, but you’re not. Because you have a memory that you kept, buried deep down, because you didn’t want to remember the good he did.

But he did good things.

“There was one time at night,” you start. “We were playing tag. And it was so pretty. The sky was pink and the fireflies just started to come out.” You look at him. “Do you remember?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“It was stupid,” you say, starting to smile. “The game, I mean. We all kept cheating because we didn’t want to lose. We’d say that we weren’t actually touched when we were. It made the game complicated.” You press your lips together for a moment. “And then Tommy… he just. Shoved me.” You mimic it, how hard he pushed at you. “And I fell right on my face in mud.”

Steve’s tense, his hands clenched into fists, holding the fabric of his wet shorts within them. You can almost see a vein popping out of his temple, his jaw clenched so tight, and you want to reach out and smooth it. But you continue.

“And I was so pissed. I could have murdered him, Steve. And I wanted to cry, because I had mud, like, everywhere. And I felt so dumb and stupid and - it hurt, you know? But then you came out of nowhere when Tommy ran away.” You pick at some grass, growing through a crack in the stone. “I thought you were there to finish me off. But you took off your shirt, and you cleaned me up. Best as you could, with a dry shirt.”

Steve turns to you quickly, his features softening. He furrows his brows and shakes his head slightly in disbelief.

“It’s true,” you say. “It happened. And I just stared at you, like, what the hell are you doing? But you kept cleaning me up. And you kept asking if I was okay, and you kept saying you were sorry. And I thought that was so weird, because you didn’t do it. You could apologize for Tommy, but not for yourself.” You smile sadly. “Maybe because it was Tommy and the others the whole time.”

“No,” Steve says. “It was me. I did those things.”

“You did,” you agree. “But you didn’t have… y’know, pure malicious intent. Because you’re good, Steve Harrington. Right to your core.”

Steve doesn’t understand why you’re saying this. Why you’re coddling him. Why you’re making excuses for him. He’s felt shitty for so long, about everything - about high school, about being a shitty boyfriend, about being a child bully.

“I don’t… you - I don’t deserve this,” he says weakly.

“Maybe not.” You smile slightly. “But I’ll still say it.”

He looks back at the moss, shoulders relaxing, and you can’t help but to reach out for him. You lace your fingers through his and squeeze, like you did at the bonfire and on the shore. You bring it close to you, resting it on your knee, your hand still locked in his.

“What matters is that you’ve changed,” you say. “And I know you have. Everyone knows you have. You’re not who you used to be. And, yeah, you’ll always carry that person with you. But they’re only a fraction of what you are now. And you’re good now. You’ve always been good… you were just… misguided.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he repeats, and you elbow him gently.

“You deserve every good thing. You’re sweet and kind and caring, and you’re funny, even if you’re dumb sometimes.”

He looks at you, giving you a tear filled smile. “Yeah, I’m pretty stupid sometimes, huh?”

You lean into his side, squeezing his hand once more. “Only sometimes. You’re smart in your own way.”

A silence stretches over you two again. You feel so comfortable here, in the silence with Steve - his warm hand in yours, soft and smooth and big, your side nuzzled into his. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. It just feels right.

Steve wants to tell you everything. He wants to tell you about the last three years - about having his ex girlfriend’s best friend die in his pool, so he can’t use it anymore; how he almost died because some dickhead tried to beat him to death for standing up for a kid; how his ex girlfriend called him bullshit and left him for someone he was told not to worry about; how he was drugged and trapped in a secret Russian base under his part-time job. He wants to spill it all; he wants to hear your words of encouragement, soothing his wounds like aloe. He wants to hear you call him brave, and strong. He wants to hear a lot of things from you - and it’s scary, but good. He knows he can’t, but he wants to, and it kills him.

Instead, he decides to share some things he does remember with you.

“I remember some other things,” he says. “Good things.”

“Like?”

He smiles. “You used to wear your hair in those pigtails with pink scrunchies.”

“God,” you laugh. “Don’t bring that up.”

“And you would laugh so loud.” He laughs with you. “You could hear it from the other side of camp.”

“It’s still loud,” you say.

“It’s nice,” he says. “You used to be so quiet except for your laugh. I always liked it.”

You pull away from him slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “No way.”

“Yes, way,” he says. “I always wanted to -” And he stops, staring at you, smile faltering.

“Always wanted to what?”

“Y’know,” he whispers. “Be the one to - to make you laugh.” He quirks his brows and shakes his head, looking down. “I don’t mean it like that.”

You want to ask him “like what?” so desperately, more than anything - but you stay quiet, averting your eyes as well. Steve unravels his hand from yours, leaving you feeling cold, and he clears his throat.

“I told you, I remember a lot of insignificant things,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

You quirk your head. “Memories of me are insignificant?”

He looks at you, shocked. “No. Memories of you are some of the best I have.”

You feel like you’ve fallen through a trapdoor, the breath knocked out of you. It’s bizarre, how he remembers you so fondly, while you’ve remembered him as being the person who ruined your life. It almost makes you angry, but he looks so innocent sitting before you - his eyes soft, slightly frowning, brows knitted together. You have the urge to reach out for him again until your senses kick in - this is wrong, this is all wrong, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You stand quickly. “It’s getting late, we should probably head back before it gets dark.”

Steve frowns, unsure if he upset you or not, but he pulls himself up. He’s pretty sure he didn’t mean anything by it, at least. It’s true - the few good memories he has of you always make him smile, make him feel warm and good. He’s never unpacked that, and he has no intentions to. It’s just memories. You’re not that little girl anymore, and he’s not that little boy. It doesn’t matter.

