#this is as much of a superficial scan as i can manage. this is a basic 'you played all the original endings just once' read.

[queenburd]

absolutely not a callout post but this activated my trap card so Im so sorry.

Yes, The Stanley Parable is a funny silly game about a guy trapped in an office building.

It's also a game that, while not the first to explore themes of meta and how the player directly affects the game, was really good at it and was super influential in how a lot of future games would explore meta.

There are a LOT of games that are now praised in how they address the Player directly, and make the Player feel that their choices aren't just the choice of a character they are playing, but the Person directly. You, the Player, are responsible for a character getting a complete arc or dying early.

Like, I don't know if you were here for/remember how crazy the Undertale fandom got about the genocide route (if a character was evil or if they were just influenced by YOU, the PLAYER, when they call you out specifically for making them like this), or how many people said "I put the game down after the Pacifist ending because it asked me to". Those were big meta themes of directly addressing You and telling you "you're complicit".

(but there's no wrong way to play that game, I wanna make that clear, that's a WHOLE tangent I wont get into)

The Stanley Parable (especially the 2013 remake) laid a lot of groundwork for it, but it did so in a way that was usually more lighthearted. Yeah, you're a guy in an office! Yeah, a voice is telling you what to do! Yeah, you can disobey everything he tells you to do, and listen to him get irritated, and see what happens.

And then there are a few key places where it brings up the fact that you're not actually Stanley, you're a real person playing the game, and the game is made to be played, but also, that has an impact on the characters inside the story/game itself. Not a LASTING impact (although Ultra Deluxe would change that impression), but when you Do a Thing, a Character Will Be Affected.

and that's really cool! again, it didn't do it first, and the idea would be expanded upon, but it did it so well that the game garnered a lot of praise and stayed in people's heads for 8 and a half years until the Ultra Deluxe version came out.

anyway you don't want to get me Started On the Bucket.

It’s so important that tsp is a game that knows it’s a game and it asks you to keep playing it and it tells you that to keep playing it is to torment these two characters but it asks you to do it anyway.

I watched The Morality of The Shadow of the Colossus and it said “you’re involved in it but you’re not Complicit. These things would happen anyway. You’re just re-enacting it” and I feel like the Parable is SOME of that. It wants you to feel complicit but it never really blames you for what happens, except maybe in the potency of the Skip Button. And by that point you have next to no choice.

TSP asks you to play it, knowing the consequences, and says “you can save these two, but you won’t, but that’s okay, nobody blames you. This is how they’re designed. This is how we need them to be, for the game to work. Please, keep playing. Keep making them butt heads. We made them for you.

We made them for you.”

[grangerhater]

UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIPS

pairing: blaise zabini x gryffindor!reader

synopsis: a snob like Blaise and an introvert like y/n could never be friends, yet the form a bond in which they both learn and grow

platonic

The Great Hall was bustling with students, their voices echoing off the high ceilings as they chatted animatedly over breakfast. Amongst the crowd, Blaise Zabini sat at the Slytherin table, his dark eyes scanning the room with an air of superiority. He held himself with confidence, his posture impeccable, as he engaged in conversation with his equally posh friends.

Meanwhile, tucked away at the far end of the Gryffindor table, sat Y/N, a shy and introverted student. Their eyes were downcast, focusing on their plate of food as they ate in silence. Y/N was content to blend into the background, avoiding attention and unnecessary interactions. They were used to being overlooked, and it suited them just fine.

Blaise caught a glimpse of Y/N sitting alone, their nervousness evident in the way they fidgeted with their silverware. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about them. Their reserved nature stood in stark contrast to his own outspoken personality. Blaise found himself inexplicably drawn to the mystery that surrounded Y/N.

Determined to satisfy his curiosity, Blaise decided to approach Y/N. He smoothly made his way towards them, his presence commanding attention as he towered over their small figure. Y/N tensed up, feeling a mix of anxiety and disbelief that someone like Blaise Zabini would even acknowledge their existence.

"Hello there," Blaise said, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone. Mind if I join you?"

Y/N's heart raced, their mind struggling to process the unexpected encounter. They managed to nod, barely audibly, and Blaise took a seat across from them. The silence between them was palpable, each lost in their own thoughts.

Blaise, unaccustomed to the quietude, decided to break the ice. "You know, most people would jump at the chance to have a conversation with me. Yet, here you are, seemingly disinterested in my presence."

Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. They were well aware of their introverted nature and the difficulty they faced in social situations. The last thing they wanted was to draw attention to themselves, especially from someone as confident and popular as Blaise.

"Sorry," Y/N mumbled, their voice barely audible. "I'm just not good with talking to people."

Blaise's eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "Well, perhaps I can help you with that. Consider it a challenge."

Y/N looked up, their eyes meeting Blaise's intense gaze. They had no idea what he meant by a challenge, but there was something intriguing about the proposition.

"Alright," Y/N whispered, their voice gaining a bit more confidence. "I'm willing to give it a try."

And so, Blaise began a journey of guiding Y/N out of their shell. He took the time to learn about their interests, coaxing them to share their thoughts and opinions. Slowly but surely, Y/N started to open up, their shyness giving way to a newfound sense of self-assurance.

As the weeks went by, Blaise and Y/N formed an unlikely bond. Blaise's snobbish exterior gradually melted away, revealing a kind and patient side that Y/N hadn't expected. Blaise, in turn, discovered the joy of genuine connections rather than superficial ones.

One day, as they sat beneath a large oak tree by the Black Lake, Y/N found the courage to express their gratitude. Looking up at Blaise, who was seated on the grass next to them, they said, "Thank you, Blaise. You've helped me grow so much. I never thought I'd be able to have conversations like this. Before we met, I was so shy and insecure that I could barely talk to anyone. But you never made me feel like I was strange or different in any way. You always accepted me for who I am, and that has made all the difference."

Blaise gave them a soft smile, his eyes crinkling kindly as he looked down at Y/N. "The pleasure is all mine," he said. "You know, Y/N, before we met, I was pretty wrapped up in my own world. Being popular, being the life of the party, always getting my way; that was the only thing that mattered to me. I never really stopped to appreciate the little things in life, what really mattered and made me happy. But being around you has taught me the value of patience and understanding. I've come to realize that there's more to life than just appearances”

As Blaise spoke, Y/N's heart swelled with happiness. They could hardly believe that they had found acceptance from someone like Blaise—one of the most popular and confident students in the whole school. Before meeting him, Y/N had always felt like an outcast, like they didn't belong. But here they were, enjoying a moment of genuine connection with someone who had come to understand them and accept them for who they were.

As the sun set on the Hogwarts grounds, casting a golden glow over the pair, Blaise and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, content in each other's presence. Their journey together had transformed them both, proving that sometimes, the most unlikely friendships could blossom from the unlikeliest of circumstances.

[localwebslingers]

A glance was given to Harry at the reminder, which wasn't necessary. Peter was actively aware of what time it was and how much longer he had until May got home from work. Which was one thing, but the sooner the tracker was out and gotten rid of, the less likely anyone else would come looking. Which, unfortunately, also meant getting it out of the house before deactivating it. Loose plan was to currently get it out and toss it into the Hudson off the bridge. Maybe after a few more stops around town in case whatever tracked this thing recorded last locations for so long.

The last thing he wanted was someone to drop by because Harry Osborn supposedly stopped by for twenty or so minutes and then went to jump off a bridge or something.

"You wanted my help, asking if there's any pain from it is helping." his own tone was calm and a little hard, but not nearly as much hate in it as he caught in his own name being spoken, "Because if it did before I even made an insicion, that would be a problem, which we'd both need to know about." it could be that the thing reacted to pressure and attempts to dislodge it, or it could just be that the muscle underneath it was damaged and irritated enough it was going to require more caution to remove. Not to mention more time to heal properly.

Peter let his hand pull away and he went to grab a chair from the dining room table, "The good news is it seems superficial enough that it can be removed easily. As in they many not have actually placed it into the muscle or bone around it." he set the chair in front of Harry and went to grab a second one for himself, "The bad news, is that without actually doing a scan I have no way of knowing for sure that they don't have a part of it embedded anywhere. But we're on a time crunch so I'm not really sure that's even on the table as an option to find out."

The other chair was set down and Peter eyed Harry a moment, "...the short version is yeah, I can get it out, but it might hurt. A lot...and I really mean a lot." the spine was sensitive enough as it was with all the nerves and tissues being protected by the bone, and surrounding it. That alone was going to make taking it out unpleasant. Not that he imagined it being placed at all was exactly an enjoyable experience either. Probably far from it, actually. The other marrings across Harry's back from different scars implied they wouldn't have cared if it had or hadn't either way.

He finally let out a breath and went to go to the stairs, "I'll be right back, don't have what I need for it down here." he wasn't exactly going to cut into Harry with a steak knife from the kitchen. There was a small box of things tucked away in his room for his own patch jobs, including pliars, tweezers, and a scalpel he actually managed to get a hold of. The whole thing would go much smoother if Peter used those, and then the sooner he could get the area bandaged and Harry out of the house.

Harry did not look at Peter, once he'd bared his back. Not so much because he was ashamed of the marks on his skin -even if he was, because nobody should have ever dared and if someone was still alive in Ravencroft he'd make sure they suffered- but because he had long abhorred pity, in any way. And he knew that if he turned around and saw the slightest shade of it in his once-friend's eyes, he would not keep his cool.

He needed to keep his cool. At least until the tracker was gone and then he could leave, and lick his wounds in peace, and then start the work he hadn't been able to get done from his cell. Not even with a certain Gentleman's help.

He knew he should know better than to hope, especially around Peter. But he could almost taste freedom, and before that, as he listened to him move and then approach and held back the urge to move away and put his shirt on again, things such as changing the arm bandage were just small needless details.

"I'll deal with that once the tracker's out. Just so you remember, we're on a time limit here." He pointed out, uncomfortable and unwilling to show it beyond his anger and the arrogance he'd once worn like a coat, before returning to New York and losing everything in a week.

And then he could feel Peter's careful attention on the tracker, and he held back a hiss of annoyance, because it was not painful, and it did not shift even as the scarred skin over it did. It was attached firmly enough, and even as Harry crossed his arms the tracker stayed still, only shifting as his spine moved slightly.

"It's a piece of metal under my skin and it's been there for years, Peter." He replied, his tone acidic despite his best attempts, and clear contempt in the way he pronounced the other's name. "I know it's there. It's not painful." Not anymore.

It would be, once it was taken out. But that pain he could and would deal with.

[internetgremlin-writes]

For Prompt Night: Charles Xavier x fem!Reader with Prompt #118: “this isn’t adrenaline, i want to spend my life with you.”

118 - "This isn't adrenaline, I want to spend my life with you"

HELLO!! I was wondering (& hoping) to see your name tonight :))

Warnings: She's actually writing Charles X content without porn?? Absolutely shocking. Uh no, no smut here, just fluff and post-Cuba content. Actually, this got way angstier than I was expecting (oops, pls feel free to request more if it's too sad)

As per usual with Charles fics, telepathic conversations are in italics.

Prompt night info and list to request a ficlet/HCs yourself here!

You were still shaking, over 24 hours after it had happened. You'd not been able to see him initially, the hospital admitting you also. You'd insisted you were fine, but the second they put you in a warm blanket and began to give you some fluids to treat you for shock, you realised very quickly that you were not fine, and you'd all but blacked out in the uncomfortable bed.

Luckily for you, your injuries were purely superficial and the sleep had been enough to see you fit enough for discharge.

Not like him.

When you found out he was still unconscious you thought you were going to be sick. They were scanning him every couple of hours, planning and cancelling and re-planning surgeries multiple times a day.

You didn't go home, you couldn't. You wouldn't shower, and you wouldn't eat unless the nurses came in and forced you to have a tray of the bland hospital mush. You sat in the chair beside his bed, still in the now ratty and dirty yellow-and-black suit you'd worn on the beach. The sand trapped in it was rubbing your skin raw in places but you couldn't really feel it. You just sat there, shaking, as you watched him lie so still.

Charles was never still. For as long as you'd known him, he did not sit still. He fidgeted, he got up and walked around, he was checking something or looking for his pen or making sure that everyone else around him was okay. His mind was too busy for a man to sit still. It was one of the many, many things you adored about him.

Charles Xavier and his stupid big heart.

It was the main reason you were in the situation you were currently in. Because stupid Charles and his stupid heart wanted to trust Erik. And all Erik wanted was blood. Any like, any respect, any anything, you'd once felt for Erik was gone. He'd done this to Charles, your Charles. He'd put him in this ugly bed with the thin sheets and the gown that made him look white as a ghost. He was the reason your Charles was laid with his black hair fanned out, hands peacefully crossed over each other, breathing so slowly that you'd burst into hysterics believing he was dead and it had taken a nurse and several sweet teas to calm you down.

If you ever saw Erik Lensherr again you'd kill him. There was no doubt about it in your mind.

You were sleeping when it happened. At first, it felt like an itch, right at the back of your head, but you recognised it instantly.

"Y/N," The voice rang in your head clear as day, a familiar weight settling into the back of your head that you hadn't realised just how much you'd missed.

You couldn't reply, because once again you were trembling and crying. Because he was alive. Nothing else mattered.

"Ow," that time it was out loud. The accent was distinctly his, but his voice was raspy from lack of use. "Dear, can you bring me a cup of water, please?" If you could have, you would, but you were currently consumed in delayed panic, the thought that he'd died so real and so fresh that it was all you could think of. You just about managed to ring the bell for the nurse before you completely collapsed.

You had to be taken out of the room for a moment for the doctors to assess Charles and for you to calm down, although that temporarily sent you further over the edge and you had to be handed a brown paper bag to breathe in. You couldn't shake the fear that was gripping you, you were completely consumed by the concept that he'd died. You didn't understand why because you'd seen him wake up, but it wasn't enough. You wouldn't believe anyone until you could touch him.

You were forced to wait an hour before you could see him. They were explaining to extent of his injuries to him, and a nurse was trying to do the same for you. You'd managed to understand and grasp onto the word paralysed, but you were in no state to process any further information. You didn't care about long term care plans, not right then.

And then you were allowed to see him.

And he was sat up, cheeks flushed once more and ruddy smile back in place and he was alive.

"Hello, Love," you nearly fell to the floor in tears again, but he was holding his hand out for you and you managed to reach out to touch him and god, he was warm and real and alive and that was enough. You threw your arms around his neck and sobbed freely into his shoulder.

Charles couldn't seem to form the words either, because although he was holding you tightly, he was whispering sweet nothings and soothing words directly into your mind.

When you finally pulled away he was wiping your tears and you were wiping his and it was a total mess, completed with a salty, wet kiss.

"I thought I lost you," was all you managed to wimper, your hands scrabbling for purchase against his skin. It wasn't sexual, you just needed to feel him. He was nodding against your skin, also clamouring for the contact.

"I know, love, I know,"

"I didn't know what I'd do-" you trailed off, unable to continue as you kissed him deeply once more.

"Let's get married,"

"No,"

"No?" You stared at him, and for a second it felt like he'd died all over again.

"No, you don't want to marry me, Y/N," you were shaking your head, tears now falling silently, gripping onto his hands as if he was going to slip through your fingers once more. "Listen to me, I love you, I love you more than you can possibly comprehend. But you don't want to marry me,"

"I do,"

"Y/N, you're in shock. That was deeply traumatic, look at you, this is just adrenaline, okay? It's relief,"

"No,"

"Yes. Look at me, I'm paralysed. I can't walk, I can't do a lot of things. I'm a burden now, and you're not to take responsibility for me, because you made a promise when you were in shock or otherwise, understand?"

You didn't understand. Charles was a constant in your life. You'd never really thought about marriage or commitments in the long term until he'd been shot in front of your eyes. You didn't realise that your entire life felt meaningless the second he wasn't in it until he wasn't in it.

You left the conversation for a few months. Giving Charles and yourself the time you needed to heal and recover. There were a lot of adaptations to be made, and lots to learn about Charles' new body. The one constant through the whole thing was that you'd not changed your mind, even for a fraction of a second.

You were laid in bed, your head on his chest as you listened to him talk you through his plans for the new school. It was the first time you'd heard the pain completely leave his voice, filled only with excitement for the future he was building for his world. He paused to look down at you for a second.

"It wasn't adrenaline, I want to spend my life with you,"

There was a pregnant pause in the air

"I know,"

[thewildsophia]

.An Eye for An Eye. Arcane//Mylo x Healer!Reader

Mylo x Healer!Reader

Trigger Warning: Depictions of gore

A/N: Fix-it fic because Mylo deserved better.

Word Count: 5437

“They took Vander.”��

You rose to attention from where you were sitting on the bed with Powder at those words.

“Who took him? Where?” You asked, immediately grabbing your handgun with ammo and machete. The two other boys in the room were also staring at Vi as she stomped over to them and grabbed Vander’s metal gauntlets. 

“I don’t know who, but I know where they are,” Vi growled.

“Well we’ll come too,” Claggor spoke, quickly gearing himself up.

“Yeah he’s our father too,” Mylo said, placing a hand on her shoulder. You quietly walked up to them and spoke, 

“Lead the way, Vi.”

“I-I’m coming too!” Powder shouted, arms full of her prototype mousers and other assorted explosives you and her had created. 

“No, Powder, you have to stay…” 

You listened to Vi talk to Powder while you got the rest of your gear together before turning to the now sulking girl. 

“We’ll be back, Powder. I promise,” You said before trailing after the others, not missing the sullen face of Powder as you lock the door behind yourself. 

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

You were confident that you’d all come back considering the kind of power you have. Afterall, there was really no killing you and with your ability to heal others your group was a force to be reckoned with. 

You have a form of “regenerative immortality” -- at least that’s what the topsiders had called it -- meaning that it was virtually impossible to kill you through injury or illness (as far as you know anyways). You did still age though and wondered if you would die of old age one day.

You can regenerate from pretty much anything. Superficial cuts and bruises would heal almost instantly, deeper cuts and burns would take up to a minute and anything deeper would usually take a few hours. Regenerating a whole limb would take a day or two. You could speed up the regeneration process significantly, but doing that severely drains your energy so you would only do such a thing as a last resort. 

In addition to healing yourself, you can also heal others, but it has its limitations and price. By marking another’s wound with your blood, you heal their injury completely and instantly, but that injury is then afflicted onto you. You didn’t mind the cost though as you always believed it to be worth it. 

But now you’re just rambling in your head again. Come on, you’re supposed to be saving Vander!

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

Vi had managed to find an opening in the ceiling of the warehouse where Vander was being held captive. She held the hatch open as you all silently and swiftly snuck in, scanning the area for guards and looking for Vander, 

Vi led the way to a small room where Vander was held to a chair via metal straps. 

“Kids? How did you all get here?” Vander asked tiredly as Mylo got to work picking the locks on his constraints. 

“It was easy,” Vi boosted as you and Claggor stood watch by the door. “We snuck in through the roof; There were no…guards.” Vi trailed off as she was hit with a realization.

“You all need to get out of her. Now.” Vander spoked quickly before being cut off by slow clapping from the other side of the bridge you were on.

A man with a large facial scar applauded you all while revealing his aray of many combatants behind him. 

“Shit,” You heard Mylo swear under his breath as he fiddled with the locks faster, more frantically. 

 “Mylo,” You whispered, gaining the boy’s attention, “Just calm down and keep working. Ignore what’s going on, we’ve got you back.” You said, not taking your eyes off of the people in front of you.

“Claggor, find us another way out of here,” Vi said while stepping in front of the two of you. “Y/N, you’re with me.” 

You narrowed your eyes while walking beside her, pulling out a mid length dagger and cracking your knuckles. You had incredible physical strength -- one some would describe as inhuman -- but also liked the aid of blades and firearms. Work smart, not hard, right?

A large man with dark tattoos approached the two of you first. Vi gently pushed you behind her as the two of them stood toe to toe. He swung, missed and was quickly socked in the jaw before falling to the ground, clearly knocked out. 

You saw the scared man’s eyes widen before others began to run up on the two of you. Vi threw solid punches at the people who charged at her while you incapisitated and killed anyone who got too close to you, all the while making sure you two had the other’s back. When two of the guys tried to take Vi on by herself, you turned just in time to drag your dagger across the throat of the man holding her and watching him fall limply to the ground before Vi punched the man in front attempting to stab her. 

Glancing behind you into the small room, you noted that Mylo had already gotten two of the restraints undone while Claggor had started to tunnel through the brick wall. 

Eventually, you and Vi had warded off that man’s group of aides. What approached you next, however…You weren’t even sure it was human. It looked to be the blonde kid who had tried to rob the group a couple weeks ago, but it was malformed and grotesque, only the idea of the person it used to be.

Vi charged at it first, only to be grabbed by the neck and choked. 

“Vi!” You shouted, charging at it yourself and narrowly avoiding its other hand before stabbing through the one holding Vi. It shreaked while dropping Vi to the ground, to which you quickly pushed her away from it. It swung its arm at you and managed to hit you in the nose with the back of its forearm, knocking you a few feet behind it. 

Thick blood trickled from your nose and into your gasping mouth. You straightened your broken nose before exhaling the last bit of blood from your nostrils and wiping your mouth. 

That thing managed to get several hits on Vi before you were able to interject. You growled as you charged at it. Before it could kick Vi again, you jumped up and beat your fists down on its shoulders, hearing it crack while it fell to its knees. You practically screamed as you pulled out your machete and stabbed it through its skull and into the metal platform, temporarily pinned it in place. 

You grabbed Vi and half-carried-half-dragged her back into the room where Vander and the others were in, closing and locking the metal door behind you. You heard the metal platform outside shift and bend before breaking completely, signifying that that thing was probably free again. 

“Mylo! How are we doing?” You asked, placing your hands on shoulders as he worked on the last restraint. 

You wish you weren’t in such a high stakes situation because otherwise you would take the time to properly admire him. He really was much more attractive than his siblings gave him, large eyebrows and all. But now’s not the time for that.

“Just one more,” Mylo mumbled, frowning as his lock pick broke. 

“Ok, hold on,” You said, pulling your hands from him and lining your fist up with the seam in the metal. Giving it one hard hit, the metal broke and Vender pulled his hand free. 

You all flinched when you heard banging at the door and you ushered the other two guys to help Claggor with getting out. You pulled Vi back from the door and just mere seconds after you did so…

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

You’re not sure where the explosion came from, just that there was one. Claggor had been knocked back by it and was slumped against a wall dazed but still somewhat conscious. Your stomach sank when you saw Mylo next to him, the metal pipe Claggor had used impaling his shoulder. He looked over to you in panic as he tugged at the pipe before his head shot up at the ceiling. 

You were quick to react; your muscles taut, you launched your body at them and pulled their bodies underneath yours as the rubble of the ceiling collapsed onto you. Your body buckled underneath the weight and you felt the sharp bits of the ceiling embed itself into yourself. You gasped for air as you felt blood pool on your stomach and in your lap and legs. Looking down you saw that one of the sharper pieces of metal sheet had practically cut you in half with some of your internal organs peeking through the large gash in the side of your abdomen.

“Help,” You gasped at Mylo, blood dripping from your mouth and onto his face, “Help. Move the…stuff. Claggor…”  You panted and heaved, feeling like you were about to vomit at any second. 

Mylo didn’t waste a second in helping move the rubble off of you and screamed at Claggor to wake up. Claggor looked up blankly at you, eyes unfocused and wandering over you. They soon snapped into focus when he registered what he was looking at and felt the blood, your blood, soak his clothes.

“Vander!” You shouted, “Vi!” You prayed they hadn’t gotten crushed like Mylo and Claggor would have. 

The two eventually had gotten enough rubble off of you for you to just shrug off the rest. Your head burned and thumped as you discreetly healed Claggor’s injuries, yet you smiled as you watched the bleeding on his head stop. 

“Holy fuck, shit, fuck,” Mylo muttered, hands pulling at his hair as stared at you, “What do we do?! Do we need to stop the bleeding or-” 

You cut him off by grabbing the pipe in his shoulders and, with a firm tug, pulling it out. He screamed while you placed your hand dipped in blood against it, quickly healing it. 

“Wha…NO!” Mylo screamed, grabbing his now healed shoulder as he watched your own begin to bleed underneath your shirt. “Why the fuck would you do that now?!” 

“It’s my job,” You joked before dry heaving in front of them. You felt like you were going to vomit your guts up, which, considering the situation you were in seemed like a very likely possibility. You screamed hoarsely as Claggor grabbed your side to keep your organs inside of you. 

Mylo was quick to scurry out from underneath you and look for the other. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. This was never supposed to happen,” Claggor comforted you, “I can only imagine the amount of pain you’re in right now.”

“Eh, this is kinda my job, ya’ know?” You smiled before gagging and grabbing his shoulders for stability, “I’ll be honest though, I’ve never been in so much pain before. I might actually pass out.” 

“Ok,” Claggor whispered, “Try your absolute best not to.” You shook your head and laughed.

“No promises. Also, I can’t walk.” You said. 

“That’s fine,  we’ll have someone carry you.” Claggor responded.

You heard the others approach from behind you.

“They’re hurt badly,” You heard Mylo cry to one of the others, “I’m surprised they’re still conscious.”

“They can’t walk,” Claggor said to the person behind you.

You felt Vander’s hands on you before you saw the man. Your hands flew to your sides to prevent your organs from literally falling out of you. You howled out in immense pain at being shifted so harshly, startling Vander who almost dropped you. You screamed faded into unrestrained crying at the pain you were in, arms falling limply from you body. Mylo and Claggor were quick to hold your side closed while briefly explaining the injury to Vander. 

Looking up at Vander, you placed a blood soaked hand on his cheek and smiled up at him as he looked down at you.

“Damnit, Y/N, stop doing that right now!’ Mylo shouted as you watched the injuries on Vander heal and fade away. He frowned at your actions and took extra care in holding you comfortably.

The group was quick to escape through the hold Claggor had made earlier. You simultaneously felt an intense amount of pain while being moved around and completely numb, your body not responding to your command. By this point you were all on the ground behind the warehouse and on your way back home while you were barely still conscious. Your eyes drooped lazy and unfocused on anything while your ears strained to hear and comprehend Mylo’s pleas for you to stay conscious, to not fall asleep. 

“Mylo…” You sighed, looked over at where he was still holding your stomach in place. He immediately shut his mouth and stared at you with his stunning green eyes waiting. 

“I love you,” You managed to whisper before going limp again in Vander’s hold.

“I love you! I love you too! Y/N!” Mylo shouted back, frantic and borderline hysteric. 

You didn’t hear him all that well after what you said. In fact you didn’t hear much of anything at all, or see. 

Yup, you were definitely going to pass out. You decided to not fight it anymore and let yourself fall asleep. You got most of your energy from sleeping anyways and you’d need a lot of it to heal all of your injuries. 

The last thing you could process seeing was someone in front of you all with blue hair and shouting something happily. 

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

Mylo had never been so scared in his life before. Scratch that, he was terrified. 

It was like there was nothing and then boom, there you were inches in front of him and Claggor. Only a few stray bits of the rubble had managed to hit him but when he looked up and saw you his body felt frozen, your eyes boring into his skull and blood dripping onto his face. 

It was only then that he was acutely aware that his clothes were soaked with blood, your blood, and his face pinched together in guilt. 

His hands were completely shoved into your chest cavity, you innards shifting slickly against his hands and through his fingers, while Claggor his atop the wound itself and thoroughly trapping Mylo’s hands there so he couldn’t even remove them if he wanted to. 

Mylo genuinely thought you were dead the moment you passed out. Your body lay limp in Vander’s hold and your eyes remained opened but unseeing. Swallowing the lump in his throat and combating the sting in his eyes, Mylo askes,

“Are they dead?”

Mylo never had the courage to tell you he loves you. It was only after you had managed to wheeze it out did he say it out loud. He had admired you the moment you walked into The Last Drop and loved you ever since that one late night conversation the two of you had on the rooftop. You genuinely made life worth living for him and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers like this.

Mylo only looked from you when he heard shouting in front of them.

“Did you see that? They worked! Mouser actually worked this time!” Powder stood in front of the group, face stretched wide with a smile and jumping in place proudly. Mylo just stared at her blankly, not yet processing what she meant. 

“You did this?” Vi asked quietly. 

“Yes! I-I helped, didn’t I?” Powder trailed off, looking unsure at her sister. 

“I told you to stay at the hideout!” Vi shouted.

And that’s when the realization hit: Powder was the one responsible for the bomb. She was the one who caused the ceiling to collapse. She was the one who did this to you.

“I-I-I just wanted to h-help!” Powder shouted back nervously. 

“Help us!?” Mylo shouted, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Mylo-” Claggor whispered to him, trying to diffuse his anger.

“No! Help us? You were supposed to stay at the base and cause us any trouble!” Mylo yelled, “You did nothing but jinx us! Look at what you’ve done! Look at Y/N!” He cried, bowing his head above your chest as he screamed and cried, tears mixing with your blood.

Powder looked at you in horror, or at least as much of you as she could see before Vi blocked her view of you. 

“I’m-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Powder shouted as she was grabbed by the wrist and dragged by Vi, “I-I just wanted to help!”

“Shut up!” Vi shouted, raising her hand to strike Powder before dropping it with a sigh, “You shut up as well, Mylo. Powder doesn’t need to see them like this.” 

Mylo wanted to argue, to yell on your behalf, but the burning of his throat prevented him from doing so. 

“Everything will be okay,” Vander said to the two boys, “We’ve seen the kind of things they’ve recovered from. Just give them some time to heal.”

“And if they don’t? If they don’t wake back up?” Mylo mumbled. Vander took a deep breath in before speaking,

“Then we keep going on without them.”

The three men trailed behind a seething Vi and sobbing Powder as they all made their way back home. 

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

“Dammit! Why couldn’t you have just listened to us?!” Mylo shouted, grabbing Powder by her shirt collar. 

They had gotten back a few hours ago and had tended to your wounds to the best of their ability. They called in a medic and had them shove your organs back into you before taking care of some of your other wounds. It took hours before the medic finally finished and left the base. You were left resting in a separate room away from prying eyes.

The moment Mylo exited the room and laid eyes on Powder he couldn’t hold his anger back anymore.

“Why do you have to fuck everything up?!” He shouted, pulling Powder’s shirt this way and your blood soaking her shirt as he screamed, “They could die, Powder. Y/N could fucking die!” Powder continued to cry and mutter apologies.

“That’s enough,” Claggor said, pulling the two away from each other, “Y/N will heal. They’ll be fine.” 

“No! It’s not okay; None of this is okay!” Mylo screamed as he squirmed in Claggor’s grasp, desperately trying to grab Powder again. Vi had come to get Powder and lead her back to their room, all the while Mylo continued to yell at her. 

Mylo’s anger slowly dissipated and he fell limp in Claggor’s grasp with the other telling him everything was going to be okay, that everyone was here now. 

Mylo screamed. He screamed the scream he had been holding in his whole life. One full of pain and anger and ultimately uttery sadness. The thought of losing you was too much from Mylo to handle and he cried into Claggor’s chest, screaming about none of this being fair. 

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

Everyone took shifts watching you recover; Well, mostly everyone. Mylo took the majority of shifts and refused to let Powder watch you at all. While observing you, Mylo spent a lot of time reflecting about his feelings towards you.

Mylo knew that he liked you or at least liked you more than the others. It wasn’t until Vi and Claggor pointed it out to him that he didn’t just like you but is actually in love with you. Everything made sense to him after that realization: the lingering glances that lasted just a tad too long, the gentle touches you shared that he couldn’t get enough of, the quiet conversations that last well into the night and into the early hours of the morning. Mylo is in love with you and he’s not ready to lose you before he says those words to you.

Deep down he knows that you’ll be okay -- everyone knows that -- but it’s that irrational fear of “what if” that stresses him out and pushes him to near hysterics. 

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

You weren’t sure how long we were out for, but you knew it had been a while. 

During your rest you had woken up a few times, but they were very short and you could barely process what went on around you before you’d fall back asleep. 

Your sense of touch was the first thing to come back to you in full. You felt a pillow below your head, clothes draped over your figure and a blanket or towel as well. You felt warmth in your hand and opening your eyes you saw a tan hand in your own. You squeezed your eyes shut at the burning sensation while sighing.

“Y/N?” You heard someone call. Peaking your eyes open, you were met with the green gaze of Mylo looking both shocked and frantic. One of his hands brushed your cheek while the other shook and was pulled into himself as he practically screamed in relief. 

“Claggor! Vi! They’re awake!” Mylo shouted at the closed door, “Y/N woke up!” 

“How long was I out?” You asked.

“About two weeks.” Mylo answered.

The door to the room burst open soon after the announcement. Claggor and Vi were quick to file in and rush over to you and Mylo, asking how you were and saying that they were so worried. 

There were so many pairs of hands on you, but you could only focus on the long, rough hands of Mylo. You ignored what everyone was saying and placed a hand on Mylo’s chest, relieved to feel the soft texture of his cotton shirt. Everyone was silent as your hand traveled up his neck and to his face. You cupped his cheeks with both hands and felt your eyes become misty, your bottom lip trembling.

“Thank God,” You whispered, a sob bubbling up your throat and escaping your lips, “Thank God you’re all okay!” You cried out, pulling Mylo to you and hugging his head to your chest. 

“I-Woah!” Mylo shouted as he pulled down, arms quick to catch him resulting in him hovering over your figure by only an inch. 

“I was so worried!” You cried, burying your face into Mylo’s hair, “I was so worried I’d wake up and you’d be gone!” 

The three others were shocked at your words; your body had been torn apart and yet the only thing on your mind was their wellbeing. 

For the first time in his life, Mylo let his “tough guy” facade fall and embraced you. Long, lithe arms wrapped around your waist tight while his face pressed against your neck. He fell to his knees as his body went limp and allowed a sob to slip from his lips. 

“We were so scared,” Mylo muttered into your neck, “I was so scared. Scared you would recover. I knew you’d be okay but still!” 

You pulled one hand away from Mylo and towards the others. Vi grabbed your hand while Claggor kneeled down next to you and placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to cry harder. 

The four of you stayed like that for a moment, simply soaking in the fact that you were all there and alive; that no one was in danger anymore. Eventually the relief started to fade and you all began to return to your senses. 

“OH! Y/N,” Mylo shouted between sobs. He took a breath, “I love you! I-I love you.” He said, cupping your face in his hands as he stood next to you. 

You stared at him, the words processing in your head. You felt another wave of tears well up in your eyes as you pulled him down and pressed a kiss to his lips. You felt his tears mix with your own on your cheek while you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“It’s about damn time,” You heard Vi mutter while the two of you broke away, her hand stroking your hair. You laughed lightly while looking over at her. Not a moment later, however, your eyes widen with a question.

“Powder! What about Powder? Is she okay?” You asked frantically while sitting up quickly. 

You quickly realized the mistake in doing so as all at once you felt your insides shift and you heaved to your side. Vi and Claggor backed away from you and not a moment too soon as you immediately vomited one the ground in front of them. Mylo patted you back as you folded in on yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your abdomen and you coughed lightly. 

“Powder’s fine,” Vi said plainly. 

“I want to see her!” You said quickly while healing yourself, fixing the placement of certain organs. 

Vi looked over at Claggor hesitantly before nodding to him. He left the room only to return a moment later with Powder hesitantly following behind him. A smile broke out on your face. 

“Powder,” Relief washed over you as you laid your eyes on her. But she didn’t smile back at you, nor did she move any further into the room from where she stood in the doorway. Your smile dropped. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. She looked down before mumbling, 

“I’m sorry,” Tears welled up in her eyes and she rubbed at her face harshly, “I only wanted to help. I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

“What is she talking about?” You looked around at the group confused. 

“She’s the one responsible for the explosion,” Mylo spat out. 

You looked back at her for a moment, guilt present on her face.

“Powder,” You said, gaining the young girl’s attention, “Come here.” She hesitated before complying and slowly walking over to your makeshift bed. She stopped at the foot of the bed. 

“Closer please. I can’t move all that much,” You said jokingly, but noted the new wave of guilt falling upon her face. She walked over to your bedside while taking nervous glances at Mylo and Vi. Before she could do anything else you pulled her into a tight hug, dragging her into your lap. 

“It’s not your fault,” You whispered, “I know you just wanted to help. Everyone’s okay now and that’s all that matters.” Powder’s breath hitched before she started crying into your chest, small hands gripping the back of your shirt as she sobbed unrestrained. 

“I’m so sorry,” Powder whispered.

“I’m okay,” You answered, stroking her hair, “Everyone’s okay.” 

Powder pulled away from you and you wiped a tear away from her eye. In doing so you noticed the faint bruise on the side of her nose.

“What happened here?” You asked her. Powder’s breath hitched again and she looked away from you, face still in your grasp. You bit your lip, a familiar metallic taste flooding your tongue, before saying, 

“You don’t have to answer, I’m just glad you’re okay,” You kissed the side of her nose not minding the dull ache presenting itself on your own. 

“Thank you,” Powder mumbled while getting off your lap. 

“How’s Vander?” You ask.

“He’s okay, out getting supplies before we leave,” Vi answered.

“Before we leave?” You question, “Where are we going?” 

“Not sure yet, someone where Silco and his goons can’t find us again,” Vi said, looking off in the corner blankly, “He’ll be back soon. We chose to stay here in hopes you’d wake up so we could get a move on when he comes back.” You hummed in acknowledgement.

“And which one of you hit Powder?” You asked and stood up, “I know it had to be one of you.” 

The others all looked around at each other before Vi spoke up. 

“I did,” Vi answered, clearly not proud of herself, “I had gotten so angry at her after what happened in the warehouse and-and I couldn’t stop myself from…” She gestured over to where Powder was standing. You stared at her for a moment before slapping her in the face; It wasn’t very hard, but it left her cheek stinging. 

“Don’t ever hit Powder again,” You said. Vi looked like she wanted to argue with you -- to yell at you -- but simply chose to shake her head ‘yes.’ You sat back down on the makeshift bed.

“What all needs to be done before we move?” You ask.

“Not much, we’ve already packed the essentials,” Claggor explained.

“We’ve just been waiting for you to recover,” Mylo added, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“There are a few things still left to be done,” Vi said while walking towards the door, “Join us when you’re ready Y/N. Come on, let’s give them some privacy.” She added.

Everyone began to make their way out of the room, including Mylo. Before he could slip past you, you grabbed his hand and pulled him back. He looked back at you.

“Uh, give me a moment; I’ll be out in a sec,” Mylo said to the others. Claggor was the only one to acknowledge him, shooting Mylo a knowing smile before closing the door behind himself. 

You pulled Mylo into an embrace and smiled when he returned it.

“Did you mean what you said?” You asked doubtfully, “You love me?” You add pulling away and looking at his face. Mylo scratched the back of his neck before answering.

“Yeah, have for a while,” Mylo confessed shyly, “Actually, I didn’t realize I loved you until Vi and Claggor pointed it out to me.” You laughed.

“You were always a bit thick in the skull,” You said while flicking his forehead. 

“Yeah, well, I’m a bit thick in other places as well,” Mylo rebutted with a wink. You scoffed at the joke but held him all the same. Mylo’s hand rubbed your side before he spoke up again. 

“Can…Can I be honest for a second?” Mylo asked. You nodded.

“I genuinely thought you were dead,” He confessed, fingers gently caressing the skin of your stomach where you had been cut, “You had fallen limp in Vander’s arms and I had thought you died right then and there. But -- and this is going to sound really gross -- my hands were so damn far…in you that I swear I could feel your heart beating and-and I knew that you would be okay but I still worried, ya’ know?” 

“Oh how romantic,” You said sarcastically. He pushed slightly and laughed with you, “I know what you mean.” 

“Yeah, and not to mention you kept healing people even though you were practically cut in half,” Mylo added, narrowing his eyes at you.

“It’s my job, Mylo,” You said with a shrug, “What’s the point of me being here if I’m not doing my damn job?”

“Making my life worth living,” Mylo answered quickly. You looked up at his words.

“I hate having to live down here under the streets. And yeah it isn’t that bad since I have Vander and the others to keep me company, but you fill a kind of loneliness in me that I didn’t even realize I had until recently,” Mylo explained, “You make my life worth living. And I mean that completely.”

Your chest ached at his words.

“I have no regrets in having met you, Mylo,” You said, hand tucking a stray strand of brown hair from his face, “You’re annoying as fuck sometimes but I could never bring myself to genuinely be mad at you. Before I met you, my life was kinda boring; It was nothing but business mostly. But you brought a spark of fun into my life and I’m so grateful for that.” 

Mylo laughed at the light insult and compliment while running his hands down your side before resting atop your hands in your lap.

“I know I act like an ass a lot and it seems like I don’t care,” Mylo said, his fingers interlacing with your own, “But I really do love you, a lot more than I can express in words.” 

You leaned forward kissing Mylo and smiled as he returned the kiss wholeheartedly, your hands squeezing his. You pulled your hands from his hold and wrapped them around his neck and in his hair, pulling him closer to you. Mylo wrapped a hand around your waist and in your hair while laying you on your back. You turned your head away from the kiss for a moment to talk.

“You don’t gotta say anything,” You muttered against his cheek, “Just hold me.” 

Mylo’s grasp on you tightened as he continued to kiss you; your lips, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, before stopping with one last final kiss against your collar bone. He spoke up once more.

“You got it, Love.”

[eidelweissen]

Wangxian: why does it work? - ISTJ and ENTP compatibility analysis

I found this funny post in Quora and thought "this guy must know Wangxian, it's literally them".

And then I got a bit obsessed wondering: but if that's really the case, why does Wangxian work so well despite both characters being a clear-cut representation of an ISTJ and an ENTP?

Most would say that it's an incompatible and unlikely romantic couple in real life, arguing that the ENTP would get bored and the ISTJ overwhelmed. But MXTX managed to write them pretty realistically and to make them the protagonists of one of the most incredible love stories I've read.

We often pin their mutual attraction on their opposite personalities. And while this might be true in the initial stages of their relationship, this superficial attraction is only enough to spark curiosity, but not a real foundation for connection. However, MXTX very skillfully dives into that, putting them in situations that force their core values and true nature to come to the outside. In life or death situations, you either form an incredible bond with your companion or you end up hating each other to the guts. In the face of adversity, the differences between LWJ and WWX become insignificant in light of their dominant traits: a deeply caring and selfless nature that borders heroicity. It’s in the Xuanwu cave where this becomes clear chronologically, for the first time. They rely on each other to stay safe and sane throughout several days trapped in the cave. When their mental and physical strength are pushed t o the limit, it becomes clear that they are willing to risk their lives for each and other. That sets a foundation of mutual trust that persists through years and even through death, to the point that LWJ is convinced that WWX will return from the other world. It is no wonder that, after that, they both think of each other as a comforting and safe presence.

But the spark of attraction is much older than that, and their attention gravitates to one another since the very beginnig. WWX, being an analytical and observant type, is the only one who notices that LWJ is limping in an adverse situation, and the only who promptly offers a solution, as ENTPs are prone to do. ENTPs can come off as intrusive in offering help, but it is really a fruit of the cognitive empathy that comes from analyzing how others might be feeling when scanning the situation; which they constantly do, as Perceptive types.

MXTX does a great job foreshadowing and then stating their points of compatibility across the entire novel, continuously overlapping it to the displays of their differences: their shared values, their loyalty and their passion in defending those is where they find their common ground. They also share a strong sense of justice, which WWX understand through extroverted Intuitive function, so it comes off more passionate and assertive; while LWJ takes a logical and reserved, but equally firm approach. While bending the rules for the right reason comes naturally to WWX, it's a big development point for LWJ and a statement to his true depth, as well as his acceptance of WWX. Relationships, healthy ones, help us absorb those traits from our partners that will balance our natural disposition.

When these qualities shine through their outside demeanor, and the expression of their mutual admiration finally makes it through their barriers, a sense of assuredness grows between them. WWX no longer believes that LWJ thinks him disagreeable and inferior, while LWJ starts to trust that WWX genuinely enjoys his company and is not as shallow as he once thought.