You gather your things, throwing your dry clothes back on over your wet ones, and take off. It’s only about six, but the clouds in the sky make it seem darker, almost more sinister. You don’t think much of it, but Steve notices, putting him on high alert.

About a mile into the walk, a deer approaches the two of you, getting incredibly close. You gasp with glee, looking at Steve to see if he’s seeing this.

“Look how close it is!”

But Steve’s filled with dread. Something’s not right. He claps to see if it runs off, but it doesn’t.

“What the hell?” you ask him. “It’s just a deer. We’re like princesses right now.”

Steve’s hardly listening, surveying the land, and then he realizes - the woods are dead quiet.

“What’re you -”

“Shh!” He holds his hand out to beckon you to be quiet, and you shut up quickly. Steve’s typical goofy behavior is gone, replaced with a hard face and a tense body. You’d never seen him like this, even when he’s obviously remembering something that’s upset him. It makes you scared, and you take a step closer to him. “Steve?”

“Listen,” he whispers, frozen in place.

You strain your ears. “I don’t hear anything.”

He looks over at you, eyes wide. “Exactly.”

At this point, the deer has gone away, leaving the two of you alone. You feel a bit eerie, but try to brush it off. “Steve, it’s alright.”

Steve scans the woods again, thankful for the space between the trees, before relaxing. He wraps an arm around you, walking you down the path. “Let’s go.”

You shrug him off of you, because you like the weight of his arm on you too much. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t want to admit that he has a bad feeling - like maybe if he shoves it down, it won’t amount to anything. “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

You start to wonder if maybe this is what his nightmares are about, the woods. You want to ask, but you know he won’t open up about it. So you continue to walk beside him, your mind wandering off to him. The spikes of anxiety do nothing to keep the thoughts of Steve out, as much as you wish they would. You wish you could forget him like he forgot you. You wish you could forget his dumb, long hair, with highlights, and how his lips always look glossy, and how strong his arms and hands are. You wish so desperately to forget, and by the time you return to camp, you feel sick.

Steve’s relaxed by then, thankful that everything at camp seems fine. His smile is back, and he’s walking a little slower. “You going to dinner?”

“I think I should go to bed,” you say, voice hoarse. “I feel a little sick.”

He frowns. “Was it something I did?”

“No,” you explain quickly. “Just the excitement, I think.”

“Do you want me to grab you something and bring it to you? Or maybe Mia could -”

Your stomach twists painfully. “I’m okay, Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You march off to your cabin quickly, forcing tears back until you can collapse on your bed. Your roommate is luckily out, so you shut the door, fling yourself on your bed, and start crying.

Every horrible emotion runs through you - sadness, anger, guilt, fear, remorse. It hits you like a tidal wave, leaving you shaking. So many thoughts go through your head. Thoughts that you never thought that you’d ever have.

It’s official - you’re into him. You like him. It’s a new feeling, foreign for you. You never once had a lick of attraction towards Steve until this summer, and it’s hit you so quickly that you hardly have time to recover. It should be a happy thought. It should be good, and freeing. But it’s everything but that. It’s scary, and horrific, and anxiety inducing.

You could have been friends. You could have gotten along. You both could have been lifelong friends, ones that turned to lovers. You could have sent each other letters when you weren’t at camp, ones that were riddled with confessions and feelings. You could have been there for each other, even if it didn’t turn to romance. You could have had a friend. The memories Steve had shared with you hurt, because he was never bad, and yet he was. It confuses you. It makes you mourn for what you could have had.

If you ever see Tommy Hagan again, you’ll hit him on sight.

On the other hand, you’re longing for something with Steve now. The new Steve, the one who’s dorky and funny and charming. Caring, kind, sweet. You want it so desperately that it rips you up inside, makes your chest feel empty. And you know, without a doubt, nothing will ever happen. Nothing can ever happen. He’s your childhood bully and new friend. Nothing could happen between you two. Your pride is too big, and Steve’s with someone else. Someone youhad set him up with.

You feel like an idiot. For liking him now and hating him then. For ever hating him. For ever liking him.

You cry heavily, burying your face into your pillow, and contemplate your next steps, when the door bursts open.

You flip over, annoyed that your feelings were interrupted. Your roommate Jen is in the doorway, her eyes wide and face flushed, panting heavily. Your protests die on your lips and you jump up. “What happened?”

“One of the campers,” she pants. “They’re missing.”

===

taglist (join here!): @troop-scoop​ @therealestdookie @jasontoddisfantastical​ @mybestfriendthedingus​ @anonymousonion23​ @darth-el​ @unknownherelm​ @random-thoughts-003​ @metuel18​ @dark-academics-and-florals​ @magicstrengthandcourage​ @mathchampagne​ @magnitude101999​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ @sunshine-and-riverwater​ @dark-academics-and-florals​ @scooprtroopr​ @heart-eye-harrington​ @sourapplebaby​ @comedy-witch​ @mochminnie​ @thatkidofwarandpeace​ @lukeskisses​ @ssanjuniperoo​ @harrington-ofhawkins​ @write-from-the-heart​ @yazmin626​ @bravest-at-heart​ @anotherr-fine-mess​ @elusive-cryptid​ @dungeons-and-demodogs​@superstarchick

[forever-rogue]

Step Into the Daylight - Part 8

Summary: The journey to Ilum turns out to be very illuminating. 

A/N: Thank you guys as always for your wonderful words and support. I hope you enjoy! Taglists are open, and as always feedback is welcome! xx

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin x Reader)

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: none

SERIES MASTERLIST

MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Soft light filtered in through the small windows of your hut as your eyes fluttered open. You let out a small yawn as you felt a small tugging coming from the foot of the bed, realizing that was most likely the reason you were awake, rather than the light. A small coo met your ears as you slowly sat up and spotted a pair of small green hands trying to climb up the bed. Keeping your gaze firmly trained on the edge of the bed and making sure you didn’t look in Din’s direction, you leaned towards him. 

“Good morning, my little love,” you reached over and picked up the small green child. He made a small sound of content as he settled into your arms and looked at you with wide, innocent eyes, “always the early riser, huh? Will you come and lie down with me for a while?”

He looked at those with those big, gentle eyes and seemed to nod slightly as you laid back down with him at your side. It was comfortable, a quiet moment that was more peaceful than anything you had experienced in so long. Din had stirred slightly, but still was fast asleep as you settled back down. Even in his sleep, he held you close, an arm draped around your waist, his face still nestled against your back and his breathing slow and steady. It felt normal, like it was something had happened often, rather than being the first time. This was your little family, and although you knew that this was not meant to be your every day routine for some time, you longed for it, almost ached for it now that you had gotten a little taste of the sweet domestic bliss. 

Snuggling back down and resting a hand on top of Din’s, you allowed your eyes to close again, your other arm tightly holding the child. You didn’t know how much more time you had to enjoy and bask in this, so you were going to take full advantage of it while you could.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next time you were roused from slumber, the space next to you was empty and the child was gone too. You rubbed the remaining bits of sleep from your eyes as you sat up, stretching and enjoying the feeling of your joints cracking. 

“Good morning,” you turned and found Din sitting at the table, armor and helmet completely back on, feeding the child that seemed to possess a ravenous hunger as he continued to grow. You gave him a small smile as you slid out of the bed and walked over to them. You had a distinct feeling that he wore a smile as well, even despite the helmet. You sat down in the chair next to him, petting the child in the space between his large ears, “I hope you slept well.”

“Yes,” you felt your cheeks start to heat up immediately at the mere thought of the intimacy you shared the evening before, “I hope you did too.”

“Better than I have in a long time,” he admitted, his hand finding yours and resting gently on top of it. You let out a small sound of surprise, biting on your bottom lip. He tilted his head slightly and looked like he was about to say something else, but a loud knocking on the door quickly cut him off. 

Jeele opened the door and PC quickly rolled in, coming over and beeping excitedly at you. You greeted him and gave him a few reassuring touches before he was overcome with joy at the sight of his newest little friend. Jeele looked between the two of you and you pulled your hand back instinctively.

“It is time,” she stated simply, “we should leave as soon as you are both ready we shall leave for Ilum.”

“I just...how are we going to get there without coordinates, and since neither of us have heard it?” you asked and she gave you a look that made you wonder why you even questioned her. You shrugged lightly as you exchanged a look with Din.

“I know where we are to go,” she answered simply, “and so does the droid now. He will be to assist.”

Din let out a small sigh as he looked between the droid and the child, who were already playing together, lost to everything else. You caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring nod, silently trying to tell him it would be okay. You still didn’t know about his little vendetta against droids, but you hoped you would get it out of him or at least have him tell you a little bit more.

“Our journey will be just fine,” she insisted, “but just remember to dress yourselves and the little one warmly. Ilum is a cold and unforgiving place.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you had set foot back on the Razor Crest, a familiar warm rush hit you, bringing a smile to your face as you became reacquainted with your home.

Home.

This was it. Because Din and the child were here. And now PC would be too - or so you hoped. You hadn't exactly broached that subject with Din yet. When you returned to the small sleeping quarters you had once occupied, you found that he had left everything exactly as it was before you had left. The sentiment alone brought a smile to your face. The sight of a small bundle sitting on the cot and waiting for you only increased it.

Setting your bag down, you gently walked over and gently picked up the soft surprise. They were new clothes - a beautiful winter white set of pants and a tunic, along with a beautifully embroidered cloak. The fabric was soft, but thick, clearly meant for the cold weather. You couldn't help but hug the clothes to your chest, heart soaring at the idea that Din had taken the time out to acquire and pick these garments just for you.

"I hope you like them," his voice caught you off guard as you turned and found the Mandalorian standing in the doorway, "Jeele said to get warm clothes for everyone before we came. I...hope you find them to your liking.”

"They're beautiful," you gave him a small smile as you set them back down, "thank you, so much."

He gave you a small nod, and you a moment of silence passed between the two of you. But before you were even aware of it, your feet carried you across the small space and threw your arms around the armored man. He took a moment to respond, but he slowly wrapped his arms you, "there's nothing to thank me for, mesh'la."

"You're going to have get a new line," you grinned at him, "because I can and will thank you whenever I so desire."

You heard what you were sure was a snort of laughter from under the helmet, but before he could say anything else, you were interrupted by the loud beeping and giggling coos of PC and the child. Sighing lightly, Din reached down and picked up the small green bundle, letting him climb onto his shoulder.

"Come," Jeele’s voice cut through whatever you were going to say, and Din gave her a stiff nod before following her back to the cockpit. An inadvertent little sigh escaped your lips as PC beeped at you and you nodded in understanding. 

“Is it that obvious?” you asked as he rolled against your leg and nudged you fervently. Yeah, it was that obvious. If he was human you were positive the droid’s eyebrows would be raised high enough to reach his hairline, “I don’t...I don’t want to lose him.”

It was the first time you had admitted to out loud to yourself, let alone anyone else. He had a small sound of reassurance, prompting you to bend over and pull him into a hug, “maybe I can tell him one day. I mean what if he doesn’t even feel the same?”