As Thinking types, they both struggle with emotional barriers, though in very different ways, despite these being more evident in LWJ due to his Introverted nature. But let's note that WWX uses charm, teasing and casual flirting as to interact with people in a way that feelings aren’t involved, since that's his Extroverted inclination and what he thrives off. ENTPs perceive connections as a means to expose, develop and expand their inner world, and they build these words for other people to inhabitate and enrich. But that’s not evident at first, since he mostly interacts in a non-commital, flakey way. We only see him lowering his defenses and seeking true connection with softer types such as JYL, an INFP, or the people he feels a sense of loyalty towards, like JC. Even with them, he is often too occupied taking a practical approach to problems, and his optimistic, rational mindset often makes it difficult for himself and for others to realize his underlying pain. There are very few moments when he actually breaks down, and he mostly does it in solitude. However, as an ENTP and an eneatype 7, he doesn’t stay in the same place for long, either physically or mentally; which makes him incredibly resilient. Contrary to LWJ, who finds his resilience in dwelling in the depth of his feelings as uses these as a driving force, as his melancholic temperament style depicts.

LWJ, as an Introverted Thinking type, struggles even more forming deep connections. But he doesn't need casual interaction to thrive, neither does he feel the need to express his opinions and feelings unless he's asked directly. As a good ISTJ, though, it is very rare that he lies or beats around the bush when he decides to speak. But the quietness of the ocean, as we know, doesn't reflect its depth; and WWX, as an observant and curious type, eventually sees through that. ENTPs hyperfocus on the people they’re interested in, and try to understand them to the fullest, studying and turning around all the information available to contrast each side of the equation. He comes to realize thay LWJ is not self-righteous or arrogant as he once thought, and that he is, in fact, more exigent with himself that he is with anyone else, as the Perfectionists eneatypes 1 often are. He holds himself the the highest moral standards, and his self-discipline isn't but a means to achieve that. ENTPs are very quick in grasping inconsistencies and ulterior motives, and have low tolerance for mind-fuckery. It’s not strange that the consistency of LWJ’s character fascinates him, while also valuing his straightforward attitude; a trait that ENTPs share.

When the common ground of their core values is established, there’s a new openness to better understand and amold to each other. LWJ starts making active attempts to approach WWX for the first time. However, with WWX's temperament getting darkened from demonic cultivation, he is further alieneted from his feelings and his connection to others; so their coming together is only possible in his second life, when LWJ proves to be on his side from the very beginning. WWX, as ENTP who judges people and intentions through their actions but doesn’t usually hold grudges or petty impressions, has no choice but to accept a clear truth:  LWJ appreciates and respects him, perhaps more than anyone else.

His curiosity peaks at that point, as he tries to fit this new version of LWJ in the old memories from their previous life. If someone sparks an ENTP’s curiosity and sustain it over time, the ENTP will soon find themself half-way in love. In that regard, LWJ is a mystery to explore, even though solving the puzzle is not nearly as entertaining and testing its twists and turns and making him react through all sort of playful experimentation.

With that mutual core foundation, plus the mystery that LWJ poses to WWX, and the answer that WWX poses to LWJ after years of mourning him, the development comes naturally: they start to learn how to read and listen to one another while leaving aside any strong or definite judgements. WWX finds that LWJ, despite appearing indifferent, pays close attention his words and actions, and allows him total freedom to express himself and even share ridiculous ideas. In turn, with his curious disposition, always asking questions, he nudges LWJ to share more of himself. 

LWJ turns out to be a good listener and a good observer: a holy grail to an ENTP. As ENTPs are also extremely protective of the softer types, it's no wonder that WWX is delighted when he sees LWJ acting childishly when drunk, discovering a repressed playfulness in him that he never suspected - another layer of LWJ that puzzles and fascinates him, and another trait they have in common, even if in LWJ it's presented as a potential while to WWX it’s an inevitability. In the same way, LWJ is able to remind WWX to hold his horses when he's getting carried away, in a firm but not punitive manner that makes him feel guided instead of constrained.

On the other hand, ENTPs love to bounce off ideas with other people, often adopting an "opposite" stance so that no sides of the question are left unexplored. ENTPs don't mind being corrected, and respect people who can also act gracefully when contradicted. WWX enjoys discussing things in a friendly, casual way, but they also have a thick skin and aren’t easily offended, (even though they fiercely demand to be respected whenever violated). Accordingly, since they value fairess and integrity, they hate fallacies or any attempts to manipulate the facts and the truth. They are not afraid of calling out any perceived untruthfulness and lack of consistency. Similarly, as a Logistic type, neither does LWJ, even though he tends to make those statements through unambiguous actions rather than words.

While WWX is emotionally flexible, there’s a stubbornness in LWJ that comes between them at the beginning. Their relationship only starts to smooth out when he learns that his upbringing is not the only valid lens to judge the world (a huge deed, since he is a Judging type and also a 1 eneatype), and learns to differentiate between the shallow "forms of propriety" and the deeper ways of embodying his core values, such as humility, open-mindedness and generosity. Values who are clearly mirrored by WWX in his own ways. 

However, even after their dynamic smooths out in their early adulthood, the romantic feelings only start to take off when WWX overcomes his main challenge as an ENTP: identifying the depth of his feelings and ~taking ~ them ~ seriously~. Speaking as an ENTP: yes, we can rationally name our feelings (and we have A LOT of them) at any given moment; but placing them as top priority and acting on them is a different matter. We are likely to talk impulsively, but we are very unlikely to make important decision based on emotion.

Post-resurrection, it’s not only miscommunication what comes between them: both of them can be very clear when they want to. They are synchronized enough that they come to understand each other's intentions with a glance. The problem is that you simply cannot communicate feelings you are not aware of; not intentonally at least, if playing hide and seek and giving reward kisses to your bro counts for something. 

Really, unlike the stereotype says, ENTPs are not turned off by quiet types (see how much we love INFPs and INFJs!), and we don't mind carrying the entire conversation as long as we perceive signs of interest. We LOVE a good listener as much as a good debater. Conversely, our major turn-off is talking to people who aren't interested in any insight besides their own, who can’t truly listen and who are hypersensitive to differences. Not only there's nothing less stimulating than one-sided conversations where an ENTP's word is minimized or ignored, but it also feels very constricting. if that happens, we quickly go back into our minds, where it's safe to imagine, analyze and create.

LWJ, in his attentive quietness, simulates that exact safe space of the mind of an ENTP. WWX learns to trust that he will pay attention, whether he responds or not, and that he won't lose his patience with WWX's disorganized flux of ideas, even feeling the freedom to act ridiculous without fear of harsh judgement. LWJ also learns that this trait of WWX doesn't reflect the true solidity of his character, and trusts WWX to be grounded and resourseful when needed. Post-resurrectjon, LWJ feels no longer the need to shatter WWX's playful bubble with his matter-of-factly nature, and he even joins it with his own sense of humour on occasion.

This allows WWX to expand and explore different mind processes out loud, no matter of how little importance; ENTPs love carefree fun as much as they enjoy productivity and intellectual expansion. Words are their main tool for that. LWJ, in turn, doesn't need to partake very strongly in WWX's musings to enjoy them and encourage them. As Thinking types, they both have a tendency to isolate at times, so they both understand that need. And they are comfortable enough around each other that they can focus in their own endeavours while sharing the same physical space. LWJ is not bothered by WWX's occasional comments, since he doesn’t feel obligated to respond, knowing that WWX's enjoys talking out loud for the sake of organizing and externalizing ideas. And WWX, as an equally independent type, knows how to entertain himself and have fun with any available means even without the input of others.

While this dynamic would be typically boring and exhausting for an ISTJ-ENTP couple, once their main personal challanges are overcome, the patience, flexibility and acceptance that is born from the differences is what remains. Their experience of death plays a big part in putting things into perspective, and sheds light on what is truly important to them: kindness, trust, companionship and loyalty.

[yoongsisbae]

Handshakes of a Lifetime - Chapter 5

You snag exclusive fan meet tickets, but as you shake hands with your favorite idols, something strange happens…

BTS soulmate AU. OT7 x Reader / Yoongi x Reader focused in this chapter, slight Jungkook x Reader

Here we gooooo. I have a special place in my heart for Yoongs, I think this might be my favorite handshake yet. Enjoy the craziness!

Warnings: death, blood, guns, stabbing, fighting, bondage, drunk sex, rough sex Yoongi and y/n are just two kinky idiots in love, ANGST so much angst why, let me know if I need to add more I know it’s dark.

Word Count: 10.6k

“So you think if I touched her, it would happen to me too? Is that why-” Taehyung turns to a defeated Jin.

“I don’t know.” He can’t stop thinking about you, his body hurts, his chest hurts.

“I want to try, this is so unfair.” Taehyung whines.

Namjoon sighs, “Well…”

You hear a knocking at the door. Your legs felt numb. How long have you been sitting here? You were too lost in your thoughts, reliving moments that weren’t yours.

“Hello? Unlock the door.”

You know that voice. No way.

You’ve listened to his solo songs on repeat so many times, his deep voice and sharp tongue playing in your ears for hours at times.

For lack of better judgment, you decide to stay silent. You slowly unlock the stall door trying not to make a sound as you tiptoe to the door. You rest your ear against the wood hoping to hear something. You consider maybe it was just another delusion. There is just no way.

“We know you’re in there.” You flinch from the door, the idol’s voice is as clear as day.

“I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean to do what you think I did..I-I don’t even know what I-I just want to go home. Please...” You put your palm on the door, a superficial gesture you know won’t make a difference, much like a nod to a person over the phone, and rest your head on the door waiting for his response. There is a long silence.

The weary idol stands in front of the bathroom door. He should have let Namjoon handle it, he thinks, why did he volunteer? When security came to tell them you had locked yourself in the bathroom, it brought up old memories he didn’t like thinking about, it made him want to help you. So before anyone else could, he volunteered to get you. But now he felt inadequately prepared, he should have just let Namjoon handle it.

He gestures to the security to give him some space. He rests his head on the door and sighs, instead of reaching for the door handle he rests his hand above it.

“Can I please come in? Open the door, it will just be me, I promise.” The idol switches to Korean, hoping you understand him. “I just want to talk to you. And then you can leave.” Actually, he doesn’t know if it will be that easy, but at this point he would tell you anything to get you to open the door.

He hears the slow scrape of metal as the lock turns. He gives security one last look to stay back before opening the door. You shuffle back quickly as the door opens and in walks Min Yoongi of BTS.

Yoongi shuts the door and locks it again. You try to give him space, but he advances towards you. So you keep giving him space and he puts his hand up in surrender, like someone would when approaching a scared animal.

“Hello.” He greets you in English. This was a bad idea.

“H-Hello.” You both face each other awkwardly.

This was the last thing you’d ever expect to happen, standing alone in a bathroom with BTS’s Suga. You feel like you’re burning up, you wonder how you haven’t managed to pass out as the rapper watches you in silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I freaked out. I’ll just go home, I promise I won’t ever talk about what happened. I-I mean, I don’t know what happened, nothing-“

“It will be okay. Breath.” He speaks in English to you again. “Take a deep breath. Count to ten.”

You’re shaking again. He’s being so nice to you, it makes you want to cry even more.

“C’mon, count.”

You start counting in shaky Korean, glancing over at the rapper who tries to hide a smile at the way you recite the words like a school child taking a test, you finish and feel like laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, your own lips curving upward as you begin to relax.

“Do you understand me when I speak Korean?” Yoongi says in Korean. You nod.

“Do you understand me when I speak in English?” The rapper nods back. “Most of it, yes,” he confesses.

You stand there awkwardly too scared to speak, gripping the sink counter to steady yourself, your reflections stare back at you in the bathroom mirror. The rapper looks perfect in his button down and styled hair, you on the other hand-

You laugh, “Oh god, I look horrible.” You turn on the sink and splash cold water on your face to get rid of your dried tears.

“No you don’t.” The rapper leans on the counter looking at you, grabbing a paper towel to hand to you. He is making it very hard for you to pretend he’s not there.

You watch him through the mirror’s reflection, “Thank you.” The words barely come out of your mouth. You turn around and lean on the counter beside him, making sure to keep your distance. ‘This is the weirdest night of my life,’ you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

The two of you stand there next to each other in silence for a painfully long time.

Finally, Yoongi lifts his hand palm side up and gives you a sideways glance. “I owe you, don’t I?”

You stare at his hand, study the silver rings around his fingers.

“...A handshake.”

“What?” You can only gawk at him.

“You paid all this money for handshakes from all members...”

That was not what you expected. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You grip the counter tighter, “I don’t want to, really, it’s okay.”

“I insist.” You can hear the frustration in his voice.

“No...It’s okay. I won't hold it against you.”

Yoongi frowns, slowly lowering his hand, feeling stupid. How is he supposed to get you to touch him?

He chews on his bottom lip and sneaks a glance at you again. Against all his instincts, when he realized he had another chance to see you, he took it with no question. You scared him and yet he felt himself gravitating to you. Everything that transpired had given him so many questions, and you were the only answer. “Please, I want to know-I want to know if it’s true.” Yoongi pauses, “I just want to understand why I feel the way I do being around you.”

You realize just how close the rapper stands next to you, your shoulders almost touching, had he moved closer and you didn’t even realize it? Did you?

You glance over at him, he looks so vulnerable and lost, nothing like the intimidating idol who stood in front of you at the fanmeet. He seemed so untouchable, now he’s asking you to do just that. You want to give in, you think it’s the least you can do for him, and then he’ll realize his mistake and let you go home.

You brace yourself and push away from the counter behind you, turning to face the rapper.

“Okay, but you’ll probably regret it,” you whisper, extending your hand.

Yoongi goes to grab your hand but you move yours just out of reach before he has a chance to, “Don’t say I didn't warn you...” Yoongi nods to you. He grabs your hand.

“Can you let go of me already.” You whisper as Yoongi holds you in a death grip.

“Yeah, let’s just blow our entire cover.” Yoongi hisses. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. Yoongi doesn’t do field missions, his talents are long range. Away from people, especially you.

“And can you stop looking at me like that, you’re supposed to be acting like my wife,” he warns lowly in your ear, you think he’s going to dislocate a finger the way he’s squeezing your hand. Yeah right, like you would ever marry a man like Min Yoongi.

You’re annoyed. Annoyed at the man next to you, annoyed they required you to have a male partner at all, like you needed a babysitter to do your job. On top of it all, it had to be him.

The gala you walk into is being held for top diplomats and politicians from all over the world. You let Yoongi pull you through the crowds as you scan the room for your target, a corrupt delegate who has a swath of information that could be useful to the state. You pull on Yoongi’s arm to get his attention, “Your left, 9 o’clock.”

He pulls you closer before you can advance on the target, grabbing your chin to face him instead, to anyone else it would look like a romantic gesture, for you it’s just another tactic Yoongi uses to keep you leashed to him. “We should make sure there aren’t any threats first.”

You’ve never been a woman to accept the cages men tried to confine you to, you have claws and you know how to use them. You lean into Yoongi, you can feel his body stiffen as you press your chest against his. You place a kiss on his cheek, bringing his arms around you until he gives in and grips your body instead, “That’s your job isn’t it, let me do mine,” you give him your best smile, but your eyes show him your true emotions as you glare at him with hatred. And with that, you were able to slip away from Yoongi’s grasp.

You drop your suitcase onto the only bed in your small hotel room. You know you needed the sharp shooter to complete the mission, but why did you have to share a room with him too? And why do they keep assigning Yoongi to you? You’re a top agent, you could easily complete this mission with an amateur, anyone but the smug sniper who is making his way toward you now.

“We need to be on site at 23:00, so go do something while I sleep.” The agent starts unbuttoning his cuff, paying you little attention.

“So I’m not supposed to get any rest?” You cross your arms and frown at the jaded man in front of you, “What the hell am I supposed to do while you’re getting your beauty sleep?”

“Not my problem.” Yoongi is sleep deprived and more irritable than usual. “You slept on the plane ride here, I know because your snoring kept me up the entire flight.”

You feel your face go hot with anger and embarrassment. “Well, I’m not leaving. This is my room too!”

“Do what you want! I don’t care.” the sniper yells. He needs to sleep so he can keep you safe, he thinks, ‘ungrateful brat.’

He moves past you shoving his shoulder into yours. In your anger, you shove him back. He turns around glaring at you, then decides to shove you again, this time with his hands. Yoongi is stubborn, but you’re more stubborn, you push him again, and now you’re in a shoving match with your own partner.

“Will you stop!” he yells, pushing you so hard your back hits the hotel wall.

“You first!” The next time you push your hand into his shoulder Yoongi grabs your wrist and pulls you hand forward, slamming his chest into you and crushing you between his body and the wall.

He glares down at you, his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Why did he do that? ‘Ugh idiot,’ and now you're thinking about his lips, the thoughts make you glance down. ‘Fuck, why did I do that?’ He catches the movement of your eyes.

You stand trapped against his strong frame, you think about elbowing him away, sweeping his feet and knocking him out for daring to test you like this, but you needed him at the top of his game for tonight. You squirm in his grasp while he stares down at you with an unreadable expression.

Eventually, when you feel like the pounding of your pulse might give you a heart attack Yoongi removes himself from you and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. You hear the shower start. ‘Why does it have to be him,’ you wonder, rubbing your temples with your fingers. You decide to go grab some food. There’s a pit in your stomach, it must be hunger you think.

---

You walk the perimeter of the house, leaving the man you coaxed into bringing you into his home asleep in his bed. The sleep sedatives you laced in his drink made sure he wouldn’t bother you while you search his mansion. You had to work quickly and quietly.

“Two guards, headed your way.” Yoongi’s voice comes through in your earpiece, letting you slip into an empty room undetected.

“Clear?”

“Clear.” Yoongi’s deep voice crackles in your ear.

You make your way down the third floor hallway until you reach a large door.

Yoongi watches you through heat sensor binoculars. “There are five guards behind that door, do not engage.”

“I guess I’m getting warmer then.” You remove the knife around your thigh. “Do you have a clear shot on any of them?”

The sniper sees three windows, two blocked almost entirely by a curtain, the last only slightly covered, the situation was not ideal. “Negative. You’ll have to push them to the far open window so I can get a better shot.”

You look at the large windows of the hall you stand in. “Do you have a clear shot on me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You smirk, “You ruin your perfect record? Doubt it.”

You knock on the door, ignoring Yoongi hissing in your ear, “So much for the element of surprise.”

“This is not the bathroom!” You stab the first guard in the neck. As he falls, clutching his throat and spluttering for air, you hug your body to the wall. When the next guard runs out you kick the pistol out of his hand. He fights against your advances, he’s strong and trained, but even then one can only take so many stabs to the body. The rest of the men advance on you, two drop, you see the bullet holes in their skulls.

“Thanks-” the last man lunges at you, putting you in a chokehold. He’s tall, he lifts you up and you lose your footing. You swing your knife, blade piercing his arms, but his hold on you stays. You kick in his grasp, your legs make contact with the wall and you both go down.

“I don’t have eyes on you. Get him in my sight!” You’d like to yell at Yoongi that that’s exactly what you were trying to do, but the guard’s hold on your windpipe makes it impossible. You aim your knife for his sides until his grip on you lessens. You roll off of him and start crawling, hoping he falls into your trap. He grabs your leg, you use the momentum to twist your body and kick him in the chest, before he falls on his back, he’s already dead. You can always count on Yoongi to never miss a headshot.

“Like I was saying, thanks.” Your voice is hoarse. Yoongi scoffs in your ear.

As you work to open the safe you’ve located, you hear Yoongi’s voice again, “Get out of there now! Twelve guards headed your way!”

“Just twelve?” You grab the dead mans’ guns and barricade yourself in the room. You pull every curtain you see down and fall to the floor just in time as gunfire fills the room.

Yoongi watches you take the men down one by one. You move in a chaotic dance around the room, there’s a preciseness to your movements, and also a wildness in your actions. You’re like a feral tiger, eating your targets alive. Yoongi’s impressed. The sniper lines up shot after shot, giving you as much cover as he can offer. He tries to keep your bloodshed to a minimum, you set up the pins, he knocks them down.

He is more than happy to deal the final blow. As he adds another tick to his total body count, he hopes you’ll be okay. Physically, he knows you’ll be fine, but mentally, he worries about you. Memories with you after similar missions still haunt him, the quiet anguish that fills you after every big bloodbath. It’s become a ritual to spend nights together after a mission, neither of you able to sleep soundly, you’d often wonder out loud to Yoongi if the dead men had wives or children, ask if it bothered him, ‘destroying families.’ It didn’t, if he’s being honest, they were horrible men and their families were probably better off without them in his eyes, but he knew it bothered you.

So, he doesn’t mind killing for you, it’s not because he cares about you, no, it’s just easier to get through missions that way. He would rather have everyone think you’re a tiger, Yoongi knows the truth.

Yoongi pulls you back, concealing your bodies from the advancing enemies. You look at him questionly. He places a finger to his mouth to keep you quiet. He signs with his hands, ‘two,’ ‘ahead,’ ‘you wait,’ ‘I’ll go around.’ You nod in agreement. You wait, straining your ears to hear signs of struggle. You hear footsteps running towards your direction. You grab the enemy and knock him out before he can make a sound. Yoongi is pulling you away, handing you a black bag you assume is full of data your agency so desperately wanted. You make a quiet getaway, grateful you can hide in the shadows and follow Yoongi to your escape: a boat that can get you to international waters. You stretch and watch the night sky as Yoongi starts the engine. “I didn’t die.” you hum.

“You say that like you’re disappointed.”

You snort, kicking the bag you and Yoongi risked your lives for. You turn to him, “Thank you, comrade, you saved my life.”

Yoongi shuffles uncomfortably, you’re being pleasant and it’s weird. “You’re welcome.”

“We make a good team, hmm?”