He chirped a few more times are you rolled your eyes and shook your head, “just because we spent the night together doesn’t mean anything...what if he was just lonely? And cold?”

You started to head out and towards the cockpit, ready to take your familiar spot in the co-pilot’s seat behind Din. PC rolled after you, chiding you in the manner that reminded you of a parent, “people share beds all the time and it doesn’t mean anything and don’t argue with me...”

A few more furious beeps, “he does not look at me that way.”

“Who doesn’t look at you in what way?” you stopped dead in your tracks as you came  face to face with the Mandalorian in question. You’d thought for sure he would already be in the cockpit, but you proven wrong, yet again. PC peeked out from behind you and beeped; you were glad that Din seemingly couldn’t understand him, but you kicked him back gently with your foot anyway. 

“No one,” you shrugged lightly, but just by the subtle tilt of his visor, you could tell he didn’t believe you. You could have dismantled that droid on the spot, “it’s nothing...shouldn’t you be in the cockpit?”

“Hmm,” he mused quietly in that stoic way he tended to do. Sometimes you didn’t mind, other times it drove you crazy. Like right now. You really wished you could see what was going on behind the helmet, and more importantly in his mind, “I was heading that way...were you coming?”

“Do...do you want me to?” you perked up slightly, sure that PC was watching you intently. You were glad that he wasn’t able to speak, but it would be hell when Din learned to interpret what he was saying. Of course you wanted to go with him, it had become so familiar, and you had missed his company more than anything.

“Always,” he promised softly, turning on his heel and heading towards the ladder to being his ascent up the ladder. It was hard not to stare at him, especially his backside, which you’d studied on more than one occasion. Not that you wanted to objectify him, but he was just...very appealing. Every part of him; and the fact that you’d never seen his face, well, it just added to the mystery. But that face, those lips had pressed kisses to your shoulder just the evening before, as he had nestled tightly against you. How were you ever supposed to recover from that?

“Master,” you turned to Jeele who was currently very deep in concentration as the droid and child played around her. Maybe one day you’d manage to have her level of concentration and be able to meditate properly, “if you don’t need me right now...”

“Join your Mandalorian,” she insisted quietly, not even bothering to open her eyes. A small smile had stretched over her features, “you have much to discuss.”

Opening and closing your mouth a few times, you wondered what she meant, but you weren’t going to question her wisdom; she’d been right more often not and you didn’t have a reason not to trust her. You sighed slightly at the other two, pointing a finger at PC, “you two behave. Otherwise you might accidentally deactivate and get left behind...again”

He chirped furiously at you, but you raised an eyebrow before turning back to join Din. You weren’t sure why, but your stomach was fluttering and your heart rate was elevated. This was just Din. You’d known him for some time now, why where you suddenly feeling this way? Shaking your head to clear your mind, you poked your head up and found him sitting in the pilot’s seat, looking relaxed for once as he stared out in the vast forest area that you had called home for the last six months. 

“I’ll almost miss it,” you mused as you made your way and slipped into your old spot, tucking your legs under you as you watched him closely, trying to read his expression. But it was hard; it was almost like he had put up a wall to block you out. Not in a negative way...almost as if he was nervous. You could feel his energy, especially now that you were so much more attuned to things, “it’s a lovely place, but I think I’m ready to go.”

“It’s peaceful,” he noted as you nodded, “but-”

“It’s not home,” you finished for him, “do you want to see something cool?”

Your hands were practically itching with desire to show him some of the things you had learned in your separation. There was so much, so many wondrous things you had learned, so much knowledge gained. 

“Show me then, Mesh’la,” he was amused as you nodded, flicking your fingers tightly as you turned on the ship. He was startled for just a moment before he realized what you had done, a short bark of laughter reaching your ears, “very impressive. It took you months to learn that?”

“Din Djarin! You’re so mean,” your eyes widened in surprise, but you realized he was just joking, “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned more than that! Wait until we can practice some sparring - you’ll be most impressed then!”

“I have no doubt,” he promised, reaching back and gently resting a hand on your leg, giving your thigh a small squeeze. He let his gloved hand linger for just a moment before turning back to the console and punching into the coordinates that were given to him by Jeele and PC. She had practically made him swear to secrecy, and Din knew better than anyone about respecting things such as this, “it’ll be some time before we’re there. Even if we make a jump to hyper space.”

“Great,” you sighed heavily, leaning back in your seat, “nothing like having time to stress and worry.”

“Are you worried?” he asked gentle and you shrugged your shoulders in a noncommittal response. You weren’t exactly sure what you were feeling; a bundle of nerves, fear of the unknown, worry that somehow you would fail. A combination of a million things at once, and yet nothing at the same. A sense of calm was washing over you, perhaps reassurance from the force? Or maybe Din’s calm nature was rubbing off on you.

“Not really...” you gave him a small smile, “it’s just...it’s so silly, right, but it’s just this terrible fear that I...might not be cut out for any of this. That somehow I’ll fail. And then...”

“You won’t fail,” there was a cool confidence to his tone, like he was so set in his opinion that there was no way you could change his mind. You knew you couldn’t - he was a stubborn man when he made his mind up. Another of his many endearing, if not sometimes frustrating, trait, “look at what you have accomplished, what you have done.”

“I’ve done nothing,” you scoffed lightly. 

“You’ve done so much more than you know,” he turned to face you, the black T of his visor was concentrated firmly on your face. A warmth crept up your eyes and you looked away, focusing on a loose thread on the edge of your tunic. He made a small sound before turning back to the controls while you pondered over his words. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sat in comfortable silence for time, staring out at the stars of space. You’d never felt as small and insignificant as you did when you watched the stars, but Din never made you feel like either of those things. He made you feel important, and for a long time you didn’t know quite what word to use but you knew now - loved. Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to speak washed over you, and you found yourself asking the question before you fully processed what you were doing.

“Din?” your voice faltered slightly as you stared at the back of his helmet. He turned in seat to face you, making sure everything was properly on autopilot before giving you his full attention. He leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him, “do you...have you....have you ever had a riduur?”

He tensed ever so slightly, and while he remained silent for a moment, you could see the tension all over his body language. Biting your lip, you looked away for a moment, thinking that you must have surely overstepped your boundaries. Ready to apologize and come up with an excuse, you opened your mouth, but he was faster, “how do you know what that means?”

“I...I had a lot of time to myself,” you stated the obvious, relieved to hear that he didn’t seem annoyed or mad, “and there were so many old books, printed, and datapads with information. It’s amazing what kind of things that were just abandoned. There was a lot on Mando’a...and your culture. I...was curious. I wanted to learn more, I tried learning your language, but PC said I wasn’t very good. He’s programmed to know a lot of different languages; I was able to restore that for him anyway.”

He let out a small sound, somewhere from deep within his chest as he locked his gaze onto yours, “you tried learning Mando’a?”

“Yes,” you smiled lightly, “to be able to speak to you in it.”

“Oh,” he was glad for the helmet, once again. You would have seen the brilliant crimson that crept up in his cheeks as he watched you with pure adoration; no one had ever done something like that for him. But then he realized, “so you know what....”

“I’d never heard it before....but I vaguely remembered reading that word. So...yes,” you answered his unfinished question with a grin that threatened to break your face in half. He nodded his head and nudged his foot with yours, trying to reassure him that it was okay. A sense of warmth spread throughout his limbs and he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could just rip off the helmet then and there and finally kiss you the way he been wanting to for so long.

“No,” he said after a short while, “I’ve never had a riduur before. It’s never...no...”

You didn’t know why but you bit the inside of your cheek at his confession; but you didn’t want to get your hopes too much. Just because he called you Mesh’la, and you’d shared a bed, nothing was worth getting too caught up in. Maybe...he was just being kind. But still - the little flip your heart did was undeniable. 

“Din?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something else?” he nodded deftly, “droids...why don’t you like them?”

There was a pregnant pause as he crossed his arms over his chest and despite his best efforts, a small sigh still reached your ears. Surely you had done it; you’d pushed him past his limits and he was not going to have it any longer. For the most part, he was a fairly collected man, he wasn’t quick to anger, unless the moment called for it, for all intents and purposes. But this must have been it. 

“You’ve told me so much about your past,” he said after some time, looking around the cockpit and finding it hard to look at you, despite the barrier between the two of you, “you’ve always trusted me. Why?”

“Because you cared about me when you didn’t have to,” years of living in servitude and then being some sort of renegade on your own had made trust a difficult thing. You never...really trusted anyone, no one stuck around long enough or ever earned it...but Din had. He had earned your trust, in an unspoken manner the moment he chose to save your life without reason, without the promise of anything in return, without inhibition, “you never asked questions, you never wanted anything, but you saved me. Why did you do it?”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Exactly,” you gave him a soft half smile, “that told me all I needed to know about you, Din.”

A slight quirk of his helmet was enough to tell you that he was quickly choosing over what to say, your words echoing loudly in his head. Eventually he turned back to you and stared at you long and hard; how you wished you could see the determination and intensity of his face, “I was a foundling once. I was not born into Mandalorian culture. I was taken in and raised, trained, in the ways of the Mandalore, the creed.”

You crossed your legs under you and leaned forward in your seat, giving him your full attention. You would have never known - he was so protective of, so dedicated to this way of life, the way, that you were almost positive that he would have known it from birth. A small pit settled in your stomach and told that there could be no good, no happy, explanation for why he was a foundling. Reaching over, you grabbed his hand and gave it a light touch, silently telling him that he did not have to continue, to delve into areas that he was not ready to you, “Din-”

“During the fall of the Republic, there was a separatist attack on my village, where we lived. The droids came and destroyed everything; my parents hid me in a bunker,” he paused for a moment, getting choked up as he relived the memory that had haunted him for so long. Turning his hand over, you laced your fingers with his, holding onto his has tightly as possible, giving there was more you could, “they died almost instantly. I was sitting there, waiting to be next, ready to meet my fate when the hatch reopened this B2 droid was staring me in the face.”

“But you were saved,” you stated the obvious, “by a Mandalorian.”

“Yes,” there was a certain sadness to his answer and it carried a lot of weight. You wondered if he ever spoke to anyone else about this, if he’d ever gotten the chance to tell his story. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to; but you hoped that this was at least somewhat cathartic in some way. It didn’t change how you felt about him - if nothing else, it made the fondness in your heart grow stronger. Maybe that’s why he’d saved you, “they took me in, trained me in the fighting corps, I became one of them.”

“This is the way,” you repeated the phrase you had heard him say countless times before. He repeated it after you, his vice a soft, gentle thing as he took your hand and held it to his face where his cheek would, almost in reverence, “thank you for trusting me and telling me your story.”

“I haven’t....it’s been a long time,” he confessed, “since I have spoken so candidly, with another. I’m more used to be being alone.”

“You’re not alone,” you promised, “you’ve got me, you’ve got him, and if...you’re willing, the droid. I know, it’s a lot to ask of you and had I known-”

“It can stay,” he said quietly, “I can see how much he means to you.”

“He was the only thing I had while I was away,” you chuckled lightly, “he knows too much. He knows...he’s even excited to meet you.”