You sit on Yoongi’s workbench. In his space. The two of you work in silence as you put together the pieces of your handgun. He cleans the parts of his sniper rifle. He hands you the last piece of your weapon, it’s easier working here with him, his office is quiet. He doesn’t try to make small talk with you, you hate small talk. Your days are not “good.” You’re sick of using your body to lure in your targets, having to do things more than what you’re comfortable with on multiple occasions to complete the mission. But as a female agent, sometimes you think that’s all you're good for, and they would kill you if you tried to leave now. Escaping and living a quiet life without the man who sits next to you, not being able to protect him, you don’t want that either.

You hop off the table, Yoongi had also gotten up from his chair to grab more rags and you collide into each other. He grabs your waist to steady you. You bodies press against one another. You hold your breath. As his strong hands move you to the side, he mutters a sorry.

Yoongi is livid. He is slamming drawers and yanking open cabinet doors as you slowly make your way to sit onto the medical table. The safehouse is empty except for you and him.

“Are you insane or just stupid?” Your partner advances on you hastily, a medical kit in his hands.

You roll your eyes, “It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.” The blood seeping from your side and over your fingers betrays your words.

Yoongi yanks your hand away and grabs the tattered corners of your blood covered shirt and rips it. You try to stay stoic as you sit in front of him in only a bra while Yoongi works to clean and bandage your wound. His actions are so aggressive your body jerks back and forth from his movements. He pulls a bandage particularly tight and you yell, glaring at him. He glares back at you.

“You could have died.” Yoongi says softly. He keeps his eyes trained on your wound, adding the image to the list of reasons on why he doesn’t get close to people.

“And you would have died.”

His hands drop to the medical table as he cages you in. His dark eyes bore into yours, you hate how it makes you feel: vulnerable. “Don’t risk your life for me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

---

“Tell me how much you want me.” Your partner’s low voice whispers in your ears. You think you’d rather die.

His fingernails scratch your scalp as he grabs a hold of your hair and yanks back, pulling you against his front. Your hip digs painfully into the dresser in front of you, as he pushes his body closer to yours. Your face feels tight, the pain burns your scalp, a reminder that you still can feel something. Everything in your life makes you feel numb, but Yoongi makes you feel alive. You hate how addicted you’ve become to his touches.

“If you don’t say it, you won’t get anything,” he tuts, tightening his hold on your hair and a moan escapes you. He pulls your head back and places soft kisses on the column of your neck.

Yoongi waits, his lips attached to your neck as he grinds his hard erection into your ass until you lose yourself to pleasure, unable to take his teasing any longer.

“I want you.”

“I can’t hear you.”

You grind your teeth, “You’re pushing it.”

Yoongi grabs your breast, “Tell me, kitty.” His rough hands on your body is exactly what you want, makes you drip with arousal, but you’ll never tell him that. Instead, you move your hands behind you and grab at his hard erection.

“I can’t seem to remember what I was going to say, do you?” You run your hand down his length and squeeze, his hold on your hair loosens ever so slightly as his breathing turns shallow.

He’s used to your stubborn nature by now, but this kind of fight is something you’ll never win. Yoongi grabs your wrist and holds your arm in place, twisting your arm in a lock and bending you over the dresser. You struggle against him, as he opens your legs wider with his own. “You know kitty, you’re not invincible. Always ready to start a fight. If you’re not careful, someone might decide to teach you a lesson.”

You can see him out of the corner of your eye. He normally looks so composed, but the way he stares down at you so hungrily, he looks wild, eyes blown wide by lust.

“And is that you?” you laugh, grunting as he pushes down on you, grabbing your other arm and locking it behind your back. The weight of him against your back increases, stealing air from your lungs. His low voice whispers teasingly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “Do you want it to be me?”

Yoongi stands, watching you struggle against his hold. He knows it would be easy for you to get away from him if you really tried, and the knowledge that you’re submitting to him in your own stubborn way makes his body hot and dick throb. He squeezes your thigh, his thumb rubbing against your center. You’re so wet, your underwear drenched in arousal. He bites back a moan, pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing deep circles into you and forcing a whine to escape your lips. He lifts up your skirt, yanking the wet fabric of your underwear down to your thighs. Then his touch becomes slow and teasing. He runs his fingers along your slit, drenching his digits in your essence and bringing them to his mouth. You taste so good, fuck he can’t get enough of you, Yoongi is going to wreck you.

You watch him licking his fingers, the erotic scene making you clench unsatisfyingly around nothing. “Please…” you whisper, the sight of him had broken down your walls.

Yoongi unzips his pants and pulls himself out. He takes no more time, plunging into your heat suddenly. You shudder, it feels so good to have him inside you. He finally lets go of you to grip the flesh of your hips, slamming into you over and over. The force of his thrusts takes your breath away, as your body shifts up and down against the hard surface of his dresser.

With every thrust you feel the tension in your body uncoil, you never want this to end, you’d rather drown in the pleasure he’s giving you then come up for air and deal with the pain of your life. “You feel so good-fuck me harder!” The words leave your lips without thought. You don’t want to feel anything else but his bruising touches, you don’t want to think of anything else but him.

Yoongi grips your shoulder with one hand, moving your body to meet his thrusts as his pace becomes brutal. Your entire body vibrates with pleasure as he manhandles you. You pulse around him as you let go. Yoongi goes faster, using your body to climax, you let yourself moan freely, losing yourself to the pain and pleasure of overstimulation. You can feel him filling you up as he shakes against you.

Your world comes back into focus as you gasp for breath, your body slumped against the desk. “Is that all you’ve got? Hardly a lesson.” Yoongi laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle. He lifts you up and throws you onto the bed. You land with a huff.

---

The silence is deafening as you lay across from your partner. The twin bed in the cheap motel room you share makes it impossible for either of you to have your own space. Neither of you can sleep, and you’re both too tired to complain about the situation, so you stare at each other in the darkness, the neon lights outside your window bathe your faces in soft hues of blue. The cheap sheets scratch your skin, you can feel the hard edges of your gun underneath the old thin hotel pillow, but the soft fabric of Yoongi’s long sleeve shirt feels nice against the back of your hand. You absentmindedly brush your hand against his arm, your fingers play with the baggy material, rolling the fabric between your fingers. Yoongi places his free hand over yours to stop your actions. You’re too tired to question him, nor do you want to break the silence. Yoongi’s features are calm, his hardness is all gone tonight, when he relaxes you think he looks quite soft. Tonight Yoongi doesn’t look like a trained killer at all, his messy hair frames his face and his usual cold eyes radiate warmth. You study each other through half open eyes. Eventually, Yoongi closes his eyes, but doesn’t remove his hand from atop yours. “Go to sleep,” he grunts.

You take a deep breath out. You focus on Yoongi’s steady breathing, trying to keep your heavy eyes open, scared of what you’ll see once you close them, faces of the dead petrified corpses that always reveal themselves against the darkness of your shut eyelids. You study the soft features of your partner instead, able to memorize the details of his face while you’re so close to him. You think of him until sleep takes over.

---

You groan in pain, not ready to open your eyes to the morning light. Your throat is sore and dry, and your entire body aches, especially a certain part of you, the realization snaps you awake. You realize you’re not alone in your bed, you open your blurry eyes to a head of jet black hair. A man sleeps on your naked chest, you can feel his lips against your breast as he quietly snores. You realize his messy locks, the slope of his nose and contours of his muscular arm are all familiar to you, because he’s not a stranger at all. Memories of last night come back to you slowly.

Images of your partner offering you his bourbon, and you gratefully accepting. The pleasant conversation you had together, no arguing or superfluous challenging, just meaningful stories and gentle banter. You remember your partner’s flushed face, the timid smile he tried to hide against his glass, his dark eyes pulling you in. The drunker you became the more you gravitated towards him, until you were pressed up against him, moaning against his lips as his tongue explored your mouth, and you begging him to fuck you. No no no no no.

A wave of mortification and humiliating arousal hits you. You shove your partner off you.

“What the fuck!” Yoongi’s head is pounding, and your punches are not weak. It’s too damn early to be fighting with you already, Yoongi thinks. He pins you down, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He yells, not understanding why you’re here or why you suddenly decided to attack him.

The way his hands pin your wrists brings on another wave of memories that invade your mind and makes your face burn hot with embarrassment. He looks down at you and notices the purple bruises littering your neck and chest, your chest that is absent of a shirt, and your very naked body, against his very naked body. He let’s go of you in his shock. You scoot away from him, pulling the bed sheets up to cover yourself. He stares at you, mouth wide open, trying to place the pieces of last night together. “Oh fuck.”

“This will never happen again.”

His eyes scan your body as his hazy mind replays the events of last night, his face goes red at thoughts of you writhing under him. Yoongi was so desperate to explore your body, make you moan his name. He prays you were too drunk to notice how badly he wanted you. “Never.”

---

You spot three guards in front of the door, ‘a little excessive,’ you think. You grin to yourself as you run through every possible take down you can use against them. They’re big men, and big men always underestimate women.

Yoongi sits patiently, the blindfold doesn’t permit him to see, but he smirks to himself as he hears the sounds of struggle outside.

He hears the door open and close, feet circling him. He struggles against his restraints. Suddenly he feels a weight in his lap. The blindfold is pulled off and he meets your self satisfied face smiling at him.

“Took you long enough.”

You pout. “I should leave you here.”

You press your lips against his. Pulling him close by the hair. He grunts into your mouth. You press yourself down on him, grinding into his hardening length.

Yoongi struggles against his restraints, wanting to pull you closer to him. “Untie me.”

There’s a glint in your eye as you pull away from him. You kiss his neck instead, sucking hard on the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“You’re going to regret not listening to me, kitty.” Yoongi growls.

You laugh against his skin, working to undo his belt. Yoongi groans as you grip his length.

“I thought you were supposed to be rescuing me.”

“I am,” you lick your lips, “but then you had to go and let yourself get tied up.” You hop off his lap and kneel between his legs, Yoongi flexes his arms against the ropes, watching you intently. You bring the head of his shaft to your lips and kiss. The chair shakes as he pulls against his restraints groaning, you give him mercy as you suck him into your mouth, enjoying the way he struggles to keep his composure.

“You’ve had your fun,” he tries to hold in his moans, “you’re going to get yourself captured too because you're such a needy slut for my cock.” He thrusts his hips up, making you choke. It doesn’t deter you, as you press yourself deeper, your nose against his stomach, he shudders and the ropes dig into his wrists as he pulls harder against his restraints.

You pull off of him and look at him with a smirk. “I took care of the guards.” As if you already know Yoongi's next words you say, “I took care of all the guards.” Bringing your mouth around his length again, you suck him hard. You suck him down until you gag, over and over again until you can feel him swell, close to release, and you pull away. If looks could kill, you would have been added to Yoongi’s headcount. You jump to your feet and start cutting away the ropes that bind him.

“I’m untying you only because we are running out of time, not because you asked me to.”

He grunts, thinking of all the ways he’s going to use your body. “Noted.”

When free, Yoongi brings you into a crushing kiss, wrapping his hand around your neck. “Dangerous girl, you deserve to be punished.”

---

You allow yourself to rest against the cold concrete floor, making yourself comfortable in the dirt and grime. Your muscles are sore, and you’re tired. You’re tiredness doesn’t just come from surviving the mission, you’re sick and tired of it all. You were the first to make it to the scheduled rendezvous point, maybe the only one left. You hear footsteps and turn to see your partner jogging towards you, his equipment bag slung over his shoulder, he’s winded, skin covered in dirt from his hasty escape. When he sees you, he runs over to you, his eyes scan over your body but he doesn’t touch you. Your clothes are drenched in blood, but it’s not your own. You look like the walking dead, and you think you deserve to die, you’re a monster.

Yoongi sprawls out next to you, massaging his sore muscles. “If you had let them live your identity would have been compromised.” He knows you had no choice but to kill them. “You did what you had to do to complete the mission.”

“Stop talking, please.” You stare at his dirt covered face, you’re glad he made it out alive, and you wished you hadn’t. Your target had brought his wife and daughter, the agency didn’t warn you, or maybe they knew and didn’t care. You think about the love they must have had, so great he couldn’t be apart from them, and you not only took their lives, but took that love and destroyed it. You knew you were a killer, but you never thought you’d be a villain. You reach for your partner’s hand. He grips you tightly, his fingers are black with dirt, yours are stained with blood. You feel the weight on your chest become even heavier. You wonder if he could ever love you like that, you wonder if you’d just end up destroying that as well.

You lay asleep in Yoongi’s bed. His fingers run along your arm that rests on his chest. During the twilight hours, while you drift off to another world in your slumber, Yoongi allows himself to fully love you. He intertwines his fingers with yours and kisses the soft skin of your wrist, wrapping his arms around your sleeping frame. He let’s himself pretend you’re not in each other's company only for convenience, but because you love him as much as he loves you. He shouldn’t love you, love is too dangerous for people like him, love is a risk too big to take. But until the sun comes up again he gives in to his weaknesses. When you wake, he’ll be strong for you again, he’ll be your shield and protect you from everyone including himself.

---

“So you don’t want to work with me anymore?” You barge into Yoongi’s workspace. He keeps his face emotionless, choosing to ignore you.

So you press on, “I’m with Petrov now, I didn’t request a new partner, so it had to have been you. Why? Answer me!”

Yoongi leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “You’re overreacting, he’s new, they probably want you to show him how it’s done-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!”

“There’s a good reason-”

“You’re lying, you’re doing that thing with your hands when you lie!” You yell.

Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets, his anger getting the better of him, “Fine, maybe I don’t want to be your partner anymore!” You stay silent. “You’re reckless, you never listen to me, you almost died on our last mission. I’m...I’m tired of worrying about you.”

Your chest tightens in pain, his words sting more than any blade or bullet you’ve ever taken. You try to meet his eyes, but he refuses to look at you. ‘Coward,’ you think. You scoff, “Fine...Good...I don’t want to work with you either.” You turn on your heels to leave.

“Wait!” Yoongi stands from his desk and rushes after you. When you refuse to listen, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against him. “Please, stop,” he whispers in your ear.

You place your arms over his, let his warmth envelope you. You don’t understand him, he’s holding you like you’re about to break in his arms, but he’d let you go off into a mission without him? How could he do this to you? You thought you were a team, you thought you were...friends. You used to feel safe in his arms, now you just feel betrayal. You bite your lip, your sadness turns into bitterness, your bitterness into anger.

You dig your nails in his arms until he hisses and lets you go. You give your partner one last look before exiting his office, you give him one more chance. If he takes it, you’ll find a way to forgive him, to fix whatever it is that made him angry enough to break the bonds between you. But he stays silent, his silence speaks volumes, “Like you said, you don’t have to worry about me any longer. I'm not your problem anymore.” You slam his door shut.

Yoongi’s body is shaking. He slams his fist against the door. He rests his forehead against the wooden surface and swallows down the growing pressure in his throat, processing everything that just occurred. He made the right choice, this was for your own protection, he wouldn’t allow you to care more about his life than your own, he knows he’s right, so why does he feel so sick?

Your reputation precedes you, the tigresse, a top agent. You pull off impossible missions. Maybe it’s because you just don’t care if you can finish the job or not, you’ll choose the riskiest plays, find yourself in the most dangerous scenarios; you’ll choose the more daring escape route, and because of that people are afraid of you, even in your own agency. No one wants to work with you for too long, and you don’t want them to either, so you finally get what you wanted, to work alone. You’re at the top, all alone, there’s no congratulations in your line of work, no happiness.

Yoongi doesn’t have to worry about anyone anymore, even himself. On missions he used to view his sniper rifle as an extension of himself, now he feels just as cold and hollow as the barrel of his rifle, he’s become an empty killing machine. He can’t sleep at night, he wakes up to nightmares of you dying over and over again. Eventually, when he can’t take it anymore, he convinces his superiors to let him act as your backup without your knowledge, they only allow it because you’ve become too valuable to lose. He still can’t sleep at night, slowly losing his mind in solitude, trapped in a cage of loneliness by his own doing. He becomes a shadow, a ghost, making sure the legacy of their best agent survives.

You search for cover, the bullet holes in your body make every movement slow and painful. The holes in your leg keeps you on the ground. You pull yourself through the sea of dead bodies as bullets fly through the air.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, you start to aim your pistol.

“What are you doing here?” The gunman ignores you as he pulls your bloody body into his arms and runs.

Yoongi watched you from his post get shot, one, two, three times until he couldn’t take it anymore. When he couldn’t protect you from a distance anymore, he left his post, his decision as instantaneous as a traveling bullet.

He hides you and him, holding you close, looking over your wounds. He tries to put pressure on the bullet holes, but there are just so many. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I was supposed to protect you.”

You touch his face, you can feel the warmth of his skin against your cold fingers, he’s real. “You’re here.”

Yoongi’s trained ears listen to the gunfire as it becomes louder, a sign he needs to move again. He reloads his assault rifle, heaving you up to your feet. You groan as more blood gushes from your wounds. Yoongi uses his assault rifle to make another path for you and him. Your ex partner drags your body along, hiding again to reload.

“You need to save yourself. I’m not going to make it.” You say as you cough up blood. Yoongi pulls you up again, ignoring your words, refusing to accept he can’t save you. As he runs a stray bullet hits his shoulder and you both go down. Yoongi shoots to where he thinks the bullets came from, but his shoulder makes it difficult for him to aim.

“Stop! You can’t die too!” You aim your pistol at the two men advancing upon you from Yoongi’s blind spot. You manage to shoot one, but your blood loss makes your vision hazy and your aim too wide. The second man’s bullets hit Yoongi’s side. Yoongi adjusts his rifle and takes quick revenge. He doubles over in pain.

You grab his hand, your breathing is too shallow to tell him all the things you want to say. “Save yourself...”

“And leave you again? Never.”

Yoongi holds you until you take your last labored breath, and holds you still, until his own blood loss becomes too much.

---

Yoongi doubles over, crashing into you. You try to hold the rapper up, but you are faring no better, your body shakes in phantom pain. His entire weight is on you, you move against the wall for support as both of you try to catch your breath, his head leans on your shoulder, and he groans in agony. You grip his arms. Should you push him away? But you don’t want to. You want to pull him closer. You grip his arms harder, frozen, your mind and body remembering, remembering everything, and it takes every last bit of your willpower not to react.

Finally, after your breaths have settled, he steadies himself on his feet, still pressed against your frame. He lifts his head, you can feel his breath on the side of your face. He laughs weakly against you, “I don’t regret it.”

“What-“ his eyes pierce through you. You realize he hasn’t moved away from you still, you stare back into the idol’s eyes, it all feels so familiar, too familiar...

His nose brushes against your cheek, you hold your breath at the sensation, it’s so familiar. His lips ghost over yours and when you don’t pull away Yoongi presses his lips firmer onto yours.

You feel electricity in every vein, to the tips of your fingers, to the ends of the hair. Emotions that felt like distant memories scorch through you. Your legs buckle.

Yoongi had only meant to give you a quick kiss, just to see how it would compare to his wild memories, but the feelings that came over him overtook every sense of reason left in him. He deepened the kiss. You pulled him closer to you, it was automatic.

He felt his sanity slipping away with every inhale of your scent, a sprouting desire burst through him, a need everlasting lifetimes, it made him desperate to devour you. He pushes his leg in between yours to hold you steady when he feels you falling against him. You yell against his lips, his touch is too overwhelming and you feel yourself slipping away, you try desperately to stay in the moment, remember who you are to him actually. You push him away to catch your breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. I-“

You both jump at the pounding from the door. “Both of you need to come out now.” His voice is muffled, but you’d recognize the distinctive cadence of the BTS leader anywhere. Yoongi mutters words you don’t understand. You yelp as he grabs your hand, leading you to the door.

Namjoon is greeted by the sight of his bandmate and you looking particularly guilty as you leave the bathroom. The way Yoongi holds your hand does not go unnoticed by the leader.

You walk in between the rappers, security following behind you. You can tell Namjoon is annoyed, the way he glances at the nonexistent space between you and Yoongi and clenches his jaw. What are you supposed to do, not hold Min Yoongi’s hand? The firm hold he has on you is the only thing that’s keeping you from falling apart into an anxious puddle on the floor. So instead you spend the walk mentally screaming at yourself.

Namjoon opens an unmarked door and walks in, Yoongi follows directly behind him, pulling you along. You realize where you are as five more pairs of eyes meet yours.

They are all staring at you. You want to run and hide. You move behind Yoongi instead. He hasn’t let go of your hand, and every man in the room notices it.

Namjoon goes first, “We all need to talk.”

---

“So now do you admit it!” Jimin looks between Yoongi and you with a frown.

“He promised he wouldn’t touch her.” Jungkook whines to Namjoon.

“I didn’t promise. I said I wouldn’t...I changed my mind.”

You listen to the group argue glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, you make eye contact with Jin. His eyes are still red, like he hasn’t stopped crying. For the first time since he grabbed you, you wanted to let go of Yoongi’s hand. Jin is the first to break away, he turns around, overwhelmed. Your face is still perfectly clear in his mind. Your words replay like whispers in his ear, ‘find me.’

You break away from Yoongi and address everyone.

“Uhh, I don’t know...” you start, “I don’t know how any of this works, or why it’s happening in the first place. But it is happening right? It happened to you too?” You look around at their faces, you look into Jimin’s eyes, “You saw me too, I was with you, you looked different, but deep down, it was you.” Jimin shifts uncomfortably under your eyes, he feels his chest tighten at your words, “and you saw me in her too.” You turn to J-Hope. “Right? Please tell me I’m-” you whisper the last part, “I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” Hoseok answers you immediately, looking at you with a guilty expression.

Jungkook is nodding up and down at you rapidly.

“I was with you..” Jin walks over to you, but stops before he gets too close, “It felt so real...I was there with you on the cliff…” his eyes are so sad it makes tears well up in your eyes.

“How is this even possible…” Jimin speaks up, “I just don’t understand.” Jimin looks upset. He doesn’t want to believe any of this, none of it makes sense to him.

You can see the pain in their faces clearly. You feel like you’ve done something horrible. All you wanted to do was meet your idols and thank them for making your life better, but you ended up making their lives worse, and you don’t know how or why.

You rub your eyes before you start crying again, “I’m sorry. I should go home, it’s-" you check your phone screen. “One thirty in the morning?! I should leave!”