“The droid?!”

“I’ve told him a lot about you,” your face felt like it was on fire as you confessed. You felt more like a young girl with a crush rather than a woman grown, “about how you saved me, came back for me, did everything for me. Without you, none of this would have ever been possible.”

“You saved me too,” he reminded as you slid out of seat and stood in front of him. He looked up and watched you closely. His heart was pounding what seemed like a million beats per second as he mirrored your actions, “maybe we saved each other.”

“Maybe we did,” his hands found your face, the smell of the soft, worn leather invaded your senses. He quickly pulled them off and tossed them on the console, wanting - needing - to feel your skin with his. His touch was warm, electric even he gently cradled your face, his long fingers tracing over your features, “can I...ask you something else?”

“Yes,” his breathing was slightly ragged as he vowed to commit your face to memory, wanting to capture this moment forever, “anything.”

“When was the last time...someone saw you?” you bit your lip and looked away for a moment, only to be pulled back in by his gentle touch, “not that I...I would never...”

“Not since I was young, when I swore the creed,” but you’d known that already, known that from your research into his adopted culture, from what you of him, “once it is on...if it is removed you cannot wear it again. Only a child or a riduur would be allowed to see.”

“Oh,” you were neither of those things. Only the small green adopted son he had found would be privileged enough to see him completely. Maybe you would never see. But, as you had already accepted in your heart without hesitation, if you never saw him without the helmet, then that was okay. Nothing changed who he was, or how you felt about him or how you cared for him.” 

“I....mesh’la,” he started but trailed off, resting his forehead against yours, the beskar cool against your warm skin. You could tell he wanted to say something more, and your own heart was pounding at a frenzied pace as you willed him to go on, “I...”

“We’ve arrived, we must begin our descent,” you almost jumped back from Din as Jeele’s head poked up into the cockpit, startling you both. You cleared your throat as Din nodded and pulled back from you, sitting back in the pilot’s seat, “I suggest you change into your new clothes. It was will be cold and unforgiving.”

Casting a look at Din who was pointedly staring at the console you nodded before following Jeele and climbing back down the ladder to change. Your new journey was starting; you weren’t sure if that was causing your nerves or the fact that there was clearly something new developing between you and the Mandalorian. You were on the precipice of....something. And you were curious as a loth-cat to know exactly what it would be. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Ilum was exactly how Jeele had describe; it was freezing, windy, and everything was covered with glittering snow and ice as far as the eye could see. How could something like this remain untouched and hidden to almost everyone in the galaxy? 

You stepped off the Crest, and despite how warm your new garb was, there was still a biting chill that caused you to shiver. You looked over at Din and he seemed completely nonplussed, along with Jeele and PC. For his own safety and comfort, the small child had been left on the ship, to be tended to by the droid. You bent down and offered him a small embrace, “it’ll be okay. I’ll see you both again soon.”

He beeped at you before retreating into the ship and leaving just the three of you. Trying to stop your teeth from chattering you turning to Jeele, attempting to liven the situation, “are we sure this isn’t Hoth?”

“Positive,” she was not responded, starting to move forward without you. Din caught your eye and you both shrugged in response as you trailed after her small figure; at least he offered a small chuckle.

It was a quiet trek for sometime, the only sounds meeting your ears was the loud whistling of the wind as it rushed around your ears. This was some sort of cruel initiation right, it had to be. 

But the small woman suddenly came to an abrupt stop in front of you, holding her had as you and Din almost bowled her over. 

“What’s wrong?” you could see him reaching at his for a blaster, his fingers twitching slightly. He was always on the defense. You couldn’t feel much of anything, no sense of danger met your senses. You looked at Din and shook your head, letting him know that it was okay. The tension didn’t leave his shoulders but he dropped his hand and motioned for you to get behind him anyway, out of instinct. You stepped behind him and tried to see what Jeele was doing as appeared to have spotted someone. 

“Who are you?” it was a man’s voice, completely foreign and unbeknownst to you. You peek around Din’s shoulder as you tried to make him out. 

“We are friends,” Jeele turned and beckoned for you to come forward and join her. You gave Din a small squeeze of reassurance as you stepped out from behind Din and walked over to her, stopping at her side, “it is time for her to make her journey.”

“What is your name?” he didn’t sound hostile, or threatening, but curious. He was bundled up against the cold but you could make out a few ginger locks poking out from under his cloak. He appeared to be close to Din’s age, or what you assumed to be his age, if not a number of years older. 

“Y/N,” you told him firmly, “Y/N L/N. Who are you?”

A small smile played along as his features as he pulled back the hood of cloak to reveal a shock of ginger hair and a kind smile, “I’m Cal. Cal Kestis.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @yourealegendroger  @thesecondlastjedi  @bitemerog  @rogernroll  @secretsweetscollectionblog  @sheridans-dynamos  @dinkiplier @starrystarrybabe  @onexlittlespark  @benhardyseyes  @marvelstuck  @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes  @wonderwich  @a-kind-of-magik  @lv7867  @itissnowingandimstuckinside  @dessert-hardy  @rogertaylors-lipgloss  @rogerfxckingtaylor  @queenbbarnes  @drowseoftaylor  @persephonesnebula  @mamaskillerqueen  @theimpossiblehologramtree  @loveandbeloved29 @meddows-rose @onceitbubbles @wonderwoman292 @moondustmemories @spacedustmazzello  @queenlover05  @ah-callie  @blushingwueen  @thisis-theway @el-lizzie  @rosetophighlander  @rae-gar-targaryen  @lavenderl3mons​  @hiscyarika​  @readsalot73  @huliabitch​  @ollyoxenfrees​ @coffeeandtodd​  @beepbeepsephy​  @gooddaykate​  @scarlettwitcher​  @nerdyknightwritersblog​  @choicesarcade​  @arrowswithwifi  @everythingaboutnothingstuff  @24kgolden​  @suckerfor-fanfics