You jump as the room fills with protests from the men. They all quickly stop as soon as they start. You all stare at each other.

Namjoon takes charge. “How did you get here? We can have a driver take you home! We have to go to the hotel now, before you go home, we can finish talking there.” There is a finality to his words.

You stand there wide eyed, ‘hotel’?

---

So now you sit alone in the back of a large car with four managers. They have given you forms to fill out. A stack of papers full of NDAs. You felt like you were signing your life away. You wanted to tell them to take you home, but you stayed silent, you didn’t want to cause anymore trouble.

You follow the managers through the hotel into an elevator, to the top floor. They lead you into a massive penthouse and shut the door behind you. Jungkook is already inside waiting for you. He’s still in his fanmeet clothes, the other men were still showering and changing, he couldn’t wait any longer to see you again, for a chance to be with you alone.

You stand in the center of the room, unsure of what to do. Alone with the idol, your nerves skyrocket again.

Jungkook slowly makes his way closer to you. He stands in front of you, mirroring much like the way he stood in front of you at the fanmeet, his arms rock nervously by his sides. He bends down a little bit closer to you, and offers you a lopsided smile. “Hey beautiful.”

You shut your eyes, you can’t bear to look at him, you can’t accept that he just said that to you. His words make you ache inside.

The idol waits and gives you space, feeling shy. You can’t take it, his words throw your thoughts into a whirlwind, you want him back, you want what you had together again. You and the idol are worlds apart, but the Jungkook you had felt when your hands touched, he was your entire world.

“Please.” You beg him, offering your hand to him. You don’t know what you’re asking for, you don’t know what touching him will accomplish. You feel just so alone, exhausted from fighting against everything you’re feeling, Jungkook all but gave you permission to give in.

He smiles at you, places his palm against yours. It feels so good, so warm. He clasps his fingers around yours, reaches for your waist with his other hand and pulls you against him with one fell swoop. You already know why, you wrap your free arm around his neck and hold him to you. You can feel his heart beating wildly against you, you know he must feel yours as well. He rests his forehead on yours. It’s there again, that spark that explodes inside you, threatening to detonate all your sense of reason. Neither of you move, frozen in dance. He begins to hum a tune, a tune that pulls a smile from you-

The door opens and you jump to sit on the edge of the couch, much to Jungkook’s displeasure.

The rest of the group files into the large hotel room, they are all changed into more comfortable clothes. They look clean and refreshed, you realize just how tired and achy your body feels, you want to take a shower too.

Namjoon gives the youngest a hard look, “You didn’t change. You were in here the whole time? After we said we’d speak to her all together. How long were you alone with her? I told you-“

“I arrived only a couple minutes ago, nothing happened.” You interject, feeling the need to defend the youngest member.

Namjoon looks at you surprised. “Your Korean is good.”

You start to feel shy again, “Not really,” you speak in English instead.

“Okay, so let’s figure this out.” Namjoon starts, “Jungkook, do you want to go first?”

“Wait!” Taehyung interjects, “I thought-Joon don’t you want to hold her hand?”

You stiffen. Namjoon goes red, “I-first let’s gather information.”

Taehyung goes to stand. You recoil in your seat. You turn to Namjoon, pleading, “I can’t-I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Tae-”

“Says you, you already got to touch her-”

“And that’s why I’m telling you not to do it-”

“No one is touching her-”

“Joon, can you please talk some sense into them-”

“Can we please focus-”

“If you get anywhere near her I’m punching you in the face-”

“Can we all just calm down-”

“I’ll punch you in the face-”

“No one is punching anyone!”

“I thought we were supposed to be talking this out, not starting fights-“

“I knew this was a bad idea-”

“How am I supposed to talk it out when I don’t even know what it is-”

They all talk so fast and over each other you can barely understand anything they are saying, but you know it’s not anything good. This is getting nowhere. “I-I’m so tired, I should really go home. I need to shower. Today has been...a long day.”

“You can stay in one of the rooms! We have the whole floor-Ow!” Jimin hits Jungkook in the shoulder.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom.” You feel trapped again. You go to stand and you feel a hand tug on yours, it’s Yoongi. “Take a deep breath. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You should at least rest before we take you home.”

You bite your lip, looking around at the men. Jungkook looks at you with hopeful eyes.

“....Okay.”

“I’ll take her!” Jin, Yoongi, and Jungkook speak in unison. They look between one another. Jin, stands up, “I’ll take her.”

You silently follow him out, hearing the boys start conversing again behind you. You stay behind him as he walks down the hall. Your face heats up again as you stare at the idol’s back. Is this really happening to you? You should leave.

Jin takes a keycard out of his pocket and opens the door, holding it open for you. You walk in, it’s smaller than the other room, still larger than any hotel room you’ve ever been in. Jin picks up the suitcase from the middle of the room.

“I’ll find another room to stay in.” You feel your chest tightening again at his words. “Rest now, y/n, and then we can get to the bottom of this in the morning,” he smiles down at you. His eyes linger on you, about to speak again but he decides it’s better to wait.

You tug at his hoodie as he goes to leave. “I…” you want to tell him not to leave you alone, “I don’t have any clothes to change into.”

“Oh, I can give you some of my clothes!” You bite your lip as you watch Jin set his suitcase on the bed and rummage through his clothes. He pulls out a collection of hoodies, shirts and pants, way too many clothes for one sleeping outfit.

“Thank you…” you walk with him to the door. He lingers there with you.

“This...this is a good thing.” You cock your head to the side, Jin pats your head, “I found you after all.” And with that he leaves you to your thoughts.

---

After showering you feel so much better. You stand in your towel, looking around at the room. 'This must be a dream,' you think. Your hands run over the stack of Jin’s clothes. This stack probably costs more than all the clothes you’ve ever bought in your entire life, you think. You sigh and pull on a shirt and sweatpants, and decide to throw on a hoodie too for good measure. You start to laugh as you look at yourself in the hotel room’s mirror. You’re sure you're going to wake up tomorrow and this will all be a wild dream. You’re about to settle into bed when you hear a knock.

Jungkook stands in the hallway. He stares at you with wide eyes before looking at his feet. “I brought you clothes to wear.”

“Oh,” you look at him shocked.

“I see someone already gave you theirs,” he looks crestfallen.

“Yeah, Jin took care of that.” You pull on the strings of the hoodie in embarrassment.

“Oh well for tomorrow morning, you can wear this.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him Jin gave you enough clothes to cover an entire week. “Thank you. I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

“Okay...good.”

You hold your breath. You want to keep talking to him. “Your English is good, you sound like an American now.”

Jungkook smiles, too shy to meet your eyes. “Thank you.”

“You can speak in Korean too, I understand. I am not that good at speaking it, but I guess now is the best time to practice.” You laugh. Jungkook nods at you, his smile growing wider.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” He winks at you. You feel your heart tighten at his words.

“Jungkook!” He turns back around. “Um, sweet dreams.”

Jungkook looks you over. “Can I?”

“Huh?” He steps closer to you, you stay still. He reaches his arms out and wraps them around you in a hug. His head rests on the top of your head as he holds you close to him. It feels like you remember, his embrace feels the same. You grip onto the material of his long sleeve shirt. He holds you closer. All you can smell and feel is Jungkook.

Jungkook holds you close to him. He doesn’t know how to feel. His heart aches in anguish over the thought of losing you again. He doesn’t want to let you go.

In his arms you feel so safe, you relax against him. A wave of sleepiness crashes over you. Jungkook helps you into bed.

“I’ll come get you in the morning.” He runs his hands over your forehead. The intimate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you're too tired to react. Your heart is full. Is this what true love feels like?

---

You stretch in your bed. Your muscles ache, you feel good after a night's rest. You snuggle into your pillow, it’s so fluffy and soft, softer than you’re used to, you pull your covers closer to you. You notice the large sleeves of your hoodie, and your sleepiness drains away. It’s not your bed, and that’s not your hoodie. You sit up, looking around the unfamiliar room, you feel like you’ve been doused with cold water. Everything from the night before comes back to you. You pull the covers over your head, so much for a good morning.

You grab your phone. You have a text message: ‘call me when you get home <3’ and two missed calls. You bury your head into the pillows. You're about to call back when there is a knock at the door.

“One minute!” You change into Jungkook’s clothes, a black long sleeve shirt and black sweatpants. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you decide to change your pants for one of Jin’s joggers.

“Hey!” You expected Jungkook to greet you, this was not who you expected.

"Hello." The deep voiced singer stands in front of you. You stare back at him. He walks into your room and takes a seat on the bed. You close the door behind you and walk over to Taehyung.

“I’m so sorry about last night! I would have never touched you without your permission. I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, I’m so sorry. I just-I just needed to find out. I have to. I know you’re scared, I’m scared too...Jungkook and I talked last night and he told me what happened, he said it was more than just memories, it’s like...an awakening. I mean, that’s so cool. If we had another life together, wouldn’t you want to know? Please y/n, I feel like I’m going crazy not knowing-“

“Speak slower please, I’m still a beginner!” You laugh.

“Sorry! Please y/n, please. Before the others wake up.”

You sigh, sitting next to him. “I think Jungkook is leaving out very important information...”

You continue, “We not only lived, we died.” You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around you, “I’ve lived and I’ve died 5 times now. It’s horrible, it’s heartbreaking, it’s not something you can just forget.”

Taehyung sits quietly. “Do you regret it?”

You bite your lip. Do you regret it? You feel it still, the warmth of their love for you. The way they loved you, the way you loved them. Would you give that memory up? Even the lingering feelings in your body are stronger than anything you’ve ever felt in your lifetime. Could you let it go now that you know what you’re missing?

Taehyung presses, “Jungkook says he's happy it happened.”

You inhale sharply. You have to make him see. “Jungkook died in my arms. He died after we tried so hard to run away together.” Taehyung eyes widen. “He was murdered...” You shudder, Taehyung stays silent. “Is that the kind of ‘awakening’ you want?”

He raises a hand to his mouth, stroking his chin. “He didn’t tell me about that...” And then he says something that makes your heart stop. “And he still said he's happy it happened, that he doesn't want to forget about you y/n.”

“Please, I want to try, I think it would be worth it, you’ll be worth it.”

‘Why did he have to say that,’ you wince, looking over at the idol. He is beautiful, way out of your league, above you in every way, and he’s looking back at you like his whole world hangs in the balance. How could you reject him now. You groan.

You stand up. You place your palm in front of his face, your fingers splayed out, you can see his wide excited eyes in the gaps between them. You look at him expectantly. Taehyung nods, places his palm to yours, interlocking your fingers together.

---

Uh-oh the boys don’t want to let you go now! I hope you liked this chapter as much as I liked writing it! It’s kind of cool, all the different worlds. I neverrrr thought I’d write an actiony spy enemies to lovers AU ever, trust. I had to get a lot of help with all the specific terminology, like me - guns - what - totally clueless, I just hope I did the story justice.

Hopefully this tides you over for awhile because we have a problem...I don’t remember anything about Tae’s handshake! Cries. I know what’s supposed to happen, but I also have no idea what happens lol. I know movie, but not movie name, if you get what I’m saying. Please bestow some patience on me for the next chapter. Asks are always open, maybe you can give me some inspiration! <3

[mandospace]

Inside and Out (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request:  Hello!! I was wondering if I could request something? I was wondering if you could possibly do like a touch starved Din? I would so love it! Whenever you are able and inspired to write of course! ❤️ thank youuuu!

Requested By: @snow30285​

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: Fluff!! Blood, mention of an injury, first-aid

A/N: I got a little carried away with this! I hope you all like it, and if you wanted to be added to a tag list just let me know. Also, my requests are open for Din Djarin and Boba Fett!

MASTERLIST

He caught himself staring at your form for the fourth time that day. Din quickly averted his eyes, cheeks flushing under his beskar helmet. You hadn’t noticed his gaze, thank the Maker, and continued on with your task. Grogu giggled at you hiding your face behind your hands, playing a game of peek-a-boo with you. 

“Where did mommy go?” You hid your smile behind your hands. Quickly dropping them from your face, you smiled at the small green child that erupted into a fit of giggles. “There she is!”

Din’s heart stuttered at the image of you playing with his child, Grogu waddling towards you before leaping into your lap. Grogu continued giggling, his tiny little hand reaching out to grab at yours. 

“AHHH, YOU GOT ME!” You dramatically cried out before falling to the ground, wrapping a secure arm around his body to ensure that he was safe. He carefully stood up on your belly, waddling his way to your face. His little hand rested on your cheek, and the soft smile you gave him made Din’s heart falter once more. You rested your larger hand on top of Grogu’s little one, holding it to your cheek. The tender moment shared between you and Din’s son was almost picturesque, it reminded him of the old oil paintings that displayed a mother and child in the palaces of the more richer planets Din visited. 

You turned your lips to place a small kiss on his little green hand. Din felt himself involuntarily reaching a hand out, wanting to join in on the tender moment between the two of you. Din imagined that he was the one cupping your cheek, his big hands instead of the small green ones of his son. He imagined how warm your cheek would be, how soft the fine peach fuzz of your cheek would feel against his palm. How your soft, pillowy lips would feel against his skin...

“Din?” Your voice is what pulled Din back to reality. You looked up at him with concern in your eyes, gaze flicking down to his still outstretched hand. “Are you okay?”

Din brought his hand back to his side, leather creaking as he closed his fist. “’M fine,” he mumbled, turning to head back to the cockpit. “It’s time to drop from hyperspace.”

Nodding your head at his retreating form, you looked back at the child that let out a small yawn. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you to bed.”

——

“I should only be gone for a few days, a week at most.” Din commented, grabbing various weapons from his armory. You stood off to the side, Grogu balanced on your hip while the two of you watched Din strap the pulse rifle to his back. You’ve watched Din prepare for a hunt what felt like hundreds of times, but it never got easier. The worry that laid deep in your chest never went away.

“Remember to close the ramp once I’m gone,” Din moved to the ramp, pressing a button on his vambrace to lower it. “And set up the safety perimeter. I recently just installed the new security system, so it should alert you to any nearby life forms. And-“

“And have a blaster nearby and communicuff on me at all times,” you interrupted his ramblings. He only talked this much when it had to do with either your or Grogu’s safety. “I know, Din.”

Din turned to you with a sigh, black visor meeting your gaze. He noticed that your bottom lip was already between your teeth, showing your worry. He wanted to reach out and glide his thumb over your lips, releasing your bottom one from your teeth. “I just want to make sure you are safe, Cyare.”

You smiled at his words, noting the strange nickname he gave you. He only ever used it when he was leaving. “I know, and we will be. Don’t worry about us, just focus on your hunt.”

Din felt himself reaching out to you, but he stopped his hand midway. “I always worry about you...” Din’s voice trailed off, and your heart thumped in your chest. “And Grogu,” he added, his face reddening under the beskar. Just talking to you made him flustered.

He turned back to the ramp and gazed out of its opening. He had tracked the bounty to some forested planet, you weren’t sure of its name. After you visited one forest planet, you’ve seen them all. You could see Din’s shoulders tighten under his beskar pauldrons, anxious and excited at the prospect of a new hunt. This was the part that you hated the most: him leaving you. Before he even took a step onto the ramp, your free hand was reaching out for him, gripping his arm around the elbow, one of the only places on his body free of beskar.

Din stopped in his tracks, and he felt like he was going to both pass out and have a heart attack at the same time. Your small hand couldn’t even reach around the thick muscles of his arm. Even though he was wearing thick layers, he could feel the warmth from your hand seeping through. His eyes dropped to your hand on him, and he couldn’t believe you were actually touching him. It wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, but his heart was already in hyperdrive. This all happened in a single second, the span of a blink.

“Be safe.” Your voice was small, timid at this new interaction you were having with the Mandalorian. You had always thought him attractive, even though you had never seen an inch of his skin. You admired his strength and how great of a warrior he was. The silver beskar just proved how powerful he could be if he saw you as an enemy. What really attracted you to him wasn’t his strength or how great of a warrior he was, no, it was how soft and protective he was over Grogu. He always held him with great care, as if he would break with the tiniest movement. He spoke softly to the kid, afraid he would scare him with his louder voice. Watching him and his son interact is what really attracted you Din, like some primal instinct telling you to find the strongest and most caring partner you can. “Come back to me.”

“Always, Cyare.” Din’s heart fluttered at your soft spoken words. Before his heart could leap through his beskar-covered chest and into your arms, he turned away from you. Your hand slipped from its resting place on his arm and he immediately missed your touch and warmth. He could feel the longing he felt for you nestle its way in his chest, right near his heart. Before he could do or say anything stupid that would surely embarrass himself, he trudged down the ramp and began his hunt.

———

It had already been six days since Din had left for his hunt. Your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his hard muscles under your fingertips. How his voice was soft when he said the strange name of ‘Cyare,’ a name he only said when he left. You knew it was Mando’a, but no matter how many times you scanned the holo-pad’s built in dictionary, you couldn’t find a single word of the dying language. You resigned yourself to the fact that you may never know what he was calling you, unless you asked him. But that was never going to happen, your words always stumbled out of your mouth when you talked to him.

So you busied yourself around the Razor Crest whilst you waited for the return of your Mandalorian, trying to keep away the thoughts of how his hands would feel on your skin. You had cleaned nearly every surface in the old ship and even organized the wires under the dashboard. By the time you were done with your chores, the Crest was nearly spotless- there was always going to be that one stubborn blood stain near the carbonite chamber that you were never going to get out. Din had brought back a rather difficult quarry that day, and as soon as he started flinging crude insults at you, Din promptly reached for his viroblade. The cut he made was only superficial, you learned later, but the man still bled quite a bit before Din shoved him back into the chamber. You had immediately tried to clean up the pool of blood, but Din took the rag from your hand with a gentle “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

Besides the one stain that refused to go away, the Crest was as good as new, or as new-looking that it was going to get. The rest of the day you spent playing with the kid, mind drifting back to thoughts of Din. You had just put Grogu down for a nap when the Crest’s new security system let out a loud beeping noise, alerting you that a life form was approaching the ship. Locking Grogu away in his pram-thankfully he was still asleep- you reached for the blaster that was resting atop the stack of crates. Running up to the cockpit, you noticed that a single dot was showing up on the ship’s new security system. You managed to stop the alarm from blaring before you made your way back to the hull. You were ready to protect yourself and Grogu from this intruder if necessary.

A loud banging noise sounded against the ship as the ramp started to descend. You gripped the blaster tight, switching the safety off. When you saw the silver glint of beskar, you sighed in relief, switching the safety back on before setting it off to the side. Din slowly made his way up the ramp, arm wrapped around his middle. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, arms reaching out to Din once he was safely inside the hull.

“What happened?” You asked, reaching your arms out to catch Din when he stumbled. “Are you hurt?”

“Knife,” he grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground. His hand slowly fell away from his side, revealing his blood-soaked clothes. “Not deep.”

“Din!” You exclaimed in shock whilst dropping down to your knees. Your hands fluttered to his side, unsure of what to do. “I think you need to remove your beskar.”

“Do it,” he grunted, resting the helmet against the wall with a ‘ting.’ His hand moved to yours, dragging your hand to show you the release mechanism under his cuirass. Flicking the switch, the armor’s magnet released its hold on the beskar. Pushing it to the side, you grasped at the bottom of his tunic, trying to work the fabric up his torso so you could have access to the wound. You tried not to notice the small amount of dark hair leading down to his pants, or the beautiful color of his skin- a warm, sun-kissed tan. Your resolve failed when your eyes trailed over his abdomen, skin littered with scars over the lean muscle. Your fingertips lightly grazed his stomach and Din jerked back with a hiss.

“I’m sorry!” Your hands flew back from his stomach, afraid that you had hurt him in some way.

“No,” Din grunted while his head rolled to the side. “Didn’t hurt, it... felt good.”

You blinked at the Mandalorian currently bleeding all over your clean floors. Okay, he must be delusional. “Din, I don’t know if I’m the best person to do this. There has to be someone el-“

“No one else,” he mumbled, hand reaching for yours. “You can do it, Cyare.”

The familiar nickname is what grounded your rising panic. Making your way to the medicine cabinet, you grabbed the necessary kits and bacta so you could patch Din up. Kneeling at his side once again, you pulled back the remaining clothing to reveal the knife wound. He was right, it wasn’t that deep, but just like the quarry that Din had slashed at all those months ago, he bled quite a lot. You tried to remain as gentle as you could while you wiped a piece of cloth over the wound to soak up the blood. It took a few rags to thoroughly clean the wound, but you had finally gotten it to a manageable state.

“This might sting.” Grabbing the bottle of alcohol from your side, you tipped out the liquid onto a clean cloth. Your eyes flitted up to where his would be but was met with only the familiar visor. Din gave you a slow nod, telling you to ‘go ahead,’ and you placed the alcohol-soaked rag to his wound.

“Dank farrik!” Din yelped, jolting slightly upright in response to the stinging sensation that was radiating from his wound. You could just barely hear the grinding of his teeth from under his helmet, and you visually cringed at his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized but continued to clean the wound. The knife must have been serrated because the wound was jagged. You laid your free hand on the expanse of his stomach, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin. Din hummed at the contact. Your soft fingers sent goosebumps racing over his flesh, thoroughly distracting him from the pain. He barely registered the soothing cool of bacta when you pressed it against his wound. Din was too distracted by your touch. It was the first time that he felt someone’s touch, skin-to-skin contact since he was a child, and he knew that he was already addicted. You were completely intoxicating and you didn’t even know.

“Done.” Pressing firmly against the newly applied bandage, you could feel Din’s eyes on yours.

“Don’t stop,” he couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. You had pulled away your hands from his torso, and you quirked a brow up in response. “It-it feels g-good.”

“What, me torturing you with alcohol and bacta?” You joked and began to clean up the blood-soaked rags.Your right hand reached for the medpac that was laying next to Din but stopped when he grabbed your wrist. Din slowly pulled your hand to his stomach, resting your soft flesh over his scarred skin. He shivered at your touch and laid his hand over yours, keeping you there. His gloved thumb began to draw patterns on the back of your hand, sending a shiver of your own down your spine. “Din, what are you-”

“C-can I touch you, Cyare?” He interrupted with timid words. He was staring at your face, you could feel his gaze through the helmet. You sat there in shock, unable to comprehend that your hand was sprawled against his warm stomach and distracting you with the light graze of his thumb. “Please,” Din whispered when you didn’t respond to his earlier question. You felt yourself nodding your head in a dumb stupor, not believing that this was real and happening.