SITD Taglist: @taman-a​  @polskanazwaichuj  @peqchynero  @alluna-naozumi  @obibaekenobi  @delectablyvaliantmentality  @knockbeforeyouspeak  @ucy161  @petalduck  @emyyjemyy  @kaialisonflame  @kiude  @gorillazgirll  @chocolovelp  @thatonebishsstuff  @sailorflowermoon  @flightriskchild  @lemurian-starship  @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8  @igotmadskills  @baby-y0da  @hotandmissunderstood  @whovianayesha​  @cielphantomhixe @fleurdemiel145​  @cheesecake-manufacturer  @and-i-swear-we-are-infinite​ @katialvi​  @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl​​  @sirianfromsixties​​ @karpasia​  @rosetophighlander  @mrsparknuts  @libra-slytherin​

[thenickelportrust]

Scene Practice 1

Hello everyone! I thought it'd be fun to try out some practice scenes I'm planning to eventually put into Model Citizens. These are just scenes that have been floating around in my head that I have planned, but want to get a better handle/idea of how they play out. 

(None of them will have any major spoilers, any minor spoilers are going to be ones already talked about publicly here)

I have a few of these planned to put up, and might do one a month for a bit as some exercise.

This Month's Short: Confessing to Yolanda with an Asexual MC

_______

You had grown used to standing in this room. This wide room with the wood trim, and the wide, flat plane of glass that made up the back wall. You had grown used to a sight you thought, the first time you were here, you could never get used to. The night sky itself was always dark and starless over Nickelport, the nebula over your heads drowned out by the flood of city life. But the stars weren’t gone entirely, no, instead they’d been moved beneath you. Beneath your feet onto this polished black marble that reflected the scattering of neon that dotted the jagged Nickelport horizon. You could see, up here, in Yolanda Waltz’s private study, why this really was called the district of neon stars.

And standing over these artificial stars, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she stepped towards a pitcher full to the brim with fresh lemon water, is Yolanda Waltz herself.

You wonder, now, how long it took her to grow used to the stars being beneath you. Was she as quick as you to accept the fact that you were walking over the faux-Milky Way up here? Or maybe she never had to grow used to it. It wouldn’t have been as sudden for her, after all, since she was the one who built the monument to respite that the Chat Blanc has become. She would have had to feel it all rise beneath her feet, watched this somehow still-standing building shrug off the limits of the sky and pool the stars together on its flooring.

Or maybe you’re putting too much poetic thought into simple construction.

Yolanda Waltz’s cup of water catches a fair few fake stars itself, and you see red and blue bend and twist around the curved body of glass. The click of her heels the only break in the silence as she hands one cup towards you. You accept it silently, the glass cold against your palms. A bead of water drips down the side of it, leaving a small streak in its wake. Your thumb comes up to wipe it away before it reaches the bottom of the glass, still silent as thoughts of galaxies drain from your brain, replaced instead by a singular, shining starlet who sits in front of you now.

You had grown used to being by her side. This woman in front of you, with one leg hooked gracefully over the other. A white dress pouring down one arm and collecting in a pool by her ankle. Sleek, pristine, pressed. Pressed lips that quirk up and you realize quickly that your staring has not gone unnoticed.

“Should I start charging a museum fee?” Yolanda’s smooth voice rises to your ears through the clean silence of this wide and polished room. “Looking, but never speaking, or touching.”

The flirtatious edge is also something you’ve grown used to. Yet still you find your face flushing as you look down to take a deep sip from the glass, an excuse not to speak as you gather back your straying thoughts.

One leg jitters of its own accord, bouncing up and down while the heel of your own shoe clicks nervously. Your free hand squeezes into the fabric of your skirt before smoothing it back down again. “I…”

“Too much?” Yolanda leaves a dark red print from where her lips touched the glass. “You seem more on edge today. I thought perhaps it might help you loosen up.”

You had grown used to being by her side. You had even grown used to some of the more… double edged remarks passed between the two of you. Sentiments teetering between joking and… something a bit more dangerous. You had grown as used to them as you had walking across comets painted in neon.

So why, suddenly, does it all feel like the first time once again?

Why, suddenly, have you become nervous and skittish all over again? Why does it feel like every step on this dark floor is one that might send you plunging into the abyss, why does it feel like every time Yolanda Waltz speaks with that tilted tone you find your heart fluttering like you are once again the nervous reporter sitting in her room interviewing her about a lead that might lead you to the identity of a red-clad superhero…

“Why do you do that?” The words slip from your lips.

Yolanda Waltz doesn’t flinch, but one brow does find itself pushing up, her head tilting. “Oh? What?”

“That… this… I mean… you tease me too much.” You lean back into the silk cushion of the chair, it bobs and fluffs up around you, catching you like arms.

The glass lifts again, and now there’s another red mark next to the first. Two lip prints placed so gently next to each other. “Does it make you uncomfortable? If so then I will stop.”

“N-no!” Too fast. Too loud. “No it doesn’t- um… I don’t think it makes me uncomfortable?”

Two lips prints that are placed on the table next to her seat. Her legs uncross, and Yolanda Waltz smooths down her dress. “You sound unsure. If it is alright with you then I will stop until you know whether or not it makes you uncomfortable.”