He picked his right hand up from yours that rested on his stomach, and moved to cup your face. Din stopped halfway between your bodies, hesitating for a moment, before bringing his other hand up to pull off his gloves. His right hand continued on its previous path, only stopping again when he was a centimeter away from your face. You could feel the tangible tension in the air, the nervousness shared by the both of you while you stared at one another. He just held his hand there for a moment, afraid to touch you and learn exactly how your cheek would feel against his skin. Bringing up your left hand, you placed it over his right one and pressed his palm to your cheek. His skin was rough from years of fighting, but incredibly warm and soothing. 

Din let out a shuddery breath when you took his hand and pressed it against your cheek. You were so soft, so warm against his palm. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone out of curiosity. Eyelids fluttering shut at his touch, the pad of his thumb left sparks against your skin. Din’s heart nearly lept out of his chest when you turned your face into his palm, lips softly pressing into the meat of his hand. Your eyes opened and you looked up at him with such a soft look whilst you held his hand in yours, lips moving over his hand, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. Right hand joining your left, you gently laid his hand in your lap, palm facing the ceiling. Your fingers traced over every vein in his hand, stopping at his wrist when you met his vambrace. Lifting his hand up to your lips, you placed a tender kiss to his pulse point. Your kisses left him breathless, every brush of your lips intoxicating.

As much as Din loved your soft touches, he wanted to caress you, feel your lips against his. He knew what he had to do in order to feel your lips against his, and the thought made him draw in a tight breath. “Cyare...” He tipped his head forward, leaning his forehead against yours. Your hands trailed to the nape of his neck, fingers worming their way under his thick cowl so that you could feel his hot skin. The beskar was cool against your forehead, a soothing sensation. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” There wasn’t any hesitation in your voice. Being this close to Din was addicting. You wanted to feel more of his skin against yours, have his warmth envelop you.

“Close your eyes, Cyar’ika,” Din whispered. You followed his orders, shutting your eyes tight. He waited a few moments before you felt him lean back, cool beskar no longer present on your skin. You heard the locking mechanism of his helmet release with a hiss and the sound sent your heart racing. Was he taking his helmet off?

Din couldn’t breathe. He tried to pull the much needed oxygen into his lungs, but it was like his diaphragm wasn’t working anymore. Seeing you, truly seeing you without the many filters of the helmet had knocked the wind out of him. You were utterly breathtaking. Din sat there, trying to commit every feature of your face to his memory. You were even more beautiful than he thought was possible. The soft planes of your face made him want to reach out, touch you again. So he did. He was more sure this time, taking your face in both of his hands. You inhaled sharply when he first touched you, not expecting the touch, but you quickly relaxed at his touch that was becoming more familiar with each brush of skin. Both of his thumbs skimmed the planes of your cheekbones, felt the thickness of your lashes when he ghosted over your eyes. It was like he was a blind man trying to see with his hands, creating a mental image from his sense of touch. 

Din continued to map out your face, slowly trailing his thumbs over your skin. He saved your lips for last, wanting to savor them. His thumb brushed over them, and he inhaled sharply when he felt how soft they were. Din desperately wanted to mold his own to yours. “Ca-can,” he stumbled over his words, mesmerized by your beauty. He swallowed down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Can I kiss you, Cyare?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, and you were sure he could feel how your face heated up at his words. His slow touches were driving you insane, but not as insane as the knowledge that he was a mere six inches away from you, helmet off. It would be so easy to just open your eyes to see him. “Please.”

Hearing the wanting-tone of your voice that matched his ever-growing need for your touch, Din leaned in. His slightly-chapped lips timidly pressed against your soft ones, and you let out a sigh at the feeling. It felt like someone had poured molten lava over you that seeped into the very cracks of your foundation. Timid and shy at first, his kiss became more confident as he slotted his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the way that your hands reached up for his face to pull him closer to you. His kiss made you realize that you had been cold and alone your entire life, and that he was a blazing fire that would warm you to your core. 

Din softly gasped at your actions, and he decided that if he were to die right then and there that he would be completely fine since he was already in heaven with you. He felt the way that your fingers mapped his face like how he mapped yours. When you carded your fingers through his unruly locks, tugging him even closer, he hummed in contentment. Din’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you to his chest. Your legs draped on either side of his hips, kneeling in front of him. You tilted his head up to yours since you were slightly taller than him in this position, his arms squeezing you closer. Din slowly grazed his tongue over your bottom lip, and he moaned at the feeling of your tongue pressing against his. He explored your mouth, tongue tracing each tooth. Din saw stars behind his lids from kissing you. He had never kissed anyone before, but now he knew why others found it so intoxicating. The feel of your soft lips pressed against his was something he never wanted to forget. He burned this moment into his brain, desperately trying to remember the way your lips felt against his, the way your fingertips tangled in his hair, the warmth of your chest pressed against his.

When the need for air became too great, you both reluctantly pulled apart. You could already feel your lips starting to swell from the passionate kiss the two of you shared. Din’s lips never left your face, though, and he trailed kisses down your cheek and along your jaw. You couldn’t help how his name spilled from your lips when he kissed the juncture of your neck and jaw.

“You are so beautiful,” Din mumbled into your skin. Soft praises fell from his lips with each kiss against your skin. He loved the way you said his name, the way your grip on his hair tightened when he kissed your neck. His grip on you never lessened, hands bunching the material of your shirt in his hands. He never wanted this to end.

“You are too,” you sighed when his lips returned to yours. Din lightly shook his head in disagreement, making sure to not break the kiss. His self-deprecation made you pull yourself back. 

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

Leaning your forehead against his like before, you traced your fingers over his face. “I don’t need to.” You grazed your fingers over his eyelids, down his prominent nose, over his swollen lips. “I know you are beautiful both inside and out, Din Djarin.”

Din was thankful that your eyes were closed so that you couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He placed a loving peck against your lips before he nuzzled his face in your neck. Din breathed in your scent, immediately finding that it both excited and calmed him down. His lips brushed over your jugular, placing a soft kiss there. “I never want to let you go, Cyar’ika.”

“Then don’t.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he placed another kiss on your neck.

“You know,” you started, fingers slowly working out the tangles in his hair. “I never know what you’re saying when you speak Mando’a.”

“You’ll learn, Cyar’ika,” Din closed his eyes, content at the feeling of you playing with his hair. “You’ll learn.”

_____

Mando’a translations:

Cyare = beloved/loved

Cyar’ika = darling/sweetheart

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

[multifandomthoughts]

Sunbathing Beauty

MINORS DNI, NSFW

AFAB READER

Requested by: @softiebadbitch

Warnings: Fellatio, Penetration, Semi-public sex (though nobody is there)

“Ace, you can’t even swim!” You shout as the brunette held your arm, dragging you across the warm sand as he ran, umbrella slung over one shoulder and a backpack over the other. “But I wanted to spend time with you, and pops said if I didn’t get out soon, he’d tell the cook not to let me have any food for a week. I know he didn’t mean it, but that personal of a threat has to mean something.”

“I still don’t understand why you took me to the beach of all places.” You retort, the sun beating down on the two of you, reminding you to put on sunscreen after this conversation. “Isn’t it enough that I want to spend some time with you? You are my favorite person after all.” Ace flashes you a wide grin and drops the bag he was carrying, some of the contents spilling out.

You get a look at the contents and sighed. Buckets and hand shovels? The second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates… wants to make sandcastles? “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” You say, trying to act annoyed but unable to keep a smile off your face. Pulling out the rest of the contents, there are two towels, sunscreen and sunglasses. The towel and sunscreen are most important, considering you were burning not only your skin, but the soles of your feet from the baking sand.

The first thing you do is spread your towel on the sand, and once the safe haven is formed you get off your hot feet and lie down on it, putting on your sunglasses. “Since we’re going to be here a while, do you think you could help me with the sunscreen? I don’t want to burn my back.” Ace nods and grabs the bottle. “Want to untie your top or should I just work around it?” He asks, squeezing a sizable dollop onto his hand.

You nod as best you can while lying down and reach back to untie the knot holding your top on. A small sigh escapes you as your chest feels that little bit more free. It’s soon replaced by a squeal as you twitch from the sudden presence of Ace’s cold, wet hands on your back. You return to a relaxed state once the initial shock wears off and enjoy the loving touch of him applying the lotion all over your bare skin. It feels like the interaction is over almost as soon as it started and soon he’s left your side again to start filling his buckets with sand. You pout a little bit, as you tie your top back on and sit up to start applying your own sunscreen everywhere else.

A funny feeling starts to creep upon Ace. His mind is no longer focused on the whimsy of building sand castles. He’s more interested in that bikini that you spent so much time trying to have him notice. His heart is racing as if he were on the battlefield, but adrenaline and aggression are the furthest things from his mind right now. This is purely… excitement, and something akin to the awe he gets from a sunset, all focused on you. The desire to get even closer to you begins to overwhelm his mind, and he has to do something about it. The thought of dumping a bucket of cold clear ocean water on you has passed.

Acting on impulse alone he left his buckets behind and stood in front of you once again, wordlessly staring. You give him a confused look. “Do you need something, Ace?” Stumbling over his words, Ace blurts “That swimsuit is so revealing it’s practically pointless. Let’s get rid of it.” Your face turns bright red, it wasn’t the reaction you expected, but one that you were looking for. “Ace….” You respond, a smirk on your face. “We can do that, but this is a public place!” “But why not? Being a pirate is about the freedom to do what you like when you like. And a relationship is about not caring what others think because you’re happy together. So since I’m all worked up now, let’s have some fun!”

You scan your eyes across the beach, looking for any signs of other inhabitants. It seems like any other occupants have left, either because they knew who Ace was, or they had become disinterested. Satisfied that you don’t have an audience, you give a sigh. “Alright, but can you at least put up the umbrella so we’ll be more cool in the shade?” Giving a mock salute, Ace sets about planting the pole in the sand and spreading the umbrella over your heads. “Nice and comfy now, hot stuff?” “Totally, the shade makes it nice and cool, as well as covering up.”

You go to take off your top, Ace’s eyes glued to your torso like a dog towards a steak. That gives you an even better idea, and you immediately put that plan into action. Running yours hand up and down your shoulders and thighs, you hover your hand over the knot keeping your swimsuit together. You can swear you see Ace gulp and a bead of sweat cascade down his forehead.

Rather than pull the knot undone right away you tug on the strings over your shoulders a bit to make your chest bounce for him. “You said this doesn’t cover enough, but I think you’re going crazy because you can’t see the best parts yet… but don’t worry baby, I’ll show you everything soon. And then you’ll melt in my hands, knowing that you have to beg. Ace squirms excitedly, his hands clasped together between his knees in a futile attempt to keep him from reaching out.

You right hand reaches behind your back to untie the knot while simultaneously holding your left arm in front of you, covering up your breasts as the top of your swimsuit goes limp around your body. Winking at him, you bring your free hand back around to your waist and start tugging at the side of your bottoms. “Which will it be first, Ace? Move this arm out of the way, or take the rest of it off?” For the first time, you think you’ve silenced Ace. He doesn’t say anything, and just stares straight ahead at your covered breast. So mesmerized, so enamored that not one word drips out of his mouth.

Ace says something, but the words just don’t come out. He repeats this multiple times, each time as quiet as the last time. You tilt your head in mock confusion, trying to hold back the smirk that attempts to creep onto your face. “Sorry babe, a little louder?” His fists are tightly clenched in between his knees as he sits in front of you staring unblinkingly at the arm keeping him from your treasure. “All… I want all of it… I need all of you…” he groans through gritted teeth, his legs constantly shifting as if that will bring any relief to his fierce prisoner.

“Oh, is that so? You laughed, happy to know that your plan of teasing him with your swimsuit has gotten you to this point. “So, what’s it going to be? Tits or pussy?” Ace flashes you a devilish grin, having gained his confidence back. The Ace that you met who was full of swagger, and could take on absolutely anything. Without a second thought he gently grabs your wrist. “Yes.” Next thing you know, you’re on your back in a passionate kiss with Ace. One hand is running through your hair, the other has pulled your arm away from your chest, your breasts now pressed against his pecs as the friction sends a wave of heat through both of your bodies.

“Now, for the elephant in the room….he declares. “Do I have your permission to touch you?” Nodding your head violently and vocalizing a yes, you take his hand, place it on your breast and wrap his fingers around the soft tender flesh. His knee runs up your inner thigh, stopping short of the prize and coming back down, then back up again. If he had finished the journey he would feel the damp spot in your bikini bottoms. Instead, he brings his mouth down to kiss and suck on the tit his hand had left unattended. “Love these so much…” he mutters, bowed over you as if in a prayer of gratitude. When his head does raise to meet your gaze, the mischievous look is back though a bit hazy with lust. “Permission to finish stripping you?” He inquired with a smirk. “G-granted…” you manage to squeak out between shuddering breaths and half suppressed moans. “Great. Then get up onto your knees and bend over for me.” He says with an authority you can’t dismiss but a needy tone that betrays the facade covering his desperation for this.

As he asks, you get on your hands and knees. No sooner have you done it than he is behind you running his hands over your ass. But he does not let himself get sidetracked and you feel fingers hooking under the waistband of your bottoms. With baited breath you try to hold still as he yanks the garment down to your knees. Your arousal is apparent in both the wetness of its crotch area and the moisture glistening on your exposed pussy. “Naughty girl, aren’t you?” Ace teases, knowing damn well he and his pitched mast aren’t ones to talk. “I could take you right here like this… would you like that? Or should I ask you to return the favor and help me out of my trunks now?” You squirm in his grip, before slipping out onto your back and spreading your legs for him. “You’ve been begging for it, I don’t know how you’re able to wait!” You giggle, batting your eyelashes at him. Seeing you in this new seductive pose silences Ace yet again, not to mention being called out for his lust. You take a little pity on him and sit up again to reach out for his swimsuit.

“I guess I won’t make you wait in agony any longer… let me see your handsome body…” you say softly as you pull his clothes off. Sure enough his erection springs out stiff and ready. You mull your eyes over it for a minute, big and thick before running your hand down and up the base. Ace let’s out a long sigh, one that he didn’t know that he was holding. He scoots back onto the very edge of the towel, spreading himself out so you have more room to take him in. Before anything else, you knew you had to give this thing some hands on attention… and probably lip service.

Running a finger up and down the warm flesh from soft tip to twitching base, you lick your lips and feel your lower half getting equally wet. You’re not some superficial girl who only appreciates a guy for physical attributes… but fuck this is an impressive dick. As you reach the tip again you wrap your hand around his shaft instead and start to gently stroke up and down. “So big and hard… just for me? You know how to make a girl feel special don’t you… Let’s see if I can make you feel even better. Just tell me if it hurts, or if you’re about to blow.” He nods violently, as you begin to lower your head back onto his dick. Your hand on the base of his shaft, you move it in the opposite direction you are sucking, sliding your hand up as you go down.

With a gentle grip guiding your head, Ace directs your motions in a steady pace, releasing a cacophony of moans. For every rise and fall he lets out a pleasured sound unlike anything you’ve ever heard from this notorious pirate. Some guttural, some high pitched, all from your man. You flutter your eyelashes again as you look up at him; it’s useless, as his eyes are gently closed in pure bliss. Despite the umbrella casting a long shadow across the two of you, beads of sweat roll down his forehead; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. A sharp tug on your hair alerts you that he’s close, as his eyes roll back into his skull. He attempts to take control and starts thrusting in search of climax. You weren’t prepared to be face fucked like this, but you can adapt quickly.

Using your arms, you forcefully remove Ace’s hands from your head, releasing you from his guide. In an attempt to coax his climax quicker, you breathe in deeply through your nose and take all of his thick cock, burying your nose into his pubic bone. The mixture of deepthroating, and your hand on the base of his shaft causes him to let out an ear piercing whine. You manage to stay down and are rewarded as his pulsing cock unloads, the warm rush of cum filling your mouth. You swallow, before winking and blushing back at your partner.

“Ready for round two?” You coo, giving the tip of his cock a kiss before widening your stance expectantly. “Or can you not handle what beauty is sitting in front of you?” You expect him to need a little time to cool down and recharge, but his erection hasn’t gone down in the slightest and he only looks more eager. “I think I can handle you pretty well, just wanna be sure you can handle this bad boy. Guess I have my answer, so here’s a better question: Do we have any kind of protection?”

Biting your lip, you drag your discarded top through the sand, and reach inside the breast pocket. “For when a sexy man wants to have some fun…” You quip, tearing the wrapping open with your teeth. “Now’s the main event, big boy…” Separating the rubber from the plastic, you put Ace’s cock in your hand once again. In one quick movement, the condom is on and the two of you are ready to go. As he draws in close again, you run a playful finger along his abs. He takes hold of your left thigh while his right hand holds his member steady on its course. “Let me help with that…” you offer softly, grabbing his wrist to make the intention clear. He lets go and you take hold of the slick latex and warm flesh. Now with both hands on your thighs, he keeps your legs spread and your body steady as the tip of his member presses at your waiting opening to seek entry. With you to guide him he pushes a bit more and finds it.

You wince in pain, gripping his shoulders as his big cock fills you. He was stretching you a bit, but you didn’t mind the sting. The pain is worth the pleasure. You take a deep breath as you bottom out, a pleasant feeling enveloping your core. “Fuck me Ace, please…you feel so good…” you plead, squirming to get more of that wonderful feeling. “Okay hot stuff, be prepared for a wild ride.” His hands wander up to your breasts, grasping them as if they were the most precious jewels. Tantalizingly slow, he pulls out of you. You beg and whine, every inch lost leaving an empty feeling until all you have is the tip. “Put it….in…please!!” You howl, clawing at his legs as you attempt to push him back in. He goes back to rubbing your nipples under his thumbs and acts like he’s deep in thought. “Well… you’re making some pretty cute noises right now so maybe I shouldn’t? Ah, but I wanna hear what you’ll sound like when I do this!” And just like that he slammed back in, as you let out a loud moan.

Ace is done going easy on you, and the thrust in is immediately followed by another out, then back in agains and again. He’s really fucking you now, and it feels so goddamn good. Every slap of skin against skin elicits an even louder sound, is it possible that there’s a limit to your volume? The harder he goes on you, the tighter you can feel yourself getting. Your coil keeps tightening, almost ready to snap. As if the feeling of his cock isn’t exciting enough, the look on his face and the grunts and moans he’s making are sure as hell helping. You wrap your legs around his waist to keep him deep in you and arch your back to press your tits into his waiting hands even more.

Pleasure and joy flow through your body and mind so strongly you worry it might start to spill out as tears, and you can certainly tell it’s dripping out somewhere else. Your sexual frenzy continues a few minutes more until you know you can’t take any more. “Ace… I’m so close…” you try to tell him, though by now your voice has been reduced to a shrill squeak. Ace understands it though, and replies with a grunt that sounds like “Me too… together babe.” Your boyfriend leans in and kisses you one more time as he ruts like the animal in heat he seems to be. The dam bursts and you moan into the kiss as your pussy convulses and tries to milk him for all he’s got. Luckily you have the condom in the way, because he’s got a lot. He twitches a few times as a fresh load streams out and is collected in the reservoir tip, and you feel a new wave of heat in your core.

You lay back on your towel, spent. It feels as if you’ve just completed a marathon and every muscle in your body is crying out for rest. Despite this, you look into Ace’s eyes; they’re clouded from what just went on. Catching your breath, your face is just inches away from Ace’s. He’s regained all his energy already and gives you a cheeky grin. “See? I knew we’d have plenty to do at the beach without having to swim!”

[natsukitakama]

Being in relationship with Gojo Satoru would include

Author note : got nothing to say about it. I’m his personal hoe even though I’m aware about what Gege-sama said. Let’s say I can’t be saved. It’s too late for that LMAO. Anyway let me know if you enjoy this ♡ (also I changed my head canon’s page setting how does it looks ?) 

Warning : slight nsfw / me simping over a man that would definetly not give me time / also I didn’t catch up with the manga (Japan’s scan cause we’re kinda late in France) 

Update : I didn’t say it obviously I do not own that gif credit to the owner(s) 🙏🏻

Masterlist

Request are Open

a lot of work. 

As Gege said themselves they didn’t see Gojo being faithful or interest on a relationship (still hurt btw) 

But why ?

If we look carefully we can see that his relationship with every superior are pretty densed : he is absolutely against his own cast and I won’t be surprised that he is pretty distant with his family and the member of his clan. Which mean basically they’re not so much people who are closed to him 

He didn’t allow them to be close 

Again since he tends to be pretty narcissistic and is not afraid to threat everyone that might be against him cursed or not. 

So let’s say he got couple of ennemies. 

Then I remembered his first interaction (or at least of the first he got) with Yuta. We all remember what happened to that girl he was so deeply in love, remember what Gojo said ? He actually said that in his opinion love might be the worst cursed or something like that. Meaning he is aware about how dangerous love can be. 

So here’s the thing it’s not like he is not faithful (even though he is into one night stand) but he can’t allow himself to fall himself nor will he let someone falls for him. Because they will became an easy target, they will become his worst weakness. 

Especially since he is super busy it would mean that he couldn’t be with you whenever he wants to.  

So that would explain why he is not really into relationship cause he knows it would be dangerous for him. 

Also I don’t believe he was raised with love, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t closed or never seen any act of love so he is pretty cold about it cause he is used to. 

In addition his personnality is ... well he is piece of works. So it’s not that easy to fall in love with him (I mean deeply in love not just being attracted to his physics) and it’s difficult to make him falls in love too. (It would be for another headcanon) 

But now let’s pretend you went through his childish nature and he let you get to know him and boom you’re started a relationship with him 

He is clingy asf you know that 99% of the time he is walking not giving a single shit about people think about him. That man is so confident he knows no one would dare criticize him for being a clingy or boyfriends and if they do it He would claim that they are just jealous of him. 

Even if he is super chill about everything he would never broke any of your boundary. So if you’re comfortable with him hugging you in public or giving you a deep kiss that’s fine he will keep it for later. 

But that won’t stop that little shit for teasing you. Oh no. It’s even worst if you are shy, oh god he would do anything just to see your cheeks getting red. He just loves it. It’s addictive. 

Cause let’s be real, if he actually started a relationship with you was because he was way too addicted. Your relationship probably started with some one night stand that wasn’t just one but sssh. Then you started to hang out together not dating calling that a date because you guys didn’t want to put a name on it. Then both of you started to be territorial and get upset when one of you flirted with another. It last until You and Gojo couldn’t just sleep or think without being close together. 

He is like a sweet drug you know ? Once you got a bite you can’t just stop. Same way for him as soon as you got him, you won’t be able a le to keep away. 

That also explain why he is clingy he just has to touch you, simple touch deep touch intimate touch he doesn’t care all he needs was you close to him. 

When you guys became serious (put a name on it cause you were already a couple but whatever) the man became even more noisy if that’s even possible. 

He praises you a lot not matter what job you have what passion you’re followed anything. You’re just the best S/O of the entire world. 

Also he show off a lot cause everyone thought Nanami would the first to be in a relationship with a S/O  but he failed 

And oh boy does Gojo loves that. 

He can’t help but remind EVERYONE (including his students of those coming from kyoto) that he is dating you

« Aaah can’t wait to be home I bet Y/N would make those delicious cookies of them. It’s so good to go home to find your beloved. Oh yeah you can’t know that you don’t have a S/O so sad »

You little shit 

As I previously said he tends to not be around that much because of his jobs, but that’s okay he would make it up one way or another. 

I know some people believes that he will take his S/O to the greatest restaurant, or into those luxurious places. It’s true sometimes he just find you to have a good quality time but he also wants to spoil you so it’s good way to do it. 

But most of the time I think he might be into those private date when you’re into a little cafe or having a picnic. Again I don’t think he had the chance to enjoy those private moment with his family when you’re just enjoying the people you loved in the simple way. And he just loves seeing you cook for him it stroke his ego and melt his heart. 

I heard somewhere that he might be touch starved and I agree with that postulate. I do believe he wasn’t raised with love and tenderness so that would explain why he could be so touchy-feely with people and so that’s explain why he is clingy. 

He is definetly into carrying and simple person, he is just a giant baby he loves being taken care of he wants to have your attention 24/7, that’s just who he is. When i said simple,it’s more like not superficial cause he won’t tolerate that he hates when people has the audacity to lie in front of his face or believes they can manipulate him. 

A lot of people tends to think he is stupid or easily to use because of his childish behavior and he hates that. He has a huge ego. 

So he won’t like it if you’re trying to get something from him. If you want to say something just say it. 

Even if he is huge tease he would never judge you or make fun of you (not in a mean way) so he expects you to be blunt about your feelings. If you think he is an idiot for always keeping everything for himself tell him. 

If his S/O is a civilian he might not talk about the jujutsu world at first but then when he realized he was bound to them. Like he couldn’t breath without you he would tell you the truth. 

He kiss a lot. I’m not making the rules he just kiss very easily and each of them have a meaning. Cheeks kiss is to ask you something like buying an ice cream when it’s 4AM (use it with his best puppies eyes cause the fucker knows his effects on you). Nose kiss are like morning kiss, he tends to do it a lot after sex too it’s just another way for him to say I love you but in a cute way. Head kiss is to reassure you that everything would be fine, it’s also his way to comfort you when you’re sad it’s always followed by an « everything would be fine » or « I’m here now it’s okay ». Kiss on your lips could be a way to tempt you for sex who goes along with a bite of your lips of a stroke of your hair, but his kiss on your lips could also be his way to remind you how much he loves and how much he miss you. 

But no worry he is not afraid to tell you he loves you, but he just kept those works for special moment. 

He hugs a lot. From behind when you’re cooking for him, cuddle you while watching a movie or put you against his chest so you would climb around his body like a koala 

Nest your face against his neck and he would melt right now. The feeling of your breath against his skin damn he got shivers all the time 

Time to time don’t forget to stroke his ego like cuddling him and tell him how good you feel like you feel safe. He needs time to time (also even if he might tease you a little bit, do that and you’ll get extra kiss and cuddle time)

Also he can’t say no to you. Puppy eyes are useless just took his hand and ask him slowly to do something and he would do it. 

The problem is you can’t say no to him too. Cause 1) he is super convincing when he wants to 2) because he knows you can’t say no to his pretty face especially his eyes 3) and if you’re fighting his attraction over you he would use puppy eyes on you. So either way he got what he wants. 

You guys definetly got some « sweet » dates at 4 AM : like he just woke up because he dreamt about those delicious mocchi he tastes when he first met Itadori and now all he could think about was those mocchi. So he got you at 4AM to buy and share some mocchi together. Even though you hated being woke up like this you couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that he woke you up so you could share a meal together 

It comes from nowhere but you guys have sex a lot. He is horny it’s written on his face I can’t change that. He is intoxicated he can’t help it but need to feel you clinching around his dick, bitting your lips and scratching his back as he thrust into your core. 

He daydreams a lot and 99% it’s not pure at all

He sext you a lot even during a meeting, he just took his phone and text you about how boring the meeting is and how he wish he could just ravage you in front of them so they would shut up for once. 

He is pretty open about everything when it came to sex it’s not like you can break him or anything but he loves it every time you came to him asking for something you might want to try but be afraid he won’t be agree or might hurt him.

It’s so cute that you thought you could hurt him physically 

Somehow he managed you to have sex in his office which you were kinda up to it but he also convinced you to do it on a car as soon as ljichi left for a call. He can’t help it you were just so cute so tempting looking like this by his side and well he is into semi-public sex he just don’t give up a fuck LMAO who’s gonna say yell at him anyway ? He is THE Gojo Satoru. 

Not sure if I said it before but he won’t mind dating a simple human, he is just so bitter about everything his world is a mess so it’s fine that he can’t be normal, just man hanging around the personne he loves without thinking about his position about his clan, the cursed. Just couple of hours during his day where is just your boyfriend, he cherish that. 

It doesn’t mean he won’t date an exorcist, but it might be even more difficult since he can’t help but wondering if you’re actually into him (which is hard considering his antics) or if you’re into his position. But if you managed to show him that you actually didn’t care about the whole clan, position and everything yeah he would be into you. It would be more simple cause he can be with you 24/7 or at least as much as possible, and protect you even though you don’t actually need someone to take care of you. He just has to do it. 

He spoils a lot, remember how easily he would book a restaurant for his students ? Same things it’s even worse cause sometimes during a mission he walked around a new street and it’s like « damn that’s look yummy » and after being sure nothing could harm you (especially if you’re allergic of If you a vegan or veggies) he would book a reservation and then took you on a date. 

He does that a lot, since he can’t manage to have quality time as much as he wanted he just does things like that so you can share a meal together and also because he can tease you during the whole night then teleport both of you into his house for « sport » activity. 

Also he tends to buy some many things, like he could walked in Tokyo and see a grandma selling some candle he would buy it just because it seemed aesthetic for him, and now everytime he saw something that reminds him of you he buys it. So you guys got plenty of things that you can’t throw away since Gojo linked them with a memory of you. 

Speaking of things who belongs to you, he wears your clothes and you wears his, remember how easily he wore Nobara’s skirt he is pretty skinny he can wear anything and won’t bother asking you first. Just get used to it cause he doesn’t plan on giving up. 

I do believe that a relationship with you force him to be more « mature » or at least not always acting like a child. But let’s be real he would still act like a baby you sign for this. 

In the end it’s an healthy relationship even though he tends to be flirty sometimes, he would be careful if he noticed that you’re not comfortable, or he would make sure to reminds you that he is actually in love with you, he won’t go anywhere. No matter if you’re an exorcist or not, you would still be afraid that one day he won’t comeback, so he makes sure to spoil you, love you to erase that fear. He is the strongest and doesn’t plan on leaving you soon. 

[omgreally]

Sleight of Hand -  Chapter Three

Din Djarin/Thief!OFC Eventually E Warnings: Heavy petting (to survive), huddling for warmth (to survive), Mando gets to know his bounty a little better (to survive)

aka my favourite trope chapter. enjoy?

Read on AO3

Series Masterlist

Mando frog-marches the thief through the cooling desert. The suns dip lower and lower towards the horizon, until it shimmers in orange-blue mirage and the shadows grow long and wavering. 

To his surprise, she doesn’t say much, although maybe that’s due to injury. Not physical injury - her wounds are all superficial - but the injury to her pride. 

He's glad. She deserves it, and more.

Still, he can’t really blame her. He blames himself. He’s getting old - out of practice - he let his mind wander. This is his fault, and he’s reaping the consequences of a six-day march in less-than-desirable company.

He keeps her a pace-and-a-half ahead of him, blaster pointed at her back. And he makes sure she knows it, too.

“You better not try to run away again,” he tells her. “You won’t get far.”

“Dinner for the bonegnawers,” she sniffs, almost primly, without turning to look at him. “Right?”

Mando says nothing. They walk in silence for a moment.

“So, where were you planning to take me? Mos Espa?” She’s talking again, but he’s only half-paying attention to the drone of her voice. He’s busy mentally cataloguing his supplies. He doesn’t have food enough to last them both for six days even if he rations them, and he has even less water. If they reach Mos Espa they’re going to be severely dehydrated, probably almost dead.

There’s more pressing matters than food to worry about, however: Shelter. The largely-silent desert teems with life at night, with strange, haunting sounds issued from alien-shaped throats echoing across the sands. They need somewhere to hunker down for the night, and fast.

Thankfully, they come to the base of a range of short, spiny mountains before it grows too dark to see them. Not even a hundred meters tall and half-buried in a dune on one side, they can hardly be called mountains. Still, Din is able to find a lee and a deep hollow in the side of the rock, shielded from the weather. 

It looks suspiciously organic, as if the hollows have been scooped out by enormous claws, but he tries not to think about that.

The Mandalorian directs his quarry to sit by waving the barrel of his blaster at her. She half-slides, half-collapses against the far wall, resting her head back against the rock. 

“I never want to see another grain of sand ever again.”

“I hate to break it to you, but Tatooine is covered in it,” Mando points out. He stands watch a moment, scanning the horizon in every direction for a hint of anything moving that shouldn’t be. His helm has shifted to nightvision to compensate for the building night.

“That’s just one of the reasons I want to leave this Maker-forsaken planet,” the woman agrees, the eye-roll in her very tone. He glances back at her, his visor highlighting her face in glowing white, and although she can’t see his raised eyebrow under the helm, she seems to respond to it anyway: “What? Don’t you?”

Din says nothing. He fishes his canteen out of his bag and tosses it to her without looking; she manages the catch surprisingly easily in her bound hands. She struggles with the stopper a moment before prying it free with her thumbs and lifts the canteen to her mouth, drinking greedily.

“Hey!” Mando strides over and snatches the flask back. The thief grins wetly, her teeth white and chin shining, and he scowls at her from underneath the helm. “This has to last both of us six days.” He stuffs it back into his belt and decides he’s not going to offer food unless she kriffing begs for it.

“Yeah, right.” She snorts, leaning back against the rock. “You think we’re gonna make it alive? I don’t think so.”

Nobody really makes it alive, Din thinks. Not in the end.

“I hate to break it to you, but Tatooine is going to swallow us up,” the woman continues - some kind of dam of rage and frustration broken in her from which the words spew out. “It’s not even going to chew. We’ll just be bones in dust.”

Bones in dust. It’s an eloquent phrase from the mouth of a common thief.

Din says nothing, though. She seems content to fill the silence for the both of them. 

‘Who  sent you, anyway?” She hooks her arms over her knees as she draws them up to her chest. She looks smaller, her long legs folded in, like a resting - or dead - spider. “Someone I know? Someone I owe?” She half-chuckles to herself, like it’s all one big joke. 

She thinks she’s going to die and she’s laughing.

“One of them,” Mando says simply, trying not to let the bewilderment - or the admiration - show.

“Guess I should’ve expected the knife in the back,” the girl sighs, frowning as a shiver moves visibly through her. Without a jacket her sunburn is cooling, but she seems less comfortable than ever as the temperature drops. “Ugh. It’s getting c-c-cold,” she observes, her teeth clacking together.

Din sighs. “Stop talking. You lose heat on every word.”

“Up y-yours, you t-tin c-c-coc -” She cuts herself off as he kneels down behind her, his blaster leveled at her stomach for a moment - before he puts it away, sliding it home in its holster to free his hands.

She watches with round eyes as he unwinds his cloak from his throat and reaches out to slide it across her shoulders.

“Th-thanks,” she stutters, staring as he stands with a nod. 

“Don’t get blood on it,” he says, and she touches the scrape on her cheek with a smirk as he turns away.

 The temperature continues to plunge as the night grows deeper. The Mandalorian is somewhat insulated in his layers of Beskar, but even with his cloak, the thief continues to shiver and shake.

She tries to hide it - gritting her teeth to stop them from chattering, wrapping the cloak around her lower face to  the white cloud of her escaping breath. But there is no hiding from a Mandalorian with thermal vision.

Din watches her red silhouette subsumed by green and finally, blue. It creeps in at her quaking edges until she almost blends with the sand.

It is a particularly cold night for Tatooine. It is a cruel night.

Still the thief fights the encroaching cold, keeping herself awake. “Hmm,” she murmurs, long past when she should have fallen asleep. “I don’t f-feel cold anymore. That’s nice.”

Mando swears under his breath. “No, it’s not,” he says, kneeling by her side. He knows he’s putting himself within blaster-swiping distance but he judges her in no condition to mount another escape. Indeed, she’s barely conscious as he takes her shoulder, feeling the chill of her skin even through his gloves.

He doesn't need thermal vision to tell it's the beginnings of hypothermia. 

“Dank farrik.” Din swears just once more before reaching up to unlatch his breastplate. He pries the woman’s half-conscious body from the cocoon of the cloak and pulls her to him, tucking the dark fabric around them both.

She curls into him like a caterpillar, still shuddering faintly. Grimacing under the helm all the while, he rubs her upper arms as quickly as he can and as lightly as he can while still burning friction. And heat.

Slowly, the blue blob of her body warms to green, with edges glowing gold. Din relaxes, keeping the thief tucked against his chest. 

“For the record,” he hears her voice - smaller than before - croak from udnerneath his chin, “I s-still think you’re a b--b-bastard.”

“You’re welcome,” Din says, and the shudder of a laugh rather than a shiver rocks her shoulders in his arms before he begins to feel her slowly relax, and gradually, her breathing eases to the rhythm of sleep.

She isn’t as annoying like this, he decides. In fact, she is drawn and delicate - compact, like a fox - all wiry muscle and gentle dips and curves where he has edges. It’s strange to hold her without his Beskar in the way. 

It’s strange to hold her - or anyone at all.

It seems unfair, and a little cruel, that it should be this...this pickpocket. This warm, surprisingly soft criminal-woman who mutters murder in her sleep. 

Din’s eyes snap open - he drifted into a light doze without meaning to, or realizing. The woman, the thief is still in his arms - draped over him, in fact, her face pressed to his chest, hands curled against it, one of her legs slung over his. 

And his arms are wrapped around her waist, keeping her pressed to him.

It shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is. And he is definitely warm enough now - and so is she. The fever has gone from her skin and her limbs no longer twitch or spasm; she is relaxed, even snoring softly against his chest. 

He’ll give her another five minutes, Din decides indulgently as he closes his eyes. It’s been a rough journey so far and it will do well to have her rested for the trek ahead. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he allows himself to relax beneath her, splaying his hands over her back and leaning his helm back against the rock with a long-suffering sigh.

And then the Tuskens standing over them raise their gaffi sticks in the air and bellow.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Disconnect

Yandere!Shinsou x reader

Warnings: yandere, adult themes, bordering Stockholm syndrome, hints of dubious consent

A/N: here’s another fic I posted and deleted a bit ago, but I edited it and revamped it a bit. I was in a weird place when I wrote this, but it’s content! Gonna stop impulsively deleting shit😂

“Are you in love with me?”

What a pathetic question. You know it is, but it’s been on your mind all damn day. That, amongst other things. Insecurities have been bombarding your brain and consuming your thoughts. They’re the kind that you’ve managed to repress for years, but today, while bored of all the nothing you had to do while Shinsou was away, they came at you full force, as if they were paying you back for forgetting about them.

Before Shinsou took you, happiness had been perpetually evasive. Some days you could pretend like it had been there, but that had just been a trick of the mind—a phantom emotion that muzzled how you’d actually been feeling.

The truth is, your friends—your family—everyone you know has always simply tolerated you. You could go to them when you were feeling down, but they never really wanted to hear your qualms. They’d always tell you anything you needed to hear to get you to stop whining. There’d been an art to ignoring how they grimaced at your attempted humor and hope for you to stop trying. They never wanted to hear about your interests or aspirations, either—most of them were too big for you anyways—but they would smile and wait for you to finish prattling on, then exhale with relief when it was over.

So, it hadn’t been like you could tell them how you felt, lest you wanted to risk being a ceaseless nuisance.

Some days you’d wondered if they wouldn’t mind if you just disappeared. Now you find yourself wondering what they think now that you have.

It’s fine. Rather, it had been fine when you were around them. However, the more time you’re forced to spend with Shinsou, the more you realize how unhappy you used to be.

You can’t say you’re happy now, either. With the reality of your situation, you’d actually have to be insane to say that you’re happy. A caged bird could never thrive if he couldn't fly. But Shinsou has been the first person that wanted to hear you talk about anything and everything. He wants to know you—to be there for you. He actually asks about your likes and dislikes, how you’re feeling, what he can do to make things better, while you’ve always been reluctant to answer him.

Still, you want to know. You want to be sure. You can assume that he does love you. Afterall, he’s taking care of you right now.

Earlier, he sensed that you were stressed and offered to give you a massage. Normally you would slink away from his touch, but you were feeling weak, so you said yes. You have to admit that having him touch you is... nice.

A deep groan escapes your chest when he presses on a particularly tense spot in your back, so he rubs the area more, making sure to massage all of your anxieties away. He leans down low to press his lips against the shell of your ear. You can feel the curl of his mouth when he says, “that’s a stupid question.”

I know. You want to tell him that, but you won’t. You won’t open up to him. You know he’d like that too much. It’s ironic, really. The one person who wants you to open up to them and it’s the last person on earth you’d want to tell anything too personal to.

“I wouldn’t have asked it if I didn’t need to hear the answer.”

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t in love with you,” he counters.

Touché, asshole.

“So the moment you fall out of love with me, you’re going to let me go.”

You very nearly say ‘you’re going to kick me out,’ but it’s not like you’re simply visiting with him. You’re there against your will. He's your captor, you’re his prisoner.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it does-“

“It won’t.” Shinsou begins kissing down your spine. “Getting you here was a drag, but I won’t be letting you go under any circumstances.”

“Why?”

Darks skepticism envelopes his timbre when he asks, “why, what?”

You can't blame him. There’s been plenty of one-sided conversation where you’ve practically begged to be released, only to have Shinsou give you the cold shoulder. This won’t be another one of those discussions. You couldn’t bear it.

“Why do you like me?”

“Why do I like you, or why am I in love with you?”

You think about it for a second and decide to hell with it. You threw your dignity out the window the second you asked your first question. You hide your face in the pillow and mutter, “both.”

Shinsou hums against your back, pretending to consider the question while he squeezes your hips, pressing his thumbs into either side of your tailbone.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, pushing your ass up so he presses deeper on you, “that feels so good.”

“Reason one as to why I like you-“ Shinsou moves his hands down to your ass. He kneads your muscles, partly because he knows you want it, but mostly because he loves handling your ass- “you sound like that when you moan.”

“Be serious!” You bark back half-heartedly, because he seriously knows how to give a good massage, and you can’t stay annoyed when he’s touching you like that.

“I’m being plenty serious. It’s hot.” He squeezes your bottom, adding just the right amount of pressure to get you to moan again. He chuckles and thumbs the side of your underwear, letting it snap back to your skin pap! “So hot.”

“So, you like me because I’m hot?” You exhale when he squeezes more lotion onto your back, the cool sensation making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Well-“ there’s a shrug in his voice when he makes his way back up to your spine-“it’s one of the reasons.”

Shinsou begins listing things he likes about you: the curl of your hair, the dip in your hips, the curve of your ass, the way your nose scrunches up when you smell something you think is going to be nice, but is actually unappealing, and that “cute little mole in that one place,” he suggests, “you know, the one I like to kiss…”

It’s all almost nice to hear, except they all have one thing in common: they’re all physical. You won’t always look like what you do now. You don’t think that Shinsou is so superficial that he only judges you on your appearance, but you can’t stop the swelling in your chest.

“And I especially like your neck,” he whispers at the column of your throat, right before licking a stripe up to your earlobe. You shudder when he smiles against you. “So sensitive…”

“So that’s it?”

You’re being negative, demanding even, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it because it’s with Shinsou, but you do. You need to hear more. You need to feel like you matter.

“There’s loads more, but this is what I’m focusing on right now. My partner’s half naked in front of me and I’m only human.”

You turn to face him, maneuvering the pillow your head was on to the front of you, hiding Shinsou’s eyes both from your chest, and from the tears you’ve left behind.

“What about when I change?” You ask, squeezing your fluffy shield against your stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“Like-“ you bow your head, fiddling with the fringes on the pillow- “I don’t know. If I’m gonna be stuck here forever, then obviously I’m gonna age.”

Shinsou frowns. “So?”

“So...I won’t always be-“ you make a flippant gesture at him-“your version of hot!”

He snorts. “My version of hot? What’s that?”

“You tell me!”

He shakes his head, laughing as he brings his hand to the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “You’re my version of hot...it won’t matter if your hair turns silver, your skin wrinkles, you get all saggy and crinkly-“ he chuckles- “same thing’s gonna happen to me, only with my job, I might end up losing an arm or—heaven forbid—I get a scar over an eye.”