She sounds so… professional when she says that. Granted, Yolanda Waltz always sounds professional. Always calm. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her break that façade. Or at least, when she does seem to… it’s always that. Seems to. Somehow it feels very distant. There’s the woman in front of you, Yolanda Waltz, but then there’s Yolanda, and she’s… somewhere else. Somewhere much further away.

“What if it isn’t alright with me?” Your hands squeeze, one into soft fabric and the other around hard and cold glass. “What if I said I didn’t want you to stop?”

But there are flickers, little cracks between the pressed smiles and pressed clothes and… Flickers like now, when there’s a little flicker of surprise. It flashes so quickly over her face-- a shooting star of emotion. “You enjoy our banter, then?”

You swallow down another gulp of ice cold water, and try to pretend it’s something stronger. Strong enough to give you a burst of confidence. “I enjoy you.”

Flicker. “Excuse me?”

“I enjoy you-- I like you.” You place the glass to the side and force yourself to stand, listening to your own heels click against the floor as you walk towards Yolanda Waltz. “I like you, Yolanda. I like flirting with you. I like being with you. I want to get to know you.”

Flicker. Her eyes never leave yours, “Those are dangerous requests, darling.”

“No.” Your hands find the armrests of her chair, and you try to pretend that you’re doing that to be… seductive? Flirtatious? It’s always worked that way in the movies.

In reality, you’re just trying not to fall over. Your feet are too shaky to keep you upright right now. “I think you’re saying that. And if- if--” Fuck, dammit, and you were doing so well without stuttering, “If you don’t want to.. Get to know each other,” Recover, recover, recover, you were doing so well don’t lose it now, “In that way then… uh… we… can just… not…”

This is not recovering. This is a downward spiral. This was going so well. And now your arms feel stiff and your legs feel awkward and your limbs all feel a bit too long for your body and is this even a seductive pose? God it’s not is it? Oh god you have to look so stupid right now what the hell are you doing this is Yolanda Goddamn Waltz and you just tried to what? Strut up to her and confess? Who the hells ‘struts’ anyway? Fuck what the fuck are you doing why did you--

A hand finds the side of your cheek. A warm palm with long, slender fingers and a gentle thumb that moves over the side of your face. A soft laugh leaves Yolanda’s red lips, leaving a print on the side of your brain, where that laugh and those lips dance in circles. “Perhaps it is a bit cruel of me to say so but there is something rather cute about watching you lose yourself in your own mind. You’re far more expressive than you might realize, darling, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that active imagination of yours.”

Your skin must be boiling under her hand, and your brain has gone from downward spiral to stagnant static as a dull, “Uh…” falls free from your lips.

Yolanda’s hand pulls away and you start to realize that your arms have begun to ache from holding you up, but you’re no longer sure how to gracefully dismount from this position you’ve put yourself in. Lucky for you, Yolanda spares you the embarrassment and slowly stands, allowing you to pull back. She takes your hands instead, and brings one up to her lips to kiss the back of your knuckles, leaving a mark of red in their place. “You make it very tempting , darling, and I like you quite a bit too.”

“It may just be the fact that I think my mind has gone numb,” Your mouth, too, by the way you start speaking your thoughts aloud without a filter, “But… was that… I’m not sure if that was a rejection or not?”

She considers this for a moment, her lips pursed gently, then another laugh, this one lower, more throaty as Yolanda Waltz turns her head to the side. There’s a flicker again, but it’s not out of surprise. It’s… uncertainty. “I am not sure either.”

Oh.

“Can… can I ask why not?”

Yolanda lowers your hand, and this time she keeps her eyes on the red mark on the back of your palm. “All my life, I have only ever sought physical relationships. That is not to say I’ve been adverse to the idea of a more emotional one, but it has also never been a priority of mine. I’ve found people with whom we can seek a bit of respite and pleasure together, and perhaps even share a pleasant cup of coffee together after. But never anything more than that. I have been content with that, and felt no need to seek anything more with them after, save for an occasional repeat if they desired the same. I would be willing to spend such time with you…”

“But that’s not something I’m interested in.” You supply.

“No, I know this. And of course, that is perfectly alright.” Yolanda’s thumb brushes over your hand, “But a… romantic relationship is something of new territory to me. Not to mention, a purely romantic relationship, at least of the emotional kind, that is even more unknown territory.”

You nod slowly, “That’s okay. If you don’t want--”

“I did not say I did not want it.” Yolanda frowns, and it’s more than a flicker this time. It’s… a genuine look of being lost. Uncertain. “To speak frankly, I want to be with you. And the idea of such a relationship is not an unpleasant one. It is just… a new one. An unfamiliar one.”

“Oh, well that’s okay.” You try to smile, hesitantly attempting to reach up and brush a hand over her chin, coax her back to looking at you. “Is there any way I can help you… I dunno, get more familiar with it?”

She looks up easily, but it does not seem to make her any more certain. “I think it is more a matter of time and trial. If you are willing to be patient, darling, then… I would like to be with you, although I may not… know what to do at first… if that is understandable?”

“Of course.” You try to smile, to show more reassurance. “We can take it slow. And, at least for now, keep everything the same until you get more comfortable with the idea of being together? Then when you know how you feel a bit more, we’ll take whatever step we want to take, and just sorta… see where it goes from there?”

You watch as Yolanda Waltz-- a woman you’ve never seen break, a woman you’ve seen remain dead calm in the midst of some of the most stressful storms of Nickelport-- relaxes. “Yes. That sounds agreeable.”

You also watch as Yolanda Waltz, for once, hesitates, then asks, just as hesitantly, “Is it alright if I kiss you then?”

You can’t help your own laugh from bubbling out of your throat, “Yes.” You say, “Always.”