You dismiss that. “Scars can be hot.”

“Duly noted.” He smirks. “I might have to be extra reckless on my next mission. See how you react to my battle wounds.”

“Please don’t,” you say immediately. You gaze up at him to see that his usual sleep-ridden eyes have softened. Geez, he’s acting as if you said something nice to him.

“What’s going on with you?” Shinsou asks as his hand falls over your pillow shield. He tugs on it to move, but you keep it clawed to your chest. “C’mon...let me in.”

It’s hard because you want to. You want to let him in, and you’re stupid for it. At least you have the mind to shake your head at him.

“Alright then,” he says, “what do you like about me? Or should I say, do you like me?”

“No.” That part is easy enough to say. Even if it's a lie, which you aren’t sure if it is or not, you know it’s what you should say every time. Regardless of what he makes you feel, what he does for you, how he takes care of you, you’re still there against your will.

You don’t get a moment to feel guilty about saying it either, because as soon as the answer rolls off of your tongue, you freeze, unable to move or speak. Immediately you want to rebuke, tell him off, scream at him, but your body disobeys every single one of your furious demands. Shinsou hasn’t used his mind control on you too much lately, and you let yourself forget that he has it. You’re absolutely seething.

Bastard.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m a slave to my own whims.” Shinsou takes the pillow away from your body. His eyes scan over your torso appreciatively before finding the dark dots stained from your tears on the fabric of your pillow. He flexes his jaw, then places the pillow back behind you.

“Lay back,” he commands, and you’re helpless to oblige.

For a moment, the two of you are still. Shinsou’s staring at you, but not in a way that’s weird...er than normal. He’s seen you naked plenty of times, so he’s not being entirely a pervert. It’s only when he rolls down to level his face with yours, you see that there’s mist in his eyes.

“You’re intelligent,” he says, placing a hand over your navel, “and not in a way that’s annoying. You can hold stimulating conversations, and you think...differently, but you’re also interested in listening to divergent viewpoints.”

Shinsou starts moving his hand in circles, using his fingertips to draw intricate designs across your skin.

“You don’t know how to make a proper playlist, so when you listen to music, the weirdest shit comes on, and you sing along to all of it. And you’re so bad at singing, but you belt that shit out like you don’t even care.”

You kinda wanna hit him. You kinda wanna laugh. You kinda don’t wanna accept that you've gotten comfortable enough around Shinsou to actually sing around him, even if it’s in the goofy voice that you use.

“You’re kind to animals, you laugh in your sleep, you yell at inanimate objects, and you always read the last page of a novel once you’re halfway through it, which is infuriating, but it’s because you get so excited that you can’t stand not knowing what’s going to happen.”

Shinsou brings his hand up to cup your face. “You piss me off. You challenge me. You’re stubborn and defiant and abrasive and I-“ he pauses, sighing- “and I love it. I love every part of you—vexing vices and valorous virtues.”

He leans down so that his lips are a hair away from yours. His voice is tight, raspy from something he’s holding back, but still, he speaks. “I know I’m fucked up for this. I know you hate it here, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever let anyone else have you. You’re so fucking weird, and beautiful, and angry. You’re precious to me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll always be in love with you. And that means damning you to me. I would say that I’m sorry, but I’m not. At least, not for keeping you. You’re the only thing I've ever wanted—the only sin I don’t regret.”

Your brain is ocean fog when his lips meet yours. He kisses you softly, because he doesn’t want to bring you out of your stupor just yet. His fingers travel down your sides, resting at the waistband of your panties. He pulls back and eyes you deviously.

“And if you don’t like me yet, I guess I’ll have to deal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna keep gunning for your affection.” He smirks, hooking his thumbs around the sides of your briefs. Your entire body flushes in direct reaction to him, anticipating what comes next. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

With a devilish glint in his indigo eyes, he smirks up at you and says, “at least I know some things you love about me”

[the-nysh]

Hi Nysh!🐣 In general, on what basis does this or that fictional char become your favourite? For ex, they possess qualities that you admire or you find yourself in them and can relate to them or their actions and personality are interesting to analyze etc.

Ooh :D well fortunately I've described some favorite character types briefly here, but I’ll continue to elaborate:

- Emotionally constipated sons who overcompensate because the feelings they fear are too much for their vessels to contain. (Aka their feelings are far stronger than they know how to properly manage or navigate; in which they mistakenly think these feelings are a weakness/vulnerability, so they try so hard to repress them down, which usually backfires, because in fact those feelings are one of their biggest purest strengths; a core part of themselves they can’t get rid of.) They must learn how to properly face that avoided truth in their hearts or else they risk self-destructive tendencies. It’s always an inner struggle about accepting/finding/mastering/overcoming oneself I find most compelling and endearing to witness, every time. :’) (Longtime archetype: Raphael; towards more recent favs: Genos, Mob, Kacchan, Garou...they all have that compelling ‘element’ that draws me in that I can’t look away from. 👀)

- Or responsible and strong, dignified, nuanced ladies who both feel and fight for a purpose. (Most fond examples: Teresa of the Faint Smile, Nausicaa; Ryougi Shiki the one in my icon, Homura, etc.) Emotionally, I prefer them to be a bit more ‘cooled’ (ie more mature and self-aware) than the fiery sons I’m fond for, but these ladies can still snap with their passionate sides or show feral (protective) rage too when the moment strikes, which is always an impressive often scary treat. (Most impressionable example that’s stuck with me: when the usually kind, pacifist Nausicaa snapped in feral anger when she saw her father killed, enough to kill others herself, that she became afraid of that side of herself and what she’s capable of when those inner feelings take over...oh oohh!!!! So good. That you can see how characters like Mob similarly struggle containing such strong feelings too.)

Superficially, if characters are generally designed cute, funny/dorky, and badass (all together in one package) then they'll usually gain my attention. (Bonus if they're oblivious dummy asshole little shits for fun entertainment too.) But for them to really ‘take’ my feelings further, they’ll usually need a bit more involvement...

Cause it’s those that can make me feel AND think (enough to write endlessly about, yes) are the characters who I often take to most strongly, because yes....there’s some of that relatability factor involved, in which I can see some of my younger self in their emotional struggles too. Because for example...I understand the kind of anger over experiencing a loss beyond one’s control (like a death in the family)...and that anger from feeling powerlessness (enough to hurt yourself or others thru the guilt/frustration) is some of the ugliest you can feel. :’) It’s part of what originally drew me to Genos for example, and the moment of recognition hit me like a lightning strike when Kacchan admitted in self-imploding agony: ‘why was I the one to end All Might?’ Hoo boy, I felt that, even his misplaced guilt/responsibility thrust on himself when none of that (the parts beyond his control) were his fault. (This is why I fondly dub them ‘sons,’ because aahh, they’re feeling some of what I’ve already been through. :’3)

So what it takes for me to Understand(tm) and connect to them on a deeper, empathetic level can all come together within a single moment (like for that Kacchan example) or it can be a more gradual process over time (like for Garou), while actively witnessing their growth/struggles, and looking forward to how they come into their own (better) selves. :’3 But that fondness, of how it feels when you scan for any sightings of them, which also keeps your eyes glued to the pages with them, enough to evoke that familiar, even comforting sense that sparks joy, to the point where you just know -there he is-...ah yes, that ‘favorite’ feeling’s definitely the same.

[spellbook-gayboy]

prompt 24? :^)

24.

The cart squeaked along the aisle, Ky shivering from the cooled store air as they pushed it, a sharp contrast to the simmering summer air outside. The telekinetic's eyes scanned the shelves, searching for a certain item hidden among hundreds identical to it. Eventually they found it, a small bottle of paprika almost at the very back. Reaching for it proved to be its own endeavour, their short arm easily swallowed by the dark gap. Luckily for them, they were joined by someone much better suited to reaching over long distances.

"Okay, so I found the water you asked me to get, but I also found this cool bubbling water next to it. What do you think?" Shapesmith opened, running up in the weird combination of crocs and suspenders only they could pull off, hands holding large bottles of both still and sparkling water. "Uh, you good there, Ky?"

"Just... tryna... no, can't do it!" Ky relented, withdrawing their arm before turning and looking at the water their partner had brought. "The water... both are fine, Rus. Could you get that bottle, please?" they asked, tilting their head in the direction of the stuck spices. Shapesmith seemed to understand, dropping the water into the cart before approaching the almost empty shelf, rolling up his sleeves. Taking a quick look around to make sure they were alone, he slipped his arm into the gap, stretching and stretching until their fingers bumped into the small jar. After a moment or two of blindly fumbling for the paprika, Rus retrieved the spice bottle, dropping it on top of the water bottles with a dull thud.

Ky checked the shopping list sitting on top of some other groceries. "Okay, I think that's everything!"

---

If actually getting all of the groceries was tedious, then putting all of it away was easily ten times worse. The two of them managed to enjoy it however, Ky humming a show tune from their childhood as they busied themself with placing the cereal in the cupboard. They grabbed the last box, the Froot Loops that Nikki loved so much, and went to put it with the others. Maybe they extended themself just a little too far, or stood at a slightly awkward angle, but the result was the same: a sudden stab of pain rocketing up their back, the box falling to the floor as they doubled over from the fresh sting of an old wound.

Shapesmith, who had been busy trying to refill their cookie jar, noticed his partner hunched over, and had already manoeuvred over the kitchen aisle to their side before they had managed to fall down, a careful hand supporting Ky's back. "Are you alright?" he asked, hesitating for a moment before following up with "Is it the scar again?"

Ky nodded through the pain. Much of the damage that Robot managed to inflict all those years ago was thankfully superficial, easily treated and stitched back up by the surgeons, but some of the wounds a little deeper. Some days could go by without so much as a single ache, but others would be nothing but spiking pain, like hot needles stuck into their joints. "It's fine, Rus. I'm already better, actually!" they waved away, standing back up slowly. True, the worst of the pain had already died down, but it would be at least a few hours before the smaller aches and pains went away. Luckily for them, the telekinetic had a partner who was more than happy to pick up after them.

“Go on, sit! I can do the rest, Ky.” the Martian urged, almost having to push his partner down onto the sofa cushions, before going back to finish off the unpacking. “Y’know, I can still picture you going ham against those drones sometimes. I’ve never seen anyone be that brave!” he continued, picking up the dropped Froot Loops. 

Ky chuckled. “You would’ve done the same thing, Rus!”

“Yeah. I guess I would. Hmm?”. Ky heard a ringing from nearby, before their partner called over “I gotta pick Nikki up from school. Meanwhile, you, my bestest friend...”, a mug of water being placed in front of them, “are going to stay right where you are, okay? Love you!”, and he disappeared with the closing of the apartment door. 

“Love you too.” Ky did as he asked, leaning back into the sofa with a quiet groan. Their gaze settled on the wood planks of their ceiling, and they began to reflect, like they always did at a time like this. They reflected on the past: every event and choice that had woven the path that had led to where they were now. They reflected on their pain: from the horrendous torture they had suffered at the hands of their ‘colleagues’ to the deep wounds they had gotten for saving their love. But most of all, they reflected on love: the alien that had fallen for them just as hard as they had, the family they had somehow managed to build comprised of people just as different and broken as them, and the life they had ended up living, mundane but peaceful. It had been a struggle to reach this point, but it was a struggle they’d redo a thousand times over, if for nothing more than the promise of many more boring shopping runs.

[bitchin-beskar]

honey and clementines - chapter one

Rating: T (eventually changing to M)

Warnings: brief mentions of injuries/blood, but nothing too graphic. 

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: hey all!! this is my first ever Marcus Moreno fic!! this is one-hundred percent the fault of @mxndoscyarika, she is my thot twin and an enabler and I love her so much. y’all need to check out her series, Honeydew, which is a beautifully written Marcus Moreno x OC fic. it’s seriously one of my favorite M.M. stories ever!!! I really hope y’all like this story!!!

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment! I love hearing what y’all think!!!

“Have a good day at school Missy!”

You waved to the young girl as she dashed into the building, her backpack disappearing inside the doors just as the warning bell rang. Slumping back in your seat, you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face. This morning had not gone according to plan, and you’d barely managed to get her to school on time. It wouldn’t be the first time Missy was late, but you always felt guilty whenever she was. Usually her teachers were pretty understanding, what with her dad being the Marcus Moreno, afterall, but you tried to avoid tardiness whenever possible. 

Pulling out of the drop-off lane, you began the short drive back to the Moreno household, mentally going over the list of things you had to accomplish today. Marcus had some late meetings tonight, so you and Missy were going to be on your own for dinner. 

You were mentally going through the list of ingredients you’d need for spaghetti when you pulled into the driveway. Grabbing your purse, you shut the car off, climbing out and locking the doors behind you, double-checking with a quick yank on the handle. 

So lost in your thoughts, you nearly tripped over a package sitting on the front porch, placed dead center of the welcome mat. Sighing, you bent down, picking it up and tucking it under one arm as you unlocked the front door, and stepping inside. You needed to be more aware of your surroundings, isn’t that what Marcus always told you? 

Shutting the door behind you, you dumped your purse and keys on the table in the foyer, walking on autopilot into the kitchen. You set the package down on the counter and grabbed the notepad you always kept sitting beside the bowl of fruit, beginning to write down the things you needed to pick up when you went to the store. 

You were startled out of your scribbling by the feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket. Pulling it out and glancing at the caller ID, you smiled. “Hey Marcus, don’t worry, I got Missy to the school in time–”

“I need you to listen to me carefully.” 

Back straightening, you jerked up in surprise at the low growl of Marcus’ voice. He sounded scared, which worried you, a lot. When the leader of the Heroics sounded scared, you knew it was serious.

“Was there anything suspicious laying around when you came home? Is there anything out of place?”

You quickly scanned the kitchen and living room, looking for anything strange or out of the ordinary. You couldn’t see anything, everything looked pretty much how you left it. In fact, the only thing that looked any different was the package you’d brought in–

Marcus could hear you suck in a sharp breath over the phone, and his frantic voice crackled through the speakers. “What? What is it? What do you see?”

“I–I brought in a package–” You stuttered, slowly backing away from the counter where the small brown box was sitting innocuously. “I–It was sitting o–on the front porch–”

“Get out of there! Get out! Now!”

Turning, you dashed for the front door when there was a sudden explosion of sound and heat, and your world went dark.

***

Marcus stared horror-struck at his phone, the sound of an explosion still ringing in his ears, even though the screen showed that the call had dropped. 

He was standing at his desk in HQ, phone held limply in his hand as the giant screen at the front of the room flashed with the warning they’d received from Explosivo only minutes earlier. 

 B I G  S U R P R I S E S  C O M E  I N  S M A L L  P A C K A G E S,  M O R E N O. 

His heart had stopped when he’d first seen the message, and his first thought had been to call you. When you’d answered, he’d breathed a sigh of relief, but the panic came back full force when he heard the explosion just before the phone went dead.

“Moreno?”

Granada’s voice cut through the haze, and he jerked his head up frantically to look at her. 

“Send a team to my house and Missy’s school. Now.”

He didn’t wait to see if she listened to him, turning on his heel and sprinting out of the room. He called Missy’s school to warn them of the potential threat as well as the fact that a team was on their way to secure the building as he raced towards his car. 

He probably broke every single traffic law in existence in his effort to get to his house as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His heart sank when he saw the multiple fire trucks and ambulances parked outside, as a team of firefighters worked over the smoldering ruins of his home. 

Screeching to a stop, he ripped his seatbelt off and threw his car door open as he practically fell out of the vehicle in his haste. 

He frantically scanned the people milling about outside the caution tape, trying to spot you. He finally spots you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a paramedic tending to a bloody cut on your head.

His feet are moving before his brain can even process what he’s seeing, and in what seems like seconds he’s standing just behind the paramedic, eyes roving over your figure as he tries to see if you’re hurt anywhere else.

***

You winced as the paramedic dabbed at the cut on your head, your fingers tightening in the scratchy grey fabric of the shock blanket one of the many first responders had draped over your shoulders. You were still shaky and a little dazed from the explosion, but miraculously, you weren’t too badly hurt. 

 Your eyes drifted shut for a moment, and when you opened them again, you saw Marcus standing in front of you, just behind the paramedic. Eyes flying wide open, you went to stand, the paramedic placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you still. 

“Marcus–!” you gasped, and he jerked forward, coming to stand next to you, his hand hovering just above your shoulder, hesitant to touch you. 

“Are you okay?” He demanded, eyes frantically flicking between you and the paramedic who’d just finished bandaging your head. “Is she okay?”

The paramedic nodded, before turning back to you. “You’re gonna be just fine, ma’am. The cut on your head isn’t as bad as it looks, head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but you won’t need stitches. You’ve got some bruises that’ll be tender for a few days, but nothing worse than that. You’re incredibly lucky ma’am.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and he nodded again, closing up his medical bag, and stepping away, leaving you and Marcus standing alone at the back of the ambulance. 

You barely had time to open your mouth before Marcus was pulling you up and into a frantic hug. His grip was tight and unyielding, and he pressed his face into your neck as you felt him take in a deep, shuddering breath. Your own arms came up to grip the back of his leather jacket in your shaking grip. 

He holds you for a long time, longer than is probably appropriate. You can tell he’s reluctant to pull away, and you’re reluctant to let him go. But eventually, he does pull back, only to cup your cheeks as he turns your face to both sides, eyes scanning all the little superficial cuts and scrapes along with the larger, bandaged cut on your forehead. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He murmurs, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I’m so sorry, I called you as soon as I got the warning–”

“I’m okay,” you reassured him, letting him check you over to confirm for himself. “How did you know? What– Am I allowed to know what happened?” You knew that unfortunately, being a civilian, you weren’t always allowed to know what threats the Heroics faced, even with your connection to Marcus. 

Marcus sighs, and releases you to drag a hand over his face, and you faintly notice that he looks exhausted. “It’s a new supervillain,” he starts, speaking quietly so as not to allow the emergency personnel milling about to hear him. “Calls himself Explosivo, has a fascination with bombs and explosions. He sent HQ a message that mentioned me directly, right before I called you. I don’t know why he’s targeting me specifically, I’m so sorry–”

You placed your hand on his chest, stopping his apology in its tracks. “Don’t you dare apologize, Marcus Moreno. I knew what I was signing up for when you hired me as Missy’s nanny. This is not your fault.”

You can tell by the look on Marcus’ face that he doesn’t believe you, but before you can argue, a team from Heroics HQ arrives, and immediately descends on the ruined house. You watch, dumbstruck, as heroes use their powers to begin repairs immediately, undoing the damage left behind by the package bomb. 

Suddenly, your eyes widen, and you frantically grasp at Marcus’ arm. “Wait, what about Missy? Is she safe?” 

Marcus’ eyes widen, and he quickly yanks his phone out of his pocket, frantically checking for any messages. He lets out a sigh as he sees a message from Granada confirming that Missy is safe and waiting for him at HQ. 

“Missy’s safe at HQ,” he confirms, and you let out your own relieved sigh. “I’m gonna take you to HQ too, until the house is repaired and the security is updated.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on Marcus’ face killed your arguments. You let him maneuver you towards his car, knowing that Marcus isn’t going to rest until both you and Missy are safe. You know his wife was killed in a supervillain attack, and you’re not surprised he’s being so protective right now. You’ve been Missy’s nanny for close to five years now, and you’ve grown extremely close to the leader of the Heroics. 

The drive to HQ doesn’t take long, something for which you’re grateful. Now that you’re no longer in immediate danger, the adrenaline is leaving your system, leaving you feeling drained. Your whole body aches from being thrown into a wall, and you feel slightly dizzy from the blood loss. 

Marcus is driving, but his right hand is resting lightly on your knee, thumb rubbing small circles as though to reassure himself that you are indeed sitting beside him in his car, and not in a bloodied heap of twisted limbs and broken bones under the rubble of his house. 

He’s not usually this tactile, preferring to try and keep a more professional relationship, what with you being his daughter’s nanny and all. But right now, touch is a comfort he’s willing to indulge in, and you’re certainly not going to complain, no matter how your heart is going to hate you for it later. 

When you walk into HQ, you’re nearly bowled over by a tiny, curly-haired freight-train named Missy. She wraps her arms tightly around you, burying her face in your stomach as she tries to get as close to you as physically possible. Immediately, your own arms come up to wrap around her shaking form, smoothing over her hair, already whispering reassurances. 

Marcus just stands back and lets the two of you have this moment. You’ve become almost like a mother to Missy in the five years you’ve been her nanny, and he couldn’t be more grateful. You love her like she was your own flesh and blood, and Missy adores you. 

He tries not to think about all the times Missy has begged him to ask you out so that the three of you could become a real family. 

He’s much too old for you, in his forties with a child of his own. You’re barely thirty, not even considering you were only 25 when he first hired you. You’ve got so many options, so much still ahead of you, he’s not going to try and ask you out and ruin things between you. 

He’s content with how things are, secure in the fact that you’re not going anywhere soon, and that he’ll have you in his life for as long as he can convince you to stay. He’ll do everything in his power to keep you safe. He already lost the first woman he loved, he’s not about to lose you too.  

Permanent Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @pedroepascal, @roxypeanut, @rynadjarin-reading, @anerdydragon, @justanotherblonde23, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @meshlamando, @sunsetmando, @bucketbunny, @mudhornchronicles, @huliabitch, @nerdypinupcrystal, @blackmarketmummy, @dinsbeskar, @mischiefnevermanaged94, @randomness501, @bisexual-space-slut, @lucifer-, @captainmunroe, @liadamerondjarin, @tulipsun-flower, @marvgrrl, @waatermelon-sugaar, @pedrospunk, @areolanya, @computeringturtle, @starlite41, @driftllocked, @gallowsjoker, @firstofficerwiggles, @pedro4ever

Marcus Moreno Tags:  @tulipsun-flower, @captainmunroe, @thevoiceinyourheadx, @snow30285, @pedro4ever

If your name is crossed out, I couldn’t tag you! sorry!

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2    -    Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their  complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing,  "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of  dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word  out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.  

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist